The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Suddenly the song ends and a blonde comes up on the bar. I stop and start to climb down. Freddie scoops me into his arms and swings me around. Larry stops him and kisses my lips, then my breasts. Buddy’s lips are suddenly on mine as his hands rub my ass.

  They bring me to a padded pool chair and lay me on it, pulling my legs apart, Freddie between my legs now, kissing my thighs, Larry French-kissing me while Buddy’s sucking my boobs. Three men are on me, hands rubbing, probing, feeling me up. I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

  I feel Freddie breathing across my open pussy lips and shudder as the air brushes my wet pussy. Freddie’s tongue skirts my pussy, licking my pubic hair, licking around before he nibbles at my thighs. I’m already bucking in anticipation, my ass rising, reaching for the pleasure.

  Freddie’s tongue flicks across my clit, sending me over the edge and I cry out. His tongue begins working my clit, rubbing hard then lightly then hard again as Larry’s tongue works against mine and I come, back arching off the chair, hips quivering as it shoots through me like hot metal.

  Sinking back on the chair, Larry pulls away and I see he’s still kneading one breast while Buddy’s got the other. There are three cameramen recording this as Freddie stands and presses the tip of his cock against the wet folds of my pussy. I gasp as he works it in and look up at my husband who’s watching so intently. There’s a bulge in Larry’s crotch and I grab it and he smiles at me and watches this man fuck me.

  Larry

  I never felt anything like this before, anything this exciting watching my wife getting screwed by another man. Felicity’s face glows when she reaches for the pleasure and she looks more beautiful than ever. Her eyes are glued to mine as she bounces to Freddie’s fucking. Then she looks at Freddie and rocks with him as Buddy keeps kneading her breasts.

  I back away to watch as the cameramen move in. I’ve already made a deal with two for the copies of this video of Felicity. I know both of the men, one works with me and the other is our host and good friend Jay.

  Freddie fucks my wife in long, smooth strokes as Buddy backs away and watches, pulling on his own cock in anticipation. Felicity’s face glows as she goes through the pleasures of a good screwing. She gasps and cries and her eyes lock on Freddie as he hovers above her. His hips start moving faster and he comes in her, sending her into another high-pitched cry of pleasure. As soon as Freddie pulls out, Buddy moves between my wife’s legs and the gang-bang is on. My dick throbs as I watch and wait for my turn.

  Felicity

  I can’t even catch my breath before Buddy slips his thick cock into my wet pussy. Freddie’s gushing cum makes it easier as Buddy starts slowly, relishing this piece of strange pussy, I’m sure. But it doesn’t take long for his hips to reach a rhythm in pumping his cock in me. His balls slap against my ass as he grunts and tries his best to keep from coming but I’m having no part of that. I buck back, using my pussy muscles to pull at his cock and as he spurts in me, I feel another shudder, another inside climax washes through me.

  Larry is next, my slim husband taking his time to fuck me in front of the peering video cameras. He stares into my eyes as he fucks me and then leans down to brush my lips, Frenching me, then gasping in my ear how much he loves me. He pushes my legs up over his shoulders and sinks deeper in me and I come with him.

  Jay wants me doggie-style but there’s no way I can stand on these fucked-weak legs so he turns me around and has me kneel atop the padded lounge chair and slips it to me, latching on to my waist as he fucks me. Jay starts talking nasty to me, telling me how hot my pussy is, how wet I am with cum, how naughty I am gang-fucking in front of cameras. I like the dirty talk and I talk back about his hard cock and he calls me a whore and I come immediately.

  I am a whore and good wife and a slut and a good fuck. I’ve always been a good lay and tonight I prove it. So hot, I can’t get enough cock. I feel myself burning, raging for more. I take Larry and two more men on the chair, then someone carries me to the bar and a huge man with blue-black skin fucks me atop the bar as the crowd chants.

  His name is Phil and he has the thickest cock I’ve ever seen. It takes him a couple minutes to get it all the way in, even with my pussy dripping with cum and he bores into me, filling me completely, reaching places I’ve never felt before. This big black man sends me through the deepest climax I’ve ever felt, taking away my breath, causing me to scream out, my ass bouncing atop the bar.

