Best Women's Erotica 2015

by Violet Blue

  What will this feel like later tonight, when Danny’s watching me do it? I imagine his fingers playing my labia while I do this to my cock. Will he ask me to fuck him? Will I know how to slide it in, how to go slow so that he can get used to me inside him like this? I imagine us switching back and forth—he’s behind me, the new cock in one fist while the other rubs wetly up and down my pussy, sliding soft and tender against the supple-strong leather, while his hard sex is pressed to my asscheek. I’ll grab around his waist and push him down on hands and knees, taking his cock in one hand while the other guides this thing to caress the sweet knot of muscle at the entrance to his ass, where I know a whole cavern of awesome pleasure begs for contact. I imagine him hesitating, nervous, even as he opens himself up for me, even as he asks me to enter him slowly, and as I imagine pushing into him, I rock the base against my clit and shove three fingers into my cunt. I work my thumb up under the harness to really get to my clit and I throw my head back and grind my hips until something big and shimmering lets loose inside me.

  I hold myself still, savoring, breathing heavy. I pull my come-soaked fingers out of my cunt and use my own juice to slick up and down my new dick again. Later, I’ll push Danny’s mouth there, and make him lick it off.

  I can hardly quit thinking about it. I put respectable clothes back on, and try writing cover letters at a coffee shop, but mostly I daydream. Danny wakes things up in me I didn’t know were there. He’s so observant, so curious. He taught me how to talk in bed—something I’d never been able to do before. “What does that feel like?” he’d ask me, fingering me, pressing and stroking different parts of my insides.

  I’d pant and gasp and try answering, “Really good,” or, “Yes, right there,” but he wasn’t satisfied.

  “No,” he’d say. “What does it feel like? Describe it to me!” he’d say, moving his finger to caress one particularly sensitive spot.

  “Like swimming,” I said once. “Like swimming in silver. When you press there, a silver wave hits.”

  He kissed my neck, held my ear between his teeth and told me deliciously dirty things. When I touch you like this, your cunt gets so tight and wet. You’re like a beautiful curtain, opening and closing on my hand, you’re so luscious.

  At eight-thirty, half a cover letter later, I figure it’s time to go. I pack my semi-functional laptop and notebook into a bag, and the barista, I think, catches the wistful half-smile subtle on my features. “Got any good plans for the night?” he asks.

  His question makes me laugh. What if I told him, I’m going to go pick up my boyfriend from the magic show where he works, and then I’m going to strip him naked and fuck him with the dick he brought home for me today? But his eyes are sincere, probably lonely. “Thought I’d roast a chicken,” I say, shrugging.

  Once out the door, I crack up. Good euphemism.

  Danny’s more employed than me. He’s been working for nearly fourteen years, right at the same place, with a few brief stints living in Portland and some off-seasons spent rambling. He’s a stagehand in a magic show. That’s right. He wears a majestic top hat, and he carries around silver trays laden with bunnies in various states of appearing and disappearing. He also does one third of the administrative work to run the strange old theater where the show plays. We met because he hired me—at the last “real” job I had—to do some restoration work and minor carpentry on the semi-historical interior. Now look at us.

  He’s dapper in his top hat, the black brim casting a dark shadow on his dark skin, the lush, dusky reds of the old theater framing him. When he sees me, he swoops the hat off and bows. I press up to him, and we waltz around the empty room, which still smells of popcorn and stale candy. He likes it when I lead, so I make him twirl and dip and then plant a soggy kiss on his cheek.

  He leaves the top hat there—always much to my dismay, but on the walk home I get to see his dark eyes glitter against the still-wet streets, eyeliner smudged underneath, making him look smoky and mysterious.

  “So,” he says, taking me by the hand. “What did you think?”

  I giggle, girlish.

  “Did you try it out?” he asks. I appreciate him so much, walking beside me. He’s so good at being himself. Tall, manly, with a feminine grace to his gestures, glisteningly healthy, dark skin and eyes and short little hairs he trims every few days. He looks so good, sometimes I get a little jealous of the audience watching him escort those magically appearing bunnies offstage on those silver trays. Of course, I can have complimentary entrance to the magic show any time I want, but that’s beside the point.

