Best Women's Erotica 2012

by Violet Blue

  Sighing, Angela turns to him. “I’m listening.”

  “An article of clothing is cash. Just put it on the table like the money. You win? You keep it all, the money and clothing.”

  Looking at the men’s attentive gaze awaiting her response, she groans in defeat. Deciding it sounds agreeable and better than being endlessly harassed, Angela nods. “All right. You’re all drunk anyway so probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow, and I wouldn’t mind winning some cash back.”

  The guys all shout with joy: “Whoo hoo!” Excited, they scoot their chairs closer to the table while Charlie shuffles the cards.

  “C’mon, darlin’. Ante up.” Thinking she’s figured out how to beat him at his own game, Angela stands and drops her panties to the floor. Everything else remains in place, so it doesn’t look as if she has removed a stitch of clothing, and although her nakedness is not visible, the guys become silent in their knowledge that a woman stands free and clear under her skirt in the dining room. She scoops up the slightly damp panties that smell of her arousal and tosses them smugly to the table. All faces turn to the undergarment, unceremoniously gawking, and her triumphant glow quickly fades when she sees all jaws go slack, and all eyes staring riveted to the pile of red silk crumpled on the table. They fix their gazes on the pile, spellbound.

  “I guess she thought you said to PANTY up,” mutters Charlie after a long pause. Everyone snickers weakly. Scott flashes a smile from the panties to Charlie to Angela without losing the authority to his face.

  With a distracted group of males, Angela easily wins the first hand, and she shoots out of her seat, punching her fists into the air, jumping up and down, which bounces her breasts and wiggles her rear as part of her victory dance. Scott looks around the room and quickly dives between Angela’s legs, flipping the ends of her skirt over the top of his head. His head buried under her skirt, he grips the globes of her ass and holds her body firmly to his face, which startles everyone, especially Angela.

  “Whoa,” Larry whispers.

  Angela starts to protest and shove him away but stops and stares open-eyed when she feels him lick along the already open slit, making it impossible for him to resist diving into the open slash with his tongue, which slowly strokes each side of the clit, plunges into her cunt over the top of the clit and teases the base of the swelling gem, making it harden and throb. The pleasure keeps her anchored in place as she looks around the room. Sure, she’s always been an exhibitionist, but gazing into multiple eyes, while someone’s tongue finds her clit and his mouth sucks her labia, brings it to a whole new level. Her skirt lifts and drops like an umbrella opening and closing as he bobs his head up and down. She feels his hair on her crotch as he wiggles his head back and forth. Feeling his tongue swirl slow circles around her clit, she thrusts a bit toward Scott’s face. She watches Larry and Jackson gape and start to unconsciously reach for their zippers in a daze. When Scott relaxes his tongue and slowly laps at her clit, Angela audibly releases a moan.

  Every moment Angela remains spread to Scott’s face makes him hungrier. He fucks her with his tongue, pushing it in and out so that it grazes each side, and from the noises escaping his throat, he savors this every bit as much as Angela does, increasing the tempo only when she hugs him to her and, whining, begs for more.

  Aware that six eyes are on her, but drunk with desire, Angela places her palms on Scott’s upper back that is covered by her skirt. She looks into all the glassy eyes as she feels Scott’s tongue move in and out, rubbing both left and right along the inner walls of her cunt, slick with her juices and his saliva. She adjusts her feet so she feels stable, but she still rocks, weak-kneed. Each time Scott enters and exits with his tongue, he brushes against her clit, pushing the length of his tongue along the walls and pulling it out to the entrance. Angela clutches at her shirt, crinkling the ends upward so that her belly is exposed and then in desperation she frantically releases her shirt to squeeze her head between her hands. She thumps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

  “Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, oh, Scott.”

