The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 3

by Maxim Jakubowski

  The presence of mind to retrieve his pants from the ground finally came to him. As he bent down, the beauty slid forward in her chair. From his stooped position, he watched her diaphanous shirt bunch into folds behind her bare ass as her meaty thighs moved toward his face. He forgot about his pants.

  She shifted her hips to expose one luscious, tanned flank. Several dark pubic hairs strayed from the arc underlining the smooth slope of thigh. His face hovered only inches from her full, waiting ass.

  The women were silent. The beauty’s ass loomed so near his head, he could breathe in her subtle musk. He ran his eyes along her fleshy fullness and felt his face move closer, closer to that sweet spot hidden in the black line between her thighs.

  He let his nose follow that line slowly from the curve of her flank to where it melded into voluptuous ass flesh. He licked at the little hairs that had tempted him, advancing deeper between her crack, burrowing to find her juicy centre.

  Even her labia was abundant. As his tongue gingerly touched her thick lips, she moaned softly. He dropped to his knees at the sound.

  She leaned to her right to better position her lovely ass into his hungry face, which he buried as deeply as he could between her round cheeks. His nose sunk into her plush, moist labia as he sought to taste her creaminess.

  He slid his left hand along the underside of her smooth thighs while his tongue lapped away at her wet little flower. With his right hand, he lifted her uppermost cheek, wanting desperately to get as deeply inside her musky recesses as he could.

  One of the women said something to the beauty who replied with distracted dismissal. He didn’t care what they’d said as long as her luscious ass didn’t move away from him. He darted his tongue in and out of the tip of her pussy; the angle did not allow full penetration. She squirmed with pleasure and emitted deep but tiny whimpers in response. He adored putting strong women into such helpless euphoria.

  Fingers were suddenly running the length of his own ass cleavage. It was definitely a woman’s touch; long, slow, soft caresses. But soon there were many fingers and more than two hands lavishing attention on his exposed rump. He felt his already hard cock tighten to an almost unbearably solid state. He sucked intently on the slippery pussy lips that smeared his nose and chin.

  But the hands seemed to multiply. One grabbed his cock, another stroked his tight sac. A dainty finger rimmed his asshole, which he encouraged by spreading his legs and sticking his ass up in the air. The more they played, the more eagerly he feasted at the beauty’s dripping snatch.

  These Greek women continually confounded him, he mused amidst the probing tongues and digits. First, they giggle at him and now they fondle him.

  A pair of strong but feminine hands grabbed his hips, digging long, tapered nails into his skin. The hands gently but purposefully pulled him away from the beauty’s succulent honey pot. He flowed with that motion, sensing the start of new pleasures.

  The hands were assisted by another pair placed under his arms. They tugged until he was off his knees and squatting. They continued until he sat firmly on a folded blanket someone had thoughtfully placed on the rough cement.

  The beauty rose from her chair and turned to face him. Her near-orgasmic daze was still evident but her natural composure quickly took hold as she looked down at him. She extended her hand in a gesture meant to help him up. He grasped it and got to his feet with her help.

  “Please. Sit.” She motioned to the chair she’d vacated.

  He wanted to ask questions. Why were she and her friends playing with him? Why had they laughed at his size? Why did she offer her sweet, shapely ass to him? What was next? But he spoke no Greek and even the beauty’s English was insufficient for conversation.

  Four women stood before him, including the beauty, in various stages of undress. One, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, was completely naked and watched him with the haughtiness bred from confident sexuality. Her skin was smooth and very dark, with no tan lines whatsoever. Her breasts were neither small nor big. He noted that they were, in fact, perfect with their dark, pert nipples. As he admired them, she responded by grabbing one in each hand, as if reading his mind. She squeezed and kneaded, just like he wanted to do.

  The next woman, probably close to forty, stood transfixed by his erect cock. Her zaftig presence felt motherly but richly erotic. She wore only a sarong tied loosely around her hips, emphasizing the contrast between her waist and her hips. But nothing could overshadow her impressive breasts. She stared at his rock-hard member as if it were a child’s scraped knee. Seconds later, she caught his eye, penetrating him with rapacious intent. Her enormous tits gave credence to his initial reaction to her as motherly. Surely, hungry hordes could suckle at those mammaries and find sustenance! She lifted one huge melon to her mouth and sucked at the hard pink nipple.