  “I did,” I say, smiling wickedly.

  “I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he says, voice husky to prove it. An image flashes to mind of him accidentally taking the lid off a silver tray to reveal an upright cock, and I can hardly stop laughing long enough to describe it.

  * * *

  We stop for a bottle of white wine and take our time over dinner. Since I told him about the private joke I made at the barista, we decide we might as well follow through and roast some chicken. I get impatient, pacing around my apartment, picking up mugs of old tea and carrying them to the sink.

  Danny’s calm, making wild rice, whistling. He refills my wineglass and kisses the back of my neck. When I start to talk about my pathetic job search, he tilts his head empathetically and then says, “Do you want to talk about that? Or do you want me to distract you with something else?”

  I punch him a little bit, and he pulls a tiny, silver animal—a unicorn, I see—from behind my ear. When I laugh, he closes his hand around it and then when he opens it again the unicorn is gone. I know I’ll find it later, sometime when I’m not expecting— in the sugar bowl, or inside the toilet paper tube; it will fall out when I go to replace the roll. These tiny tricks surround me now, break down the seriousness of survival on the face of craggy life. Danny pulls little flashes of light from nowhere, and I’m transmuted from a lost ant into a bloom, a Ferris wheel, a thunderstorm, a cherry on top.

  After dinner, pretty tipsy, we crowd into the tiny bathroom in my apartment and strip down. I turn on the shower and I’m already wet with soap in my hands when Danny climbs in after me.

  Sometimes, when you’ve loved someone for a little while, you forget, and then you remember, and so it hits me, dizzyingly, that nowhere else in the world is there a person like that inside a body like this. Only here. When we met, I was at the office, just back from a worksite, and I had white paint speckles all over my cheeks, interspersed with freckles. I’d been single and repressed, no touch had ignited my curiosity in over a year, and Danny flashed this smile, and I knew I’d have him or nothing. Maybe you could teach me some magic sometime, I told him, touching a daub of wet paint onto his arm.

  Amid steam and heat, I rub white soapsuds over him, watching his skin appear and disappear, running my lips over his chest when he’s clean, appreciating the high contrast between his rich skin and my translucent freckles.

  He stands behind me, curling his arms down my front, rubbing soap over my tits, letting the hot water wash it away. I part my legs and press my ass against him.

  “May,” he whispers. “You’re gorgeous.” He kisses my neck, strokes my cunt with two fingers, finding me so wet. “You’re excited,” he says, fondly.

  I lean back against him awhile, relaxing into his caresses, until I push him away and get right down into the stream of water and reach for his cock. Danny’s so hard and sweet, cardamom and mahogany, magic and dusk, and I take him into my mouth with the hot water and steam swirling around me. His hands twine in my wet hair, and I hear him gasp when I slide my tongue around on the underside of his shaft.

  “Just a taste,” I say, coming up.

  While I towel off my hair, Danny heads to my room. He lights a bunch of candles, so that when I walk in, he’s bathed in gold. I feel a little nervous, suddenly. Was I supposed to strap the dick on when he wasn’t looking, and reappear as this alternate, dick-having self? Or does he want to
watch me put it on? Does he want to help? He stretches out on my bed, watching me.

  “You gonna come here? Or what?” he says.

  I lie down next to him, and feel his big, slender hands strum over my body until I’m vibrating with heat. “Well,” I say, “Do you want to try it out?”

  He laughs. “I’m nervous,” he says, reaching for the last few sips of a glass of wine he brought in here.

  I run fingers up and down his chest, kissing the tops of his shoulders. I climb on top of him, straddling his middle, guiding his hands to touch my tits and hips. “Nervous, huh? We’ll take it slow, baby. You can talk to me.”

  His teeth flash in a smile, which turns to a tiny growl. He pinches my nipple, holds my breast softly.

  “Let’s see here,” I say, backing up. “Do you want to watch me put it on?”

  He nods, smile half-devilish.

