The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12: Over 40 outstanding pieces of short erotic fiction (Mammoth Books)

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  He does this, makes it seem as if his horniness is my fault and he’s going to make me pay for it. As ever, I’m happy to pay. But I can see what’s coming next and I’ve never paid quite so much. But then I’ve never been quite so close to death before.

  Charlie undresses me and undresses himself. He’s not a guy who needs to stay suited and booted to be bossman. If Charlie wants to be naked, Charlie strips. His thighs are superb, their big curves of muscle scooping in to meet the taut, succulent globes of his butt. They are the thighs of a gladiator and when he lowers my mouth to his swollen cock, I cup my hands to their bulk. I feel safe there, Charlie guiding my head back and forth, me clasping the power of those almighty thighs.

  He sweeps back a lock of my hair, hooking it behind one ear. “Good girl,” he says affectionately. I keep on sucking, gratified by his groans of pleasure. He never plays it cool, does Charlie. He likes to enjoy himself and revels in how willingly I provide for his needs.

  “I’m doing this for you, you know that?” he says. Again, so gentle, so caring. I don’t trust his tone one jot. I say nothing. My mouth’s kinda full. Charlie squeezes his fist in my hair. “You know that?” he repeats, more demanding this time. I mumble an affirmative, nodding on his cock. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

  From the corner of my eye, I see them moving to gather around us in a ragged half-circle. Some of them are naked, fists slipping idly on their eager cocks. It’s not easy to tell who’s who. All I can say with any certainty is that these men, while not very organized about it, are forming a queue.

  Charlie’s tone changes as he addresses the room: clear, confident although not particularly loud. He knows they’re all listening. He commands attention effortlessly. “Who’s first?” he asks.

  I moan around his cock. At my centre, I am simultaneously insubstantial and fleshy, a cavernous ache and a hard, thudding pulse. I break from Charlie and glance over my shoulder. It’s the scruffy blond, Mr I-Will-Fuck-You-About. Charlie draws me back to him, filling my mouth again. “It doesn’t matter who it is,” he says, calm and self-assured. “Just keep sucking.”

  I’m not quite wet and ready enough. The blond’s cock is blunt at my entrance. He nudges at my flesh, presses and pushes until he finds the right angle, then he slides into my tightness. His fucking shunts me onto Charlie’s cock and, soon enough, we get a rhythm going where I’m swaying between them both, and where deep in my cunt means deep in my throat.

  “You like that?” asks Charlie.

  It’s a rhetorical question.

  Blondie grips my ass, pounding hard, making me wet, and when his grunts grow more urgent I remember how red his face turned when he came, how the sinews in his neck stood out. He withdraws when he’s finished and slaps one buttock, a satisfied customer. I’m empty for a few seconds before someone else takes his place, slotting home and slamming fast. I am soaked. Charlie slips out of my mouth and drops down to my level. He tucks his fingers under my chin, lifting me so I look at him, eye to eye. I gasp and groan while the guy behind me comes too quickly, apologizing with a laugh.

  Charlie’s gaze is still fixed on mine. Another guy fills me, slowly this time, resting his thick length inside me, nudging and teasing until I can’t bear it any longer. “Please,” I gasp, half at Charlie, half at the ceiling. “Please fuck me, please fuck me hard.” The man doesn’t, of course, not until he’s gotten his rocks off on me begging for it.

  Charlie strokes hair from my damp face. “That’s right,” he says, “ask them nicely.”

  I start to lose count around six or seven. It doesn’t seem much, I know, but either someone pulls out and re-penetrates or the changeover is fast and I’m suddenly confused. Also, my concentration is shot. I am too fucked to count. I barely know my own name. I try to recall it and for a moment I think I’m Charlie, Charlie King. But no, I’m Ruby, aren’t I? I’m Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.

  I think he’s calling for me, I hear his voice. Ruby! Oh, but his lips don’t move and as if Charlie would call for me. As if!

  Ruby in the sky with diamonds. That’s what he used to say.

  Or Ruby Red, on account of my red hair. Sometimes, I was simply Red.

