Best Women's Erotica 2015

by Violet Blue

  Of course. I’d forgotten for a moment I was the girl with the out-of-proportion nose. But she hadn’t.

  It came as a body blow when I was allocated the seat next to Christian Neville in Physics 380. I could see from his face when he saw me coming, preceded by my proboscis, that it was a blow to him too. We didn’t chat and Physics 380 wasn’t collaborative. But he did attempt collaboration by looking over my shoulder while I made the necessary calculations for our class assign- ments. I took to wrapping my other arm around my paper to stop him from seeing. I could sense his frustration at this by the way he slammed his pen down on the bench.

  “Come on, Syra, play fair,” he whined. “You know I can do all this stuff, but it’ll just take me till after class finishes and I’ve got to get to training.”

  He tried flashing his megawatt smile, but he obviously hadn’t realized I wasn’t into guys.

  “Please,” he pouted. “Or…”

  “Or what?” I said, looking up at him.

  “Jeez, watch out with the nose, would you? Nearly had my eye out.”

  “Bigger than your dick, is it?”

  He pulled a face.

  “God knows what she sees in you,” I muttered to myself as I finished off my calculus.

  “What? Who?” I ignored him.

  “Syra, who are you talking about?” he said, fixing me with pleading, puppy-dog eyes. “Tell me it’s Roxanne. Is it? Is it?”

  Even though I despised him, I had to admit there was a boyish charm about Christian Neville that could soften the hardest of hearts, and mine certainly wasn’t that.

  “You like her?” I said, forgetting the nose jibe. I’d heard it all before.

  “Like her? That’s my future ex-wife you’re talking about.”

  “So ask her out.”

  Christian went red as cherry-pie filling and I stared at him.

  He nodded. “Yeah, this is what happens every time I try to talk to her.”

  I could relate to that.

  “So text her,” I said. Yes. I am that expert at giving dating advice to lovelorn jocks and broken-hearted he-men.

  “You think?” Christian’s teeth were so goddamn white.

  He held out his cell phone and I took it—I don’t know why. And that’s how it started. I typed in a text.

  Want 2 compare magnetic attraction coefficients Thurs night?

  I showed him.

  “Seriously? I don’t even know what that means.”

  “She will.”

  “How well d’you know her?”

  “I sit next to her in Physics 360.”

  That seemed to satisfy him. He hit send and ten minutes later she replied.

  Horizontal or vertical?

  He showed me her text, his chest heaving with excitement.

  Up 2 you, I texted back.

  CU Thurs.

  “Fuck me, Syra, you did it,” he said loud enough to earn us a harsh look from the professor.

  He did a little wiggle with his arms. “Gonna get laid. Gonna get laid.”

  That stuck in my craw some and I should have called a halt right then, but this was a love story and I was hooked.

  “Say, send her another,” he said, giving me the cell.

  I thought about what I’d like to do with Roxanne.

  How do u feel about us & spintroncis?

  I passed the cell back to him.

  “Oh boy,” said Christian, with a low whistle.

  I could actually see he had a hard-on. Her reply pinged in. I held out my hand for the phone and he passed it over. Text sex—sexting—it’s what our generation is all about, they’d have you believe. I was sexting with Roxanne. She thought she was sexting with Christian. And, of course, when it got to exchanging pictures on Snapchat, she was. But I got my cheap thrill and Christian got his date.

  Maybe you don’t have an opinion on whether the U.K. version of “Being Human” is better than the U.S. one. That’s okay. But plenty of people do and I was following a discussion board on that very topic when Christian’s text came in.

  Help…what do I say?

  I looked at my watch. He was out for dinner with Roxanne if things had gone according to plan. Oh yes, he’d stunned her with his erudite texting and now he needed to be witty and seduc- tive in person. I dragged myself away from a thread debating whether George was more convincingly lupine than Josh. There was a real human in need of my dating prowess.

  I replied to his text.

