The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 3

by Maxim Jakubowski

  We made our way to the dark corner below a coat rack, where I immediately dropped to my knees and undid Max’s fly.

  “Pretty baby,” Max sighed as I introduced his erection to the warm, wet heat of my mouth. He twisted his fingers in my glossy curls as I bobbed my head up and down. “That’s perfect,” he groaned, as I kept up the rhythm. I’d have brought him over the brink if a couple hadn’t made their way down the stairs right then, reaching over us to grab their coats from the rack. As I quickly stood up, Max fumbled for explanations and for a way to slyly tuck himself back into his pants.

  “New strand of mistletoe,” Max said, pointing toward the greenery nearby.

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” the lady grinned, nodding towards the open door of the first apartment. “You’re going to enjoy yourselves,” she assured us –

  3

  Jasmine’s apartment was the first door on the left. Her theme was Retro Hawaiian, and the guests within were drinking from glasses decorated with tiny paper umbrellas. Jasmine and her girlfriend Diva were both clad in grass skirts and bikini tops. Diva’s dark skin shimmered with body glitter and Jasmine’s plentiful tattoos were on full display.

  “Aloha,” Diva grinned at me, reaching for my coat. She nuzzled her lips against the back of my neck in a sweet, sultry greeting. Max caught my eye as he gave Jasmine a similar sort of hello kiss.

  On one of Jasmine’s blue velvet couches, I noticed two feline women in a slinky embrace. The blonde had her hand up under her lover’s dress, and her partner moaned and shifted her hips in a restless beat.

  “The party’s already started,” Diva said, “make yourselves comfortable.”

  “I want to say hello to Sylvan first,” Max told me, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me after him into –

  4

  Disco Inferno.

  That’s what Sylvan’s party theme was. A mirrored ball spun overhead and the music was straight out of the 70s. Grooving on the dance floor were couples clad in various stages of undress. And right in the centre, were two lovers entirely naked and deeply entwined.

  “They couldn’t wait –” Sylvan explained.

  I leaned back against Max’s body, feeling his erection pressed against my ass. His hands came up and began stroking my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress. His fingers pinched my nipples firmly, and I closed my eyes and moaned.

  “Maybe we should find somewhere more private,” Max whispered.

  “Like a coat room?”

  “Like a bedroom.”

  “Let’s try down the hall –”

  5

  But when we got there, we found two couples had already staked their claim to Sylvan’s California King. My pussy pulsed at the picture before us – a moving picture of four pretty people in a passion play like none other. One well-built man sprawled in the centre of the bed on his back. A striking redhead rode his cock, her legs parted, thighs tight as she worked him. Behind her, a blue-haired minx with multiple piercings was intent on licking the nape of the redheads neck, moving lower and lower. The fourth member of the party, a well-hung stud with dark skin and razor-cut hair, stood on the mattress with his cock poised right in front of the redheads parted lips. Between bucks on her lover, she took sucks from this mans glistening penis.

  “Oh, man –” Max murmured. “Too pretty –”

  “Too busy,” I corrected him. “You know. No room at the Inn –”

  6

  So we headed to the next apartment, where a theme of “Hotel California” awaited us. Plenty of pink champagne on ice and a sign over the door that said, “you can never leave”. Based on the erotic atmosphere in the room, I couldn’t think why anyone would want to. Max put one hand around my waist and began to move me to the steady, hypnotic melody.

  “I like the way you look in that,” he murmured, admiring my sleek silver sheath as we danced.

  “Do you?”

  “But I especially like these,” he told me, reaching within the bodice of my dress to tug at the delicate nipple clamps attached within.

  I sighed as he pulled, and then groaned as he tightened each clamp, upping the intensity of the experience. My panties were now drenched and when I whispered this fact to Max, he said, “Then let’s deal with that, shall we?”

  “How?”

  “Follow me –”

  7

  I trailed after him towards the pink-and-white tiled bathroom. Max ushered me inside and then pulled my red satin panties down and waited for me to step out of them. On his knees in front of me, he gently parted my pussy lips and began to lick in long, slow strokes. I closed my eyes and braced myself, surprised when a nearby moan surpassed my own.

