The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 7

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “No one’s going to know, Alison, come on.”

  He pulls open a closet door. “Come on, come in here. Just a quickie until we get home.”

  I both hate and love this about him. He’s irresistible when I’m horny. I follow him into the dark closet and we close the door.

  In an instant he’s tugging at my panties. “No, don’t,” I’m saying. “Keep them up. I don’t want to be without my panties.” But he tugs them all the way down, clear down to my ankles.

  “Step out of them, Alison,” he insists in an urgent whisper. “Come on, take them all the way off.”

  For some reason, I do it. I guess he’s right about my being so agreeable. It’s dark but he manages to extricate them from my high heels.

  “Give them to me,” I say.

  “I’ll just stick them in my pocket.”

  “No.”

  But before I can protest further, he’s pulled me up close to him again; his hands are up under my skirt, getting free rein of my naked ass.

  I’m moaning deliriously into his kisses. As my eyes adjust to the darkness of the closet, I realize there are slats in the closet door, louvers, allowing air and some light to trickle in. I realize we’d better be extra quiet, though, because of those louvers.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper suddenly.

  “What do you think I’m doing, Alison? I’m going to fuck you.”

  “Jesus, are you serious?”

  His cock is out and I can feel him trying to find my hole. He does. “God, you’re wet,” he whispers. “You little tramp.”

  I try to angle myself in a way that lets his cock get up me easily. I know I’m wet. I’m incredibly aroused. But this position isn’t really working.

  “Why don’t you turn around?” he suggests quietly. “I’ll try you from behind.”

  I turn around, leaning a little against the louvered door. His cock finds its way up my hole again and this position is definitely better. It feels incredible. I can’t resist emitting a little moan.

  Until the light in the room flashes on.

  Jesus.

  We are both instantly motionless, not making a sound. Someone is in the bedroom with us. No, it’s two someones, and they’re closing the door.

  I can hear Jack quietly panicking in my ear. “Oh shit,” he says.

  His cock is still nestled deep in my hole, his arms around my waist, holding me tight, but we don’t move. “It’s Krieger,” he barely mouths in my ear.

  And sure enough, Derek Krieger has come within view of the slats in the closet door.

  Oh shit, I’m thinking, not Derek. I’m feeling like he really is my school principal. That I’m in some serious trouble now.

  Then a female comes into view. This is definitely not Susan Krieger.

  Oh my God, I’m thinking.

  At the same moment, Jack mouths in my ear, “Christ, it’s Veronica.”

  Veronica is Jack’s ex-lover. Another architectural drafter at the firm. She’s even younger than me. One of those lithe, helpless-seeming blondes from Connecticut.

  “You’re late,” Derek is saying to her. He sounds angry.

  “I couldn’t get a cab . . .”

  “Bullshit,” Derek replies, cutting her off.

  I’m stunned by his abrupt tone. What does he care if Veronica is late to his party? It’s not as if any of us are on the clock. It’s only a party, for Christ’s sake.

  Veronica is plaintive. “I’m sorry, Mr Krieger.”

  Mr Krieger? Nobody calls him Mr Krieger – he’s Derek.

  “I absolutely couldn’t help it. I couldn’t get a cab.”

  “You should have thought ahead, young lady, and left earlier.”

  Derek’s using quite an intimidating tone. Something here doesn’t seem right. Then suddenly Jack’s hand dips down furtively between my legs. His fingers deftly feel between my slick lips, looking for my clit. I can’t believe he’s trying to arouse me now, here, with this going on. But I’m too nervous to pull away, to make a sound. I’m still impaled on his cock.

  In my ear, Jack says almost inaudibly, “I think he’s going to spank her.”

  I’m incredulous. “What?” I try to say.

  “I know Veronica,” he tries to explain. “Krieger’s going to spank her.”

  Well, I’m stunned again. But now I’m a lot more interested. These two are having some twisted affair! I’m trying to get a better view through the slats in the door without moving at all. If Veronica is going to get spanked by Mr Krieger, I definitely want to see.

  Jack’s cock is reviving inside me and his fingers have zeroed in on my clit. I can’t believe any of this is happening. I’m so glad we decided to come to this party.