  As her orgasm starts its upward climb, she looks wildly about the room, searching for unspoken answers for her current predicament. She doesn’t want Scott to stop but knows she should make him stop, and she cannot possibly make him finish until she finishes. She tenses her legs as he continues a steady pace toward her fulfillment. And then…he does stop, making Angela groan in dismay. No. Scott emerges from beneath Angela’s skirt, his hair messy with moist ringlets and his face flushed and with a dewy glow. Juices glimmer at the corners of his mouth. Looking at him in amazement, Angela stares—breathless, startled and unsatisfied. He circles her waist with his fingers and lifts her to the table, twirling her lengthwise as the guys scramble out of their seats and clear the table of bottles and snacks. Scott forces her into a prone position and promptly begins where he left off by clamping his mouth around her mound and gorging on her clit. His warm lips surround her while his tongue moves deftly inside her. He sucks and licks her flesh in frantic need. When he adds a couple fingers to the mix, following his tongue with the digits’ rapid pumping, she clutches her hair in tight fists.

  Angela tenses her pussy, uncontrollably thrusting toward his face, and she envisions Scott’s cock penetrating her again and again. She grasps fistfuls of hair and sucks her own tongue in desperation while she lifts her ass from the table repeatedly, silently pleading for more. And just when she thinks she can’t take any more, she feels the weight drop before sailing upward through her pussy, her belly and her chest. She calls out his name as she erupts behind closed eyes, where white sparkles flash like fireworks in the sky. She releases the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding until her lungs no longer feel painfully tight and her constricted chest slowly relaxes with a sigh. She feels Scott’s tongue continue to lightly stroke her until she blows out a sigh in completion, and then she appears to drift to sleep.

  Lips parted and clearly in shock, Charlie, Jackson and Larry all gaze at both of them, speechless. They all turn to one another, and the room stays silent for what seems an eternity as Scott raises his head.

  Attempting to calm the sexual tension in the room and bring normalcy to the evening, Charlie breaks the silence by croaking, “So how’s life at the office supply store, Angela?” He swipes his index finger across his upper lip and whispers, “Man I need a cold shower.”

  Angela blinks her eyes and stares at the chipped paint on the ceiling. It takes a while for her to think about Charlie’s words and about work. As she sits up—disoriented, blinking, arranging her skirt and shirt, and raking her fingers through her hair—she breathes, “Um, okay, I guess.” She moves her head vigorously from side to side and takes another deep breath while she feels her heartbeat wind down. “There’s this computer lap dance that I’ve been eyeballing, and I like getting news of the most recent—what?” She notices lips twisted into grins around the table, but her mind is still too mixed up to put it all together. “Huh? How do you all get something out of a question like that?” The guys burst into laughter.

  “I think I need to visit you at work,” says Scott, who has risen to stand near her side and brushes an arm across his mouth.

  Still in confusion she states, “I suppose you’ll ask for a lap dance.” Angela looks at him, awaiting his response.

  “Sounds great, but don’t you mean a lap DESK?” He grins, the sides of his mouth glistening with her juices.

  “Oh.” She looks around the room at all their upturned mouths. “Yeah.”

  BAD

  Kay Jaybee

  I’m a bad girl. That’s what Con tells me when his belt hits my arse: when he’s got me bending over the kitchen stool, my trousers around my ankles, my hands gripping its legs for all they’re worth.

  With each swipe of the leather strap he tells me I’m a whore, I’m naughty, I’m bad. And each time he strikes, each time the burn of the belt cuts through me I think, YES! I am bad, I am a whore. I love it.

&nbs
p; I love that no one but him really knows me, that I’m just an ordinary middle-class thirtysomething woman in baggy jeans and a T-shirt, pushing her trolley around the supermarket like everyone else; sitting in her office typing up letters, cleaning the house, mowing the lawn—right up until I get a call telling me it’s time to be bad.

  I’ve got one of those posh phones that have a different ring-tone depending on who calls or texts me. Whenever I hear the theme from The Great Escape I know it’s him. My blood freezes, but at the same time, before the third note is even out, my heart rate has doubled and my hands chill while my body heats up.

  I have a routine now. I don’t look at the message instantly, and I give it at least four rings before I pick up, savoring the moment of contact itself, picturing Con on the other end of the call, anticipating my response. It is the only time I have the power to make him do the waiting.