  “Oh, yes!”

  Who was talking? Quickly, opening my eyes, I gazed around the room, finally locking onto the intercom on the wall. Another couple must have been getting frisky near the other pair of this intercom set. Breathless, I listened to the steady build of these nameless, faceless lovers as Max now slipped two wet fingers deep inside me.

  “Oh, do that –” the woman urged, and I immediately echoed her.

  “Yes, Max,” I crooned, “Do that!”

  “That?” he asked, wiggling his fingers happily within me. “Or this –?” he murmured, and suddenly I felt something sweetly vibrating against me –

  8

  To my surprise and delight, Max had slid a Fukuoku vibe on his finger. Now the soft pad of the toy was pressed deliciously against my clit. Immediately, waves of pure pleasure flowed through me. With my heart racing I had to hold onto the counter of the sink to keep myself steady. Max stood right behind me, still stroking my clit with his magical vibrating finger. When I looked into the mirror, I saw a heat building in my gaze.

  “You like that?”

  I nodded, unable to speak. The sensation was incredible.

  “Now, think about how good that’s going to feel when I fuck you –”

  A knock on the door stopped our risque games, and Max and I hurried to fix our appearances and vacate the place.

  But where to?

  9

  “Fire escape,” Max said, and we rushed back through Sylvan’s apartment. The whole time I was quite obviously aware of how wet I was, how ready to play. My vision blurred as we made our way out of the open window to the fire escape. Here, we could see the beauty of the city, all lit up for the holiday season. But we were more concerned with the beauty of fucking. Max ripped open the button-fly of his jeans, revealing his hard-on.

  I bent over the cold metal railing as he lifted my dress in back and slid inside me. I realized that my panties were still on the floor of the bathroom, but then let go of that thought as Max reached again to tug on the nipple clamps. Each pull sent an instant spasm of pleasure that began in my pussy, then radiated throughout my body. When Max brought his vibrator-clad finger to the front of my body, teasing my clit with it as he fucked me in his long, steady strokes, I came.

  And just in time, too –

  10

  “You lovebirds hogging the view?” Danielle asked us, sliding outside with her girlfriend Brandi. While I nodded energetically, Max worked to tuck himself back into his slacks.

  “Someone’s turned on,” Danielle laughed, and Max quickly flicked off the motor of the vibrator and pulled it off his hand. I felt heat rush to my cheeks, but then, as Danielle and Brandi began making out, a different kind of heat assailed me. Brandi tucked two fingers under Danielle’s leather collar and tugged hard. When she began to nibble her way down the inside of Danielle’s throat, Max nudged me. But I wasn’t ready to leave. I watched until Danielle brought her wrists behind her back and Brandi instantly captured them with a set of silver cuffs, running the chain through the railing to keep her lover in place. Time to give them some privacy.

  “We haven’t been outside yet,” he reminded me.

  At the end of the hall, a door opened to the rear garden. Max and I made our way out and found a spot on the wooden bench. Max undid his slacks
again, and I lifted my dress and climbed on top –

  11

  When we realized that the hosts of the party were watching us from the windows, that simply added to our excitement. I pushed up on Max’s throbbing hard-on, then let myself slip back down. He pulled my dress over my head so that I was naked in the cool night, holiday lights creating a magical multicoloured halo around us. Up and down I pushed, and then Max slid one hand between our bodies to strum against my still-sensitive clit.

  I gripped onto his broad shoulders and rode him, squeezing his cock with my inner muscles until I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was almost there. Voices urged us on from overhead, partiers witnessing our lovemaking for their own enjoyment.

  “Oh, baby,” Max groaned, arching his body as he came. “Oh, yeah –”

  I held onto him, riding out the waves, until the two of us reached that far-off place called coming.

  12

  After we fumbled back into our clothes, Max tricked his fingers through my dark curls. I looked at him and saw the colourful holiday lights echoed in his eyes.