  “But I gave you specific instructions,” Derek is going on.

  “I know, but . . .”

  “And I expected you to follow them.”

  “I know.” Veronica is practically whining.

  “I’m too busy to be wasting my breath on someone as incompetent as you are. You’re over an hour late.”

  “I know, but I . . .”

  “Save it, Veronica. Save it for someone who has time to give a shit about your next lie.”

  “Oh yes,” Jack agrees quietly. “I know that feeling. I hope she gets it good – with her panties pulled down.”

  Her panties pulled down? That hadn’t occurred to me. I’m really on fire, overwhelmed by all the stimuli. But Jack’s commentary is making me feel too crazy. I don’t want to get caught here; I want the show to continue. I want to keep watching.

  “Come here, Veronica.”

  He’s good, I’m thinking. Very stern. I’m actually a little scared for her.

  He sits down on the edge of the bed. She moves only slightly.

  “Right here,” he says. “You can see where I’m pointing, can’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not having any trouble hearing me?”

  “No.”

  That answer was barely audible. And Veronica doesn’t seem to be moving.

  “Derek,” she pleads suddenly. “Don’t make me do this. Your wife is practically in the next room. All those people.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “I’m sorry – Mr Krieger!”

  Boy, he sounds menacing. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he is, I can easily see his face now and he looks deadly serious. I wonder if Veronica is really scared? She sounds it. I think I would be, too.

  Jack is breathing heavily against the side of my neck, his cock working slowly inside me, methodically. He’s soaking up every nuance of this scene, just like I am. I wonder how that must feel? Watching an ex-lover about to get disciplined? I wonder if they were into this spanking stuff when they were living together? Funny how much you don’t suspect about people . . .

  “Veronica, I’m waiting. The longer you put this off, the more you run the risk that my wife will come looking for me. Then how will we explain it? Not just to her, but to a roomful of party guests?”

  The sound of Derek’s commanding voice is electrifying my clit, while Jack is giving it just the right pressure at the same time. This spanking stuff is amazing. I need to have a serious talk with Jack about all this when we finally get out of this place.

  A quick breath of lust is caught in Jack’s throat. Immediately I see what it is he’s lusting over. Veronica’s hands are up under her skirt. She’s pulling her panties down. She’s really doing it. She’s moved in front of Mr Krieger. We can see everything. With her skirt held high, Veronica lays herself across Mr Krieger’s lap.

  I’m thinking, that’s some ass she’s got there, white and so perfectly round. I’m also thinking, I never once dreamed I’d see Veronica’s ass – for any reason at all, let alone because of this.

  Jack’s cock is swelling up inside my cunt. He’s giving it to me slow but very hard. I clutch at his arms, needing to hang onto something. The lust is galloping through me now. I want to cry out.

  The spanking is s
wift and sound. Veronica tries hard not to emit even a tiny peep. I know she’s afraid of being discovered. Maybe that’s part of her thrill, who knows? But how she manages to endure those well-aimed, decisive smacks on her bare ass without once giving out with a cry or a shout is beyond me. Mr Krieger is not playing. His strokes are severe. Veronica’s ass is already bright red.

  I’m too enchanted to breathe. Jack’s steady fingers have tripped the tremors of orgasm in me and I have to endure the onslaught of pleasure in my clitoris without so much as making a move. He must know I’m coming. He’s holding me very tight.

  The spanking is over before I’m even through coming. Veronica is off Derek’s lap, pulling her panties back in place. Derek is standing now, too. They kiss. They moan.

  “Okay, kiddo,” Derek says, giving her one last playful swat on the behind. “Let’s get going.”

  They leave and suddenly the room is black again.

  “My God,” I say at last. “That was amazing.”

  Jack repositions himself to fuck me like crazy now. It feels so good but it doesn’t take long for him to come.

  “Come on,” he says, pulling out of me and zipping up. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go back to my place.”

  “My panties, Jack. Give me my panties.”

  “I’ll give them to you when we get home.”

  He lets himself out of the closet and all I can do is follow. It isn’t the first time I’ve gone off with him without my panties. I just straighten my skirt and hope for the best.