  After, Phil carries me to the pool to cool off and Larry brings me an ice-cold beer. I finally catch my breath before Jay leads us to the large guest bedroom where the video cameras are already on tripods, filming Alice getting fucked by Buddy and Freddie.

  As soon as they finish with Alice, she’s carried out to the pool and Jay lays me on the bed. They come at me one at a time, all of them, so many I lose count, but it’s wonderful feeling those strange cocks working in me.

  Larry

  Twelve different men fuck my wife tonight, Freddie, Buddy and Jay fuck her twice. I keep close count, even when I go into the master bedroom to fuck Alice. Returning to Felicity as Jay is screwing her, I hear their nasty talk again, calling each other names as they fuck.

  After, lying in a pool of cum, Felicity is spread-eagled, the video cameras zooming at her sopping pussy. Her hair is no longer fluffed out; all sweaty now, dripping, and her lipstick and make-up mostly gone.

  I bring her a beer and she barely has the energy to drink it. The cameras leave and we’re alone and the realization hits her. She says she can’t believe this happened.

  “You are the hottest woman,” I tell her, gently kissing her lips. “I love you so much.”

  “Good,” she says, closing her eyes for a quick nap.

  Felicity

  My energy returns slowly. My pussy aches from the good pain of so much fucking. My legs wobble when I stand. A long shower helps, but I’m still weak as Larry takes my hand and dries me off.

  He doesn’t have to tell me things are going to be different from now on. At my age, to turn such a corner is exhilarating. Having a husband as eager to turn that corner makes it even more exhilarating.

  His new nickname for me is Cat. I’m his feline sex-fantasy, a leopardess prowling the nightlife of our small town, pleasuring the tom-cats as they pleasure me. He says he saw a construction site yesterday with a dozen men working, men who had to work through the weekend. Larry thinks a little naked lady show would pick up everyone’s spirits. We need to get a new digital video camera.

  The older I get, the better I get, according to Larry. So I guess I can’t wait until tomorrow and the night after and the night after that. By the time I’m forty, I just might be perfect.

  Kidding, of course. But having all that sex to look forward to is nice. Very nice.

  Anonymous

  Daisy Danger

  You wouldn’t think it possible to fall in love with a freckle. But there it is, the tiniest of brown marks, an uncharted island on the map of her mouth. It’s nearly invisible, but not to one who’s spent months searching for it.

  The arrangement is peculiar, even by my standards, but it affords me my lifestyle. I haven’t another care in the world besides what shoes I should purchase next. Only extremes will satisfy me anymore, and this arrangement takes care of that financially and sexually. I’ve moved beyond the desire for a constant physical companion, this arrangement meets all those needs.

  Four or five times a week, by a pre-agreed schedule, I arrive after dark. It’s a nondescript, grey building, identical to the others in the small industrial park. The name of the business is so generic, it’s nearly impossible to Google, other than to pull up a map. I simply call it The Company. The casual person would have no cause to bother, however. In directories it’s listed as a supplier to other companies.

  The few casual acquaintances I permit myself merely think I simply work third shift in some mundane job, that perhaps my money is the result of smart investments or an inheritance. I plant the seed, and let it grow in t
heir imaginations. I don’t bother to correct them, I live in their assumptions. My world is relatively uncomplicated and I like it that way.

  As I pull into the parking lot, I pull a loose cotton hood over my head to conceal my face. Much of what we do here is on the honour system, but I prefer not to take chances with the security guards. I guard my anonymity fiercely. When I reach the checkpoint, I gather my things and leave my car idling. A guard will be along momentarily to park it, although I don’t know where. The only other vehicle I ever see is a dark blue SUV that the guards use to patrol The Company grounds.

  The guard checks me in without a word. He’s an older gentleman, all business. Sometimes the younger guards are more chatty, but I try to keep conversation short, vague. I hand him my ID card, no photo, no name, just a magnetic strip he runs through a machine on his desk. A tiny light flickers green, I’m cleared for take-off. In front of me are windowless wide metal double doors. A second guard pulls a blindfold around my head, takes my hand, and leads me through the entrance.

