Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 4

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  It’s been so long since I experienced the full press of a cock against my tongue—since I felt the flex, the twitch, the swell. I miss hands tugging my hair, thighs flexing under my hands, the control and power of reducing a grown man to his barest animal needs.

  I picture it, picture me before him, his mouth dropping open, a calloused hand reaching down to grip at my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple.

  “Oh, fuck,” he growls, and I come undone, my back curling, thigh trembling, my fingers slick and quick, the orgasm sharp and intense. I come and listen to her do the same, his words gruff and soft, urging her on, urging me on, each filthy word stretching out my pleasure, my body limp and languid by the time the intensity ebbs.

  My legs are lazy when I reach for my jeans, slowly pulling them on as I listen to the muffled rattle of a belt buckle in its clasp. I reach down for my tennis shoes and see her knees against the floor, her body shifting as she takes care of him. I listen for the sound of slurps and gags but don’t hear them. She must be using her hand. I pull on my bra, then my shirt, and abandon the wool dress, leaving it off its hanger, trying—rather unsuccessfully—to sneak by their stall without my tennis shoes slapping along the floor. When I reach the entrance to the dressing area, I flee, moving through the almost-empty store, my cheeks burning, my body still tingling with postorgasmic joy.

  I can’t believe I did that. Can’t believe I eavesdropped on them, pulled down my panties, and brought myself to orgasm. I can’t believe I pictured his cock, wanted his touch, and spread my legs open in that tiny little stall. What if they heard me? What if they did hear me?

  I yank open the car door and step in, stuffing my purse onto the floorboard and reaching for the seat belt, suddenly filled with the panicked thought of them coming outside, seeing me, and somehow knowing everything.

  “Well, that took forever.” My husband fumbles with the bottom of his seat, the back of it slowly rising, his mouth stretching into a yawn. “You didn’t find anything?”

  I shake my head. “No. Nothing that fit.”

  “Well, that sucks.” He reaches for his own belt. Sucks. I think of my lips wrapped around the stranger’s cock, the taste of him, the sounds rumbling from his throat. “Talk about a waste of a trip.”

  I swallow a smile. “Seriously.”

  I sit back, my head resting against the seat, and close my eyes, my body fully relaxed for the first time in weeks. As he shifts the car into drive, I cross my legs, enjoying the damp feel of my panties, my clit still tender from the attention.

  A waste of a trip? Well. Not exactly . . .

  MARK

  Rosie Beth Randall

  Before letting go of our good-bye, he pulled me close one last time and inhaled deeply. With his nose in my hair, he dropped his voice so only I could hear and said, “If I ever catch you doing that again, Diana, there will be consequences.”

  It was dark where we were standing, out of reach from the amber streetlamps. The wintry night was cloaked in a smooth layer of fresh snow, but his breath was warm against my ear. The woody smell of his cologne mixed with the power in his words made me want him right then and there, up against the wall beside my building’s stoop. It had been so long since I’d felt free enough to want anything like that—since I’d felt desired enough to let myself want that—but being with Mark had changed me, helped me come out of the shell I’d kept around myself all those years. He didn’t mind the four-inch scar across the right side of my face, like everyone else seemed to. If anything, he’d taught me to accept it.

  I slipped my hand inside his open coat and went straight for his cock, unable to resist.

  “Catch me doing what?” I whipped my voice to a taunt at the end just to fuck with him, hoping it would rile him up enough to be unable to resist me too. Our contract plainly stated he had to initiate activity like this; public sex was a rare occasion for Mark. He only wanted it for certain reasons, when it really meant something—but I figured a bit of goading was worth a try. I just wanted to taste his mouth against my own once more, with his cock pushed into me at the same time.

  I palmed the zipper of his trousers and curled my fingers around his balls, trying to lure him with a squeeze. But Mark caught me by the wrist and backed away.

  “Lawrence will pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven.” He released my arm and turned toward the curb, where his car and driver, Lawrence, were both waiting. “Wear jeans and that blouse I like.”