  Talk physics. Her term paper = magnetic field fusion. U want 2 fuse ur magnetic fields…

  This could go badly wrong, I thought as I pressed send. It happens I was right. Without wanting to bore you with more science—physicists can apply in writing for the full tran- script—I led Christian through a series of increasingly risqué innuendos. We covered Planck energy, nanobot reproduction, gray goo scenarios and ramjet fusion in a series of increasingly frenzied text exchanges. God, to have been a fly in the soup at that table!

  There was a lull in the conversation.

  How does she not realize ur texting under the table?

  Holding her hostage with my blue eyes.

  It’s true—they were a remarkable shade of blue.

  Leaving now. Thanks 4 help.

  U owe me.

  Ur right. Coming round 2 deliver.

  What? That didn’t read right.

  There was a knock on my door. WTF? It was past eleven and I don’t have the sort of friends who just drop by. Christian should have been on his way back to Roxanne’s, so this couldn’t be him. Could it?

  I put down my phone and padded to the door just as my caller knocked for a second time.

  “What are you doing here?” I said, pulling the door open and expecting to find Christian outside.

  But it wasn’t him.

  Roxanne held Christian’s cell up to my face. I read the screen.

  I want to explore your carbon nanotubes.

  I wrote those words. He must have said them.

  Roxanne pushed through the door and backed me up against the wall. Her face was flushed and she was close enough for me to smell alcohol on her breath. I wondered how large my nose looked at such close range.

  “You wrote every single word of it, didn’t you?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “And you meant it?” Her tone softened.

  I nodded again. I couldn’t have articulated at that moment if my life depended on it.

  Her kiss was a savage surprise. Her mouth crushed against mine, slamming my head back against the wall, giving me two reasons for seeing stars. No one had ever kissed me like this before—tongue thrusting into my mouth, pushing against mine, slipping past it to explore. I felt heat rising from the furnace between my legs and I kissed her back in a way I’d never kissed anyone before. Our noses clashed and she drew back, laughing.

  “What about Christian?” I asked.

  “It was so obvious it wasn’t him,” she said. “I could tell someone was putting words in his mouth, and I could see him texting in his lap.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I left him paying the bill. He was very red in the face and trying to disguise a huge hard-on with his serviette.”

  Her hand strayed to the zipper of my hoodie and started slowly drawing it down.

  “I took his phone. I had to see who it was.” “I thought you had feelings for him.”

  She pushed my hoodie back over my shoulders as we stag- gered through to the living room.

  “They evaporated as soon as he went off script.”

  She yanked up my T-shirt and pulled it roughly over my head.

  “As soon as I realized it was you, there was only one thing I could think of.”

  I knew what it was. There are certain very specific uses for a big nose that you probably only appreciate when you’ve gone out with someone thus blessed.

  I directed her back onto the settee and knelt on the floor in front of her. She leaned forward and sucked one of my breasts into her
mouth. My nipple pebbled at the touch of her tongue, and I almost cried with relief. I pushed her dress up her thighs until it rucked around her hips while her fingers worked to make my other nipple as hard.

  “You know why I’m here.” Her lips moved against the dark, puckered skin of my areola. I wished she’d keep talking. But then I wished more that she’d carry on doing what she was doing with her tongue.

  I hooked my fingers into the top of her black-lace panties and drew them down. These were the panties she’d put on for her date with Christian. Now I was taking them off. They glided down her long, slim legs but she had to let go of my breasts as I tangled with the panties over the heels of her stilettos.

  “Here, let me,” she said.

  She leaned forward to undo the shoe buckles at the side of her ankles and I took advantage of her position to slide a hand into the top her dress. Her chest was tightly encased in smooth satin, the sort of sexy slip of a bra that would never grace my own lingerie drawer. I pushed one cup aside and yanked her breast free of it. She gasped and even though her shoes and panties were free, she remained where she was to let me play for a minute.

  “Now,” she said, leaning back on the couch and spreading her legs apart.

