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

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  He grabbed her arm and rushed her across the open space to a place where concrete slabs were piled high. As she tried to keep up with his long steps, she wondered if it was wise to follow a Soviet soldier she knew nothing about, with no one else to turn to and nobody in her unit knowing where she was. And yet, this was more a curious feeling than real fear.

  At one side of the piled slabs stood a small stand where cigarette stubs swam in big pools of rainwater. He dragged her behind it to a narrow passageway where the stand’s roof met the stacked slabs. It was dry, and the cement had even stored some of the day’s heat.

  Annie leaned against the back of the shelter and panted. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  He returned the smile. After some moments, he pointed to his chest. “Sergei.”

  Her smile became bigger. “I’m Annie.”

  He nodded formally, and she couldn’t help but find him incredibly endearing.

  Now, no longer running or concentrating on her way, she became aware of how the water had crept into every layer of her clothing and how chilly she was growing. Sergei tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Then, he took off the raincoat he was wearing. He folded it, carefully laid it on the floor and took off his jacket as well. Another thunderbolt lightened the darkness for a few seconds, and she could see that he had not been affected much by the rain apart from a few dark patches on his shoulders. He made a step towards her and motioned her to take off her jacket. She could feel his eyes on her face as she unbuttoned it, and it made the blood rush to her cheeks. Her fingers trembled, and she fumbled with the buttons. He waited patiently, then took the damp cord suit from her hands and placed it on top of his coat. As he reached around her to put his jacket over her shoulders, she could smell his body and the rain on it. In the mingling scents of wet cord, gabardine, rain-soaked mud and his soap, she felt strangely comforted and safe. He closed the top button of the jacket, and Annie could feel the goose bumps vanishing from her cold skin.

  “Thank you,” she said once more and cleared her throat as she heard her own voice croaky and strange.

  “Spahseeba,” he said, and his breath touched her face. It tasted of tea and some fruit, dark and sweet.

  “Spahseeba?”

  “Thank you. Russki.”

  “Oh.” She blushed and tugged the coat a bit closer around her. He didn’t retreat; instead, he propped one of his huge hands against the wall and continued to watch her.

  Annie raised her head a bit and looked directly into his face. “Spahseeba,” she whispered, and the next moment, the fruity smell of his breath touched her lips, followed by his warm mouth on hers. Another flash of light streaked through the passageway and by the time the thunder roared, he had pressed her against the shelter’s wall. She grabbed his arms, and they felt just as strong as she’d imagined they would.

  He lifted her up a little while he kissed her and, for a moment, she could feel how excited he was through her skirt and his uniform slacks. They broke the kiss, both catching their breath, and even in the shadows she could see the quizzical look on his face.

  She bit her bottom lip and took off his cap. His hands didn’t let go of her waist, and they radiated warmth to her skin even through her damp shirt. He stood completely still, and her heart turned towards him.

  She ran her fingers through the blond hair and down his temple. His skin felt soft from the rain. When he didn’t show any reaction, she moved the tip of her finger to trace the shape of his lips. He opened them, and she ran her fingers farther down his chin, over his neck, to the hollow above his collarbone. She pressed herself a little closer against him and placed a kiss on his mouth.

  The force with which he answered and deepened her kiss left no doubt that he had just been waiting for her cue. The tenderness of his hands as they crept underneath her shirt to explore her skin revealed that it hadn’t been a lack of experience or shyness holding him back. A shiver ran through her body as his rough fingers ran down her spine and trailed the rim of her skirt. Their touch felt so warm, and when his fingernail grazed her hips and traced the line of her curves up to her arms, she moaned softly into his mouth.

  He smiled against her lips and next thing she knew, his hand was cupping her breast and caressing it so givingly, it made her forget about the bra that lay between his skin and hers.

  Another flash crashed down from above, and she noticed that it took a while until the thunder followed. The rain was still pouring, but she couldn’t help feeling anxious – anxious that the workers would return, anxious that someone might catch them red-handed. She fumbled with the buttons of his pants, and he stepped back a bit. While she opened his slacks, he watched her face, his gaze unwavering.

  “U teebiya krahseeviyeh glahza,” he muttered. The admiration in his eyes told her something about the meaning of the mysterious words, and when his thumb ran over her brow and down her cheek, she assumed he had made a compliment about her looks.

  She gave him a smile, and the high that rushed through her body at the thought of what she was about to do thrilled her. She found her way into his shorts and fondled his wiry curls. It aroused her almost as much as it did him. So much time had passed since she had last felt a man’s touch, and it was even more special now because he was making her feel simply good. His cock bobbed against her hand, and she curled her fingers around it. He closed his eyes and groaned. Very softly, she began stroking him up and down, and he let her do as she pleased for some moments. Then, with the next rumble that rolled through the skies, Annie found herself pinned against the walls of the shelter. Maybe he was realizing that the thunderstorm wouldn’t last much longer; maybe her caress had become too much.

  Maybe he had wanted her all along.

  He shoved up her skirt and yanked down her panties. A strangled moan escaped his lips as his fingers stroked her pussy, and the surprise she thought she heard left her embarrassed at the moist sensation he must certainly be feeling, a dead giveaway of how turned on she was. She lowered her gaze. Sergei lifted up her chin. The look in his eyes was sincere, and the kiss he gave her made her abandon any feelings of shame.