  Ruby!

  I’m on all fours and my arms are growing weak. I want to sink forward but Charlie holds me steady. At some point, he clasps my cheek to his belly, caressing my head as another guy drives into me. “Shhh,” he says, “there, there.”

  Some finish fast while others linger. I can’t be sure but I think my long-term exes and the two women sit it out. Strangely, in all of this, it feels as if Charlie is the one fucking me. He whispers in my ear, “We’re going to keep going till you’re exhausted, OK?”

  I manage to nod.

  “Who do you belong to?” asks Charlie.

  My voice is made of ashes. “You,” I say, “always you.”

  The final two guys penetrate my ass because Charlie tells them they can. I cry out. I am so high and lost. I feel there’s nothing left of me but something is waiting, a place untouched, a shadow in the corner of a shadow. And here’s Charlie, ready to find me in those shadows.

  He flips me over and pushes my legs back. He sinks into my cunt, slow and controlled. I think his cock must be solid gold because somehow he is more to me than all the guys who went before him. He is harder, thicker, deeper, and with every thrust, he reclaims me. His eyes are locked on mine, watching how I melt beneath him.

  Soon, there’s only me and him, and I’m not even sure of the difference any more. My boundaries have gone. Whatever I used to have – my self, my soul, my psyche – is spreading beyond me into galaxies unknown. Then, for a single, pure point of impossible flight, the white light burns and I vanish.

  I’m nowhere, existing only as ecstasy, transcendence. I am bigger than all the heavens and I’m coming so hard.

  “Hush,” says Charlie. “Everything’s fine, take it easy.”

  He’s holding my hand, looking down at me, his brow pinched with concern. His collar is open, tie askew. His dark eyes are black holes, my event horizon.

  I try to smile but I can’t find my face.

  “Hello, Ruby. We thought we’d lost you back there,” says another voice. A woman, brisk, efficient, cheerful. A nurse.

  Oh, I’m in hospital, of course I am. Charlie’s chopped my legs off. No, don’t be stupid, he likes your legs, likes that you have them. The curtain around the bed is the same royal blue as the carpets in an office where I once worked. The reality of dying is so prosaic. I hate those fucking curtains. But I’m not here to die, no, I’m too young. I struggle to remember, then it comes to me, sharp as sanity: a routine operation on my Achille’s tendon. Yawn.

  Why all the fuss? Why’s Charlie here? Do we have a date?

  “They called me,” he says, although I haven’t asked. “There were complications.”

  Yeah, that’s you and me all over, Charlie. Facebook status: It’s complicated.

  The nurse leans into view. “Your heart melted,” she says, smiling. “We’ve stabilized it now so no need to fret. You still have some leakage around the left ventricle. Could be permanent but it shouldn’t interfere with your quality of life. You need to take it easy for a while.” She laughs merrily. “And since your leg’s in plaster, you haven’t got much choice!”

  Charlie smiles. He looks beat, so tired. “At last,” he whispers. “I caught you. I netted the wind.” He gives my hand a squeeze, warm, reassuring and on the edge of painful.

  I’m tired too. My head sinks into my pillow and everything becomes clear: I am Ruby, full of my own life, a jewel shining brightly, and fit for my king.

  Saturnalia

  Vivienne LaFay

  XLVI BC

  It was December the nineteenth, the Feast of Saturnalia, but Tullus Octavius was helping to fortify the boundaries of the Roman Empire against barbarians. Back in the capital it was a time of licence, when a carnival atmosphere would prevail with excess of feasting, drinking and sexual pleasure. But most of all it was a time
when the natural order of things was reversed: masters became slaves and slaves became masters.

  Tullus’s wife, Claudia, knew what would befall her as mistress of the house. While her husband was there to protect her, Claudia had never minded the boisterous antics that the slaves got up to, taking it all in good part. She had watched her husband go through the rituals many times, but this time she would have to manage alone. There would be much horseplay and mockery, but she was confident that the slaves would not go too far out of respect for her.

