Best Women's Erotica 2012

by Violet Blue

  “Do you want to tell them what you told me in the car on the way back from the restaurant, Sara, honey?”

  “No, Rick, they might just want to watch tonight.” She looks at us through half-veiled eyes. Her hips still move rhythmically against Rick’s fingers, which strum her slit like a guitar.

  Make me do it.

  Her voice has been dancing in my head all evening, but suddenly it’s taken on a life of its own. I know exactly what she wants. It’s what I want, too.

  “Tell us what you said, or he’ll stop touching you.” That’s my voice and I barely recognize the crisp confidence in it.

  Sara jumps at my commanding tone as if she’s been slapped, then she bites her lip and looks away. But I sense this is all part of the game.

  Rick grins. “Don’t be rude to our guest.”

  She moans again. Her pussy is so wet, it seems to sparkle like pink sequins. “Well, in the car…on the way home…I confessed that I’d gotten turned on watching you and Paul across the table in the restaurant. Such a handsome couple, so much in love. I said I wished I could watch Paul show you off to us, teach us what pleased you, like our first time in Maui. And then….” She falters into a sexual sigh.

  “Go on,” I say.

  “I said…I said I wanted to watch Paul make love to you and see what your pretty face looked like when you came.”

  My stomach tightens, as if her very words have exposed my intimate pleasure to a room full of strangers. But I have to admit I was expecting this, almost hoping for it, the invitation to step across the line from watching to doing.

  I glance at Paul. Unsure of what the evening would bring, we promised each other that we would leave the moment one of us felt at all uncomfortable.

  “What do you think, Lena?” Paul asks in a low voice. His eyes glitter.

  He wants to do it. The choice is up to me.

  If I were a good girl, I’d say “no” and mean it. For an instant I imagine being “good.” Standing up. Straightening my clothes. Striding to the door in a righteous huff.

  And wondering for the rest of my life what might have happened tonight if we’d stayed.

  “I guess we start with the shirt,” I finally say, attempting a casual shrug. I’m looking at Paul, but I feel Sara and Rick’s eyes caressing me like silk scarves.

  Unlike Sara, however, I wore a pullover sweater with no buttons for a sultry striptease. Flexing his fingers, my husband takes the bottom of my shirt in both hands and inches it up over my stomach, up over my bra. I raise my arms in surrender. Rick and Sara sigh in unison when they catch sight of the black satin bra.

  “And I had you pegged as the prim white lace type,” Sara teases. Rick is still stroking her between her legs, but slowly and softly, cruising speed.

  I lie back against Paul and he wraps his arms around me. He begins to touch my breasts through the satin, circling and teasing my nipples. The sensation is exquisite, as always, but Sara and Rick’s gaze definitely adds a new element of excitement. The ever-shifting light in their eyes—from Sara’s approving flicker to Rick’s silver-edged hunger—makes my cunt muscles tighten like a fist.

  “Do ‘the scissors,’” I murmur to Paul.

  “Mmm, good idea.” He moves to unsnap my bra.

  “No, keep it on.” Suddenly I realize I want to give this show my own special flavor. Paul always says this bra makes me look like a high-class call girl. Tonight I want to feel just as sophisticated and in control.

  Paul doesn’t argue. His hands snake around front, and he begins to show off one of my favorite ways for him to make love to my breasts—by catching my nipples between his middle and index fingers in a scissors-like motion. The sensation shoots straight to my pussy and invariably has me begging to be fucked in seconds flat. I’m already wriggling, but the curiosity in the Porters’ eyes stills my tongue. To my delight, in the next moment Rick is doing the same to Sara’s breasts. Her eyes pop open and she begs, “Oh, my, keep doing that, baby, it’s good.”

  “Show them our other secret,” I say. We may be rank beginners, but Paul and I have come prepared with some surprises of our own.

  Paul knows exactly what I mean. His breath quickening, he reaches for the hem of my skirt and draws it slowly up over my thighs.

  Rick and Sara gasp when they glimpse the lace tops of the black thigh-highs.

  Paul lets his hands creep farther, up and up, so the skirt is bunched up at my hips.