  He took the hand that was still rubbing his cock and put it around his neck. He held her tight as he entered her, very carefully, but when she responded to his first deliberate strokes, he grew more daring. Her fingers dug into his shoulder and a surge of warmth flooded her body as he completely abandoned his restraint. Annie buried her face in his chest as he rocked her with heavy thrusts; locked in his embrace, she let him carry her away.

  Their moans mixed with the sound of raindrops tumbling on the roof and the hauling of the wind around their retreat. A bolt of light flashed through the clouds and as the thunder died in the distance, they leaned against each other, gasping. Her head resting against Sergei’s heaving chest, Annie drank in his scent.

  He didn’t break away immediately, but rocked her a little bit back and forth in his arms, as if he were dancing to a tune playing in his head.

  “Sergei . . .” she whispered, and he smiled. He placed two fingers on her mouth, then moved them to his mouth and kissed the tips that had just touched her lips.

  After he had redone his clothes, he bent down and picked up her jacket. In a silent gesture, he held it out to her, but instead of taking it, she wrapped her arms around him and remained in his embrace until the rain’s intensity was no more than a soft thrum on the roof.

  “If I stay for much longer, I won’t be able to leave,” she whispered, and she knew he understood because his arms held her even tighter, and he buried his face in her hair.

  She took her jacket from his hands, removed his coat and reached around him to drape it around his shoulders. “Spahseeba,” she whispered and quickly kissed him.

  She hopped through the muddy pools back to her command post, not noticing the water that splashed across her legs or how the construction site was once again filling up with workers. Only when she reached the security booth did she throw a quick glance back.

 
Her watch would be forever gone. But she had found something else while searching for it.

  A few days later, as she was on her way out of the office, Annie passed a group of fellow soldiers from her unit talking about the Russian troops. She bent over the water fountain to listen.

  “I heard it is some sick sort of sport to them, like a . . . a hunt,” she overheard one of the women saying.

  “And afterwards, they brag about how they seduced the enemy,” another woman said.

  Annie choked on the water she was about to swallow and ran towards the bathrooms where she threw up. Panting, she looked at her face in the mirror. Her eyes had a reddish brim, and she hadn’t looked that pale in a long time.

  Whatever Sergei had complimented her on, he surely would change his mind if he saw her like this.

  So maybe he was one of those? No, he couldn’t be. He had treated her with such respect and consideration. She rinsed her mouth to get rid of the sickening taste.

  But he hadn’t really hesitated to sleep with her. And he had seemed experienced.

  The doubts didn’t leave her all day, and they continued to haunt her deep into the night.

  By lunch break the next day, she had decided she would take the risk of climbing up the watchtower again. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see or if it even mattered at all.

  She saluted the guard on duty and, when he didn’t pay her much attention, rushed past him towards the side of the tower facing the border.

  There he was – Sergei, standing in a group of soldiers patrolling the construction site. She watched him turn to a private and strike up a chat. Something the private said must have been funny because soon Sergei was laughing. As she watched his open mouth, she remembered the sound of his laughter, deep and genuine. The other soldier walked away, and Sergei turned his head towards where she was standing. For some reason, she had the feeling it wasn’t the first time he had peeked over to the US watchtower.

  He squinted and stood completely still.

  With bated breath, she watched him cast a quick glance at his surroundings before looking back right at her. His face crinkled into a broad smile and for the blink of a second, he tipped his hat.

  In the bright midday sun, she beamed back at him.

  What Vacations Are For

  Thomas S. Roche

  As she looked at the famous bridge illuminated in its breathtaking journey across the rocky mouth of the bay, Heather felt Clint’s hand sliding up her thigh.

  “Darling,” she said. Her voice was musical – flirty but a little reluctant. “What are you doing?”

  “Not a thing,” he answered, his voice dark, his mouth close to her ear. “Not a damn thing, remember? I’m on vacation.”

  His arms were around her, clutching her close, and his big hand was firm and hard and knew what it was doing. Before she realized what was happening, it was thrust between her legs, rubbing her pussy through her very tight jeans. They were stretchy, made of very thin fabric; they, together with the flimsy excuse for panties she was wearing, didn’t make much of a barrier against her husband’s insistent fondle.

  Clint stroked her sex through her jeans. Heather’s clit surged. He started rubbing her rhythmically and Heather gasped.

  She whined, “Clint, baby, you shouldn’t . . . people might see us.”

  “I’m counting on it,” growled her husband into her ear, his breath all to against her skin.

  “You wanna get arrested?” Heather snarked with a nervous purr.

  “If that’s what it comes to,” said Clint. “Hey, what are vacations for?”

  He pressed in harder and Heather whimpered, involuntarily rubbing her ass against his cock. He was wearing a coat, so she couldn’t feel it, but she knew he was hard, or getting there. She tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go; he had her pinned against the railing, which was how he liked it. And to be fair, Heather really didn’t try very hard.