  As the winter evening drew in, the whole household was assembled in the hall for the lottery to take place. Claudia sat with her son, Gaius, and daughter, Virginia, on a dais but soon she would have to give up her seat to one lucky slave. She held a bag containing many white beans and just one black bean. Each slave must draw a bean. The one who drew the black bean would be crowned king and his word would become law in the household, his temporary power usurping that of master or mistress.

  As the fourteen slaves filed past to take their chance Claudia smiled at each and mostly they returned roguish grins, already savouring the pranks to come. But then came the turn of Darius, the Persian, and Claudia felt her heart race with unexpected fear. What if this man should draw the black bean, what then? The prospect filled her with dread.

  He drew near and his dark eyes met hers. They bore a sardonic expression, as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind, knew how devastated she would be if he became the one with power over her, the one whose bidding she must obey without question, the Lord of Misrule. Of all the slaves his nature was the most proud and rebellious, and on several occasions Claudia had found it necessary to have him whipped. Once, she had even given him six strokes of the birch herself.

  It had happened when she caught him in the bedroom of her daughter, Virginia, who was thirteen years old. No male slave was allowed in her quarters, and although he had sworn that he had only entered at the young lady’s request to remove a poisonous snake from her room Claudia had felt it necessary to punish him. Virginia was young and vulnerable, promised to a Roman senator of good family and due to wed him in a year’s time. However, if there was any question about her purity the alliance would not take place.

  Darius, on the other hand, was a male stud of extraordinary strength and beauty, who was known to have sired several children while he worked as an attendant at the public baths. Virginia’s reputation was not safe while he felt free to enter her room on such a pretext, so he had to be prevented from doing so ever again.

  Claudia had not been able to call upon Tullus to administer punishment since he was away from home, so she’d decided to make an example of him herself. After assembling the entire household in the courtyard, she had forced him to strip and be tied up by a fellow slave. Seeing his magnificent body fully exposed she had felt an unexpected heat in her loins, but she had remained in control of herself and delivered the strokes with a steady hand. He had not once flinched from the rod. Lashed to the whipping post, his muscled back and shoulders had taken the worst of the beating, but she had struck him across the buttocks once, the taut globes marked by a red stripe that made her feel somewhat ashamed of what she had done.

  When the other slave untied him at the end of the chastisement, Claudia had given an involuntary gasp. She couldn’t help noticing that he had a full erection. His penis was large and well formed, the huge balls hanging heavily beneath, and after catching his eye Claudia had blushed deeply. An amused smile had flitted across his face, giving her the extraordinary impression that it was she who had received the public shaming, not him. The memory of that moment returned to haunt her now as she saw that same sardonic smile on his darkly handsome face.

  There were not many beans left in the bag so the odds were shortened. Claudia held her breath as he plunged his hand in, making its cord tug at her wrist, and her heart fluttered wildly like a bird caught in a net. Slowly he drew out his chosen bean and held it up for all to see. Claudia’s heart plummeted, now more like a bird brought to earth with a slingshot. He had the black bean. He would be crowned King of the Saturnalia. His word would be law in the Octavian household. A dreadful panic seized her and she wanted to cry out, “No, not him! Anyone but him!” But the entire company of slaves was cheering and shouting with glee and Claudia knew that there was nothing she could do to change Fate.

  Slowly she stepped down from the dais with her two children, allowing him to take her seat and be crowned king. She watched nervously as the gaudy crown was placed on his head, a red cloak draped around his shoulders and a makeshift sceptre placed in his hand.

  “All hail!” cried the slaves in unison. “All hail to King Saturn, the Lord of Misrule!”

  They turned aggressively on Claudia and her children, forcing them to kneel before their new “master”. Normally she would have done this with good grace, laughing as if at a comic play, but this time it felt different. The slave’s dark eyes were boring into her with fierce intensity, making her feel decidedly uncomfortable. She held the hands of Gaius and Virginia tightly as they knelt in mock fealty beside her.

  “What is your will, your majesty?” cried the crowd, full of jocular spirit.

  Darius got to his feet, drawing himself up to his full majestic height. “Let there be feasting!” he declared. “And may the lady of the house and her two offspring wait upon us with due humility. Today the slaves rule, and those who were once set above us must now bow to our command!”

