The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories

by Barbara Cardy

  Adam ran his fingers through Molly’s curls while she sucked. Then he clamped down on her shoulders and said, “Honey. Honey, stop. Stop.”

  “What? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Oh, no. You’re doing everything right, but I want you on that bed in the other room.”

  She looked up. “Fine, Adam, but my territory now, so my rules.”

  He smiled. “I’ve always loved your independent nature. I’m happy to have it your way, just like Burger King.”

  In the her bedchamber, Molly asked, through lips that were pink and moist, a match to her vaginal lips, “Are you ready to fuck me like a thoroughbred stallion kept away from the mares for too long?”

  “After today’s warm-up, I have the lust of ten men.”

  “Let’s see what you got, mister.”

  Adam’s penis seemed to be drawn to Molly like a magnet, a divining rod looking for the proper place to find water. He lifted Molly’s tight fanny and dropped her onto his swollen, straining prod. Her sheath slid down nicely on his saliva-covered sword.

  They moved around the room in an erotic, naked tango until he climbed on the bed with her still attached to him. She unleashed an excited little scream of delight and wrapped her ankles around his waist. She rode his large veined shaft with reckless abandon, grunting on each downstroke. She was going the get the most from this man she had fantasized about for so long.

  They pumped away, up and down till Adam’s sweat dripped like raindrops on Molly’s ample breasts and her legs slithered against his hips. She detected his animal scent, heavy, forbidding and yet irresistible. She imagined him taking her as bounty, spreading her open and putting his mouth on her yet again, supping from her horn of plenty.

  He rolled onto his back without their separation. He wanted her in every position. A sparkling rivulet of perspiration oozed in her cleavage as she bucked and waved one arm in the air like she was aboard a barroom bull.

  Molly’s breasts danced with a life of their own as the couple vibrated, giggled and finally trembled in the throes of unmitigated lust. They were both racked with a spontaneous, bone-jarring, flesh-chilling orgasm. Her thighs tightened and her legs shook. Finally, she melted against him like warm butter.

  Adam’s dick had spit inside her but his passion remained unabated. He continued to ravish her with randy lust. Molly tore her eyes from Adam’s handsome face and looked down to where the hot and heavy action was taking place, to where his stallion cock slipped in and out of her, rubbing against her pussy while his balls banged against her ass. It was hard to believe that his fleshy tube could so easily slide in and out of what looked like such a small space.

  While her calves rode high on his shoulders, he watched her honey melons jiggle to and fro, round and round, with each blast from of his cannon.

  Back at the office, he had loved snorkeling into her crack, sucking hard on the boatman within her canoe and covering his face with her juices. Eating her fur-lined, perfumed flower had been exquisite, but this was even better. No fear of being interrupted by co-workers.

  “You want to try our unfinished office business again?” Molly suddenly asked him.

  “Your house, your rules.”

  “I feel adventurous. Just prepare me a little.”

  Adam pulled free of Molly and flipped her onto her knees. With her fanny up, he admired Molly’s puckered sphincter and, just below it, her bright pink vaginal lips that smiled sideways at him. He was mesmerized by their amazing sensuality. They were trimmed by two parallel rows of light down that ran along the edge of the tight cavity that divided her body into halves and led to her golden fleece – the place where all journeys should end. The fleece sparkled like morning dew with the natural lubrication they had manufactured. Her dainty rectal orifice would be more of a challenge than her vagina, could be another sticky wicket in fact.

  “Don’t be shy. Spit on it and slip it in, sailor,” she laughed. “I want you in every orifice I have.”

  “My mast is still at full sail. You asked for it, you got it.”

  The touch of his hands spreading her knees apart made Molly feel like a ripe piece of fruit about to be cut open, a virgin at the altar of sacrifice. The head of his penis slapped against her inner thighs and skimmed over her triangle of hair as if it was knocking on a door asking for permission to enter.

  “Pray enter, my handsome spirit,” she whispered desperately.