  My dressing room is always the same. I have no reason to believe anyone else ever uses it. It’s nondescript. White walls, a simple wooden chair, a little dressing table, a tiny bathroom. I never keep any personal articles here, I could if I wanted. I always bring a bag with me containing a change of clothing, deodorant and the like. I’ve been offered a few little comforts, such as a selection of magazines or pornography, even a sofa, but I prefer everything completely sterile, as close to a nun’s cell as I can manage. Once I drive through the gate, I don’t want any distractions, any clutter of the mind whatsoever. I don’t know how many other dressing rooms there are, I couldn’t even find my own without the guard to escort me here. The only other place I’ve seen past those double doors is The Room.

  Although I arrive at a scheduled time, I never know how long I’ll be kept waiting. Sometimes it’s only moments, sometimes it’s a couple of hours. I never see anyone else arrive, or hear so much as a murmur in the hall. This building is immense, and it takes one elevator ride and a few minutes to reach my room. It’s entirely conceivable that I’m the only one on this floor. Tonight, a simple red leather mask is laid out for me on a table; the colours and styles vary from night to night. I strip naked and remove all my jewellery, anything that could identify me. I’m not even allowed to wear perfume, it might distinguish me in the outside world. If this all seems silly and clandestine, it sort of is. My one and only interview was vague. I don’t know my true purpose here, only that it pays well as long as I can keep secrets and have the stamina to endure.

  A pleasant chime sounds. This is my signal to pull the red mask over my face and turn to the wall. The door opens. I hear muffled footsteps cross the carpet, a pair of hands buckles my mask firmly in place. The Keeper, as I call him in my mind, always brings a different assortment of restraining devices with him. When he enters the room, he walks around me in a full circle, a cursory inspection to ensure that I haven’t got any tattoos, piercings; that my body is as flawless in appearance as possible. Bruises, cuts and abrasions don’t count; they fade in time, myself and the Others usually bear several fresh examples of each.

  Tonight The Keeper carries a posture collar and a long pair of soft leather gloves that lace together behind my back. He attaches fierce nipple clamps, then places the chain linking them between my teeth to hold until the session begins. This is the ritual that tells me that I’m just a possession now, that my free will has been handed over completely. Then, like the first guard, he blindfolds me, and leads me gently to The Room. We conduct all this in absolute silence. Sometimes The Other is already waiting, tonight I’m the first one in. I’ve given up trying to work out what each night has in store. It might be only a test of endurance, seeing how long I can muddle through pain inflicted on one specific body part. It could just as easily be a night of ecstasy, a sound fucking with all kinds of delightful implements. There’s no way to predict what’s in store.

  There might be many Rooms, or there might be only this one. It’s a blank slate, never changing, not even so much as a missing chip of paint. There are one-way windows lining two walls, high ceilings, a grey floor. All the implements are kept out of sight, and The Room is always prepared when I get there. I hear the door open. I’m still blindfolded, I won’t see The Other until we’re both secured in place. Also in the room are The Masters, men dressed in black leather, hoods concealing their identities. These are the ones who are charged with the task of carrying out our prescribed punishments, or rewards. They must receive instruction beforehand, as they never utter a word. They touch us as little as possible, we certainly never have sex with them. An announcement is sometimes made over the speakers before we begin.

  I honestly have no idea what the purpose of all this is. It could be a team of scientists scribbling on clipboards behind those windows, artists frantically sketching away, or just a group of hungry men wanking off. I try not to let my mind wander, to think too deeply about this scenario, I only think of what’s in the moment. There, in that moment, is where I feel pure and free.

  The blindfold and the nipple clamps come off. About four feet away opposite me is a naked woman wearing only a deep violet mask that matches mine in style. The masks always have one thing in common, a type of film over the eyes that allows us to see out, but prevents anyone else from seeing our eyes. All the pain, excitement, fear, lust, even the colour of our pupils is hidden away, kept secret.