  “Clint!” Heather gulped, trying not to pivot her hips and rub her pussy against his hand. She reached back and tried to push on him, but he wasn’t budging. “People will see. And besides, I’m cold . . .”

  She definitely was; she hadn’t worn a jacket, thinking, It’s California in August. How cold can it be?

  The answer was “very cold.” Heather was shivering before she even got a decent look at that fucking pompous bridge. Her nipples jutted painfully through her light sweater – and that was before her husband shoved his hand between her legs. The wind felt like it was biting into her flesh, and Heather’s teeth were practically chattering.

  “Honey, I’m cold,” she repeated.

  “So I’ll make you hot,” said Clint. Then he did something nasty. He seemed to have planned this part. He took his hand from between his wife’s legs. He reached up and seized her wrists – both of them, all at once. He had something in his hand – something hard and firm and metal, with a short chain that rattled.

  Before Heather knew what was happening, her husband had snapped the handcuffs around her wrists and handcuffed her to the railing.

  Clint knew how to handcuff a girl with terrifying efficiency – a thing Heather found out with some regularity, though only occasionally in public. Heather squealed and tried to get away, but there was nothing for it. With an easy, smooth gesture, Clint unbuttoned his overcoat and pulled it around her and shoved the edges into her hands. Clint’s overcoat was big on him, and his slender wife fit easily inside it. She clutched her hands to the railing with the ends of the coat gripped tightly – and her body temperature began to rise.

  “Warmed up yet, baby?”

  Heather spat bitterly, “No! I’m still fucking cold. And if you think I’m going to—”

  That’s when all of it stopped – her protests, and the world.

  It was eleven o’clock at night, and the observation deck was practically empty because of the wind and the cold. But Heather knew that only made Clint’s dirty mind work overtime. And as cold as she was, she knew she’d give in – like she always gave in when he pulled this shit. She knew she needed to give in, and Clint knew it, too – maybe more than Heather knew it herself.

  He did something to her, then. He did the one thing he knew would make her stop protesting and want it so bad she couldn’t control herself.

  He knew how to make her forget all human language; with his hands and his lips, he knew just where to touch her. Even when she got scared and embarrassed, she could never remember what the fuck she was supposed to do if she got too scared and embarrassed.

  And she liked it that way. She liked the way he made her brain go all fuzzy – made her pre-verbal when he did those things . . . right here in public.

  He did “those things” now – three of them all at once. He undid her belt with the skill of an expert. He put his hand in her hair and gripped it lightly, tipping her head forward, making her feel all submissive.

  And, perhaps most importantly, he kissed her on that spot – the spot that made her crazy. He did it gently at first with tongue and teeth barely grazing her flesh . . . and then harder as she surged and writhed against him.

  That spot was the place on the back of Heather’s neck that only her husband could find. Other men had tried – both before and since the wedding, the latter inspiring many fights and a series of tearful apologies on her part.

  That was all before she realized there was no man on Earth who was ever going to find that spot with the virulent ease with which her husband did it; the guys who had tried had proven disappointments. Clint knew how to find that spot, wake it up, bring it to the point where her mind and her body were totally incapable of functioning in any capacity that didn’t involve getting fucked very hard from behind, and maybe spanked and tied up for good measure.

  Now, his hands were quite busy – one was unzipping her very tight jeans; the other was gripping her hair to keep her head in just the right position to expose what he wanted. So it was Clint’s perfect mouth, with his full strong lips and his wet, surging
tongue, that awakened her spot – packing a year’s worth of lovemaking into a soft slow slurp across the back of her neck, his tongue caressing his flesh between gentle bites . . . and sometimes harder ones.

  Heather’s mind spun. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She tried not to moan. She moaned anyway.

  Heather gripped the railing as Clint pulled her tight jeans halfway down her thighs, exposing her sex.

  Her legs were not quite together, but not quite apart. With a pair of smooth hard kicks, he nudged them open wider so he could get at her more easily. Heather barely knew what was happening as he forcibly spread her legs; she was simply in heaven. He drove her crazy with his mouth – expanding the “spot” by working his lips and his tongue from the spar between her shoulders to the soft spot between her spine and her jaw. She was reeling.

  Then Clint’s hand went up into her slit, and Heather’s mouth dropped open. She shuddered and gasped out a cry of desperate pleasure into the wind.

  She could feel the frigid air pouring off the ocean and hitting the back of her throat. As she rode her husband’s fingers, Heather felt pinned between her man and the ocean, his glorious right hand and his gorgeous, cruel mouth. Clint’s left hand was out of its sleeve now; only her husband’s broad shoulders and Heather’s grip on the railing kept the coat in place now. He reached between them and unzipped his pants. His cock came out; Heather felt it against her bare, smooth ass, trailing smears of pre-cum that seemed alternately sticky and slick, warm and chilled.

  Then she was lost in sensation again, as her husband’s big left hand slid easily up under Heather’s snug sweater and down into the cups of her bra. He took hold of her nipples one at a time and pinched and rolled them. Sensation flooded Heather’s body. She loved it when he did that. She loved it even more when he did that with his other hand on her clit, his mouth on the back of her neck and his hard cock rubbing up insistently between her smooth ass cheeks.