  When Mark climbed into the backseat without so much as a hint of a smirk, my mouth was watering. His foreplay—detached yet still totally dominant—never failed. He did it so well. Even when he was trying to hide how hard he already was.

  The next morning, I emerged from my apartment promptly at eleven. Lawrence was waiting right where he had been the night before, as if he’d never disappeared. Mark wasn’t there, but he’d left me a package in his stead. Wrapped in thick matte burgundy paper, with a black velvet ribbon tied around it, the box was about the size one would use for a pair of high-heeled shoes. Dangling from the edge of its many-looped bow was a cream-colored card, Mark’s blocky printing on the backside: Open carefully.

  I knew he had a camera hidden somewhere in that Maybach, so I did as I was told.

  Swelling with sudden anticipation, my insides almost couldn’t handle my excited breath as I untied the bow. I had no idea what to expect, but the thought of Mark sitting in his office, watching me from afar, thrilled me more than any gift he could’ve gotten me. I rolled my lips against each other, taking my time as I eased the ribbon off the box and spun it into a tidy spiral. I could feel myself panting—when I set the lush coil on the empty seat beside me, the fresh leather scent of the upholstery was riding in and out of my nose faster than my hands were moving—but I made myself go slowly. I wanted to savor every facet of this moment, this representation of his desire, for as long as possible. Not only for myself, but for him too as he watched.

  I was so focused I didn’t realize the car was moving until Lawrence stopped at the first red light. I noticed my cunt tingling, already wet against my black lace thong. Smirking, I shifted side to side against the sturdy seam in my jeans, amplifying the sensation. Then I tucked my thumb under the sticky flap of wrapping paper and nudged it open. Throbbing all over with a giddy curiosity, I peeled back the paper with both hands, the way Mark often spread my legs with both of his.

  The box’s lid was simple, covered in a black twill fabric. It was elegant but didn’t have any traces of origin. No designer name or symbol embossed, no clue whatsoever as to what might be inside. It was mysterious, like Mark. We’d been together more than a year, and I had yet to fully figure him out. As far as I was concerned, the man was the total embodiment of the word surprise.

  I lifted the lid from its bottom.

  And found another cream-colored card atop the burgundy tissue paper inside.

  If you are reading this, you have twenty minutes left before you’ll reach your destination. In that time, I want you to undo your top, take off your panties, put your fingers in your mouth to wet them, and then I expect you to touch yourself (pinching and squeezing your tits while stroking your clit, like I do) until you are ready to be penetrated. Then you may open the rest of this gift.

  I felt my eyes widening. I had to read it several times, because my heart kept leaping into my throat, shaking my vision. I wondered where he was taking me, what he had planned for when I arrived. I wanted to know what he’d wrapped in that tissue; the layers were so crisp and pristine they didn’t indicate even an outline of the shape they were holding.

  My mouth grew hot and slick with wanting.

  Whatever previous inclination I’d had toward protraction disappeared altogether.

  The partition was closed and curtained, so as long as I kept sort of quiet . . . I placed the open box on the armrest beside me, thrust my hips upward, ripped the button from the loop in my jeans, and tore down the zipper. After shimmying my waistband and panties off my hips in on
e go, I swatted away each lapel of my wool coat. Raced through half the buttons down the front of my silk blouse. Yanked each of my breasts from the lace bra that matched my panties. Sat my bare ass back in the seat, opened my legs, closed my eyes, and didn’t even pause to take a breath before diving into my own depths.

  My juices were already dripping down my thigh, but I plunged my right middle and ring fingers into my mouth anyway, extending my tongue beyond my lips to lap against them because Mark loved when I did that. Teasing myself, I walked my fingers down my warm abdomen, prolonging the buildup before the first touch on my clit. Then I drove my other thumb and forefinger into my mouth, stuck out my tongue against them too, and with the same tempting pressure Mark always used, lowered them to my bite-sized nipples, twisting each, one at a time. I flashed back to the night before. Mark had led me by the hand into his room. Pointing to the white king-size bed, where two lengthy black restraints awaited me, he’d said, “I want you facedown, with your ass up and your hands out in front of you in the cuffs.”

