“What is it, love?” he asked, his voice laced with sleep.
“I want to ask you something.”
He shifted, folding his arms around his pillow and lifting his head overtop so he could look at me directly. He didn’t say anything, just waited patiently for me to start talking. He was used to this: me coming to him in the middle of the night with my anxiety-ridden questions.
“I’ve been enjoying our fun. In bed, I mean. Sex . . . it’s been good. Better.” I cringed at how inarticulate I sounded. But Simon only smiled and agreed, and his eyes showed a sort of confidence.
“There’s a fantasy I want to try. But it . . . ” I paused, giving myself a chance to say things clearly. “This isn’t something I need, and it doesn’t mean anything about anything between us. It’s just something I’ve wanted to do forever, and since we’ve been more honest and experimenting lately, I thought I would tell you. It doesn’t need to go anywhere. If you think it’s gross or too much, we can forget I ever brought it up.”
“Slow down, you haven’t even told me yet.” He laughed, only to cut himself off when he noticed I wasn’t smiling. He schooled his features into a serious expression, his eyebrows furrowing so a line formed between them. I took a deep breath.
“I want to try a gang bang.”
Too scared to see what Simon’s reaction was to my admission, I shut my eyes immediately. He said nothing at first. For several long moments, the only sound was the hum of the fan. A strange lightness filled my chest, as if the words left a space where my secret used to be.
Finally, I heard his breath pause, and then a breathy chuckle of discomfort that made me cringe.
“Well, I—wow,” he responded. I kept my eyes closed, sure that I’d made a hash of things.
I startled when Simon’s fingers brushed my cheek. “Hey, open up,” he said seriously. Always unable to ignore that tone, I opened my eyes.
“You want a gang bang?” His voice was laced with disbelief.
“I don’t need to do it,” I defended myself. “It’s crazy, I know.” I laughed, but it was the same sort as the chuckle—hollow and anxious—made even less convincing by tears pooling in my eyes. I quickly wiped them away. Simon moved closer, wrapping an arm around my waist, and though I remained stiff, I was relieved.
“It’s not crazy,” he assured me. “It’s . . . unusual, but not crazy. At least, those porn stars seem to like it.” His lips lifted at his halfhearted joke.
I twisted my mouth and gave him an innocuous glare, but felt myself relax a little. He didn’t hate me.
“You’ve wanted to do it forever, eh?”
I felt my cheeks burn, but I nodded.
“How many?”
I did not expect him to want details. But I reached for my courage and did my best to answer him. “I don’t know. Maybe ten?”
Simon’s eyes widened; I knew images of me fucking ten guys were running through his head.
“It doesn’t have to be that many,” I qualified.
Simon paused, still thinking, then said, “I guess I should have let you sow a few more oats before I proposed.” He laughed, more genuinely this time. My fears crowded into my chest like a mob of ghosts, and I shrank back in an effort to escape them.
“Hey, Julie. Hey!” He grabbed my bicep, stopping me from pulling away. “I’m just joking.”
He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around me. I let him do it reticently, heart once again beating too fast and scared, but eventually his constant warmth drove away the ghosts, and I sank against him.
“I don’t know how to talk about this,” Simon admitted, his breath tickling my hair. “I’m not sure I can handle it, but we should talk about it, if it’s really important to you. Maybe when I’m not half-asleep.”
He pulled back just enough to peer into my face.
“Okay,” I agreed. Relieved that the conversation was over for now, I buried myself back into his warmth, eager to avoid the sharp edge of anxiety that still gnawed deep in my gut.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.”
Many conversations followed that night, and then several months of research to locate Danny, who runs Casablanca and agreed to arrange tonight.
When Simon threads his hand into mine and gives it a squeeze, the memories are replaced by the noise of the club. I turn to look at Simon just as the man next to us grunts and comes into the blonde’s mouth.
“Not having second thoughts now, are you?” he asks playfully. I shake my head. I’m not about to run away when my fantasy is so close. No matter what.
