The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories

by Barbara Cardy

  And, despite his misgivings, Lane’s cock swelled up long and hard against his flat, tanned stomach. The tangy scent of Teresa’s perfume, the smell and sound of her sexy clothing, the heat from her lovely body so close was too much for the man’s cock to resist. He was as weak as Angelo, bound just as tight.

  Teresa looked down at her husband, at his stretched-out erection. “Now you’re paying some attention to me, aren’t you, darling?” She grasped his cock, lifted it, wound a red silk stocking around and around the base of the turgid tool.

  Lane groaned, his arms and legs jerking against his restraints.

  Teresa wrapped the stocking around Lane’s balls, knotted the package together. The man’s cock towered upward, trussed high. Teresa stroked her husband’s bound prick with her bare hand, making him writhe on the bed. Then she picked up the riding crop and strolled over to Angelo again, making Lane glare from the bed, his cock flared obscenely erect.

  Teresa played the crop tip along the veiny shaft of Angelo’s twitching prick, around the bloated crown. Both men grunted and strained. She lifted Angelo’s cock up with the crop and reached out to grip it with her other hand. The bed rattled, the X shook. Her fingers encircled the stranger’s throbbing member. But didn’t close.

  “I trust you’ve learned your lesson, Lane,” Teresa purred. “About ignoring your wife and her needs.” She pulled her hand back and turned around to face her husband.

  “I haven’t learned anything!” he growled. “Not yet!”

  “Oh, yes, I think you’ve—”

  “Bitch! Fuck him! Stick his cock in your cunt and fuck him! While I watch!” Lane’s blue eyes blazed at his wife, his hips thrusting upward, his swollen purple cock spiking higher.

  Teresa’s lips trembled, as she stared into her husband’s eyes. She’d only meant to teach him a lesson, her way, but this was becoming a lesson for both of them, a dangerous and exciting one. She inadvertently backed up into Angelo, and the man groaned as his hard-on speared in between her lithe legs.

  With her eyes fixed on her defiantly glaring husband, Teresa bent forward, reached back and grasped the hem of her latex slash-skirt then pulled the slippery black garment up over her butt cheeks. Her bare buttocks shuddered out into the open, right in front of Angelo, taut and curved and golden-brown as the rest of her. The man swallowed, hard, his cock yearning to split the peachy pair.

  “You’re sure—” Teresa began.

  “Do it!” Lane yelled. “Stick his hard cock in your juicy cunt and fuck yourself on it!”

  Teresa hesitated only a moment longer. Then she reached further back and gripped Angelo’s vibrating erection. He groaned and quivered. She steered his mushroomed cap into her soft, slickened folds and plowed his shaft into her velvety tunnel.

  They both moaned, Teresa pushing all the way back against Angelo, her buttocks splashing up against his body, his cock plunging balls-deep into her pussy. Lane smiled fiercely at his wife, shaking the bed but not budging loose from his sensuous ties, his cock pulsing as hard as the other man’s inside his wife.

  Teresa rotated her bum around Angelo’s groin, rutting on his cock. She unzipped her top and let her breasts spill out, large and heavy, tan nipples jutting. She placed her hands on her thighs, just above her slut boots, and began rocking back and forth, bouncing her cheeks against Angelo, fucking herself on his prong.

  “Oh, God, Lane!” she moaned. “It feels so good! Another man fucking me!”

  “I see it! You deserve it!” he rasped.

  Teresa moved faster, splatting her butt onto Angelo, sucking on his dong with her pussy. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, then popped his eyes open again, so he could watch Teresa’s mounded bottom smack up against him. He fought one last time against the metal cuffs – futilely again – and then thrust his hips out as best he could, matching the woman’s rhythm, pumping her gripping pussy with his cock.

  Lane clenched his fists and pumped his hips as well, splitting the air with his prick, keeping pace with his wife and the man fucking her. His cock pulsated despite its constraints, as he watched Teresa bite her lip and dig her fingernails into her thighs, rocking, getting rocked, faster and faster. The crack of Teresa’s buttocks against Angelo’s body, the sluicing of his cock in her pussy filled the sex-funked air of the bedroom.