  “That’s what I call a progressive party,” Max smiled at me.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I sighed, snuggling into his embrace as we made our way back up the stairs and into the further delights of the festivities –

  Horsepower

  Tom Piccirilli

  Cole was coming out of the comic shop on Bleeker Street with a bag full of silver age Fantastic Fours when she caught him from behind.

  Terry somebody, Italian last name, he knew her a little from high school. She’d gone goth pretty heavily over the past couple of years. Lots of black and fishnet now, one eyebrow pierced with a chain hanging to her ear, a spiderweb tattoo working itself out of the low-cut collar and up her neck. The city could do it to you.

  He wasn’t sure if he liked the change, but he let that go for the moment. She stood with two other girls who were much more into the scene, leather and latex and gossamer, dragon tats wrapped around their arms down to the wrists – one real and the other henna. They’d hardly seen any sunlight in the last six months, even now only coming out at dusk. He liked the goth trappings but saw trouble coming as they looked him up and down, giving him the slow once-over. The pudgy belly, the glasses, the sweatshirt, sneakers, holding comic books. They both wanted to be lady death and they did a good job at it, and he knew they wouldn’t be able to resist taking a shot at him any second.

  There was a war already under way and he had no idea how to stop it. Something about him pissed the new goths off and always had. Maybe it was because he had no real style, too much vanilla padding, totally whitebread. Screaming taxis and family cars with slipping trannies slid past, barging through potholes. One of the lady deaths bent her knees as if she might lunge at him, shove him into traffic. Cole felt sort of weak until a blue ’64 Pontiac Lemans GTO 389, the pioneer of the muscle car era, sped by with its dual exhaust bellowing. It gave him some poise back and he almost felt aroused, able to meet their severe eyes now.

  Terry Scoletti, that was it. They’d had some good conversations back in Film Studies, sitting side by side in the middle of the class. Peckinpah and Hitchcock and Arthur Penn, film noir, Vanishing Point, Dirty Mary Crazy Larry, Easy Rider and Two-Lane Blacktop. She found herself a football player and that was about the end of it.

  She seemed to remember something about him and cocked her head, blinked a couple of times, thinking back. He could smell a touch of gin coming off her, the others stinking of stale smoke. The dipping sun shed a splash of blood over everyone, pooling at their feet. He could tell by Terry’s glittering eyes that something was up, some kind of game being played in there. He was about to be toyed with, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. One lady death grunted, and then the other.

  Hopeful, he decided to wait it out. Terry said, “Hey, how’re you doing? Haven’t seen you for a while.” He nodded, watching, as she became all angles and arches, slinking towards him. He got it now, she was going to put on an exhibition right here, for anybody watching. This was display, this was exposure.

  Grinding it into him, pressing at his throat, she was against him in an instant while he stood tightening into stone. “Are you shy?” she asked. The reek of gin was much stronger as she brought her lips up almost to his, the blaring horns growing louder. She let loose with a grin that made him heady. Sometimes it could be like this, seeing old acquaintances out of context. Free of past circumstances.

  He knew he appeared almost exactly the same, and maybe he was except for a few threads of silver in his curls, out in front. Terry wanted to have some fun with him, put on a show for the ladies death or maybe, just possibly, for Cole.

  Or perhaps it all had something to do with murder. He remembered she had a sister who’d died down in the subways – mugged? . . . pushed onto the tracks? His imagination moved along too fast and he could look into her mind and watch her pulling out a three-inch blade, stabbing him between the fifth and sixth rib, leaving him there on the street because she had to get the rage out. It was an ache he could understand.

  Dry-mouthed, he let out a tiny chirp, trying to keep his hands from flashing up to protect his chest. He could see the ladies were voyeurs and had watched this game before. Even this little bit of it was already having an effect. The death gurrls huddled closer, holding hands, their tattoos touching and forming some new picture he couldn’t understand. Terry continued to grind on, right there in the street, with businessmen swinging their briefcases and Chinese delivery kids riding by on their bikes.