  We’re down the hall in a flash. In the foyer, however, Jack remembers the Ciroc. It cost us nearly sixty bucks. “Go get the vodka,” he says. “I’ll wait here.”

  I dash back to the kitchen, oblivious to everything around me. All I want now is my vodka and to get to Jack’s bed as quickly as humanly possible.

  In the kitchen, I run smack into Derek, alone. I’m thoroughly startled and painfully conscious of not wearing any panties. I’m not quite sure how to explain why I’m taking an expensive bottle of vodka out of his freezer.

  “I put it there,” I try lamely, smiling at Derek. Now I see him differently. Now he makes me incredibly nervous.

  He looks at me and says nothing.

  “It’s my vodka,” I keep explaining, feeling sweaty between my legs. “I’m going now.”

  He just stands there, offering nothing. Silence. Just staring at me.

  “Thanks for the party, Mr Krieger.” Jesus, why did I say that?

  He raises an eyebrow. His eyes pierce me with the faintest hint of a questioning smile. “You’re welcome, Alison. See you Monday.”

  Matt Thorne

  Five Times

  1

  He always sends me a tape so I can see what he did to me. I’ve never seen him except on screen. I have to blindfold myself before I go into his room. I know what he looks like from all the videos but he never wants me to see him when he’s doing it to me. He’s dark: good-looking. He films me.

  I was there two days ago. I took off my blouse in the hallway and he let me in. The first thing he did was touch my breasts. Then he forced me onto the floor, on my knees. I can see myself on the video, looking lost, not knowing where I am in the room. He is over by the window, opening the curtains. A yellow light shines in from a streetlight. He always does that so the neighbours can see.

  He brings back a length of cord and ties my hands behind my back. I remember at that point hearing him unzip himself, and on the film I can see myself flinch. He tells me to open my mouth. I gagged instantly. I can see myself gagging on the film. He filled my mouth with his cock and started forcing it down my throat, and there was nothing I could do, because my hands were behind my back. I couldn’t breathe but he kept fucking my mouth until he ejaculated and I almost choked on his come.

  2

  The more it hurts, the more he knows I love him. Sometimes I dream of ripping all his skin off, damaging all his flesh, so that he belongs to me totally. The feeling of his skin under my nails drives me in same, mainly when his cock is inside me, too far, too hard, in the wrong place. It has to be dark and it has to hurt. I bite him; his fist in my mouth, and I tear at his face. He holds me down, his whole weight on me, and if anyone was watching they would think he was raping me and I was trying to get away. But I’m attacking him because I need to. I want more of him, so I tear him to shreds. He wants me, so he fucks me till I bleed.

  3

  There was a swimming pool in the hotel. No one else was there, because of the bomb scare. We weren’t afraid. It was our bomb scare.

  He went first. He looked beautiful in the pool in the blue light, like he’d already drowned. I could see his cock hard under the water, and I slithered in. He smiled at me and went under, just falling back while I climbed on him and moved myself around until his cock was deep inside me. He stayed under and I stayed on top of him, until he came, and then he stopped breathing.

  I managed to revive him a few minutes after he passed out. He vomited water on the concrete floor and asked if I thought he was brain-damaged. I laughed. Then it was my turn. I did a handstand under the water and he grabbed my legs and held them open. I let myself become weightless as he pulled me to him and penetrated me again. He said that after I passed out, my flesh felt like one of those stress relief toys; completely soft, but not elastic. When I came to, I was in the middle of an orgasm, and his fingers were inside me.

  4

  There’s this guy across the road who’s completely mad. These girls (who all look incredibly similar) come to his place all the time, and they do stuff with him, or rather for him. It’s weird.

  I met someone who actually knew him once. Apparently this person heard it was the same girl each time, although it can’t be, I’m sure, because he does something different with each of them. The stripper comes on a Tuesday night. She’s small and pretty and this week she’s wearing see-thru white: a shirt and a blouse and cerise underwear, which is completely visible through her thin clothes. She’s eating ice cream, and getting some on her top. She always does something cute while she’s stripping, like last week she popped bubble-gum the whole time, and the week before she did something with a skipping-rope.