  Adam squatted on the balls of his feet. His dick was still well lubed from Molly’s pussy. Still, he applied saliva and wondered whether he should feed his cock into her a little at a time or give it to her quickly like the shock of jumping into freezing water. His knob teased the rim of her “outie” then he plunged inside. She flinched from the sudden and new sensation, but soon, and to her amazement, he slid inside her ass as easily as he had her vagina. He then doubled her pleasure by pulling out of one place and returning to the other every few minutes to give the two orifices pleasure in equal measure.

  Once their ships united in a complementary rhythm, a motion on the ocean of crazed delight, she soon forgot any fear of losing his satisfying weapon while he swapped out targets. Slowly, rhythmically, he pumped her with ecstasy. Except for their oral pas de deux, any pleasure she had known in the past paled in comparison to what she now experienced due to her lover’s skill. The difference between Adam and other men she had known was clear now. It was the difference between an overcast sky and one full of stars, between keeping warm by means of a thin blouse or by a toasty, fur-lined jacket or a hot, swirling, naked dunk in a hot tub.

  His cock accomplished even greater depths without pain, only excruciating pleasure. He knew how to facilitate her concept of becoming a purely sexual being. She wanted to die if she had to with this maestro of carnal love deep inside her, pumping, unrelenting.

  Adam grabbed a handful of Molly’s auburn mane and rode her like a charioteer. He slapped her ass and watched the cheeks inflame as he rammed his cock between the two lovely mounds of Molly’s flesh. His hands wandered from her hair and reached for her breasts, which hung down like two water-filled balloons, skimming the bedspread, making her nipples stiff. He squeezed, wanting to taunt them as he banged away, his balls flopping against her furry muff.

  “Do me good, my love. Pound my mound until I see fireworks,” Molly grunted encouragingly.

  He spread her cheeks further apart and arched his back for the deepest penetration possible, feeling as if he was mounted on the winged Pegasus riding into the heavens.

  She screamed with fiery passion imploring him to never stop. “When you’re ready to come, come on me, Adam, like in your note where you splash all over my tits and face.”

  The tightness of her could allow him to come at pretty much any time. He took a final look at Molly’s fleshy orbs. He knew he had enough fresh come in him to fill her up, but her suggestion would be more fun. He pulled his cock out of her and held it. She bumped into his knees but managed the quick flip just in time. With a tremor of exaltation, the slit on Adam’s helmet opened and unleashed a torrent of stirred and shaken whipped cream to douse her fire. His first volley scored a direct hit on the underside of her right nipple. He fired a second shot that wasn’t dead center on the left, but close enough in the heat of passion. A third shot pooled in her navel, becoming a natural reservoir for his issue. Three more squirts dribbled harmlessly above her downy pubis.

  Molly sighed with satisfaction as she wiped his semen from the bottoms of her breasts and spread it over her torso. She exhaled a long and satisfying moan. She liked him inside all of her openings where his cock was safe and warm, but she also liked his milky juices on her body. She would have gladly swum in a river of his come and wished that her breasts were full of milk so they could give him nourishment.

  Adam slid his face back between Molly’s thighs for a slice of hair-pie. Molly ran her sticky fingers through Adam’s thick waves of hair and lifted her legs skyward in invitation.

  “This is my dessert,”
Adam told her. He felt sure he would never tire of watching Molly’s beautiful tits jiggle with every trust his tongue or cock might make. As he burrowed deep into her vagina, experiencing that sweet nectar, he thought about asking her to play Carnival, a game where she would sit on his face and he would guess her weight. But there was plenty of time. They were a team now. As Molly moaned softly, he planned on many late-night snacks.

  Finally, she crawled down to his belly, purring approvingly about his prowess. With his mast happily deflated, she proceeded to munch on his flaccid penis and lick his balls. He watched her breasts bounce proudly as she went about the task of soothing his sleepy prick. The sight of her perky, turned-up nipples and her rhythmic, undulating pelvis with that fair beaver pelt covering her slit could have brought many a limp dick back from the dead. He praised the heavens that she had chosen him for such intimacies.

  “Life is good,” he told his insatiable new lover.