  “Fuck!” Angelo suddenly blurted. “I’m gonna come!” He thrust in a frenzy, his ass slapping back against the padded center of the X.

  Teresa stared desperately at her husband, as she bounced to and fro, orgasm brimming up in her pistoned pussy. Lane grinned at her, savagely.

  “No!” she cried. “Only my husband can come inside me!”

  She jumped forward, off Angelo’s wildly shunting prick. The man bellowed and jerked and spurted come, too far gone to control himself. He twisted and moaned like a wild animal, semen shooting out of the tip of his spasming cock, burst after burst.

  Teresa and Lane watched, until Angelo’s dick jumped with a last blast of heated sperm, and then hung empty.

  “You see what I can make men do?” Teresa commented, strolling over to her husband tied up on the bed.

  “I should never have left you alone.”

  Teresa picked up the riding crop and smacked Lane’s swollen cockhead with it. “Better, much better.”

  Lane shivered and groaned.

  Teresa peeled her top right off and flung it aside. The skirt was next, leaving her with just the big, shiny boots, as she climbed up onto the bed and stood in between her husband’s legs. She looked down at the man’s wound-up cock, a soft smile spreading over her glossy red lips.

  Teresa ran the riding crop over one of her breasts then the other, outlining the full, fleshy swells. Then she twirled the flexible leather around one of her outstretched nipples, then the other rubbery protuberance. Her legs trembled. Lane stared up at her, his mouth open, his cock straining for her wet pussy.

  “You want me to ride you, don’t you, darling?”

  He nodded, urgently.

  “Maybe I like riding myself, instead.” She slid the crop down in between her heavy breasts and over her flat stomach, into the damp brown fur of her sex. She gasped, almost going off, as the leather tip slid over her clit and onto her lips. Precome filled the slit of Lane’s cock, flowed pearl white down his shaft.

  Teresa didn’t waste any more time. She squatted down over the top of Lane’s cock, her leather boots squeaking. Her dripping pussy was poised just above her husband’s raging manhood. Then she abruptly sat all the way down, plunging her pussy down over Lane’s cock, swallowing him up whole in her tunnel.

  “Oh, God!” she cried.

  “Yes!” he shouted.

  She bounced up and down, riding her husband’s cock, riding him. She slapped at his smooth-shaven chest with the crop, leaving red marks as she lashed harder and faster. He thrust up into her, desperately pumping her pussy.

  Her breasts shuddered and her buttocks rippled with the erotic impacts, her long hair flying. She whipped at her husband, spurring him madly on. Their flesh smacked together, the bed creaking, perspiration drenching both rider and mount, their moans of pleasure sounding above all else.

  “God, Lane, I’m coming!” Teresa screamed. She threw the whip away and grabbed up her bounding tits, pulled on her pointing nipples, just as a huge, heated wave of orgasm welled up from her cock-churned pussy and crashed through her body. Followed by another, and another.

  Lane shouted, “I can’t come! Let me come!”

  Teresa’s eyes snapped open. She tore at the knot on the stocking binding her husband’s balls and cock, even as multiple orgasms rolled through her. She pulled the stocking free, and her bliss surged to new heights, as she felt Lane’s hot spurts of ecstasy sear her tunnel.

  He geysered orgasm over and over, flinging himself upward into his wife’s gushing pussy, as far as her binding stockings would allow. They matched each other joyous jolt for jolt.

  Finally, Teresa collapsed down on top of Lane. She
hugged him tight and rested her head on his chest, his cock still buried in her pussy.

  “I’ll have to neglect you more often,” Lane commented.

  “Just you try,” she replied, laughing and kissing the man on the lips.

  They were both startled by the sound of Angelo clearing his throat.

  THE AROMA OF WORKED WOOD

  Geoff Chaucer

  Berkley Furniture was a manufacturer of fine handmade wood furniture and Alec Conyers was one of those who did the making. He was fifty years old, tall, strong, with big hands that looked clumsy but were in fact very delicate and skilled with wood. His specialty was work on hand carving table and chair legs and much of that work began with placing a long square piece of exotic wood on the lathe to be turned down to the approximate roundness and thickness of the leg Alec was working on. With the length of wood turning at high speed on the lathe, Alec would use his chisels and gouges to shape the pleasing curves and smooth sweeps of the leg, then he would remove the leg and finish the hand work details on it – carve the claws at the foot or the leaf patterns that ran up it or the gargoyle faces at the top where it connected with the table.