Next to the bar is a hall with several closed doors that lead to private rooms, and that’s where Simon and I head. Danny, wearing black jeans and a leather vest, is in Room Three with seven strangers. There’s a mattress and a padded table in the middle of the room, but other than that and a few chairs near the door to the bathroom at the back, the space is empty. The lights seem bright, even with the walls painted dark maroon. The thumping beat from the DJ has been piped in through a pair of speakers hanging from the ceiling. Country. I can’t believe I’m going to get gangbanged to country.
“Any way to change the music?” I ask, frowning at the speakers.
“Don’t worry, in a little bit you won’t even notice the music,” replies Danny with a warm smile.
A couple of the men snort in amusement, and once again I’m reminded of their presence. Right.
Everyone is still clothed. We go over the rules before I am introduced to the men I’ll be spending the night with. Their ages range from thirty to sixty, and I immediately forget half their names. Will that matter after? I’m not sure.
A man named Bill is the last to greet me. He’s got dark hair and dimples when he smiles, and from his confident hello, I guess this isn’t his first time.
“Don’t worry, we’ll treat you good,” he assures me.
“You better,” I retort, but I’m not worried about that. Danny and Simon will be watching from the sidelines, making sure everyone follows the rules and I’m all right.
“You ready, Julie?” Danny asks from behind me.
“Yes,” I say, feeling confident for the first time tonight. This is my fantasy, and I’m going to enjoy it. Excitement overcoming nerves, I strip off my clothes, giving the men their first look at my middle-aged body—belly and stretch marks and all the rest. Simon is staring at me too, and I know he thinks I’m beautiful.
I hand him my clothes, and he gives me a reassuring smile. He doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad; I wouldn’t know what to say. I give him a chaste kiss and then turn around to face the men, finding them undressing.
Bill is already naked, his cock at half-mast as he eyes me up and down. Then he raises an arm, inviting me toward the table, which is about three feet high and covered in black vinyl. I climb on top and turn around, suddenly unsure what I am going to do with seven men at once. Seven cocks.
I expect them to swarm in like vultures on a kill, but they go slow, Bill taking the lead. As his fingers probe between my legs, I am so struck by the fact someone other than Simon or myself is touching me there. I am oblivious to the two bodies moving near my shoulders until one of them begins palming my breasts.
“Shit,” I swear as Bill finds my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure into my groin. Hands are all over me, and I am entirely aware of how real this is. The realization sends a riptide of arousal through my body, makes my skin prickle as if my nerves are reaching out in expectation.
As Bill dips his head to lap at my clit with his tongue, I turn my head to the right and find my first cock. I latch on to it eagerly with my hand, then turn to my left and find another.
It takes me a few minutes to work into a rhythm, but soon enough I have figured it out. In my groin warmth is building like a bubbling spring from Bill’s experienced tongue, and I shift, completely aware of how badly I want to be fucked. To have one of the cocks in my hand in my mouth.
I turn my head and open
wide, and the owner of the cock in my right hand gets the hint. I peer up and meet his eyes, his half-lidded arousal sparking my own even more. I swirl my tongue around the tip. Take him as deep as I can. Awkwardly, I continue stroking with my other hand as I begin to suck.
I am aware for a moment that Bill’s mouth has stopped its sucking, and then I am gasping as I feel his erection searching for my entrance. I moan as he slides inside. My mind chants: There are two cocks inside me.
I want more.
Their attention. Their desire. Their release.
Bill’s cock banging into my pussy seems to set off a new rhythm. Cocks are traded for cocks. I don’t care. I can’t, because there’re too many, and I can’t keep track. My bangers are reduced to body parts, and I think I am too, but instead of feeling gross, it feels like I am bigger, more effervescent than I’ve ever been before. My insides are exploding and so, so warm, and as soon as fingers find my clit again, I am coming.
The first cock explodes come onto my face, and I grin, deliriously happy that I have made this happen. That between my legs another man is finding his pleasure—and stoking mine.
Danny was right: I have forgotten the music. The only sounds I am conscious of are the slapping of flesh against flesh, the slick sucking sound of spit and lube, the grunts of the men and my own constant moans.
