The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 3

by Maxim Jakubowski

  How tender, my love.

  I sipped. I drew nectar into my mouth. My face burrowed, spreading the lips of her sex across my cheeks. It was six hours since I’d shaved. There would be tiny bristles. She’d feel that.

  My lips made an “O” that fitted the dark opening beyond the external beauty of her florid, floral offering. This was the entrance to her secret places, the soft portal to her labyrinth. I blew and sucked, exchanging air with her womb, taking my breath from her inner recesses. My tongue scoured, running around a place that was inside her.

  The root of my tongue began to ache. I withdrew, deliberately slurping. Making the noise intentionally obscene. My head lifted so that I could inspect her once more. The lips of her sex were engorged with blood, darkened until they were almost black. I nibbled one, then the other, toying. I let them feel my teeth. She was so malleable that I couldn’t resist subjecting her most vulnerable parts to gentle abuse. My fingers, in her rectum, hooked and pressed. The floor of her sex was forced up and out. What had been inside her was everted. A wet pink plain invited my tongue to flatten, press and slither. I grazed on her skin, pressing the membranous division that separated her rectum from her soft vestibule between my tongue and my fingers.

  You whispered, “Please?”

  I could tell by her tone that she wasn’t asking me to stop what I was doing. She yearned for more.

  My thumb replaced my tongue. I had the muscular wall in a firm grip. I could manipulate her insides, tugging on her uterus and womb. I owned her.

  I shifted back on the bed. Her clitoral ridge was thick with need. I hadn’t touched her there but the glossy dome of her clit’s head peeked from under its hood.

  She asked, “My clit?”

  “You want me to?”

  A pause. “Yes.” A longer pause. “Yes,” again.

  But my mouth had the smoothness of her mound to savour. It, and my teeth and my tongue, grazed. Each time I found the ridge, I lifted over it. My attention wandered, though not purposelessly. A nip at the delicate inside of a thigh, a tongue-slither in her groin, a chaste kiss on one pendulous wet and quivering lip, then back to the gentle swelling.

  “My clit,” she reminded me.

  “Soon,” I promised.

  The tip of my tongue found the subtle place where the root of her shaft disappeared. It pressed. I tongue-stroked down the left side of her ridge, then down the right. She was leaking. My thumb was in a puddle of her essence. I removed it from the humid folds and sucked her from it before replacing it.

  Her hood had half retracted, exposing a hemisphere of the tiny treasure it adorned. My tongue’s tip prodded it back so that I could wonder at the miracle of its re-emergence. When it reappeared, it had overcome its shyness enough that it extended further, to the narrower part behind the head. How could I resist? My lips closed on its neck and held it firmly. My tongue touched it – just that – just a touch. Her sex spasmed on my thumb as if to draw it in.

  I licked – one long slow hard lap. Touch, then lap, but harder and faster. Then no “touch”, just a steady lapping until her rectum clenched on my fingers and she lifted towards me – when I stopped.

  You sighed.

  My tongue moved from side to side, punishing the core of your lust for being so desirable. I felt the urge to bite, but resisted. Instead, I let my teeth graze that vulnerable morsel for a few seconds before licking again.

  There were noises coming from her throat. Her body was a drawn bow.

  My tongue retreated to the back of my mouth. My lips pursed. I sucked, and sucked, and sucked.

  Her clitoris was drawn out, elongated, a trembling shaft that my tongue whipped. It felt as if every muscle in her body was rigid and quaking. She inhaled and froze . . .

  At the precise moment of her orgasm, I deserted her clitoris and fastened my mouth to her sex, a lascivious lamprey that drew her climax and the spring that it flowed on and consumed them.

  When the incoherent noises stopped, I told her, “Your turn, my love.”

  Her – 9.

  His cock lay heavy along the line of his groin. It wasn’t erect, yet, nor was it flaccid. He was uncircumsized. His foreskin covered his glans and extended beyond it for perhaps an inch. Its mouth was a soft beak, like the tip of an elephant’s trunk. There was a thick vein running up the underside of his cock and a network of tiny blue lines barely visible through the skin.

  He’d used my anus. There was a nice obscenity in that. There is an unspoken protocol – a man services a woman, using his mouth on her sex, one night. The next night, or the one after the next, he explores her reaction to anal probing with some diffidence, testing, hoping.