  They drank some Merlot and made love one more time. Their night had been everything Molly could have imagined. Adam had exceeded her expectations. Although it was hoping for a lot, she only hoped their relationship at work wouldn’t change.

  Molly found a Post-it on her desk the next day. “Red Rover, come over,” it read.

  When she entered Adam’s domain, he was sitting on the edge of his desk. “Thought you might like strong coffee and a Danish. Might help us get through a busy day after such little sleep,” he said.

  Molly, no longer worried about her and Adam’s notes or antics, walked up to him and unzipped his trousers. “How about some breakfast sausage with my Danish and coffee?”

  “I feel more like a sour cream burrito full of hot sauce.”

  “I love both.”

  “From now on, you’re in charge of all dining decisions, my darling Molly.”

  EROTICA

  Volume 10

  Edited by

  Barbara Cardy

  FOUND OBJECTS

  Olivia London

  It was her aunt’s fault, Mademoiselle Charlotte Daney would reason later on while arranging objects in the comfort and safety of her room. Like many females of her day and breeding, Charlotte was educated at a local convent in Olgart, a fashionable but fading town fifty miles south of Paris. Charlotte’s parents expected their lovely flaxen-haired daughter to remain sequestered until a suitable marriage match could be made. There was, however, another daughter to consider and this was proving to be an obstacle to poor Charlotte’s happiness. For a mate must be fettered to Isabelle, now five-and-twenty and a headstrong little bead before the younger daughter could be presented to society.

  If it were not for her good Aunt Louisa Tournelle, Charlotte feared she would go mad. At night, the petite blonde pleasured herself with nimble fingers but by day she craved a real man’s member roiling inside her. Louisa recalled what it was like to be young; twice a week she brought her carriage round to the convent and within hours she and her niece were commandeering the magnificent, albeit sometimes brutal, streets of Paris. While ostensibly finding a need to run an errand or visit an old friend, Aunt Louisa turned her muslin-clad back while Charlotte was making off with some dashing garçon or other.

  And now there was to be a bal masqué at the Comte Cherel estate and Aunt Louisa had to work all manner of charms to wangle an invite for her favored niece. Oh, Louisa liked Isabelle well enough but thought the girl selfish in her steadfast refusal to marry. “And why should she marry?” was an unsolicited question she once posited at a holiday gathering. “Isabelle has it too good at home. Dismiss her maids, brother, and I guarantee you’ll find your daughter chomping the bit to find a husband soon enough.” Isabelle had refused to speak to her aunt for the rest of the evening.

  But why should poor Charlotte suffer? Here was a buxom, healthy girl four-and-twenty years of age, ripe as a fig mid-air falling from a tree. Her loins were wanting to part for a lover . . . or two. The golden crest of her locks should be crowned with laurel, the dewy petals of her lips were meant to be kissed morning, noon and night!

  No, Louisa would not brook her brother and sister-in-law’s old-fashioned ways. She would not stand by while Charlotte’s youth was lost for the sake of convention.

  When Aunt Louisa presented her niece with a mask for the party, Charlotte cried, “Oh, Aunt, darling. It’s perfect!” And it was, tiered in black velvet with satin furbelows on either side, Mlle Charlotte Daney was sure to garner at least one admirer. Louisa chuckled to herself as she pictured Charlotte wrestling a swain to the nearest daybed like a lepidopterist expertly using a butterfly pin. Louisa, a retired schoolteacher, always contended there was nothing weak about her sex.

  Heads turned when Charlotte made her entrance at the ball but, not knowing a soul, she was quickly ignored. She just as quickly grew bored until she sighted a man whose laser-cut subterfuge made him look dangerous. The mask didn’t hide the strength of his jawline or the sensual loop of his lips. What would it be like to have that mouth pressed to her quim? She shook the image away and sidled to the buffet table where she hoped to find a mountain of cream pies. Charlotte was about to bite into a morsel of sweet when she felt a man’s breath envelop her, like a pocket of summer air.

  “Eat too many of those and I’ll be happy to help you loosen your stays,” the voice said.

