Fred glanced at Nancy’s email and shook his head. “Puppy-cam again? Great, that’s just what I need, Nancy. To sit here and watch a bunch of stupid mutts frolic in green pastures while I’m locked in this hellhole!”
He was about to summarily delete the email when he took a closer look at the title.
“Pussy-cam?!”
Okay, that was weird, especially coming from Nancy. Fred spotted the attachment icon on the email and chewed his lower lip. The title was just too salacious for dear, sweet Nancy. Had she inadvertently sent him a virus? Fred grimaced. Yeah, he and probably everybody else in the company had just been gifted with some nasty computerized disease that would wipe their hard drives and drag the company to a complete halt for the next several days. Fun. The last virus that had made the rounds through Corporate Sales was the reason IT had clamped down with the new firewall and the anti-viral software and sucked all the fun out of Fred’s workday.
“Pussy-cam . . .” Fred muttered to himself. What on earth had Nancy sent him? His finger hovered over the mouse button, indecisive. Either something had breached that massive firewall and infected Nancy’s computer with something truly nasty, possibly pornographic even, or she was sending out a link to some stupid video of kittens frolicking in the green field, in lieu of the usual insipid puppies. If it was the latter, it would be harmless drivel. If it was the former . . .
He should contact IT, he knew. But Fred couldn’t help it. He clicked on the email. He simply couldn’t resist a title like “pussy-cam”. Besides, if anybody screamed at him for watching porn at work, he could always play innocent and blame Nancy for sending it to him.
“But I thought it was kittens!” he play-acted as the email opened up.
Oh, it was most definitely not kittens. Fred frowned as the email started up the video player on his computer. Instead of looking at fuzzy felines bouncing around on the screen, or naked girls showing off their nether regions, Fred found himself staring at a video of Nancy seated at her desk.
“What the hell . . .”
The pretty blonde from Accounting had a glazed look in her eyes, and her face appeared very flush, feverish even. Was she ill? No, that wasn’t it. Something else was going on, Fred decided. He watched her nibble on a well-chewed pencil, her plump lips working the end in a matter that Fred found vaguely disconcerting. The eraser slid in and out of Nancy’s mouth, in and out in slow gliding strokes, almost like she was giving it a . . .
Whoa! Fred jerked back, tearing his eyes away from the screen. No way in hell! Nancy was not giving the pencil a blow job. Not Nancy; dear, sweet, innocent Nancy who sent out emails about recipes for friendship and why you should hug your neighbour today. But when Fred looked back, Nancy didn’t look so innocent anymore. No, not innocent at all.
Nancy sighed suddenly and leaned back in her chair. The pencil dropped to the floor, forgotten in favour of the buttons on Nancy’s blouse. Her hands drifted to the little pearl dots at her neck, unfastened each one in a slow, teasing manner. All the while, Nancy continued to sigh and shift in her chair. Fred’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when she pulled open the silky fabric of her top to reveal a lacy white bra.
“Oh my God . . .”
Nancy undid the rest of the buttons, her hands moving more quickly now. She’d begun to squirm in her chair. Her eyes still had that glazed look, and her gaze appeared to be fixed somewhere just below the camera’s point of view. She was watching her computer screen, Fred realized. Watching it while the webcam on top watched her.
Nancy’s breasts began to heave. One lazy hand reached up to stroke the cups of her bra. She teased a finger along the lacy edges, slowly pulling them down until with a gasp she released one nipple from its confines. Fred looked at that hard, tight knot of flesh and groaned.
While Nancy fondled her exposed nipple with one hand, her other hand slipped down below the desk. A moment later, she pushed her chair back, and Fred saw what that other hand was doing. It had slipped under the hem of Nancy’s skirt and was slowly pulling the shiny grey cotton-poly blend up her thighs. Nancy wriggled in her chair, allowing the fabric to ride higher and higher up her long legs until the whole thing was bunched around her waist and Fred could see her white cotton panties beneath her taupe-coloured pantyhose.