  “Oh, my fucking lord, she’s been naked under there all night,” Sara breathes.

  Rick’s amber eyes are positively incandescent.

  Both stare shamelessly at my lap, although I’ve yet to open my legs. I decide I like the way their eyes bulge and their lips gape when I make them wait.

  But I’m not sure I can take the last step myself. I keep trying to inch my knees open, but they resist me, like heavy doors.

  Show us your pussy. You want to, don’t you?

  Is that Sara’s voice or mine? Does it matter now? I wrench my legs halfway open with a jerk. Rick and Sara both jump. Paul puts his warm hands on my legs and waits. I nod. He guides them smoothly open the rest of the way.

  “Beautiful,” Sara coos.

  The cool air licks my wetness. My belly is on fire, and my cunt muscles twitch. Our hosts continue to gaze, entranced.

  “Should I show them what you like?” Paul asks, his voice unsteady.

  I’m about to nod, but a more wicked vision takes shape in my brain. “No, I want…I want to play with myself while they watch.”

  I feel Paul’s erection twitch against my hip. Rick and Sara are smiling like kids who’ve been promised triple-scoop ice-cream cones.

  Before I can change my mind, I drop my hand between my legs, surprised at how very swollen and slick my lips are. My middle finger finds my clit. I immediately go to town, like I do when Paul is away on business, clawing at myself as if I’m being timed.

  Sara shakes her head in delight and disbelief. “She’s masturbating in front of us. We made her so horny, she has to masturbate.”

  “I want you to be a naughty girl like her,” Rick replies, pulling his hands away. “Show them what you like to do to your own hungry twat.”

  With a soft, “Oh,” Sara slips both hands between her legs and begins to press her labia together, then pulls them open again, in and out, in and out.

  Curious, I mimic her motions. The sensation is incredible—like pinching my clit between two soft, wet pouches of satin. Soon I’m panting, and my thighs start to quiver.

  Paul is still dutifully pleasuring my nipples, but I can feel his rock-hard cock trapped and straining against his zipper. It suddenly strikes me as unfair that the girls are having all the fun.

  “I want to show them how I suck your cock,” I choke out.

  Paul’s hands freeze. Will he allow it? Will they?

  “We have no objection at all,” Rick answers, perhaps too coolly.

  His answer emboldens me. “And I want to watch Sara suck yours. Come sit beside us so I can see better.”

  Sara gives her husband a mischievous look. “Maybe you’ve met your match, darling?”

  She takes her husband’s hand and guides him over to our side of the room. Rick settles on the sofa a few feet away from us. Sara kneels between his legs and waits expectantly. I scoot off the sofa and kneel between Paul’s legs, too.

  My husband and I lock eyes. Are we really going to do this? Share our most private act of love with another couple, not one of our fantasies but real flesh and blood?

  Paul’s lips float in a dreamy smile, but his eyes burn holes into me. His answer is to unbuckle his belt. Together we pull his trousers and boxer briefs down over his knees. His cock springs free and settles like a flagpole at perfect attention. The head is so swollen it threatens to burst like a ripe plum. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so turned on.

  I glance over at Sara. She’s staring at Paul’s cock, too. In turn I eye Rick’s equipment with frank appreciation. His cock is
slimmer than Paul’s but long and rooted in a tangle of wiry black hair. My pussy clenches.

  I take my husband in my mouth. Sara bends to do the same to her eager spouse. Paul sighs and his hips rock up, pushing his cock all the way to the back of my throat.

  While I fellate Paul, my gaze inevitably wanders up to Rick’s face. He’s staring down at me, although his hand is resting protectively in his wife’s curls as she bobs over him. And my husband—of course, he’s watching Sara at work. Through my lust-dazed eyes, a strange, glowing geometric pattern takes shape in the air around us, stretching from man to woman, couple to couple, sight and sensation melting together.

  “I’m getting close. Do you want me to come in her mouth, Elena?” That’s Rick. Even when he’s getting a blow job, he remains the courteous host.

  I pull off of Paul with a smack of saliva. Sara pulls off, too. She waits, a smile playing at her lips.

