Best Women's Erotica 2015

by Violet Blue

  Eventually after enough of the questions, Brady got fed up with me and shouted his disgust. I started thinking about how things had become ugly between us. That we might as well quit now while we were ahead and try to maintain a healthy friend- ship. Hot sex aside, Brady was attempting to control me, and I didn’t like it. I finally confronted him one night after he’d talked about not remembering the last time he’d had sex with his wife. I mused for a couple of too-short moments about how I’d make every second count with her, and then used the comment as an opportunity to segue into my need to just be his friend. I told him that my friendship was the most I could offer him, that what we were doing was wrong and how he could never give me everything I want and need.

  “Curious how women always have this ‘all or nothing’ atti- tude,” he commented. It didn’t matter what kind of remark he made or even how he responded, I was glad I’d gotten the words out and silently congratulated myself for being honest with my heart. I left shortly after that, and when I got home there was a message on my machine from Lina, telling me I could call her back on her cell phone if I liked. I liked. I called her back before I even hung up my coat, and we picked up right where we had left off a couple of weeks before. It was her turn to invite me to a bar down the street from where she and Brady lived. We agreed to meet in an hour, so I set off to find the perfect outfit. Not that I was trying to impress her or anything.

  An hour later we sat down and ordered our drinks—a mojito for me and a Pacifico for her. There was a butchness about her that was beginning to turn me on. Lina opened up a bit more this time, telling me about the significance of each of her tattoos—there were more than a dozen of them. I told her about some of the characters I’d come across during my time spent as a journalist, and she helped to fill in some of the blanks that just didn’t make sense until I had her insight. I didn’t even realize when my hand had reached out and rested on her thigh, and she didn’t push it away either. Instead she gazed at me with that insanely intense stare, and we had another conversa- tion of the nonverbal variety. A couple of hours and a couple of drinks later, we decided that it was time to find our way home while we still remembered where home was.

  I left Lina at my door, thinking about her lips the whole time and wondering what they would feel like pressed against mine. I wanted to part them with my tongue and find hers, my hands full of her hair and her fingers squeezing my nipples. Unfor- tunately Lina had more class than that. She bent over quickly and gave me a kiss on the lips, but it was one of those kisses that could be construed as a friendly peck. And that’s what it probably was. But she did say that she had a great time, and we should do it again sometime. A startling moment of déjà vu was replaced with dim hope.

  Apparently rejection is some kind of aphrodisiac because when I got inside my voice mail was filled with messages from Brady, checking in on me and wanting to know where I was. I wondered why Lina had felt the need to hide our meeting from him. Nonetheless, I picked up the phone and dialed their number so that I could tell Brady just exactly why he didn’t need to bother wondering. I figured if Lina picked up I would say I was calling to tell her I’d had a great time, or something cheesy like that. I was sure she’d eat it up.

  “Hello?” Brady answered, sounding a little exasperated.

  “Brady? Hey, it’s Lucy. I wanted to call you back and tell you—”

  “We’re going to have to talk later.” Brady cut me off before I even had a chance to finish.

  “Okay, whatever,” I replied, to a dead line.

  I went to bed shortly after that, and was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang. Figuring it was Brady calling me back, I answered the phone on the first ring.

  “Hi, what are you doing calling my husband at this hour? Who the hell are you?” A familiar female voice filled my ears, and I heard another voice, a male one, laughing in the background. I knew that I couldn’t hang up because if she called back again and got my voice mail she’d know it was me, so I tried to disguise my voice and tell her I had called the wrong number earlier. She didn’t buy it; she recognized my voice right away.

  “Lucy, why are you lying to me?” The hurt in her voice made me shudder, and I couldn’t say a word. “It’s what I think it is, isn’t it? It’s what I suspected. Brady really is fooling around on me. But I forgot the icing on the cake—it’s with you. Fuck that, I’ll be right over.”

  “Lina, what? What are you talking about? Why don’t we just sleep on this and talk about it tomorrow, when we’ve both got a clear mind?”

  “No. We’re going to talk about this now.” Lina was dead serious and sounded, frankly, like she might blow at any second. I had no choice but to agree. Twenty minutes later she was knocking at my door, and it was clear by the tone that her anger hadn’t cooled off yet. I answered it in my black silk robe and nothing underneath, hoping that she’d see it as a symbol of surrender.

  She went off as soon as she stepped inside the threshold, asking me who the hell I thought I was, fooling around with her husband and then using her. “Wait a second, using you? I cut your husband loose and this is the thanks I get? I thought I was interested in pursuing you; at least that’s what my clit’s been telling me lately.”

  “Wait, what?” This time Lina couldn’t hide her surprise, not that she ever could. But then she finally looked, really looked, at me—let her eyes take in the silk and the curves and my long, dark curly hair. And she licked her lips and smirked. The smirk that had aroused and bothered me before, now just aroused me. She reached out, untied my robe and helped me shrug out of it, letting it fall to the floor. Lina squeezed my nipples just like in my fantasy as she leaned in to kiss me. When our tongues touched, the tiniest bit of wetness dribbled down my thigh.