  The third woman, wearing only a bikini top, turned away from him and bent over, swinging her long, loose sunstreaked hair forward. She displayed an ass of superb proportions. She spread her legs so he could see her deep pink pussy lips. Some dark pubic hair obscured the sight, but it was clear that her cunt was engorged and glistening with arousal. She reached between her legs and frigged her own clit, wiggling her big, luscious ass in syncopation.

  He looked to the beauty for an explanation of this performance. She smiled with half her full mouth and stepped closer to him, stopping by the side of his chair.

  “They try to help you. To make you big.” She took his rod in her right hand and slowly massaged. She remained clothed but as she coyly stared at him, the memory of her taste returned to his tongue.

  He watched the scene before him, reeling with conflicting responses. He definitely wanted to fuck each and every one of them, partially to prove he could. But their maternally inspired intentions touched him and his curiosity took over. How far would they go to make him grow? And how big was “big” to them anyway?

  He refrained from informing her that the five inches of tumescent manhood she held was maximum size. Better to wait and see what she planned to do with it.

  The perfect-titted young woman spoke to the beauty and he caught the word Americano. The beauty did not answer. Instead, she continued the slow, sensual hand-job and whispered to him.

  “She says all things in America are very big. She does not believe you are American.”

  “Well, you can tell I’m American from my accent, can’t you? Anyway, how big do you think I should be?”

  He knew he sounded manic and that she wouldn’t reply. The beauty straddled his lap. Little pink portions of her exposed sex poked out from her thick bush, which he instinctively reached out to stroke. He located her firm, slippery clit just as she slid her hot cunt over his now throbbing dick.

  She still wore her lacy overshirt but he could see her full titties bounce as she rode him. His fingers worked wildly at her clit, spreading juice all over his palm. With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of tit flesh and squeezed.

  He lifted his hips to ram her with the same intensity she used to fuck herself with his love stick.

  “Neh, neh!” she called out as he jammed himself into her. She threw her head back and held onto his shoulders, continuing to slide him in and out of her hot, wet hole. In and out, faster and faster, she slammed down onto him until she cried out, again with sounds and words unfamiliar to him.

  Holding back his own eruption was excruciating, but he had to show these women he could please them. And he would fuck all of them if it were the last thing he did.

  The beauty whimpered and collapsed, burying her head in his chest. He caressed her damp back through her shirt.

  “Let me fuck your friends now,” he whispered.

  She grinned knowingly and dismounted. (He’d always found that “fuck” was a word internationally understood.) The three women, still playing with themselves, devoured him with their eyes.

  He rose and staggered to the woman whose ass was spread so provocatively for him to sample. He grabbed both ass cheeks a
nd leaned into her, sliding his cock along her creamy pussy lips. She moaned and wiggled, now frigging herself without any trace of inhibition.

  He stuffed himself into her quickly and began to pump her hard. The other two women moved to stand on either side of him, both of them within arm’s reach.

  As he fucked the gorgeous ass, he reached for the pussy of the young woman while she continued to play with her own tits. The zaftig woman offered one of her monster melons to him. His mouth was drawn to her waiting nipple as if he needed her nourishment. She pushed her huge tit into his face as he suckled her.

  The beauty stood in front of the faceless ass woman, holding her steady as he fucked her, sucked an enormous tit and fingered a slippery snatch.

  The young woman burst into a powerful orgasm, her clit twitching in his hand. Zaftig, who’d been beating her own meat as he sucked her tit, began to wail as her body shook in its surrender to pleasure.

  His resolve gave way to the imminent explosion now brewing in his balls. The pussy he fucked suddenly gripped him urgently, spasming around his cock. The woman squealed and pushed her ass into him recklessly. He pumped back with the same abandon.