  I lean toward her. “Let’s fuck them side by side. But if you can hold off, I want you to let me come first, so you can watch.”

  She smiles, the perfect coconspirator.

  I climb up on the sofa and straddle Paul, positioning myself so his cock slides right in. I begin to push against him, wiggling my ass to give my clit maximum stimulation. Truth be told, Paul and I have always had a special fondness for fucking on the sofa. We do it late at night in the dark, as if we’re college kids home for Christmas break, with my parents sleeping upstairs.

  Now that we’ve finally been caught, the consequences are far from dire.

  Sara kneels over her husband and sinks onto him with a sigh. Their bodies sway gently together, but it’s their eyes that seem so wet and open to the vision of our coupling.

  I’m so busy watching their faces, I barely notice that Paul has finally unhooked my bra and is caressing my bare breasts beneath the dangling satin cups.

  “Could you finally take that damned thing off so I can see her tits?” Rick growls.

  I almost giggle at his sudden rudeness, but the need in his voice turns me on, too. I shake the straps down over my arms and toss the garment to the floor. I square my shoulders, proudly aware that my apple-sized breasts and large mocha nipples make an interesting contrast to Sara’s creamy tits topped with raspberries. Rick and Sara stare, their lips parted, as if they’re admiring a work of art they made together.

  For isn’t that what I am? A work of art, enmeshed in the golden web of their gaze, which seems to tighten around my body with each breath? My breasts jiggle as I pound harder on Paul’s cock. It feels so good, so hot, I know I am going to come for him—and for them.

  Suddenly Sara’s hand reaches over and envelops mine in satiny softness. She begins to squeeze in time with my thrusts. My breath catches in my throat. It’s as if she’s feeding a twisting cable of electric wire up through my arm to bind my throbbing breasts, then twine down into my belly.

  “Look at her fucking him, Rick. God I can’t wait to see her come,” Sara murmurs.

  I hear Rick grunt assent but my eyes are fixed on Paul. He is gritting his teeth, holding back for my sake. They’re all holding back for me.

  Sarah closes her hand firmly around mine.

  In the next instant a fireball shoots up my arm, plummets to my cunt and explodes in a shower of sparks. I throw my head back and scream as my orgasm rips through my body. Paul grabs my ass and pumps into me so hard, my knees bounce into the air. We ride the wave together, shamelessly crying out our pleasure.

  Sara keeps steady hold of my hand until we’re quiet. Then she begins to move her own hips faster and faster. Rick’s head shakes back and forth against the back of the sofa, as his eyes dart from my naked torso to his wife, now grimacing in her struggle to the finish. A new warmth begins to flow up along my arm, as if it’s a straw drinking in the borrowed pleasure.

  Sara’s now grinding her hips like a lap dancer. As if on cue, Rick starts to slap her ass. She stiffens and lets out a sexual wail. Rick’s hands move faster, wilder, marking her flesh with a flurry of blows. The sofa cushion shivers under my knees, an echo of his desperate bucking.

  Paul and I watch with sated smiles.

  Then, to my surprise, the heat in my arm begins to throb, and a second orgasm blossoms in my cunt, a slow opening like a fan, followed by languid contractions, as if my own pussy can’t quite believe the encore. Paul’s eyes widen, and I clutch Sara’s hand, like we’re best friends in the schoolyard.

  After we got back to our bungalow that night, Rick and I immediately fell into bed and made love. It was the best sex we’d ever had to that point. Although I will admit, we’ve had better since. Going wide lets you go deep. That’s what I learned in Maui. I’d love to show you what I mean.

  A moment later, I’m already wondering if it was a dream. Did I actually strip, suck my husband’s cock and come—twice—in front a couple I’d just met a few hours ago and love every minute of it?

  I blink and take a deep breath.

  The Porters smile. My husband brushes a lock of hair from my damp forehead and sighs with contentment.

  Reality stretches before me, wide, rich, boundless.