  I decided that she had too many clothes on, so we took them off as quickly as possible. We fell to the floor in front of the fire- place. Soon my legs were wrapped around her waist, our breasts pressed together so hard that it felt like we were molding into one. My clit was getting harder and I began rubbing it against her stomach, getting more and more lubricated with each pass up and down. But suddenly Lina pulled away. She looked deep into my eyes and shook her head.

  “No. What you did was wrong. And you need to be punished for your actions.” She raised her hand and pulled it back, but I didn’t see it until it was too late because I was too into stroking my clit against her tummy.

  Smack! Lina brought her hand down onto my tush so hard it stung. But it also made me wetter, a moan escaping from my lips unintentionally. She probably didn’t know how to take this, but I knew how I needed to take it. I raised my ass higher, a silent plea to punish me again. Smack! Smack! Lina gave me a double shot this time, and I felt myself get extra gooey.

  “I want you to lie in front of me like a bad girl.” Lina coaxed me onto my side next to her, my back to her, my ass ready to get stroked, smacked, and spanked. “You gotta learn your lesson,” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat, prob- ably because my moans were even beginning to turn me on. Not that I needed much help in that department.

  “Dip your finger in here,” I instructed Lina, showing her what I meant with my own finger. When my fingertip made contact with my clit, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to last much longer.

  “Wait, I got something.” Lina paused for a second to reach in her bag, pulling out a strap-on harness and dildo. This woman obviously packed for many occasions. She put it on with the swiftness of someone who had some practice, and my cunt glis- tened with appreciation. The dildo itself was huge, bigger than any man I’d ever fucked, that was for sure. And the thought that it was never going to go soft, that I could ride it forever if I wanted, almost sent me over the top.

  Instead I flipped Lina over and climbed on, riding her just like I had her husband during a time that seemed like ages ago at that moment. I used my abnormally strong thighs to maneuver the dildo’s base over Lina’s clit while I focused the other end on my G-spot. She used my nipples to guide
her on our ride. “You feel so good inside me,” I told her, ready to let go any second. She was enjoying her own ecstasy below me, her teeth biting her lip and her eyes rolling to the back of her head. I came collapsing on top of her, my tongue and teeth caressing her neck while she dug her nails into my back. Her breathing lulled us both to sleep.

  We awoke a while later and she went home. Even with her hair all mussed and her makeup smeared, she was still so beautiful to me. I hoped she would give me some sign that she wanted to see me again, like she had before. Instead she said nothing, and her hug seemed a little detached when we said good-bye. I told myself I was imagining things and went into the kitchen to make some coffee and eat breakfast. I wondered about her equipment: why had she brought it with her last night? I almost choked on my bagel as I realized that she had done all this lesbian stuff before.

  And then I sat down to start writing my next article.

  THE DANCER

  Evey Brett

  It’s the magazine photograph that captures Lauren’s attention, that sleek dancer’s body bare-chested and bent backward onto the stage, arms outstretched, leggings leaving nothing to the imagination.

  Rafael Escalante, the caption says, but her attention is riveted on that fine build with every muscle standing out in stark perfection. His eyes are closed as if he’s dreaming…or submitting.

  That thought sets her imagination afire. She runs the scissors down the center of the magazine and carefully extracts the picture. She shoves aside the picture of her dear husband, Edward—may he rest in peace—and replaces it with Rafael’s. For a while she’s lost in a daydream in which he’s lying on the bed beneath her, willing to submit to whatever she wishes to do. He moans when she pinches his nipples and shudders when she reaches between his legs and grasps his balls through the fabric. That look of fierce concentration never leaves his face as she explores his body with her mouth and leaves a trail of kisses, ending just before she reaches his erection.

  She doesn’t touch that. Not yet. She teases him instead. She strokes his inner thighs and watches him squirm while she comes near to, but not quite touching, his cock.

  And when she draws the leggings down, he’s like a merman, legs trapped together and flailing helplessly. At last she puts her mouth on that fine, uncut cock and sucks him, listening to him whimper and moan in pleasure. His balls tighten and he comes in a thick, salty burst, and her mouth fills with the taste of him.

  Later, she reads the article accompanying the picture. Rafael grew up in the slums of Buenos Aires and earned a few coins dancing for the tourists. One of them noticed his talent, and with great effort, arranged for him to study in the United States, where he eventually became a modern dance star with his own troupe. In the past year he’s nearly lost everything. He broke his ankle mid-tour and had to cancel shows. His dancers left to find more profitable work. His patron passed away and in the resulting tussle over the estate, all of Rafael’s funding had been withdrawn. He’s desperately in need of support.

  How convenient she’s in the position to provide it.

  Lauren’s husband—dear Edward—had been the head of a software firm that made it big in the nineties. After he died in a boating accident, she’d done her best to run the company until the responsibilities grew too great for her to handle. She remains on the board and occasionally acts as consultant, but the company is now in the hands of a younger, more excited generation, leaving her free to engage in more philanthropic pursuits.

  Rafael, she knows, will be one such pursuit. Dear Edward wouldn’t be shocked by her fantasies. He was quite aware that he was a comely man who cared more for intellectual pursuits than physical, so he never denied her the occasional night away from home. Neither would he begrudge her setting up a fund to aid Rafael, which she does. Promptly.