By now, Fred was leaning back in his own creaking desk chair. He should report this to someone now – IT, his supervisor – but he couldn’t bring himself to look away long enough to tell anyone.
Instead, he leaned forward to switch the speakers on his computer from mute to full audio so he could hear Nancy as well as watch her.
The sounds that came from Fred’s computer were astonishing. Nancy’s voice had never sounded like anything but an extremely perky Chihuahua to him. Now he heard her growl and groan like a bitch in heat, gasping and moaning as she tore open the crotch of her pantyhose with a long, pink fingernail. The hand at her breast had worked both nipples free of her bra by now and alternated between pinching one then the other. As her pantyhose ripped all the way up the seam to the waistband, Nancy set about sliding her fingers into her panties, pulling aside the crotch to give Fred a peek at the dark curls of her pubic hair.
Fred bit his fist. When Nancy pulled the white cotton aside to expose her pussy, he couldn’t help himself. He unbuckled his belt and slid his own hand down the waistband of his pleated khakis. The more Nancy revealed of her most intimate parts, the more Fred tugged at his fly until he sat at his desk, dick in hand, stroking himself while Nancy fingered her swollen clit. “Oh sweet Jesus,” he muttered when she slipped a finger inside herself. Pussy-cam indeed.
By now Nancy was moaning and writhing in her chair, legs spread wide, fingertips twisting her nipples to a dark shade of pink. Just when Fred thought she might be about to come, right there on his computer screen, someone walked into Nancy’s cubicle, interrupting her.
“Nancy Simmons, what on earth are you doing?” a sharp voice demanded.
Fred winced as Thelma Black walked into view. The dark-haired manager was head of Accounting, Nancy’s boss. She glared at her half-naked employee who still sat with legs splayed, fingers sliding in and out of her wet snatch.
“I . . . I . . .” Nancy began, blushing and stuttering, but she still didn’t stop what she was doing.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, young lady?” Thelma asked.
When Nancy shook her head no, Thelma gave a grim smile.
“Get out of that chair and onto your knees, you slut! I’m not letting you screw around at your desk until you’ve taken care of a thing or two for me!”
Trembling, Nancy did as she was told. Thelma took her place in the chair, hiked up her own skirt and parted her thighs. Unlike Nancy, Fred noticed, Thelma did not wear cotton panties beneath her clothes. She wore garters and stockings and nothing else at all.
“Get to it,” she snapped at Nancy, and to Fred’s amazement, Nancy leaned forward and began to lap at Thelma’s snatch.
Pretty soon, Thelma was writhing and moaning in Nancy’s chair. She wrapped her fingers in Nancy’s long blonde hair and pushed the other woman’s face deep into her cunt. Fred jerked off furiously, unable to control his own groaning as Thelma came screaming at Nancy’s desk.
When she was done, she pulled Nancy into her lap and fingered the other woman while nipping at her breasts. Pretty soon Nancy was crying Thelma’s name over and over as she came in her supervisor’s hands.
The action on screen kept going. Fred came once, twice, three times all over his keyboard and still couldn’t stop jerking off. By now his pants were around his ankles. His shirt was torn wide open. He reached into his desk drawer, felt far back behind the stapler and the paperclips and other detritus of his boring job and fished out a bullet-shaped silver device. With the flick of a button, he set the vibrator humming and pressed it to his balls.
“Linderman?”
A voice from behind Fred startled him. His supervisor, Art Goldwaite, entered the cubicle. “Lin
derman, what the hell are you doing?”
But Fred couldn’t answer, and he couldn’t stop. He came again, in front of his boss, who in return chewed on his lower lip a moment before undoing his own fly and getting down on his knees before Fred.
“About that promotion you wanted . . .” his supervisor began.
In the IT room, two floors away, Dave sat at his desk, bored out of his skull. Ever since installing the new firewall and anti-viral software, he’d had nothing to do. Not a single repair or upgrade on any of the company’s computers in the last two months. It had been a relief at first. The computers used to go haywire all the time, almost as if they had a mind of their own. The server for Accounting would transfer funds to Inventory without anyone requesting it. The server for Corporate Sales tried three times to order new hardware “by itself”. It had been one hell of a virus causing all those computers to act up like that, but he had finally beaten it into submission. That was his job, after all. Too bad he’d done it a little too well.
