Copyright © 2014 by Rachel Kramer Bussel.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Tempted Romance, an imprint of Cleis Press, Inc., 2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: Jonathan Storey/Getty Images
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
E-book ISBN: 978-1-940550-08-4
“Craig’s List,” by Greta Christina, was originally published in Bending: Dirty Kinky Stories About Pain, Power, Religion, Unicorns, & More.
Contents
INTRODUCTION: GETTING EXPLICIT
SUBMISSIVE
Jacqueline Applebee
HAPPY ENDINGS
Giselle Renarde
CRAIG’S LIST
Greta Christina
BRINGING THE HEAT
Tiffany Reisz
MADAM SECRETARY
Jaye Markham
KITCHEN SLUT
Olivia Archer
JUST ONCE
Jocelyn Dex
BOAT ROCKING
D. L. King
THE SLEEPER’S BEAUTY
Jade A. Waters
UPSTAIRS AT THE AVA
DelovelyOlive
ORGANICALLY GROWN
Brandy Fox
THE ROOM OF GUARANTEES
Jessica Lennox
REDRAWING THE LINES
Bren Emile
TICKLE DAY
Jeremy Edwards
RELIEF
Katya Harris
JAILBAIT TORCH SONG
Valerie Alexander
RED LIPSTICK
Erzabet Bishop
SOMETHING SLEAZY
Elizabeth Coldwell
THE INSTRUCTOR
Rose de Fer
MY PILLAR-BOX RED COCK
Tilly Hunter
A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING
Rachel Kramer Bussel
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE EDITOR
INTRODUCTION: GETTING EXPLICIT
When we fantasize, we give ourselves space to live out the naughtiest acts we can imagine. For me, fantasizing is like taking a trip to another world, where I can be as wanton, selfish and depraved as I like—and for that matter, that’s exactly what erotica writing does for me as well.
Fantasies don’t follow the rules, either the ones society has set for us—and if you’re a woman, our culture has plenty of sex rules to rein you in—or the ones we’ve set for ourselves. Anything—and everything—goes. In the twenty-one stories in this book, I’ve tried to include both common and unusual fantasies, ones that speak to things you might do or want to do, ones that might unnerve you, ones that touch the edges of our most cherished taboos.
The title Hungry for More has multiple meanings—these characters do indeed want more, but that doesn’t necessarily mean more sex just to have more sex. Getting off isn’t a numbers game to these characters; it’s about accessing more pleasure, pushing more boundaries and trying new things, sometimes with new partners. Even when they get more of whatever it is they crave, they’re still hungry, because fulfilling one fantasy isn’t the end of their pleasure, but the beginning of a new and grand adventure.
The common thread here, whether the characters are having sex with strangers from Craig’s List, the organic produce clerk or the secretary of state, is that these women are unabashed in their desires. They may recognize that others might look at them askance, as in Valerie Alexander’s “Jailbait Torch Song,” but they follow through anyway, not letting anyone stop them from experiencing the ultimate thrill of playing out a dirty dream that has often followed them through lovers, relationships and plenty of orgasms. These women often surprise their lovers with their adamant affirmations of lust, but they quickly realize the thrills to be found in venturing beyond their usual erotic boundaries.
The women in these pages know fantasies have a way of finding us, even—or especially—when we try to disavow them. They don’t care about propriety, reputations or acceptability. These fantasies—of public sex, BDSM, strap-on play, lesbian encounters, bukkake, watching male lovers and much more—speak so loudly they cannot be ignored. They insist on being heard, seen, touched. While in real life we may keep our most treasured fantasies tucked away for our most secret selves, in these tales, women’s fantasies are front and center, every explicit act laid bare. Luckily, here, in a book that perhaps you’ll enjoy in bed, or the bath, or wherever you do your erotic reading, you get to watch—and live vicariously through these brazen, taboo-busting women, who are willing to go all the way in the name of living out whatever wild, wicked scenarios their lustiest selves have dreamt up. I invite you to come along for the ride.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
Red Bank, New Jersey
SUBMISSIVE
Jacqueline Applebee
I could tell you how Monty did me wrong. I could paint myself all shades of sorrowful. But that isn’t in my nature, not one bit. I’m thankful for everything that happened.
I was born to serve others. I skipped a lot of school, stayed at home to help out when Ma got sick. I raised my sister’s two kids when she up and ran away. Family’s important to me, it don’t matter what they did. I guess I’m a traditional gal when all’s said and done. Either that or I’m a dumb fuck.
Kinky sex was a whole new bag for me. I found a stray book in one of the bins at work. It was a trashy romance where the heroine got hog-tied and screwed six ways to Sunday by a glamorous count. She was in her element when she was being used. But in the end, she was the one who ran the show, no matter what Count What’s-His-Name thought.
When I read that book, I could almost feel a light going on in my head. I wanted some of that. I wanted to be a submissive.