  The smell of her musk caught at the back of my throat as I leaned in. If being a physicist didn’t prevent me from believing in God, I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I rested my forearms on her thighs, pressing out to keep her spread wide. She was clean shaven and in the dying light of the day the dark crevice at the top of her legs glistened. She was wet and I licked my lips in anticipation.

  The first taste of woman is always a revelation, just like the first kiss. She tasted good, sweet and unique, and I instantly knew I was going to want more of this. I swept the line where her lips met with my tongue. I heard her sharp intake of breath above me and felt her hips pushing into the couch, her legs stretching wider. I brought my tongue down in the opposite direction and let the tip of my nose press against her soft flesh. She moaned. I used a finger to ease her lips apart, allowing a deluge of warm juices to escape. I inserted my finger farther, delighting in the velvety softness of the cavern I was exploring. Deep in my pelvis, I ached to feel her touch in return. My muscles clenched as I ground my hips back against my heels.

  I pulled my finger out, spreading her lips open with my hand. I used my tongue to caress and massage her wet folds, darting in and out, playing hide-and-seek with the tip of my nose, sticking my tongue out as far as I could and pushing it up inside her. At the same time I reached ’round to the back of her hips and pulled her forward onto the edge of the couch. My face was buried in a place that up until now had only existed in my imagination. But this was one-hundred-percent real and her hips flexed against me, demanding more.

  My fingers dug into the soft flesh of her buttocks and she grunted. I fucked her with my tongue, in and out, rubbing my nose into the soft flesh above. When she pushed up against me, I slipped my tongue out and let it drop farther. She gasped as I made a tentative foray toward the tight pucker of her ass. Sweet, soft flicks with my tongue—and each time I touched against it, I could feel her muscles tighten sharply, then gradually relax. I pressed my nose into her cunt and pushed against her resistant ass with my mouth. It was easy to slide a finger down her crack to do the hard work and in a few moments she opened up to me.

  I finger-fucked her ass until she couldn’t keep still on the couch and she put a hand down to stop me. I raised my eyes and her beauty shocked me anew, like I’d forgotten who I’d gone down on. Or at least I couldn’t believe who it was.

  “Let me taste you,” she said.

  “Of course.” My voice was hoarse.

  I stood up and pulled off my yoga pants as if they were on fire, almost tripping in my enthusiasm. My barely there G-string followed and I was ready for her. All right, more than ready. I’d been wet since our first kiss in the hall and clenching since I’d taken in the first deep breath of her musky scent. She swung her legs up onto the couch and lay back with her head on one armrest. I bent to kiss her but she pointed down toward the other end.

  Classic sixty-nine with Roxanne. This was my favorite dream—and probably Christian’s as well—made flesh. I faced away from her and straddled her now-naked body, bending forward and shuffling back until I reached the ideal position. She bent her knees up and let her tawny legs fall wide. We hit each other at the same moment, causing muffled gasps and a suppressed giggle.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered against my quivering folds.

  It’s not a word I’ve had directed at me very often, so I sucked her clit into my mouth for the gentlest of kisses. She started exploring me with her fingers and her tongue at the same time, opening me up like she was unwrapping a gift, bussing me with her lips, blowing sweet sighs on hot flesh. My back arched as I pushed against her. What she was doing to me was distracting me from what I was doing to her. And what I was doing to her was distracting me from what she was doing to me. But somehow the twin pleasures collided at my center.

  My tongue dipped into her for a taste of nectar and then I drew it up between swollen lips to find her clit. It was distended, and I sucked it greedily into my mouth. At the same time I pushed down with my nose, deep into her cleft, pulling on her clit with my teeth as I did.

  She swirled her tongue in circles around mine. She had two fingers high inside me, pressing and caressing the soft spot in perfect time with the movement of her mouth. I moaned and bit down harder. She yelped and then sucked. She added a third finger, plunging in and out of me, flicking me with her tongue in a way that sent a volley of shock waves up my spine and out along my neural paths.