  He hadn’t followed the rules. He was an arrogant bastard, this one. I liked that, but . . . I wet my finger in my mouth. My arm circled his hip. My finger found the crease between his buttocks and explored. When I found the tight pucker I rimmed it twice, then plunged. My finger sank to its second joint. Although my finger had been wet he was dry and tight, hot and rubbery. When I moved my finger his skin moved with it.

  His cock reacted. It grew longer and thicker and lifted a fraction. The skin over its head retracted far enough to expose a glistening pink. The side of my finger lifted it aside. My mouth made a line of tiny puckered kisses down the crease from his hip to where I had to nuzzle his sac aside and squirm my tongue in. There were a few drops of fresh man-sweat in there, brought out by what he’d been doing to me. I sucked each bitter-salt drop up.

  My tongue and the tip of one fingernail found the place below and behind his scrotum. I scratched and licked, licked and scratched. Against my finger, his cock lifted and engorged. At the spot where his cock emerged from the wrinkled skin of his sac, I bit him. His cock twitched. My teeth nibbled up the ridge that ran up his cock’s underside. By the time I reached the top his foreskin had rolled back, exposing his glans completely. I could see the little knot of twisted skin where his foreskin was attached to his shaft, just beneath his dome. His cock was straining hard, as if it wanted to grow even bigger but couldn’t. I opened my mouth wide and closed it around his shaft. My head shook from side to side, sliding his foreskin, forcing it back further, masturbating his stem but not his head.

  He groaned.

  Did I hurt you, my love? Did I force you into an erection more powerful than any woman has before?

  My finger worked in his rectum. I closed my lips on the knot and sucked it and licked it. His hips tried to move but I held him back with just a tiny crook of the finger that was hooked into his rectum. Wait.

  It’d been a while since I’d had a foreskin to play with. My hand closed around his shaft, just beneath its head, and eased his skin up to cover the dome once more. As if the flaccid skin were a mouth, I planted a chaste kiss on its wrinkled lips. Still holding his foreskin forward, I inserted my tongue. It found a wet dimple and stabbed. He jerked. I rimmed his glans, running my tongue between it and his foreskin, round and round and round.

  Men can whimper, you know.

  My fist forced his foreskin back and released it. It stayed back. I spat into my hand and laid my palm on the head of his cock. I polished that bulbous knob, to and fro, then up and down. It drooled. The mixture of spit and precome was slicker than spit alone. My fist ran down his shaft, loosely, then up, tightening as it neared the top, smoothed over, then down again.

  Was it torture, my love? Did the need to come tighten your balls?

  My lips, soft and gentle, covered his glans. I let my mouth go slack and shook my head. As his cock wobbled between my lips, I made little noises. He grunted.

  I took him deeper, still loose, still wet. My fist steered him into the pouch of my cheek. I rubbed him there, the tip of his cock on hot soft flesh. My tongue lifted his shaft and pushed it up, pressing his glans against the roof of my mouth.

  I nodded. He went rigid.

  I told you, “I want you to come in my mouth. I want it all.” You didn’t speak.

  And I did want him to. I wanted to dev
our him, to drink him down. I wanted that which was him in me, to be digested by me, the cells of his body to feed cells of mine.

  I pumped his shaft. My finger, in his rectum, found the walnut lump and massaged it. My mouth became ferocious. I slurped and mumbled and sucked and lapped and gobbled. I willed him to give me his essence.

  You sobbed, I think, but my own noises drowned yours.

  His legs stiffened. His balls retracted. It was time. I lifted my head and parted my lips. My tongue extended. My fist stroked and stroked.

  Yes! Hot wet come flopped onto the flat of my tongue. I swallowed that first benison and swooped, engulfing his cock. My cheeks hollowed. I sucked hard and long. Manflesh was twitching and jerking in my mouth but I was adamant. I wanted it all. My mouth dragged every last drop from him, three spurts, less each time, and then just a trickle and finally there was nothing left to draw out.

  I licked my lips and told him, “Your turn, my love.”

  Mothering

  Jacqueline Lucas

  It wasn’t maternal.

  It was very confusing.