  His come shot into her at warp speed. He couldn’t stop fucking her! He pumped and pumped; she yelled louder. Her cheeks shook with every thrust. Finally, his dick twitched with unmistakable surrender and he knew he’d given his very last drop of jizz to this gorgeous ass.

  The woman dropped to her knees and fell into the beauty’s arms. He wobbled backwards into the chair.

  His head spun with sublime exhaustion as he watched the beauty cuddle the woman he’d just reamed. The beauty’s eyes penetrated past his psyche and into his soul. As she caressed the satisfied woman, he felt he caressed them both. Through her grounded but surreal presence, he touched both women, snuggling, nuzzling, and purring into them.

  The young woman announced something in Greek after consulting her watch. The zaftig one stepped toward him, heavy breasts swinging freely. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled at him as if he’d just won the spelling bee. Then, she bent down to kiss his cock.

  “Bravo, Americano!” she whispered and floated away into the villa. The young woman grinned, winked and followed her. Beauty helped the woman to her feet.

  Both of them appraised him fondly but the woman with his come inside her suddenly blushed and scampered into the villa.

  The beauty approached, picking up his pants as she passed them. At his chair, she deposited the garment into his lap, grasped the arms of the chair and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

  “You are a special man,” she cooed with that devastating half-smile. She ran the tips of her fingers along his cheek.

  “Husbands are coming,” she added.

  He held her hand against his face and kissed those incredible lips, savouring their fullness in his memory before he returned to his own villa.

  Fugu

  Bianca James

  Dedicated to the ghost of Itami Juzo

  I came to Tokyo in the Year of the Snake, with the vague intention of doing research for my doctoral dissertation. When my informant fell through, I was left with an expired student visa, and over a thousand dollars in debt. I took a job waitressing at a seedy hostess bar in Kabukicho called Papillon.

  Kabukicho was a hot bed of sex clubs and mob activity, but the bar where I worked paid well and let me drink for free, and booze was about the only thing I cared about at that point.

  The thugs who frequented the bar were known as chinpira. The chinpira wore cheap suits in hideous shades of purple, red, and yellow, their hair teased into frizzy orange perms. They were low-ranking yakuza, missing teeth and bits of fingers. They were lecherous and rude, never tipped, sprayed me with spittle when they insulted me in torrents of Osaka-tinged Japanese. They never seemed to make it past the age of 30. I didn’t mourn when I found out that certain individuals had been busted by the police. There would be a fresh wave of over-eager 18-year-olds in less than a weeks time.

  Daisuke was 35, hovering somewhere towards the middle of the yakuza hierarchy. It seemed improbable that a yakuza of Daisukes calibre would bother to penetrate the cramped confines of Papillon, but it was also difficult to believe he had ever been a chinpira. Perhaps the seven years he’d spent in prison had refined him, his jail cell like the proverbial oyster lovingly polishing the secret pearl tucked away inside.

  Daisuke’s fingers were long and slender, fully intact, though he was missing the small toe from his left foot. He wore a full body tattoo concealed beneath his cream-coloured linen suits, carp and dragons inked in lurid shades of red and blue. He was soft spoken and polite, and I had to repeatedly remind myself that this was an evil man whose money came from murder and extortion. I knew about his obsession with fucking white women. I knew he had come for me. I did not care. I graciously allowed him to pay my debts, wine me, dine me, and fuck my brains out. One does not mess around with the yakuza.

  Daisuke was a gourmet when it came to both women and food, his tastes running towards expensive shellfish. Every night Daisuke took me to a different restaurant with a new speciality to try. During this time I developed a taste for hot sake, the culinary enabler. Mild drunkenness allowed me to bypass my gag reflex and enjoy the erotic intrigue of Japanese food. It all seemed vaguely perverse, yet prepared to obsessive standards of beauty and cleanliness. Certain foods reminded me distinctly of sex: a gummy fermented substance known as natto stunk like unclean genitals. Viscous tororo starch, served over noodles, was white and sticky like come. Powdery soft mochi cakes made from pounded rice had the silky weight of a testicle.