  My face was so far into her I could hardly breathe, but I didn’t care. I was drinking her instead, and it was better than oxygen. Pulses of pleasure fired through me—an electrifying climax that made my head spin and left me reeling. The attachment of my mouth to her clit was all that anchored me and I felt her muscles clench hard as her own orgasm exploded through her.

  I slumped sideways against the back of the couch, gasping for air. My body was wet with sweat and still trembling. She pulled me ’round clumsily to lie against her, face-to-face.

  “Ramjet fusion?” she said.

  “Nuh-uh,” I said. “Spintronics. Ramjet fusion involves a strap-on.”

  She nodded. “Makes sense.”

  I kissed her nearest nipple.

  “It’s a pity we have Christian’s cell phone here,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I think he might have appreciated a Snapchat of this!”

  CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

  Annabeth Leong

  I didn’t know if Ron had made it to town yet, but I could feel his eyes on me anyway, uncovering the sexiest version of me.

  I spent the first day in Burlington wandering around, shopping for clothes or camping gear or whatever was being sold in stores with nice, unobstructed windows. My movements became languid, unhurried and artful. I lost my fear of taking up space. Getting a jacket down from a rack wasn’t just about reaching for a coat hanger and shrugging cloth away. Instead, I discovered the sensual joy of letting my purse slip down my leg to rest atop my upturned foot, pressing my breasts forward as I worked my shoulders back to free myself of my current denim, then stretching my bared arms wide as I spread out new leather and breathed in its scent.

  All day long, I imagined the click-click-click camera sound effect that gets played in movies when someone photographs a character from afar, and accompanied it with visions of a telephoto lens and Ron at the other side, manipulating the focus with one big hand and timing his exhales so as not to jog the device.

  My voyeur and I had never met in person, but he was the one who came to mind whenever someone asked if I had a boyfriend. Our arrangement had lasted five years by then. Every couple of months I traveled for a weekend to a town I didn’t know and gave Ron hints about where I’d be. He always sent me the pictures afterward, and it made me feel like a cel
ebrity to sit down at my kitchen table at home and deal out the glossy eight-by-ten prints he’d made of me, some in color and some in black-and-white. He usually caught some shots of me getting undressed before bed, sliding my panties down my thighs, but others he grabbed while I was out doing seemingly ordinary things, crowning me with unexpected sexiness. The pictures were erotic but generally not explicit, and more than once I’d caught myself wondering how my pussy would appear under his lens.

  I knew that paparazzi often make celebrities miserable, but Ron and I inhabited a soft-focus fantasy version of that life, not the real thing, and god it made me hot.

  Ron was at least a friend, but it was also easy to fantasize that I was a little in love with him. The longer we played the game, the more I felt it changing me, and even when I knew Ron wasn’t there to see, I often caught myself standing with a certain thrust of the hip or idly sliding the hem of my dress a few dangerous inches upward.

  By the time the Burlington trip rolled around, I was looking for a way to take things up a notch with Ron. As I tried on clothes and flirted with Ron’s possibly present camera, I decided to skip the usual text messages we shared during our weekend vacations and make his paparazzi role feel more authentic.

  Shutting off my phone, I picked up a bottle of red wine on the way back to my cabin in the woods outside of town and, once there, did my best impression of believing myself to be absolutely alone. Out on the back porch with a citronella candle and a book, I sipped a glass and pondered my next move.

  The wine heated my skin, and I pulled off my light denim jacket, then kicked off my shoes, and finally used my big toes to peel away my socks. I flexed and pointed my bare feet, admiring my new pedicure and the shapeliness of my arches. Ron had proven partial to unexpected aspects of my anatomy, awakening me to the erotic potential of the curve of my earlobe and the profile of my naked calves. I ran a finger down my leg, my nerves awakening to the beautiful lines that Ron had revealed.

  I allowed my hand to travel, and it seemed as if I was discovering myself for the first time. Knees. Thighs. Hips. Ribs.