  She scours Internet articles and dance magazines, tracking Rafael’s career as best as she can. Her bedroom wall soon resembles a teenager’s, since she cut out or printed every picture of him she found. There are headshots, photos of him in the air with his legs extended in a leap, and one where he’s standing behind a woman, his hands roving sensually over her body. They’re both dressed in faux furs that cover the bare minimum, as if they’re creatures just emerging from the jungle and engage in little more than carnal pursuits.

  She imagines she’s that woman, onstage, with his arms wrapped around her waist. His cock juts hard between her legs and she rubs her ass against it. He moans softly into her ear as he grabs her breasts and tears the covering away, baring her to the chilly air.

  She guides his hand lower, down the curve of her belly and beneath the tiny fur skirt. She’s already wet and throbbing with anticipation. He’s cautious, making no move until she urges him to. She pushes his fingers inward until he slips one, then two inside her and she’s riding his hand, fucking his fingers. He shudders and thrusts forward and his hardness is between her legs. He smells like a wild thing, sweaty and green. His rough cheek scrapes hers, leaving scratches, but she doesn’t care.

  Together they slick his cock and her asshole. Then he wraps his free arm around her ribs for support and thrusts again. The entry burns. She gasps, but the discomfort is soon replaced by the welcome tingling of having something so hot and thick buried to the hilt inside her. His fingers continue to rub so she’s being fucked twice over. They’re both breathing hard, and his cock makes wet, sucking sounds as he plunges it into her body.

  They’re both wild creatures, mindless in their passion. She screams when she comes, like the feral thing she is.

  Rafael wants to start an organization designed to teach low-income or refugee children how to dance. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea and helps organize a gala and auction for his benefit. As part of the celebration, he puts on a performance. Part of it showcases the talent of his young stars, boys and girls of all races together onstage and moving their bodies with fiery abandon.

  The other part is a solo by Rafael, a soft, sensual dance in which he expresses both the passion for his homeland and the hardships he’s gone through to become what he is. She watches everything over the Internet, tears in her eyes. She wants desperately to attend, but her latest surgery leaves her trapped in her bedroom.

  Her consolation prize arrives in the mail a week later. She’d bid so high on one of Rafael’s costumes, a black jacket with gold trim, that no one else could approach her. She holds it to her nose and breathes in. It smells like sweat. His sweat.

  She has a picture of him wearing that jacket when he portrayed the title role in The Sleeping Prince. It’s a twisted, erotic version of Sleeping Beauty set to the Argentine tango music of Astor Piazzolla. The prince falls prey to a spell and is discovered by a princess so warped after being raised by a dragon she intends to devour him, body and soul. Sex wakens him, and he’s so transfixed by her attentions that he doesn’t beg for his life. Fascinated by his reaction, she keeps him captive for forty years, until he dies of old age, still madly in love and unfazed by his treatment.

  One of her assistants has tracked down a recording of his performance. With the jacket in her arms she watches it again and again, utterly absorbed by the way he gives himself to his partner without once sacrificing his masculinity.

  The jacket lies on the bed beside her and she imagines him there, wearing it. She fingers the jeweled flaps and works the buttons open, baring his chest, inhaling the scent of his masculinity.

  There is no sex this time. Instead, he holds her in his tender grasp, body warm against hers and banishing the pain in her back and legs.

  In real life, she has to rely on the morphine.

  It takes a few months, but at long last, Rafael brings his troupe to San Diego. It’s at the tail end of a continental tour that has met with great success and acclaim. She couldn’t be prouder of all the good reviews and sold-out audiences.

  With her assistant’s help, she dons a dress for the first time in nearly two years. She puts her hair up and wears the diamond necklace and earrings dear E
dward gave her for her birthday. A private box is hers for the duration of the show so Rafael won’t see her. No one will, and it’s for the best.

  His performances take her breath away. In her mind she’s onstage with him, in his arms, alternately thrusting him away and drawing him close. Their bodies move together, dancing and leaping to the music. She runs her fingers over his shoulders, down his long, muscled arms, and runs his hand down her cheek.

  When the applause starts, she has just enough self-awareness left to toss her bouquet onto the stage at his feet. She’s taped a note to the roses with her name and instructions to visit her box after the final performance.

  She knows he will come. She must have him, and soon.

  ***

  On the last night, still breathless from the endless rounds of applause, Lauren’s sitting in the hard-backed tapestry chair when he arrives. He’s not as tall as she might have thought. It’s his presence that gives him a height and size that seem to extend beyond the limitations of the stage. Yet here in the seclusion and semidarkness he’s small and shy and she loves him just the same. His skin glistens from sweat, and he wears a pair of leggings and a black silk robe tied loosely around his waist. “Señora Talbot?”

  She holds out her hands, too stunned by his nearness to speak. He takes them and bends down to kiss each, eliciting an almost electric shock. She hadn’t expected to have so visceral a reaction.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.” He kneels on one knee like a knight before his lady, clasping her hands. “My gratitude knows no bounds. I have been able to aid so many people because of your gifts.”