  I pull the thing out of my underwear drawer, dick already inserted in ring. I make a performance of it, showing it to him. He leans on one elbow, legs stretched out, and starts to stroke his cock, curiosity sparkling in his dark eyes.

  Things inside me start to tighten up and swell, my whole body an erection. I turn around, offering him a view of me situating the straps around my ass, giving them a good, firm tug. “Mmm,” I groan a little, leather around my pussy. I lick my palm until it’s slippery, and turn around to face him while I grip the new dick.

  “Whoa,” he says. His hand closes around his shaft, his tip twitching and swelling outward at me. I watch, mesmerized, trying to feel as if somehow his sensations are magically transmuted across space into the silicone flesh, so that I feel his pleasure through this extension strapped to my body.

  Drunk with it, I whisper, “Stay put.” I get off the bed and turn my back to him, one foot on the edge of the frame and the other bracing me from the floor, my ass facing Danny. He can curl his vision around, see the dick between my legs, see the leather straps frame my ass.

  “Holy shit, May,” he whispers. “That’s so hot. Do you like how it feels?”

  I pull on it, so that the leather gets tense around my sex. “This leather turns me on,” I say. “Touch it.”

  He reaches fingers to slide over the edges of the straps, feeling where leather and skin meet. I widen my stance, inviting his fingers to find my cunt juicy and wet. He strokes, my labia contained between leather. It makes him moan. His hands sneak around, one at my pussy, the other at the dick. He pulls me back onto the bed and asks, “Is this how you want to be touched?”

  “Like that,” I say. His lips trail over my lower back as his fingers start to move inside of me and the cock wags up and down. “Pull on it, so the leather gets tight around my cunt,” I command.

  When he pulls, the straps yank around me and I groan.

  “It’s making you wet,” he whispers.

  “How hard are you?” I ask him. I turn to look. His cock stands at attention. I twist and manage to get a hand around him. I hold him tight while he massages my pussy, and I grow firmer, bolder, harder, needier, deep inside me, or outside me, as if I’m simultaneously expanding and contracting. Blue flowers blossom behind my eyes, and Danny’s fingers slip away from my cunt.

  “More!” I gasp.

  He laughs. I take ahold of his cock. “You want my fingers? You want me to make you come already?”

  “Yes!” His arms wrap around so that he’s behind me, his hard thing resting along my asscrack, one hand gripping the dick and the other stroking my pussy. He presses two fingers inside, and rocks his hand against my need until everything starts to turn inside out, and I arch my back and tense my core and breathe so deep that I explode into a zillion tiny points of light.

  But I waste no time on satisfaction. I twist around, putting my hands all over Danny’s hot skin. “Baby,” I tell him. “That was fantastic.” I kiss his sweet lips, push my tongue between his teeth. I shove him down, get him onto his back, and kneel with one knee on either side of him. The dick wags and dangles between my legs, an obscene weight, right over his chest. I press three fingers into my pussy, still pulsing, and draw out fingerfuls of silky wet come. I watch him watch me slick the stuff over the dick, and with my other hand I caress his face. “Want a taste?” I ask, nasty.

  He sticks out his tongue, and I guide the dick there, pressing my tits together with my other hand. He licks all over, grinning wickedly. “You!” he says, so pleased with me.

  Then I shove Danny’s legs apart and kneel between them. “Lube me up,” I tell him, tilting my chin to the bottle of it, placed next to the bed.

  “Yessir,” grins Danny, turning the bottle upside down and drizzling a generous amount onto my hands. “Can I touch you here?” I ask him, gently sliding a finger up under his balls, between his asscheeks. “Is that what you want?”

  “Mm-hmm,” he says. His cock twitches, the tip pulsing, a bead of precome gathering like sensuous dew. I lick it, adding pressure with my tongue, and then slide my other palm up and down his shaft. Carefully, I find his asshole with the tip of my middle finger. I swirl lube around him, then I watch his features contort and relax as I slowly press my finger inside. “May!” he cries out, elated. Very gently, I move my finger in and out in tiny increments at his entrance, and at the same time I curl my finger and press up. Danny’s hips rock a little, and then bear down. “Yes!” he whispers, needing.

