Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 4

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  You mean a Justina tale?

  That’s so fuckin’ mean. She can’t help it if she’s old.

  Professor Delgado, can I get the D?

  Not uh D . . .

  Theee D!

  They rolled out on a wave of hysterical giggles, never realizing Justina had heard them. When she was that age, she would have bounded out of that stall cussing and swinging until one of those bitches had her face shoved down the toilet. Lucky for them, by the time she turned thirty, Justina had settled into the woman her mother spent all her life haranguing her into being. Responsible. Disciplined. Oh so far above la racheteria.

  Lucky for them, but not for her.

  After giving them a few minutes to disappear, Justina braced for the winter cold and bustled toward her car. As it warmed up, she answered a few work emails, texted Brianna to ask what she wanted Justina to pick up for dinner, and liked some of Caleb’s Facebook posts. Justina went to her photos. Once when she had confiscated Brianna’s phone and investigated her social media accounts, Justina came across the post about Professor Delgado. Although she had texted the photo to herself, she never gave herself permission to look at it again. But that crisp October night, she thought a harmless crush was exactly what she needed to get through the term. Justina pinched the screen to enlarge the photo until she could see the scar on his chin. If she had half the gall of her younger classmates, Justina would ask Professor Delgado how he got it. Scars held stories, sometimes even secrets. Her classmates would snicker at her, but the professor would understand. It was a grown woman’s question motivated by a grown woman’s needs.

  Justina imagined herself sashaying into his office on the last day of class. Professor Delgado, one last question. She closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together. In her fantasy, she traced her finger along his scar. His breath quickened as she locked the door behind her, hoping this was exactly what he thought this was. May I . . . ? She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his pants. He would already be hard, having been thinking about Justina like he did after every class. Justina pulled out his hefty cock with a firm grip and sank him into her mouth. In the front seat of her increasingly warm car, she parted her thighs and dipped her finger into her moist pussy, fucking herself in the rhythm of her fantasy, lips sliding up and down Professor Delgado’s cock. Behind her closed eyes, she watched him grip her shoulders as he humped her sweaty mouth, while in her car she arched her back and added another finger to her juicy cunt. Just as Justina imagined him firing off his hot load down her throat, she groaned and came in her front seat.

  This is the night she remembers on the last day of class as she watches Professor Delgado field their silly questions while they eat the Indian takeout food and drink bottles of Riesling, his treat. If by family they mean is he married, no, he never has been. He’ll be thirty-six in July. No, not Leo, Cancer. He tries to work out but hasn’t been to the gym in months, and it’s all their fault. Justina finally asks him a question, but it’s not about the scar. Yes, he’d like to come back next semester, but he’s not sure if he will. It’s not up to him. It actually might be up to them. And he uses that moment to remind them of the confidential course evaluation form he sent them after submitting their grades to the registrar.

  They’ve stayed an hour later than usual when Professor Delgado finally says he needs to get to his son. He hands out the final papers, and students hurry off to their end-of-semester celebrations or unmade dorm beds. “Ms. Mendez,” he says, his hands empty. “I think I may have left yours in the office.”

  As they make their way down the corridor, they joke about the questions. He thought Justina was exaggerating when she warned him. She felt they weren’t so bad. They enter Professor Delgado’s office, and there her paper is on the desk, centered on the blotter. On it in his sharp print, A for the paper, A- for the course.

  Justina says, “Is it too late to do some extra credit?” They both know it is. It’s a grown woman’s question motivated by a grown woman’s need, and this is no performance.

  “I stayed so late,” says the professor, “I could use a ride to the station so I won’t miss the next train.”

  They arrive at the station a good half hour before Professor Delgado’s train, and Justina parks in a dark corner away from traffic. She turns to him and says, “Professor Delgado . . . ”

  “Jeremy . . . ”

  “Jeremy, thank you so much for being such a wonderful teacher. I learned much more than I imagined. And I wouldn’t have even stayed if you hadn’t been so supportive.”

  Jeremy takes a deep breath. “I’ve admired you for quite some time.” His hand drifts from his lap to Justina’s knee. Although he lets his hand rest there, the warmth of his touch flows up her thigh.