I lose track of time. Of how many cocks I’ve held in my hands. Of how much sticky come litters my skin, and how many times my own body has responded in kind. All I know is I don’t want this brilliant, sloppy, disgusting, wonderful joining of flesh to stop. I am lost in the dream, the reality better than I could have imagined.
I am still raring to go when I notice there are only two men left: one in my mouth, and one thrusting eagerly between my legs. We have moved onto the mattress, where I lie on my back. The others loom over the three of us, watching, but their cocks are spent. I peer up and find it’s Bill whose erection I am laving with my tongue.
His dimples appear as our eyes meet, and he rests a hand on top of my head, forcing me into a slow rhythm.
“I told you we’d treat you good,” he says, and then he reaches down between my legs, my eyes following to where another middle-aged man continues to pummel me. It takes only a few minutes of this before I’m coming again, and shortly after the man fucking me comes too, hips jerking forward before stopping altogether. Then he’s gone. Bill quickly moves to take his place, waving two others over to stand beside me. Their cocks are limp, but I grab them anyway. Mostly they massage my breasts then rub any drying come into my skin.
For an old guy, Bill’s stamina is exceptional. His wiry body picks up a blinding rhythm, and soon I am moaning, eyes shut, body rocking on the table. All this sex has made me loose and boneless. I feel like a fluffy cloud being wafted along by the wind.
Bill comes with a loud groan, his hips stilling as he ejects his pleasure for the last time. Then the men are moving away, Bill nodding to Danny and Simon, who I have forgotten about until now. Simon immediately moves next to me, and I feel too drunk off adrenalin and sex to try and read his expression.
As I sit up, I’m tempted to stick my fingers into my pussy, but resist because Simon is handing me a towel. I wipe my face, my breasts, my stomach, and then drop it beside me. There, next to the table, I notice a small wastebasket on the floor for the first time.
It is overflowing with used condoms, a testament to our evening.
Maybe I should feel dirty, but I don’t. I feel aroused, and powerful, to have drawn out so much pleasure.
I stand up with Simon’s assistance, my knees wobbling as my weight sinks onto my feet for the first time in what must be hours.
“How are you doing?” asks Danny, appearing in front of us.
“Great,” I say. I’m sure my grin is stupid and manic, but I can’t help it. I still feel as if I am soaring. In the back of my mind, I wish for another dozen guys to walk through the door.
Danny smiles. I don’t know if it’s because he’s pleased it all worked out, or if he believes he’s created future business.
I shower at the club, change, and then Simon and I go home. I make sure to thank Bill, who is standing at the bar when we leave. He gives me a wink and wishes me well.
The only thing Simon utters the whole way home is, “Have fun?”
“Mmm,” is my hummed reply. But my heart is still pounding, and in my mind the scenes are playing over and over. I barely realize when we pull onto our street.
At home, I feel agitated and aroused as Simon and I brush our teeth and crawl into bed. My legs jump around under the covers. Simon stares at me from his pillow.
“You okay?” he asks. Tentatively, he puts a hand on my arm. The touch ignites something inside me, and I press myself against him. My lips find his throat.
“Julie!” He laughs, clearly surprised.
“Thank you,” I say breathlessly. I kiss his neck again. His jaw. His lips.
After a moment, he returns the kiss, mouth opening, our tongues touching. I wonder for a moment if he needs this, or if I do: a reminder that I still want him too.
He lifts the covers and urges me onto my hands and knees. There is no foreplay before he thrusts inside. I am sore but he feels perfect, and I moan as his hips begin to churn. I urge him faster, banging my hips backward against his thrusts. We are panting, quickly rising up the hill toward our climaxes. My left hand moves to dance between my legs.
“Julie,” Simon gasps, his hips jerking faster. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
It’s the desire in his tone that sends me over the edge, and together we dive over the crest, our moans bouncing off the walls of our master bedroom. Together, we collapse back onto the mattress.
Lying there, I realize I finally feel sated. Tired.
I roll over and burrow myself into Simon’s chest, not caring that he’s sweaty.
“I love you,” I tell him, the feeling an overwhelming pressure in my chest.