  “I’m getting you ready,” I tell him, taking the dick in hand. “Do you want that? Do you want me to fuck you with this cock?” I punctuate my question with a deep caress of his prostate, making him moan and writhe. His sex is so hard—for half a second, I want it in me, instead of the other way around.

  But when Danny widens his glittering eyes and I take in the whole sight of him in the candlelight, I’m so excited about giving him what he wants that I let go of my dick and take his into my mouth. Like this, I stroke deep inside him with one finger, and suck him while he watches my lips loving his shaft. “You want it?” I ask, holding his cock against my cheek.

  “Please, baby,” he says. “Give it to me.”

  “Good.” I slip my finger out and he moans, twitching. “Turn around,” I tell him. “Hands and knees.”

  He does it, happy. I kneel behind him, smooth my hand over his muscly ass. I give it a good smack, and then I grip his cock in one hand while I drip an impressive quantity of lube onto the dick. A generous sense of power surges through me, a kindness. “Danny baby,” I tell him. “You’re amazing.” I caress his back, his legs. I find his entrance, and rest the tip of the dick there, giving him time.

  “Touch me,” he whispers. I find his cock, and touch him tenderly, gently rubbing myself over his crack, around the knot of muscle that waits for me to enter. “Okay,” he sighs, “Go inside.”

  I tense up my cunt, feeling its sex and its power surge into the dildo, my life force pouring into Danny as I open him up and slide so carefully inside, a centimeter, an inch, a little more. Danny gasps and tenses up. “You okay?” I ask him, stroking his cock with a lubed hand, caressing the underside of his shaft.

  “Uh-huh,” he says, softly. I hold him for a long second, until he says, “Give me more.”

  I press in a little more, and then all at once Danny bucks his hips and presses back, burying this dick deep.

  I make love, experimenting in gentle thrusts, tipping my pelvis up and down, imagining how the pressure must feel, finding the secret room inside of him, the place where desire performs, where shapes exchange their boundaries for pleasure. I think of the tiny interweavings of mysterious designs in gold leaf on his theater walls, the rich brocaded curtains, lush magic swirling, candlelight. Danny knows no mere sleight of hand, but a magic transformation where we are more than ourselves, dissolving and sighing, switching places and trying to extend past the edges of our skin. I hold myself still against him, gripping his sex, clasping him, and he rocks back and forth onto me, tingling and swelling and falling open slow and wild. A wind comes inside, billowing the curtains and setting the cand
les to shuddering. They let go of their light, and the room goes from gold to sliver, a high moon perfect on Danny’s blue skin. I fall onto his back, clasp around his chest and let everything melt and slide together, stars gathering and spewing into constellations etched for such a pretty trick of love.

  THE KISSING PARTY

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Who could resist an invitation to a kissing party? Not me. Some people think that kinky people only like the naughty parts of sex, the whips and chains and spankings, the crawling on the floor, the lips pried apart, the nipple clamps, the commands. I love all those things, but I love my husband Derek’s beautiful lips more than anything. I could kiss them for hours—and I planned to, when he forwarded me the invitation to the kissing party. Over the years, we’ve been to our share of swingers clubs, sex parties, and play parties, not to mention the random dinner parties that, after dessert and a few glasses of wine, had turned into mini-orgies, but a kissing party would be something new. From what I could tell, the rules were that you could, and were encouraged to, kiss with abandon, but full-on sexual activity was verboten. How handsy we were allowed to get was up in the air, but I had a feeling we’d find out.

  But we are, both of us, kinky to a fault, so he brought a blindfold and, yes, nipple clamps. He put the clamps on me at home, right before I got dressed, lovingly attaching each, then screwing them in. “I’m using these instead of the tweezer clamps so they don’t get jostled; it wouldn’t be the same if your pretty nipples were set free.” So with my nipples trapped between the metal, and our other toys in my purse, we headed off in a cab for Brooklyn, a good half hour ride, with plenty of potholes, along with some jiggling from Derek. By the time we pulled up in front of the bar, I was so wet I almost wanted to go home, or sneak off to an alley where he could give me some relief.