The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of M. Christian
Page 7
They stayed that way, curled around each other, for quite a while. Finally, her breath growing even warmer as she spoke, Vi said, “Where do you want to go tonight?”
Clarette was quiet for a time, letting the earth spin through her mind. The day, the Sergio Leone weather, made her think of the movies and one thing, and one thing only, came to mind when she thought of places that seemed to only exist on their little television.
“New York,” she whispered, taking Vi’s hand and pulling it around herself tightly.
“On the subway, late at night,” Vi said, her voice low and theatrical. “The city that never sleeps is dozing, so it’s just you and me sitting on the hard plastic seats, watching stations flash by through the graffiti-painted windows. Sometimes the train comes up from the tunnels and travels through the night-time city – buildings mixing bright windows with dim stars, blocking out the clouds high overhead. Brilliant signs as big as . . . well, as big as anything you’ve ever seen: all the colours of the rainbow, spelling out big company names. There’s a liveness to the air, like there’s electricity running through it. There’s so much to see, so much that your eyes can’t take it all in.
“Yeah, we’re on that train, travelling through it – together, holding each other. We’re feeling the rumble of the rails, the sway as the car bends through the steel and concrete canyons.”
Vi’s hand moved, softly, gently, till she cupped Clarette’s just-right-sized breast. “We’re alone, travelling through the greatest city on earth. You’re wrapped around me, your head resting on my shoulder, my hair tickling your cheek. My tits are heavy against your arms.
“You look up and see the names you’re always heard of on the Transit maps: Broadway, Lexington, Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens, Greenwich Village, Wall Street. They roll past the dirty windows, flashing by as we clack and click down the tracks.”
Vi’s voice grew deeper, huskier as she gently squeezed Clarette’s breast, cupping the conical shape. “I kiss you on the subway, breaths mixing as we roll. As I do, you feel my nipples harden, even through my sweater . . . did I mention I’m wearing a sweater? Well, anyway, you feel me get nice and hard – you know how I do –”
Clarette giggled, pulling Vi closer, feeling her own nipples respond.
“I unwrap you and push you back into the hard seat, kissing you hard. You feel my breath coming into your mouth, my breathing matching for a moment the sway, the rumble of the subway car. My tongue touches, then pushes hard against your own – and everything, all of you, gets that much warmer, hotter.
“My hands are on your tits –” and they were, cupping her, squeezing her hard nipples between long fingers “–kneading them, working them. You moan – in that delightful way you do – and arch your back into the hard plastic. I get down off my own seat, and kneel between your legs, push them apart. You’re wearing jeans, tight jeans, and you can feel your cunt get all warm and wet at just the thought of me being there.”
Vi’s hand slowly smoothed her hip, a slow caress that started at the gentle rises of her ribs and ended at the fullness of Clarette’s hips.
“Take me,” Clarette said softly, pushing herself back against Vi, mixing their warmth.
Vi kissed her shoulder, then pulled her till she was lying on her back. “I will,” she said, kissing around the tiny rosebud of her right nipple. “I promise.”
A light suck, a gentle draw of nipple into mouth. Clarette sighed: a heavy, wind-gust sound.
Vi looked up, for no reason, and saw the alarm clock’s harsh red glow – and the little statue. “We’re outside now, and it’s cold. The sky looks busy, filled with more than just stars: it’s full of the mad glow from those famous streets. The wind is gusting around us, pushing our coats around.”
Clarette spread her legs, a loving, practised motion, and Vi slipped a finger up between her very wet lips, feeling them part ever so slightly. When she got to the top, the hard, throbbing bead of her clit she stopped, feeling Clarette’s furnace, the gentle heat from her cunt.
“Behind us, waves lap heavily on rocks, kicked up from the big ships coming home after months at sea. Like I said, it’s cold, but we’re not cold. We’re hot, lover – we’re very hot.”
Vi rested her hand there for a moment, a heavy heartbeat, then kissed Clarette on her gently rising/falling belly.