“I love you too,” he says, making the pressure ease. He wraps an arm around me and tucks my head under his chin.
I know tomorrow could change things. That any of my old worries could appear like haunting ghosts come to life. That wanting tonight could create whole new messes we didn’t plan for. But for now I am still floating easily, and so I drift off to dream of Casablanca, six men and Bill and Simon, memories and fantasies spiraling together into beautiful, dirty, wonderful bliss.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
CALLIOPE BLOOM is a queer writer and editor. She writes fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.
REBECCA CHASE (rebeccahchase.com) is an English rose with a taste for sex and romance. She adores finding story ideas in everyday life and is always looking out for everyone’s next book boyfriend. Frequently she can be caught daydreaming in coffee shops or enjoying the spectacle of sportsmen battling with balls.
ALYSSA COLE (alyssacole.com) is an award-winning author of sci-fi, historical, and contemporary romance. When she’s not busy writing, traveling, and learning French, she can be found watching anime with her husband, tending to their herd of animals, and finding ways to get around her Twitter-blocking app.
Chicago native ELIZA DAVID (elizadavidwrites.com) is an erotic romance author living in Iowa City. She enjoys reading Jackie Collins and indulging in the occasional order of cheese fries. Eliza is also a blogger, serving as a contributing writer for Real Moms of Eastern Iowa and Thirty on Tap.
JOCELYN DEX (jocelyndex.com) writes paranormal and contemporary romance and erotica that includes humor, lust, love, and four-letter words on the way to a Happily-Ever-After.
PATRICIA ELZIE is a writer (fiction and nonfiction), blogger (kneesockchronicles.com, bookriot.com), librarian, and giver of questionable advice. She lives in Los Angeles, California, with her spouse and hundreds of books.
MEGAN HART (meganhart.com) writes books. Some of them use bad words, but most of the other words are okay. She writes a little bit of everything, although she’s best known for writing erotic fic
tion that sometimes makes you cry.
REGINA KAMMER (kammerotica.com) writes erotica and historical erotic romance. She makes history sexier, whether the era is Roman, Byzantine, Viking, American Revolution, or Victorian. She began writing historical fiction during National Novel Writing Month 2006, switching to erotica when all her characters suddenly demanded to have sex.
MICA KENNEDY (micakennedy.com) writes romantic fiction from the evergreen, ever-damp Pacific Northwest. She is working on her first novel.
LOUISE LAGRIS (louiselagris.com) is a writer and editor living in New York City. When she’s not reading voraciously, checking out what’s new on the big and little screens, or scribbling away for her straight gigs, she slings smutty words online and in print.
TAMARA LUSH (tamaralush.com) is a journalist by day and an erotic romance author at night. Her books have been called “smart smut” by Scandalicious Book Reviews and she finished her most recent novel on a cross-country train trip during an Amtrak Writing Residency.
MADELINE MOORE (moremadelinemoore.blogspot.ca) is an award-winning author of erotica and erotic romance short stories, novels, and novellas. She is also a produced screenwriter and writing tutor. Madeline lives near Toronto.
TAMSEN PARKER (tamsenparker.com) is the USA Today-bestselling erotic romance author of the Compass series and the Snow and Ice Games series. She lives with her family outside of Boston, where she tweets too much, sleeps too little, and is always in the middle of a book.
SOFIA QUINTERO (sofiaquintero.com) has written six novels across multiple genres. You’ll find more of her erotica in the anthologies Juicy Mangos, edited by Michelle Herrera-Mulligan, and Dirty Girls, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Sofia is currently developing a television series based on her novel, Burn, written under the pseudonym Black Artemis.
ROSIE BETH RANDALL is a debut author from Southern California. “Mark” is her first attempt at erotic short-story writing. She is currently crafting her third novel.
SIENNA SAINT-CYR writes erotic and romantic fiction for the Love Slave series, Sexy Little Pages, Melt, Haunt, and the Sexual Expression series. She also writes nonfiction and flash fiction for several websites. Sienna owns SinCyr Publishing, an erotica company with a focus on “shifting rape culture one sexy story at a time.”
Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 4 Page 21