  OK, so it was going to be like that. Terry’s blouse was satin and the buttons opened easy, as she slid against his chest a couple of times. They popped open, one after the other, and the hint of her tits made him groan softly, clenching the bag tighter. She was trying to meet his eyes, but he kept staring past her, into the street, waiting for another classic car to come by.

  The light had begun fading. She touched the sides of his face and drew him aside. He saw that the web tattoo started at her right nipple and went all the way up. Terry had large, dark areolae. The sight of them made him nose forward, lips parched but his tongue feeling too large and wet in his mouth. She closed in on him, wrapped a leg across his thigh, as she rubbed against his crotch, which was springing up a tad. He probably would’ve dug this a little more if they weren’t out in the middle of the sidewalk, and if two murder gurrls weren’t giving him the killing eye.

  Or maybe it didn’t matter. This wasn’t going to work anyway, there was no heat in the seat, no horsepower. Terry laughed, throaty, deeper than he could remember, one hand at the back of his head now and pulling him down. She was holding on to him tightly, had some real strength for such a tiny girl, and he brushed his cheek against her breast. It was the right thing to do and she let out a gasp. She kissed him, both of their tongues working together roughly, even though the make-up, this close up, didn’t do anything for him.

  There’d been rumours about this sort of thing happening in the Village. A couple of kids just start going at it, right there in a doorway or on somebody’s front steps, on the kerb, while the homeless wandered out to watch. The guy left there dying afterwards with his throat cut, the girls laughing. The games had escalated, it seemed. But maybe that was just his naïve perspective – perhaps the world had always meant for him, and failures like him, to croak in the gutter for no reason.

  He tried thinking about it but Terry wouldn’t let him. “Here,” she said. “How’s this?” Her hands were claws, capped by two-inch black nails, flecks of red on them like she’d been scratching somebody down to the vein. He let out a hissing stream of breath and she did the same, sort of tugging on him now, leading him. He took four or five steps and she stayed wrapped around him just as firmly. Where were they going? Was she going to toss him into traffic? Taxis kept blaring, mufflers off half the cars in the street, so loud they set his back teeth to shaking. There was no muscle to them.

  Terry pulled a funky move,
something out of the WWF, spinning until she was behind him, one arm around his waist, jerking him all around. It was a surprise and she kept it going, twining up his back and yanking him once more, as she grooved against him. He almost smiled even though he knew he was being led somewhere he didn’t really want to go. She backed off a step and pounced, came into his arms too quickly and crushed the bag in his hand.

  “My comics!”

  It hit her as if he’d just chopped her in the throat. “What?”

  “Listen –”

  “Your comics?” There was a titter at the edge of her voice, but it didn’t come all the way through. The death ladies tightened their grip on one another until their fingers had grown ashen. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Come on, for Christ’s sake,” he said, realizing he should shut up. “Issue ten features the third appearance of Doctor Doom.”

  “Issue?”

  “. . . ten, yes . . .”

  Now she was back, all the way, even if her eyes still sparked. If she’d wanted him to die before, as a sacrifice to an indifferent divinity, she no longer did. His value had diminished. It was over, and she buttoned up, confused and ashamed, and even the gurrls became appalled. “What are you, five years old?”

  But what could he do? There was a difference between complacency and satisfaction. Opening a vein didn’t daunt him, but you had to draw the line. “Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, these are classics, cost me half my paycheck.”

  “For that kid stuff?”

  Of course they couldn’t understand, no more than he could see sticking sharp pieces of metal through your body or loving Anne Rice’s gay vampires or trying to be the goddamn Crow. You all came to fate on a different curve in the road. Lady deaths one and two were already done with him and marching up the street, fingers splayed as if hoping to find and disembowel a cat. Terry was half-smiling, maybe thinking him a fool or perhaps knowing they were off on tangents but heading to the same place.

  He tried again. “Listen. This has age, this has presence. This is twice as old as you or me, it’s got wisdom. There’s muscle here.”