“Where are we?” Clarette giggled, spreading her legs wide and snaking a thin hand down to flick casually at a momentary tangle of long pubic hairs.
Vi smiled, nodded to the little statue next to the glowering alarm clock. “She’s there, huge and powerful, above us. Lit by brilliant lights. She’s a Goddess, Clare – as green as new grass. Her face is almost invisible, lost against the dark sky, but we can see her, Clare – we can see her smiling out to sea, looking out across the world.”
Vi breathed in, slowly, savouring her own excitement, the wetness she felt in her own cunt. Covertly, so as not to detract from her story, she brought down her other hand and relished in her own wetness, the hard point of her clit. She moaned, ever so slightly, and – reflexively – clamped her thighs down around her fingers.
Back to Clarette – a few deft strokes to open her up, to make her ready: downwards, from the little forest of curly hairs to the wet lips beneath. Clarette hissed, a primal sound of love and welcoming, and spread her legs even wider.
“We’re looking at her face, on her island, in the middle of the bay. It’s cold, but we’re hot, sexy – so damned fucking hot. You’re wearing this beautiful leather coat, like smooth darkness, and it feels so good wrapped around you.”
Another sweet hiss as Vi’s fingers dipped in, pushing gently till plump outer lips met second joints. She stayed there, moving with slow in-and-outs that made Clarette’s hips gently rock and clench around them.
“We’re there, beautiful –” another nod at the cheap little Liberty trinket by the clock “– we’ve made it that far and even farther. We’re standing at her feet, looking up at her.
“I put my arms around you, pull you close against me. You feel my tits pressing into your back. I kiss the back of your neck, a butterfly graze that makes your skin dance with goose bumps, and your nipples get even harder. One of my hands drops down and takes hold of one of your tits, squeezes it through the coat. It feels like someone else, like a great leather hand grabbing you. You breathe heavy and you feel your cunt get real wet.”
Vi stroked faster, harder – fucking Clarette’s hot cunt with her fingers. Then she changed the pattern, allowing her own excitement, her own wetness and fire to guide her fingers: Up and down, small circles around her clit, back down past warm, wet lips, and in – to tease the tight ring of muscles, then back up again.
Vi bent, took a hard nipple into her mouth, and nibbled – adding a new tone to Clarette’s sounds. Between gentle sucks – just the way she liked it – Vi whispered, adding to the scene:
“My hands rise to your face, stroking your cheeks. You kiss my fingers, suck them in – tasting my cunt on them. Holding you, I’d had my fingers down between my legs, feeling my own lips, my own hard clit, getting myself all wet and hot – for you.
“You taste me, and know that I’m wet for you, sexy.
“But there are other things to taste than just my fingers. I slowly drop my fingers down and slowly – almost too slowly – start to unbutton your coat. One, two, three – with each one your body tingles, your nipples get even harder, your cunt gets even hotter, wetter. Four, five, six – and then that’s all. The coat parts and the cold slaps on your . . . yes, it slaps on your smooth belly, that spot – right there – between your tits, your thighs. You’re naked, beautiful, hot and burning naked out there on that cold island. The coat hits the ground, and you’re before her and me – glowing with fire, cunt juice painting your thighs. I turn you, look at my own goddess, my own Liberty. I kiss you, hard and mean, tongues stroking each other, lips hot and slick. I kiss you, and my hand snaps up between your legs –”
Between Claret
te’s legs, Vi’s hand moved a new way: from the throbbing clit, the tiny hot bead, down to enter, full and deep, into her – past the tight muscles, and all the way till the rough spot. With each cycle, each tap of Clarette’s clit and then deep down into her, Clarette’s voice changed, becoming deeper, deeper – more and more bass. She was lost, somewhere else, floating on Vi’s hand, her fingers and her words. She might not have been at the foot of the Statue of Liberty, but she certainly wasn’t in a trailer in Taos, New Mexico.