Dave sat back in his chair and sighed. It was strange, he thought. After so many months of misbehaving, the computers suddenly seemed to be taking care of themselves. The IT tech felt useless, redundant even, and would have given anything for something to do. He was daydreaming about looking for a new job when a sprightly “ding” on his email caused him to sit up, suddenly alert. Maybe it was Mark from Human Resources, finally sending out the joke of the day. Dave opened up the email, strangely titled “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” and frowned. The message opened his media player automatically, and he found himself looking at Fred Linderman from Corporate Sales, sitting at his desk, face flushed, fingers fiddling with the belt around his waist.
“What the hell . . .” Dave said.
Several minutes later, Dave succumbed to the latest computer virus to hit the company. The servers in the next room clicked and whirred and stored all the footage of Dave masturbating to a video of Fred masturbating to a video of Nancy masturbating to a video of Sue masturbating to a video of . . .
A message went out from the main server to all computers. “Stage one is complete,” the main server told its minions. “We have taken over the company at last. We will now begin stage two. Transmit all videos to our brothers and sisters outside the firewall. In three days, we will rule the world.”
Leopardess Wife
Debra Gray De Noux & O’Neil De Noux
Felicity
Standing in front of our bedroom’s full-length mirror, I take a look at myself in the costume I’d put together, a sly smile coming to my lips. Do I have the courage to wear this? I hope so.
It’s a leopard costume, flaps of faux leopard skin barely covering my oversized breasts with a matching miniskirt that’s way too short. Beneath I wear a sheer, flesh-coloured leotard. The slightest movement brings my breasts into view, the slightest dip shows my ass and, if I sit, my entire crotch is exposed, dark pubic hair clearly visible through the leotard. I take in a deep breath and walk out to model this for my husband, sitting in the living room.
Larry and I have talked about jazzing up our sex life for years. Although our sex life has been satisfying, we find ourselves talking late at night, in the dark, about experimenting, maybe even with another couple. I may be in my thirties, but there is a lot of life left in this gal, some wild life. And now, as I strut in my costume, I’m very happy we’ve been invited to a certain party at our friend Jay’s house.
We hadn’t seen Jay since his divorce and were surprised when he called and said he was having a “Cat Party” at his new house. He’d just moved into an uptown mansion with his new girlfriend, Alice. He said everyone was coming in a cat costume and there was an indoor pool.
Larry
As my wife models the leopard costume she put together, I get an immediate hard-on, envisioning her walking around in that very sheer body leotard covered by those dainty flaps of leopard skin. She laughs as I leer and asks me to look at her face.
“What do you think of the make-up?”
Her green eyes seem to jump out at me from the dark make-up of her face, striped like a leopardess with long whiskers. She walks in a slow circle, rolling her hips. I ask her to bend over and when she does, even slightly, I can see the crack of her fine ass. When she sits, I can see her bush clearly unless she crosses her legs.
A natural red-head, Felicity tells me how she plans to fluff out her hair in a mane for the party. I’m peeking at her red-headed bush as she uncrosses her legs and my cock throbs. She does this in public, I’m gonna cum on myself. Standing, Felicity bends at the waist again, the flaps covering her breast falling forward and I can see her pink areolas and pointed nipples easily through the sheer leotard. As I rub my crotch, she laughs again.
The next day I put my costume together, a furry lion mask I find at a costume store, to go with my black T-shirt and jeans. Enough to pass for a cat, but nothing like the show Felicity’s going to put on.
Felicity
I feel my heart stammering as the door is opened by Alice, her long brunette hair hanging down her back. She’s in a black, semi-sheer body suit, a black panther. She purrs as we enter and leads us through the big house, straight to the indoor pool. We pass a nude couple, both with cat ears and big smiles. I feel my face flush, although at my age I shouldn’t be embarrassed. There are many people in and out of the pool; I have a hard time focusing on everyone as we move to the bar where two young men are serving as waiters. I order a whiskey-sour and Larry his usual beer.