  “Pray, what other diversions are there?”

  “An arch answer. You must be a married woman on the prowl.”

  Charlotte noted the man licked his full lips and an erection was trumpeting in his trousers. He’d make a fine bedfellow indeed, the hungry girl thought, but before she could respond a woman in a boat of bombazine approached the two and whisked away Charlotte’s quarry.

  “Come, Edwin. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Edwin took the lady’s arm while casting a rueful glance in Charlotte’s direction. Once again, Charlotte was alone. The poor convent girl didn’t even have her aunt for company; Louisa had dropped her niece off with the intention of returning in an hour or two.

  She ate another cream pie and drank a glass of champagne. She danced a few quadrilles but no one struck up a conversation with her afterwards so she sat in a corner and daydreamed. She remembered walking along the Seine with an Italian gentleman who was visiting Paris on business. Charlotte could still taste the pâté on his tongue; still feel his eager hands on her orbs. She closed her eyes and drifted into blissful reverie until a couple noisily plopped down beside her.

  Well, she simply had to amuse herself somehow. She wandered the great rooms until she found one that was empty and filled with useless bric-a-brac. The walls were painted a pale mauve and the paintings were so innocuous as to be forgotten immediately out of purview. Panels in a millefleurs design shielded a settee meant for sipping a tisane or engaging one’s maid in idle gossip.

  Charlotte sighed and was about to soldier onward when she saw the most delightful thing. She moved toward an end table to admire an exquisite objet d’art: a crystal perfume bottle with an egg-shaped rubasse stopper. She held it in her palm for a moment before slipping it in her handbag. Charlotte turned and gasped – she had been caught.

  Edwin of the trumpeting trousers was back and he gave Charlotte another rueful smile. “Are you so listless as to stoop to such ghastly measures as stealing? Or, wait! No, don’t tell me. You’re in a wretched position. You need to pawn a piece of crystal to pay creditors who knew and cosseted your profligate desire for silk all along.”

  “You’re intolerable,” she said, half-admiring his gambit.

  “And you’re in trouble with the great Comte Cherel if you don’t do as I say.” With that, Edwin sat heavily on the settee, his thighs wishboned and sturdy as tree trunks. “Lift up your skirts, young lady. You’re going to ride my haunches until you’ve been properly punished.”

  Charlotte’s cheeks flushed many shades darker than the walls now spinning round her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Sir! You are not a gallant!”

  “No,
Mademoiselle Charlotte. I am a libertine. And you are a woman greedy for adventure. Half the men in Paris whisper your name in the dark as they reach for their stiff members. Now, come. Your behavior merits a spanking. Take your licking like a good sport. Then I’ll let you go.”

  Charlotte lifted her tulle skirts and unrolled her silk stockings. Torquing her body over Edwin’s knees, she felt the first stirring of arousal. His fingers flitted like feathers over the crack of her bum before reaching down to clear a wedge of space betwixt her thighs.

  “This is for your insolence,” Edwin murmured, almost to himself, though Charlotte heard him clearly. The first blows were like the smattering of applause and the convent escapee bit her bottom lip to suppress a giggle. “And this,” he said, as the blows rained harder, gathering into a storm, “is for having the audacity to steal from your host!”

  She tried to wiggle free but Edwin had a secure hold with one sinewy forearm girding her waist. So she relaxed into every sensation, maddening her persecutor in the process.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, little minx!”

  She cleaved to the ribbing of his stockinged calves and let her bum rise like a shoot. She wanted more, even as tears coursed under that silly mask and mottled her rouge.

  The libertine’s hands moved swiftly now; the effort put into each biff had him grunting like a mule. Still, she lifted that pillowy tush of hers, taunting him with it.

  Soon, the echo of his palm slip-slapping against the bare bulbs of this young woman’s beautiful bum threatened to overtake any other sound he had ever heard. He was afraid he’d go deaf from the mutations of his own desire. She was gorgeous, this creature. Dangerous and delectable: her supple flesh completely responsive to his touch.