  “Me?” Justina’s tone is saucy. Leading. Assured. “Or my work?”

  “Both.” Jeremy’s thumb caresses her knee, adding heat to the current pulsing up her leg. “Of course both.”

  Justina places her hand over his and slides it to her inner thigh where her stocking ends and her flesh begins. She finally looks him in the eye and smiles. They lean toward each other, his breath reaching for hers, hers drawing his in. His lips against hers are soft and firm like his fingers now stroking her thigh. Justina presses herself into his kiss, hungry for Jeremy to discover her secret. Instead his other hand reaches toward her breast, the thumb grazing back and forth over Justina’s hardening nipple.

  As their tongues mingle, Justina reaches for Jeremy, her hand settling on his belly, his muscles taut beneath a band of flesh she rubs and squeezes. Jeremy grasps her hips to pull her closer to him, and her hand tumbles to the bulge beneath his belt. Her fingertips delve into the fabric above the grooves of his cock, hot and stiff.

  Justina rears back, her hands still rubbing Jeremy’s cock. She lifts her hips and slides herself onto his lap. She grips the back of his head and dives for another kiss as his hands roam up her thighs and onto her bare ass, her secret now exposed.

  “Wow.”

  Jeremy grinds into her as his fingers cup and knead her ass, the length of them diving into her moistening folds. Justina kisses him as she grabs his hair and winds her crotch against his, their moans escaping between gyrations. She feels her juices seeping into his slacks, his cock reaching for her. Her back arches into him, her head falling back from the weight of her moans while Jeremy licks the grooves of her neck and nibbles her throat.

  Justina stops, looking him in the eyes and stroking his hair. She eases herself off Jeremy’s lap and climbs into the backseat. Jeremy undoes his slacks—the crotch wet with her—as he watches Justina ease onto her back, lick her fingers, and nestle them in her pussy. They watch each other, she teasing her clit with one finger as she dips another into her cunt, he sliding his fist up his cock and over its bulb. Their eyes lock as their hands fall into a rhythm of dip and slide, dip and slide, dip and slide. The waves rising in her pussy push groans over her belly and out her throat.

  “Can I taste you?”

  “Please.”

  Jeremy moves into the backseat and kneels between her thighs, and Justina bridges her back, her moist ass slipping off the leather seat. She anticipates that Jeremy will lower himself so that he can sink his face into her pussy, but he instead grasps her hips and hoists her up and toward his face. Justina gasps as her shoulders sink into the seat, bringing her dripping pussy to Jeremy’s hot mouth, the stubble on his cheeks grazing her thighs. His tongue circles the fullness of her vulva, dipping into folds, sliding along her clit over and over. Blood rushes to Justina’s head as her thighs clench Jeremy’s face while his tongue darts into her walls and his breath tickles her clit.

  Jeremy pauses, and Justina’s hips sink back into the seat. Before her ass can feel the leather, he slips two fingers into her ignited pussy. No, she thinks. This is too much. I can’t. Jeremy slowly pumps his hand, and her pussy smacks. The sound of herself against the creaking of the leather tells her yes. Yes, she can.

  “Mmmmm . . .” She
gyrates her hips and tightens her pussy around Jeremy’s fingers, sighing louder and louder with each dive. Despite Justina’s mounting pleasure, Jeremy maintains a steady rhythm as he watches his glistening fingers disappear into and return from the wet folds. Justina quickens her gyrations and reaches for her clit.

  “No,” he says. He pulls out his fingers.

  “What?” Her breath is heavy, the one word difficult to form.

  “Slow down,” Jeremy says. “Let me. I get what you like now.”

  Justina closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. Her cunt still pulsating, she releases the arch in her back. Jeremy’s thumb hovers over her clit, circling without touching, while another finger creeps back into her hole. It slides in and out, and then one finger becomes two. Two stretches into three, the pads curling that spot, and her groans rise into yowls. Her neck sweats and tears pool behind her eyes, his fingers unhinging something deep and primal. “Ohhh.” Her spot cringes. It aches. It yearns for more.

  She grabs Jeremy’s hand and pulls it out of her pussy. His eyebrows knit with worry. “Did I hurt you?”