So where does Monty fit into this picture? Well Mister Montgomery was something else. He was a senior partner at a law firm where I worked as a lowly cleaner. Monty was an elegant old man. He spoke like nobody else did, like he’d been educated all fancy and overseas. His suits were tailored and so fine I just wanted to reach out and touch him sometimes. He carried himself like he knew everyone was watching. For some reason, he was interested in me. Now, I polish up just fine. My clothes may not be expensive but there aren’t any holes, and nothing’s frayed. But most folks who worked for the firm looked right through me whenever I was around. Not that I’d see too many of them; I’d start real early and be out of there when they were still on their first fancy coffee of the day.
It was one morning when I came into work that I saw Monty. He was just coming out of his office as I trundled in.
“Gloria, I need your help.” He held the door open as he pointed to his desk. “Look at it. I’ve tried everything, but to no avail. This is the last time I let my granddaughter meet me at the office. Do you have children, Gloria? Don’t ever have children; they’ll wreck your life. In fact, just don’t have a family.” Monty was talking a mile a minute. I wondered how much caffeine he’d had that morning.
There was a bright orange smear all over the side of his desk. From the smell I guessed it was nail varnish. But what surprised me was the fact that Monty knew my name. Most of the suits in that place would never speak to me at all.
“I think I have some acetone in my trolley.”
Monty quirked an eyebrow at me. It was no big surprise he thought I was stupid. Well I may not have a law degre
e, but I knew my household chemicals.
Monty stood over me as I got to work cleaning the spill. He smelled good, even with the harsh odor of the acetone in the air. I started dabbing and wiping the nail varnish away. I wiggled my chest as I worked; I thought I’d give the old man an early morning thrill while nobody else was around. When I was done, I looked up at Monty. His smart trousers had a big old bulge at the front. I couldn’t help but stare at it. My hand to God, it was huge!
Monty’s eyes caught mine. “Ask nicely and I’ll introduce you.”
My mouth gaped open. I was amazed that I’d met someone just like a character in the kinky book I’d read. Monty had turned from the person I saw every morning into a complete stranger. A completely sexy stranger.
“Go on, Gloria. Beg for it.”
Shit! Shit, damn and fuck it all! This guy was a piece of work. But my whole body felt like it had lit up from the inside. In the split second it took me to process what he’d said, I was already running my mouth.
“Please, Mister Montgomery, won’t you let me see your dick?”
Monty laughed. “My dick?” He crouched down to my level and glared at me. “My penis is not called a dick. And you’ll have to do better than that, girl.” His voice was pitched so low I felt the vibrations go straight to my crotch. I was getting wet. I didn’t know of another name for a dick that I felt comfortable using. Sure, my hippie grandpa used to refer to his pecker; my youngest nephew called it a wee-wee. I wasn’t about to say any of those silly words.
“Please, Mister Montgomery, let me put my mouth on you. I’ll make you feel real good, I swear.”
Monty stood and placed a hand on my neck, angling my head so I could look at his face. “You’ve got five minutes to back up that claim.”
He took out an honest-to-God pocket watch and tapped his foot.
Now, I’ve been sucking dicks for most of my adult life; I’ve been told I’m good at it a few times. But damn, as I unbuttoned Monty’s fly, my hands were shaking like it was my first time with the boy from church behind his daddy’s toolshed.
I licked at the head of his dick, burrowing down as I worked. I lifted his impressive balls from his briefs and licked them, too. My hands went behind my back as I imagined myself hog-tied, just like the heroine in my book. Monty growled when I did that. Just that one noise made my whole body flush with heat like I had a fever. I sucked him with even more enthusiasm than before. I massaged his dick with my tongue, sucking and pressing with my mouth and lips. I knew he was coming when his smooth rocking motions started getting rough and crazy. He came inside me. I felt so proud, I couldn’t stand it. Here was someone who appreciated my skills, who wanted what I had to offer. It was like a dream. That is, it was like a dream until Monty pulled out of my mouth abruptly.
“Time’s up.” He wiped at the tip of his cock and held out his sticky fingers. I didn’t know if he wanted me to clean his hand with my polishing cloth or lick it clean with my tongue. It didn’t matter. I’d made a fantasy come true. I felt like a submissive.
Monty was in the office real early every day after that. Sometimes he brought in a pair of handcuffs and locked me to the filing cabinet. I asked him if he could hog-tie me, but he told me I didn’t get to choose the toys. Toys? This wasn’t a game for me. I longed to feel helpless and wanton and be desirable at the same time. I wanted flowing gowns and Victorian castles. I wanted a little romance to make me feel like a true submissive. But Monty laughed when I told him that.
“We are not equals, Gloria, not in this room or out of it.” He patted me on the head like I was some kind of stray dog. “Don’t get ideas above your station. It will only lead to disappointment.” I hated the sound of his voice.
“So what we do every morning, it don’t mean a thing to you?” My voice was quiet, like even I didn’t want to hear the question.
Monty shrugged. Even that movement was elegant. “You’re an interesting diversion. But I don’t associate myself publicly with the hired help.”
I looked at him defiantly, rattling my cuffed hands against the filing cabinet. “This feels pretty associated to me.”
Monty’s face broke into a scowl. He unlocked me from the heavy cuffs. “The microwave in the kitchen is stained inside and out. Please ensure it is spotless before the others arrive.”