  Eating these things made me feel as though I was a culinary whore, being mouth fucked by one strange flavour, odour, consistency after another.

  Everything was eaten raw, served with horseradish, pickled ginger and strong liquor in order to combat the ill effects of any parasitic micro-organisms hiding in the muscular striations of fish meat. The danger of food poisoning or tapeworms loomed perilously near, yet never close enough to be perceived as a real threat. As long as Daisuke was picking up the bill, he ordered and I ate shamelessly.

  At a family-owned izakaya in Asakusabashi, we ate slick pink pregnant female shrimp, belly bulging with shiny black caviar, spindly legs and antennae jutting out at random angles. I fought the urge to scrape off the gelatinous eggs and eat the otherwise innocuous shrimp on its own, but consumed the delicacy whole, enduring the chitinous crunch of the tail, savouring the creaminess of the flesh, the hundred tiny eggs that popped in my mouth and got caught between my teeth.

  While we ate, Daisuke told me about the first woman he’d made love to, a naive peasant maid, “the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.” They’d sneak off at night to fuck in barns and fields. When she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d killed herself to protect the honour of her family. He’d fucked her one last time as her body convulsed from the poison she’d eaten, mixed into sweet bean cakes, her spasming body ripping the orgasm from Daisuke’s loins.

  “I could have kissed her,” he said. “The poison from her mouth would have killed me, our sin would have been wiped clean. But I didn’t. Now you know why I am a criminal.”

  Daisuke related the tale with fond nostalgia. I took another sip of bracing shochu, liquor made from the clean wheat in the peasant fields where Daisuke had lost whatever semblance of innocence he’d once had, and ate another.

  A week later we had fresh spider crab, eaten cold with lemon at a fancy restaurant in Ebisu. Daisuke told me what he’d done that day – breaking all ten fingers of a man who’d defaulted on his loans – as we snapped the spindly crab legs one by one, teasing out the red and white flesh with picks and scissors. When we had picked the crustacean clean of meat, there was an elaborate ritual of sucking out the muddy brains, then sipping hot sake from the bare shell.

  At a bar managed by an Australian surfer in Hibiya, we drank cold Sapporo beers and slurped fresh Uni, the slimy orange innards of the sea u
rchin divested of its spiky purple shell. Each glob was daintily served on an edible green leaf, to be grasped by chopsticks quickly before it dripped to the table like fluorescent snot. Daisuke told me about the special sushi restaurant he went to, to celebrate his release from prison five years previous. He called it “sushi in the raw”, sashimi served off the supine bodies of beautiful naked women. The women shave their entire bodies and bathe in ice water beforehand, in order to lower their blood temperature by a degree or two. Then the raw fish is arranged artistically on the chilled body of the human serving tray. He’d said he’d never been so aroused. His erection was so hard it pained him. And they’d eaten his favourite, an exquisite tuna with fresh roe.

  I asked him if he’d fucked the girl afterwards. He seemed appalled. She wasn’t a whore, he said, just a serving tray. Her flesh was cold; it would have been like fucking a corpse. He preferred the warm-blooded women in Kabukicho, their wet mouths slicked the colour of fresh tuna sashimi. They call adult video stars maguro, he said, because of the way a lubricated vagina looks shiny red like slabs of raw tuna.

  After our meals, we’d retire to the love hotels of Shibuya to indulge in the next round of carnal pleasures. We’d fucked on the whorehouse beds of a hundred different love hotels, heart-shaped beds, black leather beds, revolving beds, beds shaped like racecars. We’d fucked on shag carpeting, in bathtubs, in chairs, in every imaginable position until Daisuke would fall asleep, and I’d stay awake watching TV and smoking cigarettes, the terminal insomniac.

  He made love as one would expect a criminal to, grasping my arms and legs with strong fingers, leaving bruises in the shape of fingerprints. Daisuke’s sexual appeal was his violence: the fact that he was a gangster made me desire him more. I loved the shameless way he ripped off my panties and pulled my hair while he thrust his cock into me from behind. He rode the fine line between lover and predator that is socially unacceptable in the States, but it made me come like a hair-trigger every time.