  Justina drops her head against the seat, her chest heaving. Her juices run down her crotch and over her ass as the aroma of her desire envelops the air. She opens her eyes. “No, you didn’t,” she says. Justina sits up and turns over onto her knees. She sucks in a breath as she wriggles her ass against his cock. “Not yet.”

  Justina sways her juicy ass over his rod, trusting him to take his time and tease her. Jeremy grips his cock and drags the head back and forth between her clit and her asshole. “Yes,” she moans. “Like that.” Jeremy’s breath grows heavier along with his stroking, pressing deeper into her grooves with every pass, the head of his cock now planting a kiss on her clit at the top of each stroke. Her clit strains for his head when it leaves to coast back down her drenched valley toward her anus as if to say come back.

  “Fuck me now,” she says. “Make me come.” Jeremy brings the head of his cock to her hole, wiggling it between her lips. “I said now!” She’s the instructor now. Jeremy pierces her cunt. “Yes!” She sucks him in and pummels her ass into his hips. One hand grabs her hip, the other her hair, and as he pumps and pulls, Justina bursts into sweat. It drips from her forehead, down her throat, in between her breasts. Her knees and palms slide and sink into the leather as she wails in ecstasy. The tail of the tornado forms at her G-spot, spiraling and swelling throughout her pussy, gathering intensity as Justina bucks against him, strong and sure. Her thighs slap his, and soon with every thrust Justina rises until Jeremy drops onto his back.

  Planting one foot on the seat and the other on the floor, Justina begins to pump. As Jeremy’s furious cock drives into her, Justina throws open her arms to grasp the seat backs. He swings into her, making her rock as she gasps. She looks down at her pussy and hikes up the skin on her mound; her clit, now the size of a dime, glistens in the dark in the beam of a distant streetlight muted by the fogged windows. Justina rubs her clit as Jeremy pumps into her, moans reaching out of her throat, her pussy clamping onto his cock, every inch of her skin electrified until she explodes, spraying a stream of juice against the car window as she climaxes. Jeremy lets out a low growl as he pulls out his cock and shoots his come against the door.

  Justina falls against him, nestling between his thighs and resting her head against his chest. She feels Jeremy’s hands creep around her waist and coast under her shirt to her breasts. He cups and squeezes them and then wraps his arms around her.

  They lie there, sticky, sweaty, satisfied, until they hear the whistle of his incoming train. “Fuck.” Justina leaps into the driver’s seat and starts the car while Jeremy scrambles to pull on his pants. “Don’t worry.” She races to the station entrance. “You’re going to make it.”

  Jeremy grabs his bag and rushes out of the backseat. He circles the back of her car as Justina rolls down her car window. He gives her a quick yet juicy kiss. She tastes a hint of herself and savors it. “Thank you, Ms. Mendez.” He gives her hand a quick squeeze and runs to catch his train.

  Justina watches him board. She remains even after the train is gone, reveling in the waves still coursing through her pelvis until they ebb away. Only then does she make her way home. Justina grins at the thought of doing the course evaluation for Professor Delgado’s class tonight. An A for an A, both deserved.

  BREATHE

  Patricia Elzie

  Erin was running late again. She had thought she’d left in plenty of time, but LA traffic was always worse than expected and then parking at the coffee shop was nearly impossible. By the time she walked through the door, she was a gasping mess of long, red curls and sweaty hands.

  Naomi sat at a table in the back, face hidden almost completely behind a book. She peered over the pages when she heard someone rush through the door. Erin tried to catch her breath, seeing as she’d nearly run from her car, which was parked three blocks away. Naomi smiled behind her book and knew that Erin would be extra eager to please to make up for her ten minutes of tardiness. Naomi inhaled deeply to steady her breath. It was always a little nerve-wracking meeting new submissives. Of course, once they were in a bedroom, Naomi was confident, but basic social interactions made her feel awkward and impatient. She took a moment to draw a deep breath and calm her nerves.

  “Erin,” Naomi said in a tone that was more demanding than friendly. Shit, Naomi thought, just scare her away immediately why don’t you?