  I pressed harder into my clit, circling the pads of my fingers clockwise, pinching my left nipple as I imagined Mark’s tongue licking across my skin, his spit trickling down the center of my exposed ass. A bead of sweat dripped over the back of my neck when I remembered how hot we’d looked in the mirror beside his bed. Mark had stopped tonguing my cunt and turned to me in the reflection when he’d felt my gaze tracing around his moves. Eyeing me with his soulful brown eyes, he’d spanked my ass hard and said, “I didn’t say you could watch yet.” He’d pushed his fingers deep inside me after that, demanding, “Close your eyes, until I tell you to open them.”

  I pushed my middle and ring fingers inside myself, wishing they were his.

  A waft of his lingering cologne drifted into my nose, revitalized beneath my body’s heat against the seat. Mark usually sat on this side of the car. I felt myself searching for him behind my closed lids, longing for his touch, his physical presence.

  “I didn’t say you could come, Diana . . . ”

  At first, I thought I’d imagined it. But Mark’s voice really was reaching out from the speaker beside my headrest, tickling the edge of my ear.

  A startled gasp fled my gaping mouth.

  Raising my top lashes, I looked around, shocked.

  Then Mark spoke to me again. “Open your package. You’re almost to your destination.”

  I heard a click. As if he’d disconnected a call, maybe hung up a phone.

  I’d been so consumed thus far by the note’s instructions I hadn’t kept track of the time or where my ride was going. I peered out the tinted window to my left, my heartbeat raging against my ribs. We were in Midtown, headed toward the West Village, but I didn’t know what it meant. Still had no idea where Mark was leading me.

  Worried I should hurry, I brought the box to my naked lap. Dipped my hands into the folds of rustling paper. Wondered if Mark was bringing me to his office instead of taking me to lunch, like I’d assumed. Then, as soon as I lifted the top layer of tissue from the rest, I felt my burning nipples shrink with an unexpected chill. The feeling coursed through my breasts, down the center of my half-bare stomach, landing deep in my core, expanding outward as the next incendiary drip of wetness my cunt couldn’t bear to hold inside me any longer trickled onto my thigh.

  I could tell what the gift was now, without even seeing it.

  But I continued taking my time with the rest of the unwrapping.

  Even if he punished me for it later, I wanted to make Mark wait.

  Mark was the only man I’d ever known who actually understood that my submission was the ultimate gift—without it, without my permission and participation, he wouldn’t have anyone to dominate, he couldn’t achieve his own satisfaction. My husband, before Mark, knew me better than anyone in the world, and even he couldn’t wrap his head around that. I’d missed Frank every day since the day I lost him; I would never stop missing him. But sharing moments like this with Mark enlivened me again. I didn’t have to explain anything to him. He always seemed able to just intuit what I wanted. None of my friends understood it. They thought Mark was pretentious. His reserved demeanor intimidated them. But deep down I knew; every time I stood by his side I felt more and more liberated from my past. His presence, our connection alone made it easier to breathe, to let go and simply exist.

  I pulled back the last piece of tissue, marveling at what he’d given me.

  A custom-crafted pair of panties.

  With a long shining black dildo standing up from the crotch.

  And a matching plug a few inches behind, shaped like the dildo’s perfect miniature twin.

  Both were already turned inward and securely sewn to the gusset, so I could walk around wearing them, packed into my ass and cunt—without anyone else knowing.

  The tingling through my insides rose to an unmistakable throbbing, causing a flush to overtake my neck and face. I wished Mark could be there to guide both toys into me.

  As if he’d known I might think that, he’d left one last note in the bottom of the box.

  When you’re ready, change out of your panties and into these. I want you to picture my dick when you put this dildo into your pussy, and I want you to be steady and gentle when you insert the plug into your ass, like I always am. Then I want you to put your clothes back on . . . When you get out of the car, I expect you to look as composed as you did when you first got in it.

  PS: There’s lube in the refrigerator.