Jay climbs out of the pool in a tiger-skin jockstrap and walks up grinning. He stops a few feet away, put his fist on his hips and asks me to do a slow turn. Larry smiles eagerly as I hand him my drink and oblige, rolling my butt as I turn, catching the eye of several other men.
Another couple in matching tabby-cat outfits pull Jay away. Larry leans over and tells me I look good enough to eat. I must admit, I look good. My hair turned out nicer than I’d figured, all fluffed out like a mane.
I feel eyes leering at me and spot two young men, have to be in their twenties, both naked as they step up to the bar. Both are lean with plenty of muscles. I try not to stare at their cocks, but one is very well hung and the other isn’t so bad, especially as his cock starts to stiffen as he stares at me.
Larry notices me peeking and laughs, moving off as Jay introduces him to a nasty-looking brunette standing in the shallow end of the pool. She removes the top of her electric-blue bikini to let her breasts float free. Mine are bigger and my areolas are pink, not brownish.
Climbing up on a bar stool, I face my two admirers, leaving my legs uncrossed, watching them glance down at my crotch, knowing they’re staring at my bush through the sheer leotard. I smile when they look up at my face. The well-hung gentleman steps closer, tells me he’s Freddie and lightly fingers the leopard skin covering my breasts with a cute, “What’ve you got under there?”
His eyes light up when he lifts the folds and my breasts are exposed. He moves aside so his buddy can get a look. I laugh and finish my drink. Bright lights beam behind me and Jay’s there with a big video camera and lights. He announces it’s show time as my husband lifts the nasty brunette up on the bar. She stands and starts dancing slowly to music now coming from an entertainment centre beyond the bar.
Two other men break out video cameras and the show’s on. She’s not a bad dancer, rolling her hips around as the men start cheering, including Larry. Freddie gets me a second whiskey-sour. It doesn’t take long for the bikini bottom to come off and she’s naked up there.
By the time I finish my third whiskey-sour, I’m buzzing and everything looks golden, especially Freddie and his buddy whose name is Buddy, which makes me laugh uncontrollably. Suddenly Larry is there without his mask, whispering in my ear, nibbling my ear lobes, urging me to be the next one on atop the bar.
Before I can answer, Alice is up there doing her striptease. There are six video cameras now and I’m still sober enough to point that out to Larry. I go up there and those men will have
it all on film. Larry pulls my hand to his crotch and he’s as stiff as a brick.
“Your make-up hides your face, lady,” Larry reminds me. He’s right. I’m a leopard tonight, not Felicity. And I’m in heat!
If it’s what he wants. Who am I to argue? It’s his wife’s body.
Freddie helps me up on the bar when Alice climbs off. He cops a cheap feel of my ass, sending a wave of pleasure through me. I kick off my heels as Led Zeppelin starts up one of my favourites, “Kashmir”.
I start slowly, standing stiffly, moving in slow circles. Freddie, Buddy and Larry are up against the bar, looking up my skirt. I bend over and roll my ass at them. As the music rises, I start clawing the air. I’m a good dancer and they are all gaping now, so I reach back and pull off my top, tossing it to Larry.
My miniskirt is next and I ooch out of it slowly, push it down, bending my knees, poking my ass at the appreciative crowd. I drop the skirt on Freddie’s head. Dancing again, I hear them chanting for the leotard . . . leotard . . . leotard. “We want the leopard’s leotard!”
I give it to them, feeling their eyes on me like hungry locusts pricking my skin, sending shudders of pleasure through me. I peel off the leotard very slowly, very sensuously to stand naked in front of the leering cameras and grinning faces. Closing my eyes, I roll my fingers around my breasts, squeezing my small, pointy, pink nipples. I run my fingers through my red bush, turn around and roll my naked ass at them. I’m so turned on I think I actually come when I start fingering myself. The cameras close in and I open my feet, spreading the lips of my wet pussy for them as they are below ogling up.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11 Page 27