  This was the first time Naomi had met a woman for potential playtime and she didn’t want to fuck it up. Erin turned in the direction of Naomi’s voice and walked toward her, meeting Naomi’s hesitant smile with a huge grin. Naomi felt at ease instantly.

  “Hello, Erin,” Naomi said softly. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

  “Oh my god, I am so, so sorry I am late, it’s just that traffic—”

  “I know.”

  “And then parking was—”

  “Yes, it’s Los Angeles. It’s the price we pay to live in a place with culture and sunshine and an unnecessary amount of organic juice bars,” Naomi smiled.

  “I guess this just means that you’ll have to punish me for being tardy,” Erin said slyly.

  Naomi laughed. “I don’t punish for things you can’t control. I’m not a complete monster. Just a teeny tiny monster.”

  “Well then,” Erin smirked, “luckily, I have a thing for monsters.”

  They sat in awkward silence. Naomi sipped her espresso.

  “What should I—”

  “Have you ever—”

  The tension broke. “You first,” said Erin.

  “No, you first,” said Naomi. “I insist.”

  “Okay, what should I call you? I mean, right now in the coffee shop. I realize that in my hurry to meet you I only know you by your screen name and obviously,” she whispered, “Mistress.”

  “Please, call me Naomi.”

  “Okay, Naomi, what were you going to ask? ‘Have you ever’ what?”

  “Have you ever met anyone online before?”

  “Of course! You?”

  “Yes, but only men, until today. And I’ve only ever had sex with men.”

  “Then why were you so intent on meeting me?”

  “Well,” said Naomi, “from our chats you seemed like you have a good sense of humor.”

  “Are you going to tell me that you’re attracted to my inner beauty as well?” Erin replied skeptically.

  “No, no. Let me explain,” rushed Naomi. “It’s hard for me to find the right kind of partners.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Oh, I can find people to fuck, for sure. Plenty of men love to fetishize my brown skin and natural hair. ‘Are you as kinky as your curls? Do you taste like chocolate?’ Ha fucking ha. Then even after I weed out the racist responses, it’s still hard to find matches for my particular kink.”

  Erin furrowed her brow. “You’re not into illegal things, are you?”

  “Ha. No.”

/>   “Clowns? Because if it’s clowns we can end this right now.”

  “Oh god no,” Naomi said, chuckling nervously. “Like I said, I’m not a complete monster.”

  “Well, what is it then?” Erin leaned forward, her eyes searching Naomi’s face for any signal that she should leave immediately.

  Naomi looked down at her hands, which were open and palm up on the table, a sign of vulnerability. “I can always find submissives who want to be spanked or slapped or pinched or any manner of percussion and pain. They like to show me how brave and strong they are, being spanked so naughtily. That’s nice, I guess. I do enjoy spanking people.”

  “Is that it? I like being spanked. In fact, I volunteer as tribute right now,” Erin said enthusiastically.

  “No. That’s not it.”

  “If you want me to go home with you to play, I’m willing, but I gotta know what I’m in for first. No surprises.”

  Naomi sighed. “I want to tie you up.” She paused to dramatically finish her espresso. “I want to tie you up, and tickle you.”

  Erin laughed hard for a full twenty seconds before she noticed Naomi was not sharing the laughter. “Oh,” said Erin, her smile failing. “You’re serious.”

  “Quite serious,” Naomi replied. “Sexy tickling, of course.”

  A wave of confusion fell over Erin’s freckled face as she became acutely aware of how ticklish she was. And to be tied down? It sounded awful. Unbearable. The idea of sexy tickling was an oxymoron to her. Did that mean her whole body would be exposed? Erin snapped out of her head when she saw Naomi’s devious smile. That smile tugged at something deep within her. “My curiosity will be my downfall.”

  “And your online profile does say you love to laugh,” Naomi replied with a snicker. “So shall we test that?”

  “Lead the way,” Erin said as she stood hastily. “Before I lose this newfound bravery.”

  Naomi lived around the corner from the coffee shop in a small, one-bedroom apartment. It smelled of vanilla and books. Erin inhaled deeply when they walked in. They dropped their bags on the sofa, and Naomi turned around to face Erin, who was a good three inches shorter than her.