I heard him loud and clear. I got up and left.
I trudged home later that day, thinking about what Monty had said. Did all dominants think of their subs as disposable? Was I nothing but an expendable mouth to be fucked? I’d briefly thought I had something of a connection with Monty, but I guess I should have known better. He was just like every other man I’d ever known. Submission wasn’t the same as abuse or neglect, I was sure of it. Monty was a god-awful dominant. Some part of me knew they all couldn’t be that way. But I was still going to burn that damn book as soon as I got home.
I stopped believing in luck an awful long time ago, but as I sat waiting for my bus to arrive, I looked down to see a colorful flyer curled up on the side of the road. Just a few letters were visible, but they came into focus as I spelled them out in my head: S-U-B. I picked up the flyer and stuffed it in my pocket. I waited until I got home before I scooted to the bathroom to read it. If it was a voucher for half-price sandwiches, I’d feel all kinds of foolish. But to my relief, it was for a club night happening the coming Saturday, called Submissives Under the Bridge. I was going to that club if it was the last thing I did.
Saturday saw me standing outside of an old building under a railroad bridge on the edge of town. I paid my entrance fee to a burly man at the front desk, counting the bills carefully. The whole building rattled as a train passed by on the elevated tracks.
“There’s a changing room at the side,” the man said, pointing in a vague direction.
I was wearing my smartest dress. I wasn’t about to change it for anything else. But then I saw what some of the folks inside were wearing and I understood what he’d meant. I spent a good ten minutes just wandering around with a slack mouth, gazing at the pretty outfits everyone wore. I saw corsets and top hats, rubber and lace and so much bare skin. It was better than Christmas and Halloween all rolled into one.
I made my way over to a large glass cage set into a wall. A young man lay inside. He was completely naked. I moved closer, trying not to be too obvious. I thought the little thing was asleep. His eyes were closed, so I could see that his long brown lashes were pretty and delicate. He had a smile on his face, a contented expression like he didn’t have a care in the world. But then his eyes fluttered open, all brown and deep and sweet like molasses. He saw me. His smile grew wide. I smiled back, and it was then that I felt something warm and light start to glow inside me once more.
I would have spent longer admiring the man, but two women rushed up to the cage and started tapping on the glass. His attention went elsewhere.
The music in the club was loud. The drinks were expensive. But there was so much to enjoy despite all of that. I watched a woman tie a rope dress around a big gal with tiny nipples. I was almost hypnotized as two men stroked long feathers across each other’s chest. I flinched as a bald black man whipped a figure pressed up against a wooden frame. Each crack of the whip sounded like a gunshot; it made me feel nervous as hell.
I sat in a quiet corner as the clubbers continued to enjoy themselves. My luck continued to be good, as the naked boy from the cage sauntered toward me.
“Mind if I sit?” He pointed to the space next to me on the low couch.
I nodded as he laid a towel on the seat and then placed himself down. I took the opportunity to glance over at him, taking in all the delicious details I’d missed earlier. He had tanned skin with not a single tan line. The thought of him out in the sun, completely nude, made me swallow hard.
I’m sure he knew I was looking for longer than I should. He leaned over. “I’m Jeremy.” He shook my hand.
“Gloria.”
“Wanna drink?”
“Sure. Just
a Coke,” I replied, and then I wondered where he kept his money. “You don’t have to,” I said quickly, but he was off, scampering away like a cute puppy. Thankfully Jeremy must have had a tab, because I didn’t see him fishing a twenty out of his ass or anything like that. He gave me my drink with another smile that lit up the room.
“So you like being naked, Jeremy?” I asked, genuinely curious.
The boy stretched out, showing me all of his good stuff in the process. “It’s natural. It’s comfortable. And it’s seriously sexy.”
I liked this straight-talking boy. “What’s the deal with the cage?”
“I like to be admired and petted.”
“Like a dog?”
“More like an exotic lizard out in the sun.” He held out an arm. “Feel how smooth I am.”
I ran a finger up and down his arm; he wasn’t lying about being smooth. It was then that I noticed he didn’t have much in the way of hair anywhere on his body. There was some soft fuzz on his head, and his lashes were long, but that was it.
“I bet I could slide right off you,” I joked. “And I’ve never petted a lizard before, but I’ve admired plenty of them.”
Jeremy’s eyes were stupidly soft as he looked over at me. “Why not give me a go?”
I held my arms open. Jeremy crawled into my lap.
“Such a good pet, aren’t you?” I crooned. I honestly didn’t know where these words came from, but my new friend sighed with pleasure as I spoke, so I knew it was a good thing. My hands stroked over his thighs. “You’re pretty. Can I touch you some more?” I guess pets don’t have much need for talking, because Jeremy just opened his legs wider for me. His cock was small, but growing in size as he got hard. I didn’t have any fancy equipment on me, like the characters in the kinky book, but right then I didn’t care. I stroked my nails down his dick, gentle at first and then with more force. Jeremy hissed with what sounded like pain.
“Did I hurt my pet?” I whispered.
Jeremy nodded, but he grinned and then kissed me on the cheek. “Do it again?”
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