  I’m looking through a 21 mm lens and all his features are exaggerated. The red quiff. The black and white check three piece drape. The brothel creepers. Curling up towards me. The skin of a child. Fair. Milky. Soft as a cream bun. The injections are working. I can feel them. Soon I’ll be ready to haul my fat arse down to the clinic for the egg collection. In the meantime. There’s this little job. And I’m telling him he’s gorgeous. It’s just right. Could he lean into the lamp post. Incline his head just a touch. Show us your teeth. And I’m getting closer. I had no close-ups in mind but here I can feel his breath. He’s sucking on a lolly. It’s bulging out his cheek and I don’t know if it fits the shot but I want to be the rhubarb and custard flavoured dome in his wee little gob being alternately sucked upon and layered in a good slather of saliva with a good tongueing all the way around. And he knows. And he likes it. And as far as everyone else is concerned. There’s a weird mutton dressed as lamb taking photees in the Glasgow drisel of a summer’s day of a boy. Not yet known. Not yet holding back, and self assured, and keeping a low profile, and covering his arse and cynical. A touch. Here’s a young lad full of pleasure for his drape. His quiff. His hair wash at the end of the day. His ministering. The make up girls. The hairdos. The costume fiddling. And all those girls just waiting on him. All those girls just waiting on him. All those girls not ready to knock off till the last strand of his deep red hair is given a good rinse. And here. He’s staring back into a lens that’s closer and closer. And it’s manned by a girl.

  A woman rather. With long black wavy hair. Who’s come specially for him. To look through one lens after another. One camera after another. Tell him he’s just the fucking business. And she seems to understand he’s got that extra bit. The look that means he’s worth it. He’s worth getting it bloody well right because he’s heading off this Glasgow shoot and out of this drizzle for L fucking A. For London for sure.

  FOR AN AGENT THAT COUNTS. AFTER THIS MOVIE. AFTER THIS BREAK. AND THIS GIRL’S A GOOD SIGN. AND SHE’S LOOKING INTO MY EYEBALLS AND I JUST MIGHT FIND MYSELF PULLING DOWN ON THAT DARK BLACK HAIR CAUSE SHE UNDERSTANDS. SHE CAN JUST SEE. I CAN TELL.

  I’m on to group shots now. And I’ve got two of them waiting. But I can’t stop. On these two. And I don’t know who to look at. Cause now there’s the naughty one with the dark curls and the side burns and he’s so cute. You’re just tremendous, boys. Will you look into the camera now. Will you lift your chin. What of a smile? Shall we go for a grin? Try a rollie again. Yes, give me the smoke. Let it out slow. No. Not you. Just that look you gave me there. You know the one. Try that again. You boys are just bloody amazing. D’you know that? And I’ve a mind to lay this fucking apparatus down on the damp ground and hold the poor wee boys’ heads together in my palms and kiss them both. Licking the outline of their cupid bows. One, after the other. Taking my saliva to follow their teeth. Lap at their tongues. A messenger bringing saliva from number 1 to number 2. And I don’t even know their names. Just their movie characters. And I know they know.

  That they’d go along happily and excited cause it’s all new and a lark and

  HELL THIS FILM IS JUST THE BEGINNING FOR ME AND SHE’S GIVING ME THAT PIERCING LOOK AND I KNOW SHE CAN SEE IT’S ME THAT HAS IT. THAT EXTRA WEE DOLLOP OF SEXUAL CHARISMA OR SUMMAT,

  After the self congratulatories in the pub on Renfrew street I commandeer the lads. Like help us with the shopping, boys, my arms free, my steps jaunty with anticipation. They trundle my tripods, lenses and bodies past the chief cook and bottle washer of my tastefully decorated upmarket accommodation. This time she doesn’t press her mushroom risotto, merely lets me feel her eyeballs on my back as she and her son watch from the empty dining room. Great shoot! I call to my friend of last night, strain for the plaque “visitors not allowed”.

  I lay them out like a box of Belgian chocolates fresh from their latest double whisky. I couldn’t risk it. I need my clear head. I take it deadly serious and discourage any giggling. They’re nervous. They can tell I mean business. The room is dead quiet. They are lying on twin beds in their clothes like two good soldiers ready for action. But with no guns or ammunition or nothing. Just waiting orders. And I’ve to keep the atmosphere silent and maybe a touch menacing or we all might lose it. It’s like our minds are all in tune and know it. Know the danger of it. Know this need could disappear before we find a place to put it. They never take their eyes off me and they never look at each other. Not that I saw. One look and it’d all be over.