  One of the things that Alec loved about his work was that the raw wood had the most delicious aromas as it was worked. The smoke from the chisel held against the turning wood in the lathe was sweet, and the sawdust and chips from the carving held an intoxicating and sensual aroma that could almost make Alec’s head spin like opium fumes. He was so addicted to that aroma that he would even take his coffee breaks sitting beside his lathe to smell the wonderful mixture of strong rich coffee and the sweet resinous aroma of worked wood.

  There was another reason Alec took his coffee breaks at his lathe.

  At the Berkley Furniture company the plant was downstairs and the offices were on the floor above. There were two ways to reach the offices. There was a steel mesh stairway inside the plant that led up to an office door, but that stairway was always covered with sawdust so those people who worked in the office and wore nice suits and dresses seldom entered by that stairway. Instead they entered via a steel mesh stairway that ran up the outside of the building. That stairway made a diagonal crossing of the large window situated right behind Alec Conyer’s lathe, and it just so happened that his morning coffee break fell just at the time when the secretaries, three of them, were reporting for work. Each day Alec would sit behind his lathe, beneath his window engulfed in the resinous aroma of worked wood and strong coffee, and he would look up as the secretaries climbed the steel mesh staircase to the office. Each day he would see flashes and glimpses of smooth legs, shiny stockings, and white and pink and red and black lace panties, and he would sigh at the loveliness of those velvet thighs and imagine himself kneeling between them. Imagine the feel of them against his rough but skillfully delicate hands. Imagine the silky touch of them against his cheeks. Imagine the salty sweet taste of that flesh on his lips and tongue.

  The secretaries either did not know or did not care that Alec was there beneath the staircase for they never moved to the other side or held their dresses tight against their legs when they climbed the stairs, but neither did they take even a momentary pause as they went up, only climbed up to their work showing Alec only flickers of themselves as they passed. And life went on like that for years until Betty came to work for Berkley Furniture.

  Betty Parsons was not a young girl. She was forty-three but she kept herself well and dressed nicely. She did not wear much make-up, mostly just a little around her eyes to bring out the color of them. There was an unconscious magnetism to her. When Betty walked into a room, men’s eyes turned toward her even though there were other, younger women at hand.

  Alec felt that magnetism from the first day he set eyes on Betty. She walked up the stairs alone on her first day and Alec glimpsed her long shapely legs from his place behind the lathe. They gathered all his attention, making him forget where he was. Until then he had always been discreet, only looking for the short length of time the secretaries were in his view as he sat, but with this woman he felt he had to see more. He stood and put his face against the window to look longer at Betty. She walked up the stairs with deliberate steps and, as she lifted her knee to take the next step, Alec could see a tantalizing flash up her bright yellow skirt that kindled a fire in his middle. Fingers of that fire reached down into his loins, causing his manhood to swell, and up into his throat, causing his mouth to go dry. This Betty was so beautiful! Her legs were long and slim and she wore high-reach stockings rather than pantyhose. Alec could see the darker tops and just above those tops the white flesh of her legs, and all beneath the skirt was tinted with the sunny yellow aura of light filtered through the yellow cloth of which the skirt was made. Alec let his eyes caress those thighs all the way to the top – to the triangle of lace that swelled as it covered Betty’s treasure.

  At the top of the stairs Betty turned a little to look back and down and her eyes met Alec’s for a second. Alec was both electrified and petrified by those eyes. Having his eyes locked to them sent a shock down him which exploded behind his testicles. His mouth went dry and his knees went weak. It was as though Betty were looking into his guts and seeing all the blood in him flowing toward his engorging manhood.

  And then she smiled a smile all full of rich promising sweetness that was gone in an instant and she went into the office.