“I’m feeling your clit, so hard on that cold night. You push down, trying to get all of me into you. There, under the shadow of Liberty, I put my fingers in you, deep and hard. Then I start to fuck you – ending each stroke with a strong press on your magic G-spot. You moan, making sweet music. You buck down, too excited to be patient. In the distance, you hear a foghorn – and you realize that anyone floating by, anyone with a good telescope, could see us, could see you, standing there, pale and naked, quivering with excitement. You’re on display, Clare; you’re out there on that island for the whole of New York to see.”
The motions of Vi’s hand in Clarette’s cunt became less focused as her own excitement started to pull at her. Vi moved a bit, feeling the silken skin of Clarette’s breast slide across her lips . . . until the hard tip of a nipple was there, and then in Vi’s mouth. She sucked with a shocking intensity, making Clarette arch her narrow back and put her hand on the back of Vi’s head. Sucking as she stroked, and stroking as she sucked, Vi felt like she was a great woman; a chain going from mouth to tit, from cunt to hand.
Breaking the pleasant suction with a soft wet smack! and another punctured moan from Vi, she breathed deep (one, two, three, four), then: “You’re so hot, beautiful, so wet. There, standing on the cold flagstones in front of the statue, you push down, trying to swallow my fingers with your cunt, trying to get even more of my thumb on your clit.
“But I’m nasty – right, lover? You know that. Three fingers for your tight cunt, your wet cunt, thumb for your clit, and one finger – my teeny tiny little finger, that reaches back, between the cheeks of your tight –” a kiss on her sweat-slick belly “– ass and taps (one, two, three, four) on your asshole.
“Oh, yes, your sweet ass. A few gentle taps then awey to take just the smallest amount of cunt juice, and then back-no taps this time. Not this time . . .
“Look up at her, Clare – look at her. Great and green. You look up at the statue – recognizing her from photographs, movies, your little toy on the dresser, but really seeing her for the first time. Maybe you wonder – being the slut that you are – what her great copper snatch must look like. But whatever you think, you look up at her as I work at your own cunt, and then your asshole as my little finger slips neatly into you.
“Oh, yes, lover – nice and full and hot, bare and shining in the hard lights around Liberty, starting up at her distant smile and the faint lights of the city beyond. You’re there, you’re right there and you’re with me, and I’m with you –”
The come boiled inside Clarette, a rumbling body-come that opened her eyes, opened her mouth and shut, clenching, her legs around Vi’s hand. The moans changed into a heavy avalanche of sounds, a growling bass escalation.
Within her, Vi felt Clarette’s cunt grip her, matching for a long time the fluttering beat of her heart. Looking, smiling, happy that she was happy, Vi held her, stirring the last of her quakes with a few kind oscillations of her fingers. “Oh, yeah, come, come, come –” she crooned, putting her heavy arms around her.
Vi’s other hand was still between her own thighs, still working the hot, wetness of her cunt. With her head resting on Clarette’s belly, she looked down at her downy triangle of pubic hair. Slowly, a tease for herself as well as her lover, she inched her way down with a series of little kisses till Clarette’s cunt was an inch – then less than that – from her lips. A kiss, at first, then a taste – then a lick, then many more: a dance of lips and tongue on Clarette’s cunt that pushed her lover, and then Vi herself up and over. Together, they came till the quakes were nothing but a soft series of delightful tremors.
Sleep floated down on both of them – much more so for Clarette, but quite heavily for Vi after a hard day of work, and they crawled into a comfortable spoon: Clarette, as usual, facing the side, the dark window sprinkled with very bright desert stars, and Vi a warm comforter curled against her back. Before she slipped down into a dreamscape, Clarette turned her head to receive a gentle, sweet kiss from Vi. “Thank you for taking me.” Clarette said, then – a beat or two of her heart later – she added: “Do you think we’ll really go one day?”
Vi smiled, pulling her closer, mixing their heat together even more as sleep started to earnestly tug at them. “Why?” she said eventually said, stifling a yawn: “We can see the whole world from here.”
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