  ALL’S FAIR

  Tiffani Angus

  The argument started over something stupid, ridiculous. It was everything and nothing, that argument. Dishes were piled in the sink, bills lay unpaid on the desk, Jay had a lousy day at work, I had a worse one myself. But it escalated from frustrated sniping to yelling to doors slamming and my retreat to a bath to soak and cry and try to relax. He knew where I was, and I waited for him to come to me and apologize. And I told myself that if he made the first move and knocked on the door, I’d gladly say I was sorry first. I just needed that show of regret on his part. When I’m tired and full of self-pity, I need him to forget about himself for a moment and see me—really look at me—and accept the violence of my feelings.

  It wasn’t until I was toweling off, my skin soft and dewy from the bath, that I heard him shuffle to the door. “My love,” Jay said. I froze, towel in hand, water dripping from the ends of my hair onto the rug, and waited.

  And all of the promises I made to myself dried up right then, and I knew that I wanted more from him than a hangdog expression and a half-felt apology. I wanted a battle, I needed a release and I was in the perfect position for it, my defenses up because his would be down.

  “Open the door,” Jay demanded. Then he changed tactics. “Please.”

  The note of pleading in his voice spurred me on.

  “Not quite yet,” I said.

  “I’m…I’m…” Jay stuttered through the door.

  “You’re sorry?” I asked, my tone biting. “Took you long enough to get around to it.” There, the first volley.

  He took the bait. “No, I’m not sorry,” he said through the door. “I just came to ask if you wanted me to order dinner.”

  Anger flared in me as hot as lust.

  I opened the door.

  And I stood there, naked, more powerful without clothes than with the strongest armor. Jay couldn’t help but gape at me, and I dropped the towel to the floor in an invitation. I wanted him to worship me. I wanted to hold that power for a few minutes longer. I wanted to win, so I played dirty.

  Cold air wafted in from the hallway behind him, giving me goose pimples and making my nipples ache.

  “What?” I asked, impatient, insistent.

  I put my fingers over my nipples to warm them a bit.

  Jay’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. I dropped my hands and stood straighter, throwing my shoulders back, aiming at him, daring him. One quick glance down at the front of his pants showed that he knew what he was up against.

  “I’m done talking,” Jay said. “We’ll just fight more.” He pulled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor, not caring about the little pools of water on the tiles.

  “You think we have to talk to fight?” I asked. “What do you—?”

  He grabbed me then, his hands around my arm
s, and pulled me to him and shut me up with a kiss. At first I resisted just enough to show that he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, that I wasn’t that easy to win over. But then he slid his tongue into my mouth, bit my tongue, sucked and nibbled my lips.

  The size of Jay, his hands, his height, can be overwhelming at times. He has the ability to enfold me, protect me from the world. But even his physical strength and presence wasn’t enough when I held the power with one word: no. And I wasn’t going to let him win just yet.

  Jay moved his mouth from mine to my neck and shoulders and licked the moisture on my skin. I don’t know if it was the heat from the tub or the adrenaline from the argument, but I felt almost drunk, unsteady on my feet.

  He let go of my arms but I didn’t step back, wasn’t going to let him think he was gaining the upper hand. I heard his belt buckle and then zipper. When Jay pulled away to take his pants off, I feared a shift. I held the power, not him, so how come I suddenly felt weak? “If you think that this is going to—”

  But I didn’t finish. Jay grabbed me around the waist with one arm and ran his hand down my body from face to neck, his skin catching on mine where I was still damp, down my breast and across a nipple, then down my stomach and under, where he slid a finger between the lips of my cunt and split me open.

  I pushed back one last time, now wanting that apology on principle alone, thinking that I should get that much if he was now going to get what he wanted. But I wanted it as much as Jay…only I seemed to have lost the thread. The room tilted again and I felt by turns angry and hopeful, neither strong enough to overcome the other.

  But we both knew that to stop, to talk it out, would just put us back on the merry-go-round. The only way out of this was all-out war.

  Jay started the skirmish by picking me up and pushing me against the back of the door, nowhere to go, no way to fight as he grabbed my hands and held them above my head. I could still have said no, but my anger had the better of me and I wanted him to give me something to make up for the fight. I wanted to keep my power, to keep that one little word in my arsenal. I just had to wait for the right moment.