  Yesterday the call came when I was about to leave work. I’d already switched off my computer and was putting my coat on, contemplating whether I could be bothered to cook, or if I should grab a takeout on the way home. The second I felt the vibration of the phone in my pocket, accompanied by the familiar tune, my appetite disappeared—well, my appetite for food.

  “Would you lick pussy for me?” The tone of his voice was normal, as if he was asking me if I’d like a cup of tea.

  “Yes, of course; silly question.” I was careful to keep my own voice light, very aware of my work colleagues still milling about the office. As I spoke, I could feel my pulse quicken, and my own voice was screaming at the back of my head: Would you? Do you mean it? I’d never done anything like that before, and even though I’d read a hundred girl-on-girl erotic stories, that didn’t mean I’d ever seriously contemplated doing it for real.

  That’s how it is when he rings. He asks me to do something, and I say yes. It makes me feel good; powerful somehow, even though I’m unquestioningly a plaything to his sexual whims.

  “I know a girl. Are you free this evening?” My palms felt sticky and my heart rate upped from a trot to a gallop.

  I failed to keep the sudden fear that I was going to be replaced from my voice, “A girl?”

  He laughed, “Don’t panic! I don’t mean a girl like you. No one is like you. No, this girl will teach you…while I watch.” I could hear Con swallow carefully as he continued, “I want to watch you lick her out for me Bad Girl.”

  “Okay, that would be fine.” I spoke as if confirming a dinner date as my final workmate brushed past my arm on her way out of the office. Following suit, the fresh air hitting my face with much needed refreshment, I fleetingly considered what he was actually asking of me, and what I’d automatically, unthinkingly agreed to.

  “You really are my Bad Girl aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.” I gripped the phone tighter. I had so many questions, but my throat had tightened, and my voice seemed to have got stuck on mute for the moment.

  “Be at my place in one hour.”

  “An hour, I…” The line had gone dead. One hour! Only one hour to get ready! To get ready for an occasion I had no idea how to prepare for.

  All thoughts of eating gone, I rushed home in record time. Feeling mildly sick with nervous apprehension, I threw my clothes off, jumped into the shower, thanking the god of dubious enterprises that I had shaved my legs the night before. Getting clean was easy, but what to put on once I was? And what if she hated me? What if I didn’t fancy her? Already a picture of what she might be like was forming in my imagination.

  I was pretty sure she’d be blonde. My lover might go for chestnut hair like mine in real life, but in fantasy land it would always be blondes he went for. Despite my fears I could feel my crotch twitching. The mere thought of Con watching me in action was enough to force me on. The fact he was going to watch me have a lesson in lesbian sex; well, the more I thought about it, the harder my nipples got, and it was a wrench to drag myself out of the shower, rather than wank myself off there and then beneath the jet of steaming water.

  Fifty-five minutes later I was hovering on the doorstep of Con’s small terraced home tucked away in the back streets of the city. Restraining myself from thinking too much, I had merely pulled on his favorite scarlet underwear, a miniskirt and blouse, before I ran from my flat. If I had begun to think too much, I would have chickened out and not made it there. Just like when the phone rang a month ago; I would never have let him bind me to a chair and reduce me to a begging, pleading wreck with two hours of silk cloth–related foreplay if I’d stopped to think. Or like when he met me in the back of a borrowed van and fucked me doggie-style in the middle of a busy street’s turnout. Every vestige of my concentration had gone into not screaming and yelling out my climax and alerting the passing shoppers to what was happening behind the closed van doors.

  Each time we meet I’m terrified, and each time I love every second.

  My stomach churned as I knocked on the door, and my whole being felt vaguely dizzy.

  Con opened the door, a massive self-satisfied beam across his face. “She’s arrived.” I nodded, too nervous to speak. This was as much to do with how I always feel when I’m with Con, as the lesson that I was about to take part in. There’s something about the shine in his dark hazel eyes, the sheer confidence he radiates that leaves me in no doubt that we will have a good time. The fitness of his body; the aroma he gives off, not sweaty, not soapy, not horribly covered in masculine moisturizers, but unmistakably male. He stroked a rough hand down the front of my chest. “Scared Bad Girl?”