  For several days after that first day Alec did his best to be waiting behind his lathe when Betty came in each day and when she came out for lunch and on many of those days Betty was as accommodating as she had been that first day. She wore beautiful clothes that allowed Alec to study her body as though he were studying an artist’s model. Her underclothing, which she always made sure Alec had a chance to study, was always frilly, lacy and heartbreakingly feminine. It made Alec want to rush out onto the stairs and bury his face between those creamy-white thighs and worship that barely hidden treasure with a thousand kisses. But at the same time he was afraid that if he made some move to actually meet Betty it would destroy the fantasy they had built for themselves, so he contented himself with worshiping her through the window.

  One day Alec was working on a piece of oak that would become the curved and clawed leg of a table. The piece turned in his lathe and he applied his rough chisel to begin the shaping process. The chips and sawdust flew from the spinning piece of wood and the aroma of cut oak rolled up to engulf him.

  “I love the smell of worked wood,” a deep female voice said.

  Alec looked up to see Betty, dressed in a dark grey business suit, standing on the other side of his lathe. A pearl-grey satin blouse with a high collar showed beneath the open coat.

  Alec was caught speechless for a moment. He swallowed hard and managed to say, “Yes, so do I.”

  “I envy you being able to be around it all day,” she said and turned away. She was out of earshot before Alec could think of anything more to say. He began calling himself an idiot and fool and tried to get up the courage to go after her, but he could not do it. He was so afraid the fantasy, which was so perfect, would collapse if he pushed the reality of his life into it. As things stood the fantasy was perfect.

  At last he gave up thoughts of going after her or of speaking to her any more. He contented himself with worshiping her through the window, but thoughts about what she had said danced through his mind. The smell of worked wood . . .

  A few days later, Alec sat behind his lathe at lunchtime and when Betty came out onto the stairs and sat down he almost dropped his coffee. She was wearing the same yellow skirt she had worn that first day, and she wore the same high-reach stockings, but the triangle at the top of the thighs was not covered with any man-made material. At the top of those thighs, Betty’s Delta of Venus was covered with nothing but silken pubic curls. The sight drove the very breath out of his lungs! Her femininity was completely exposed to him and it was so beautiful it made him want to cry. The shapely swellings of the outside lips were like the folded flesh of a delic
ate orchid, open to the touch of butterflies. The coral-pink inner lips were a little swollen and they pushed the outer lips open to show themselves glistening with feminine honey. The clitoris was like a rare pink pearl set atop a wrapping of rose petals. And all, all was gilded with the golden light shining through Betty’s yellow skirt.

  It was so beautiful! She was so beautiful! The sight of her opened sex was so worship-inducing, so awe-inspiring that Alec had to close his eyes for a moment to let his mind absorb the sight, but when he once again opened his eyes she was gone. Like a goddess showing herself for only an instant before returning to paradise, Betty had shown him the deepest most mystic secret of her worship and disappeared.

  The glimpse of the valley of paradise Betty had given him was a gift more precious than any Alec had ever received, and it called for some return offering worthy of it. But what? What? Then he remembered. She had said she loved the smell of worked wood. That would be his gift!

  Alec spent days looking for what he wanted. At last he found it: a piece of aromatic sandalwood. A wood so precious that its scent was used in perfumes, so precious it had almost been destroyed by greedy men who wanted the aroma so much they had cut down forests of it to ship to the far corners of the earth. Alec found a piece in a small art shop. It was not very big but big enough for what he wanted.

  Alec spent hours hand turning and carving and shaping and rubbing the sandalwood so that it would be smooth as glass. And what should be its shape? What shape would be perfect for worship of the goddess? He made it into an aromatic carving of an erect male member.

  When the carving was finished, Alec made a special case of heart cedar and lined the case with deep scarlet velvet cloth and wrapped the box in expensive gold paper.

  The next day, Alec went up the inside stairs to the office before any of the office workers had come in. He found Betty’s desk and left the gold-wrapped box sitting in the middle of the desk blotter. He left no note or signature. He swallowed hard, wondering if he was doing the right thing, but the sweet ache in his heart told him that for good or ill this was something he had to do. He hurried back down to his lathe and went to work.