  So far, so good, Claudia thought. This was the custom, and only to be expected. She led the children to the kitchen where they were to collect the bowls of ready-prepared food and carry them into the dining hall. Both Gaius and Virginia thought it all a huge joke. They looked forward to this time and playing the role of humble slave with exaggerated manners.

  At first the evening went as expected. Claudia was kept busy rushing from slave to slave, serving food and wine, while there were many ribald jokes of a kind that they would never have dared to make while the master was in charge. As the wine flowed free, some even dared to suggest that “while the master was away the mistress might play”. They began teasing her, suggesting that she might be having an affair with the oldest and ugliest of the slaves.

  Claudia tried to take it in good part but she was aware of Darius’s gaze upon her the whole while, watching her with an arrogant grin on his face that made her blood run cold. She was sure that he had some scheme up his sleeve, some act of vengeance that would give him satisfaction for the way she had publicly humiliated him.

  To make matters worse, whenever Virginia came near he would reach out for her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards him, trying to get her to promise to marry him instead of Quintus Publius. She giggled, thinking it a huge joke, but Claudia knew what was behind it and her anxiety increased. Maybe she should insist on her daughter spending the night on a couch in her room, just to be on the safe side. She didn’t trust Darius at the best of times, and now he was even more dangerous.

  The revels grew even more loud and bawdy, with some of the slaves daring to paw at Claudia herself. She tried her best to enter into the spirit of things, to slap them down with a wry comment, but her heart wasn’t in it. If only someone else had drawn the black bean, she couldn’t help thinking, but it was no use. What couldn’t be cured must be endured.

  “The King rises!” someone shouted. Everyone looked towards the high table, where Darius was waiting for silence.

  “Honoured guests and humble slaves,” he began, nodding first to the slaves then to Claudia and her children. Everyone hooted with laughter. “I think it is time for some entertainment. Shall we invite the lovely Claudia to dance for us?”

  Claudia froze with horror. It would be such an indignity for a high-born Roman matron to behave like a common dancing girl, but the slaves were responding enthusiastically, clapping and encouraging her, so she could hardly refuse. To decline to carry out an order at Saturnalia was considered an affront to the upstart slaves, and if
things got out of hand they could insist that she be punished. She would not give Darius that excuse.

  “Very well,” she replied, forcing a smile.

  “You are not dressed for dancing,” the “King” commented. “Sofia, take the slave away and find herself something more fitting to wear.”

  The girl came up with a broad grin, evidently delighted at the chance to deck her mistress out in something quite inappropriate to her real station in life. As they walked towards the slave quarters Claudia pleaded, “Do not make me look a laughing stock, I beg of you.”

  But Sofia, who had suffered many harsh criticisms from her mistress, only grinned.

  “Take off your stola and palla,” she told her, the minute they were in the room she shared with three other slaves. “I have something in mind that might do.”

  Claudia removed her fine embroidered robe and silk shawl with great reluctance. When she stood in just her breastband and loincloth the girl looked at her critically. “I think you should remove them too,” she said. “Men like to glimpse a woman’s figure when she’s dancing.”

  Claudia was secretly horrified but to protest would be to risk exposure before the entire company of slaves. She wondered what Tullus would say when he returned if he discovered that his wife had been shamed or punished for being a spoilsport. He would never understand her feelings and, relying on hearsay, would be obliged to think the worst of his wife.

  “Very well,” she murmured.

  “Say, ‘Very well, mistress!’ or I shall slap you!” Sofia insisted.

  Knowing the girl would not hesitate to deliver what she threatened, Claudia did as she was told and then stripped naked. Sofia gazed at her body with frank curiosity, noting every blemish, every wrinkle. Claudia felt like a slave at a street-corner auction, and her shame deepened.

  “Now put this on.”

  Sofia handed her a mere scrap of a garment in gauzy purple silk. When Claudia held it up and examined it she laughed in scorn. “I can’t possibly wear this. It would show everything I’ve got!”