  I don’t know how many Others there are.

  When I had my interview, I was asked to strip naked. I was alone in a room, a smaller version of this one, although in a different building. Orders and questions were given through a speaker mounted on the wall. I was asked to step close to the one-way window, to turn slowly so They could search me for any identifying marks. No tattoos, birthmarks or anything else that might distinguish me were allowed.

  My Other for the night was no doubt subject to the same scrutiny. Other than the violet mask, I can’t tell her apart from any Other I’ve been paired with. Our pubic hair is kept waxed and bare, we’re only permitted to paint our finger- or toenails in one of a few approved colours.

  Even our breast sizes are strikingly similar. I feel as if I could wander into any dressing room and swap clothing comfortably. When we’re in The Room, we’re forbidden to speak to anyone, to The Masters, The Others. We’re completely anonymous and I like it that way. Except for the freckle. That night is burned so deeply into my mind, it torments me, derails me completely. Every person I encounter, here or in the outside world, receives an imperceptible inspection, in the hopes, and in the fears, that it might be Her.

  Permit me to recount:

  We’d been paired off months before. It was a particularly excruciating night.

  The whys of what we’re put through aren’t discussed with us. It may be the whim of one person, it may be a prescribed testing regimen, I don’t know. We’re only there to do. That night, my Other and I were bound, facing each other, maybe six inches apart. Our backsides were exposed to The Room. We each had a Master standing behind us. The masks chosen for us to wear that night completely covered our noses. Little plugs inside the mask were placed inside our nostrils so we were completely unable to draw in any air. A device quite like a gag was placed deep in our mouths, fashioned in some way that created a seal. The restraints were buckled tight around our heads so we couldn’t dislodge the gags in any way.

  A small device was placed in our hands. The voice on the speaker explained that by pressing the button, we would cut off the Other’s air supply. Only one button at a time could be activated. The one not breathing was the one who had a momentary respite from the pain that was to be inflicted on us. We could press the button to ease the Other’s suffering, but deny them breath.

  A hand lightly touched my shoulder, it was one of The Masters signalling that I should be the one allowed to breathe while The Other received the first punishment.

  I’d spent many hours in The Room being suffocated
in various fashions, I learned to not panic, to find the centre of cold calm in me, and settle there. I turned my mind off and surrendered my body to the whims of the Unknown.

  I heard the terrible crack of something striking skin, it sounded like a whip. A blow unusually harsh, even for this setting. She whimpered through the gag. Another crack, this one echoed in the room. We were bound close enough together that I could feel the interrupted current of the air as the whip met her back. I gave her a count of about thirty seconds before I pushed the button relieving her pain.

  Instantly the device in my mouth made a tiny vibration, and I inhaled deliciously as The Master behind her stood down. Everything went white behind my eyes, the pain was outrageous. I couldn’t see what The Master was striking me with, it felt like a glove covered in tiny sharp spikes. The Masters didn’t always use the same implement for each of The Others. I assume they chose, or were given whatever worked best for them. Another stinging blow from the spiked hand landed firmly on my ass cheek. I blinked back tears.

  It was a point of pride to me that I never cried, even though no one could see my eyes. It was my line in the sand, the limit I set for myself. Another whack across my ass, this one nearly knocking me off balance. I moaned loudly through the gag, using up what little precious air I was storing in my lungs. Just as the room seemed to darken, she clicked her device. The seal in my mouth and nose was absolute. No air in or out. I instantly retreated to that centre of calm, refusing to panic.

  I heard the lashes against her back, but my mind was still reeling from my own punishment. I tried to remain in my calm place. I lost count of how long I was deprived of oxygen. I gave the device in my hand a squeeze. Before I could even draw a grateful breath to store in my lungs, the spiked hands encircled my breasts, crushing and piercing me a thousand times over. My brain seared, shooting jagged sparks across my vision. The Master started to drag the spiked gloves down my sides, tearing through my flesh. Then The Master released his hands instantly. My air was cut off mid-breath. This devilish exchange went on through the night. The Other and I endured for what seemed an eternity.