  Smiling, I kicked off my heels and scurried to get my legs out of my jeans and thong. I opened the fridge behind my armrest, grabbed the small cold bottle of lube, and squirted a glossy dab onto the plug. I was plenty wet enough for the dildo—just thinking about it was giving me goose bumps—but even though I was new to ass play, I knew I would need lube no matter how excited I was.

  Picturing Mark as I slid the dildo inside me, its girth felt almost as good to me as his cock. I moved on to novel territory with the other toy. Wherever the camera was, I hoped he was enjoying the view of me pushing the plug’s rounded point between my hungry cheeks. “Mmm . . . ” I gave him a naughty grin as I flattened the waist of the new panties across my hips.

  Making sure the leg holes were smooth around my thighs, slowly, I carefully eased down into the seat once more. I’d never felt so full on my own.

  Every inch of my body between my belly button and thighs was thumping with the strongest longing I’d ever felt for Mark. For anyone, really. “I wish you were here with me,” I whispered, trying to relax my pulsing muscles around their newfound toys. I knew, when I leaned down to get my jeans and heels, it would be a challenge. Especially if Lawrence went over a bump in the road. But after a few breaths to prepare, I was ready.

  And it was so delicious I stayed hunched down the whole time I dressed.

  After separating my thong from the denim, I folded that pair of panties, wrapped them in the leftover tissue, and put everything neatly back in the box. Creaming at the thought of Mark finding it all later, I grew breathless and overheated as I bent down farther to get my jeans. Once I’d put my feet into the holes, I almost couldn’t take having to rock my hips to meet the waistband. I kept clenching the denim as if that could somehow relieve the tension and aching. But it didn’t.

  I wasn’t sure I actually wanted that relief yet anyway.

  Really, I wanted to wait for Mark to fuck me himself. Hopefully soon.

  Lawrence rolled to a stop. Outside Barneys.

  The brakes sprung the car backward, and I gasped again, struggling to catch my breath. Apart from my jeans being on, I was still in disarray. Rushing, I gathered the notes, shoved them into my coat pocket, then slammed the lid onto the box. Zipped and buttoned my pants. Tucked my breasts into place. Flew through my blouse’s buttons, closing them quicker than I’d shredded them open. Slipped back into my heels. Gave my hair a single swipe on both sides. And had time for one more try at a deep breath, before Lawrence knocked on the window.

 
“Ms. Wilson?”

  I cracked the door, signaling he could open it. “Yep!” My face flushed again when I took the old man’s white-gloved hand. I was clinging to him harder than I ever had, but with the snow turning to slush on the ground and my insides so occupied . . . I didn’t want to fall. “Thank you.” I couldn’t meet his gaze when I let go, but I could finally breathe. Sort of. The morning air was frigid in my lungs.

  “Mr. McAllister gave this to me, to give to you.” Lawrence manifested a cream-colored envelope from his blazer’s inner pocket and passed it across the space between us.

  “Oh . . . ” I wobbled, unsure whether I could take any more than I already had. “Right . . . ” I knew better than to ask any questions, though—Mark only told Lawrence what he absolutely needed to know.

  When I accepted the envelope, the man tipped his hat like always, returned to the car, and drove off.

  I want you to walk into Barneys. Take the stairs to the fourth floor. No elevator. Give each step its due. You need to think about what a privilege it is to have me inside you. Stop when you get to personal shopping. Your appointment is at 11:30.

  I checked my watch. I had seven minutes to tackle the giant, winding white staircase.

  By the end, when the sixty-something sprite of a stylist greeted me, I had zero interest in shopping at all. I wanted nothing more than to collapse into the nearest tufted chair. But I could admit, I did want to know what Mark had up his sleeve.

  “Diana?” The chic, petite woman beamed at me.

  I nodded, trying not to wince. At that point, there was no way I could talk. It was all I could do not to paw at my sweating brow right in front of her.

  “I thought that might be you. Mark told me you were pretty.”

  I blushed. Instinct drove my hand to my right cheekbone, as if I had an itch under my eye, but I told myself this woman couldn’t have seen my scar from where she was.