  She dances, looking cute, to some fucked-up music. It’s really sleazy and smoky over there, and loud and dark, and there she is, eating ice cream in white, starting to strip for the guy. She licks at her ice-cream while she moves her butt around, dancing to the music. Every couple of seconds she pulls up her skirt a little and then giggles and pulls it down again, like she didn’t mean to do it. Then after a while, the skirt slips off altogether, and she’s standing there in her knickers, rubbing ice-cream onto her stomach, sticking her sticky white hands down her knickers. There’s still some of the cone left, and she pulls her knickers to one side and penetrates herself with it. The guy says something to her, and she pulls her knickers back over the pointed end of the cone, leaving it stuck inside her, and starts pulling at her top.

  He finishes as always, by walking over and taking her top off for her, pulling her breasts out of her bra and then closing his blinds.

  That always makes me come.

  5

  Do you remember the time I stuck five candles in myself? It was this urge I had. Two in my cunt, two in my bum. Then I put one in my mouth and waited for you. When you saw me like that you smiled, took out your lighter and lit them all. You made yourself come looking at me like that, and then you watched as each candle burnt down. And just before they all burnt right to the end, you aimed your cock at me, and put them all out, one by one, with your piss.

  Maestro

  Rose B. Thorny

  If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.

  Niccolo Machiavelli (1469–1527)

  Andrea watched transfixed by the ebony figurine bobbing between her splayed legs. It might have escaped to glide over her stomach towards her breasts but for her hands, which hovered over her hips trapping it. She pad
dled the bath water alternating her palms in rhythmic syncopation. The black wooden cylinder shifted sideways, but like a moored vessel, could not break free of the fleshy slip formed by her wet, pale thighs. Instead, it rocked towards her then back again mimicking a weak, incomplete, fucking motion.

  Except for the colour, it reminded her of the way his cock had bobbed in front of her face the very first time she went down on the Maestro, though, back then, he was still just Aaron. It was her very first blow job ever and, in her opinion, she acquitted herself not too shabbily for only having read descriptions in cheap paperbacks.

  He must have liked it; he convinced her to repeat the performance every time they were together, except for the last. That was back when “safe sex” simply meant not getting pregnant. Blow jobs were a sure bet in that direction.

  The water was still hot and she slid further down so that her neck and the back of her head were immersed. She had to bend her knees at a sharper angle. This had the dual effect of displacing more water and bringing “The Boy” closer to eye level. In her mind, she played with the name of her favourite dildo. Right now “The Boy” was more like “The Buoy”. She reached over her shoulder to start the jets again. There was a momentary grinding hum as the motor started then the eight spigots surged into action. Rapid streams of bubbles massaged her neck and shoulders, breasts, and thighs. She tingled from the steady spurts on the soles of her feet and toes.

  Andrea no longer used her hands to impede the toy’s progress, but the eddying patterns kept it suspended over the dark patch of pubic hair. She smiled. It looked like a dinghy floating over seaweed.

  The mechanical rumbling became music lulling her, turning the tub into a whirlpool of warm, liquid sensation. She closed her eyes.

  Aaron was so handsome. That he took notice of her at all was at once bewildering and thrilling. He, too, was still a student, but older by several years and well-known at the Conservatory. He was brilliant and well on his way to becoming somebody. He was often chosen to be a student lecturer and his articulate eloquence always drew crowds. Andrea, new to the school, felt a little foolish falling for his clichéd good looks; a tall, blond, blue-eyed Adonis. Female students, much more attractive and talented than she, fluttered about him like moths around a flame. Andrea noted that not a few of the male students were also drawn towards him. He basked in the adulation of both, but she was pleased to observe that the boys were consistently rebuffed after the fawning was done. She hovered outside the corona, but one day had a sincere question concerning one of his addresses in the lecture hall. It was late afternoon, the end of classes for the day. She always wondered if she had subconsciously orchestrated the scenario; hanging back as the other students filed out, waiting for a couple of them to chat with him then approaching him tentatively after all had departed.