  “A bit.” My words were squeaky, and he laughed.

  “And yet you’ll love it won’t you?”

  “Yes.” There was no other answer I could give him. I knew if he was there I’d love it. “What’s she like?”

  Con slipped a hand up beneath my miniskirt and firmly pressed his palm against my mound. I could feel myself quiver as my flesh reacted to the man who, after my years of a rather boring sexual routine with a meager handful of partners, had shown me just what my body could do. “You’re wet already. What a slut.”

  My gaze met his, and I smiled. “Only for you. Your secret Bad Girl.”

  That was all he needed to hear, and the stiff shaft that had been digging through his jeans turned to rock against my thigh. Grabbing me by the wrist Con dragged me to his bedroom.

  I almost tripped over my own feet as I was bought to an abrupt halt before the tall, mouth-wateringly curvaceous creature that stood before me. My suspicions had been correct: she was blonde, but natural, not the bottle yellow I’d been expecting. She was so relaxed, in total contrast to me: despite my extreme arousal, I was shivering more from uncertainty than desire. I suspect she was a professional, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

  Con shoved me toward his double bed and left me standing only inches from the female stranger, while he half sat, half lounged, on top of the laundry basket he kept in the corner of the room. His eyes glowed with a level of devilment that I’d not seen before. He didn’t seem to blink as he stared at us, silent but expectant.

  Still smiling, she took a step toward me and whispered in my ear, “I’m Tina. Are you ready for your lesson?”

  Inclining my head a fraction, I felt a warm glow flooding my body as the other woman placed her hands upon my face. “Con tells me you kiss beautifully. May I?”

  Again I nodded. Nothing had happened yet, but the world seemed to be spinning around me just from the pressure of her palms alone. When her ruby-painted lips met mine I melted into her. All I could think was, Con’s watching this. What’s he thinking? Is he pleased? Are we turning him on? My musings were answered with one long, deep guttural moan coming from the corner of the bedroom.

  Once I was reassured that Con was happy, I began to relax into the kiss and allowed my arms to come to Tina’s waist, my fingers hooking themselves into the band of her satin trousers. This was so different from what I was used to with Con. He was deliciously rough and forceful; Tina was gentle, exploring my mouth with
her lips and tongue, and my back with her agile fingers. I could feel my breasts swelling under the cups of my lacy red bra and my confidence grew.

  In my mind I could see pages from all those stories I’d read, all those paragraphs full of exotic erotic promise. Why had I imagined I wouldn’t know what to do? I could picture every woman I’d ever read about being licked out, having her nipples pinched and massaged by female fingers, and I rapidly discovered that kissing wasn’t enough for me.

  Pulling away, I looked straight into Tina’s blue eyes, and I knew she understood what I was thinking. She took my chin and bought my ear to her mouth, licking it softly before she whispered again, “You don’t need teaching, but this is his fantasy you’re living out, so we’ll pretend. You want to give him a show.”

  It wasn’t a question; it was a fact.

  “He told me you were a bad girl.” The gentleness faded, and she bit my neck with her brilliant white teeth, making me groan out loud, a groan that was again echoed by Con as he watched. “Well, so am I, honey.”

  Dragging me to the end of the bed, Tina pushed me so that my back hit the duvet with a satisfying thump. In seconds my boots were off, my legs had been parted, my skirt was rucked around my waist and an active mouth was nipping and licking around my stocking tops. I reached my hands toward her head, but she slapped them away abruptly, saying sharply, “You will put your hands behind your head.”

  I didn’t argue, placing my palms under my fast-knotting hair, as I willed her mouth to go higher, for my knickers to be yanked to my ankles, for more of everything.

  Tina lifted her head, and I whined with loss as she addressed my lover, “Come closer, and I will show you what I am about to teach her.”

  All the time she spoke, her long slim fingers played with the top of my scarlet knickers. “A suitably colored garment for such a naughty girl, Con, don’t you think?”