  I’m lying here petrified and excited. I’ve never done anything like this before. Not with a woman. Not since I was fifteen and Cathy stuck her tongue in my mouth and pushed her bosoms round my chest. It was awful. And I was drunk. Now I’m pleasantly floating from the booze but I’m well in my body. And I’m scared. I don’t know what will happen. Or even what I’d like to happen. And I can’t even think of him. I know he’s straight but what am I going to think when I see him starkers. I wonder if he’ll turn me on. And what if she wants us to do things for her. She looks exotic and worldly enough. I bet she’s got more up her sleeve than the lasses I’ve been around. But I don’t know if I should be doing this. Not with a woman. Not in this family-run hotel with the pink chintz curtains and the cupboard with the kettle and the shortbread biscuits. I thought I’d pride myself in not having ever. And here it’s a real older woman, for fuck’s sake, not even one of those skinny types that looks like a boy. This is just the weirdest thing. Maybe I should just breathe deeply and relax.

  She’s got her clothes on. But I can see her belly under her short top. She looks like a belly dancer or something. She’s curvy and soft. Strange. But I think I like it. Oh, God. She’s taking off his things. I’m either pissed or she’s doing it slow motion. I wonder if she knows about me.

  Knows what I’ll do if I lean my head in slow motion to watch them. My God.

  I suppress the desire to pick up the body with the macro lens, hone in on the balls till they loom like the twin heads of an extra terrestrial, the pricks two species of cacti bursting with life-giving juice. The scene shifts to heightened colour and me so keen on black and white.

  THIS WOMAN IS SO WILD. I COULD SCREAM I’M THAT READY. SHE’LL SEE JUST AS SOON AS MY KIT’S OFF. I’D LIKE TO HAVE HER ALL TO MYSELF. BUT YOU CAN TELL SHE’S INTO WILD STUFF. AS LONG AS SHE’S NOT WANTING ME AND HIM TO DO STUFF. I DON’T THINK I’M UP FOR IT. IF I HAD SOME E, MEBBE. MEBBE NOT. OHMYGOD. THERE’S A VIDEO CAMERA STOOD ON A TRIPOD IN FRONT OF THE BATHROOM. IF I CLOSE MY EYES IT’S BETTER. I CAN FORGET HIM FOR THE MINUTE. AND THE CAMERA. SHE WOULDN’T, WOULD SHE?

  THIS IS JUST AMAZING. I THINK SHE’S MY T-SHIRT IN HER MOUTH FOR FUCK’S SAKE. SHE’S LIFTING IT UP SO SLOWLY I CAN SCREAM AND I CAN FEEL HER TONGUE BRUSHING MY CHEST AS IF BY MISTAKE. I’M SWEATING. I HOPE MY ARMPITS. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHE’S LICKING AT MY ARMPITS. SHE’S LAPPING AT THEM. FIRST ONE AND THEN THE OTHER. I CAN FEEL HER SNIFFI
NG AT THEM LIKE A PUPPY. IT’S LIKE SHE’S STILL WATCHING ME ONLY CLOSER THIS TIME. OH, FOR GOD’S SAKE I’M GOING TO WET MYSELF.

  I’m going to finish this chest routine with a good long suck of his nipples and a nuzzle in his non-existent chest hairs. Gee. They’re as cute as a scatter of pubes on a very young boy. I can feel him breathing quicker. And the silence. And I want to look at the other one but I daren’t break the spell. Just imagine a freeze frame in close-up cutting back to a wide shot. It’s criminal not to get my gear out but I can’t do both. Shoot and perform, snap and choreograph. I’m not going to take the top off. I’m going to leave him with his jeans round his ankles not touching and just stroll over to number 2. Just as well it’s not a double. A twin at £55.00 per night for single occupancy. It makes it easier to keep it dead serious.

  My God. I can see his stiffy. It’s not as big as I thought. But thick and a fair size with red pubes, for fuck’s sake. He looks a beauty and the youngest I’ve seen like this. I go for older. He’s a beautiful pale skin and I’m hard just watching. I’ve no idea how I’ll look at him on set. I wonder if he’s not as straight as I thought. Can you imagine that. And I thought I was already a bit of a streetwise. Jesus. She’s at me now.

  She’s not on my top. She’s unzipping me with her teeth. And it’s nice. I can feel the tip of her nose on my Y fronts. God. She’s sniffing me! It’s as well I’m clean as a whistle. She’s sniffing around my crotch and my trousers round my knees and her hair’s tickling my thigh. She’s tickling me with her tongue. And I’m so stiff I want her to take me and she’s biting me through my Y’s and Jesus Christ. I’m in her mouth now. She knows. She just knows. When to give me a slow lick around the tip and when to give me a good sucking. And I’m making these noises I make now. And I don’t even care he can hear me and I wish he’d leap up and ram his cock in but she knows and she’s teasing my arse with her fingers and tickling inside me with her tongue.