Best Women's Erotica 2010

by Violet Blue

  I made my way to the front of the room where Mr. Burgen was packing up. I loved watching the back of him. His black instructor’s belt pulled the jacket tight around his hips and the span of his back and shoulders branched out above.

  “Hey, Cat. What’re you still doin’ here? Need a ride?”

  “Nah. Thought I’d lost my keys.” I held them up for him to see. “Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, yeah. What’s up?” Years of instructing and running the business had given Sean Burgen an easy manner. He had untied the belt and I could see the curve of hard, flat-packed muscle where the jacket gaped.

  “It’s Marty. He’s still…” I searched for the right word.

  “What…? Going a bit hard?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. I mean, I can take it, but...” I sighed. God. How to say it without coming across as a total girl? It was crazy but, even after all these years, the guy still made me nervous.

  “I could hit him back hard, but that’s not the point. Lousy example for the juniors too.”

  He grunted and was quiet. “Well, sometimes, that’s what it takes.”

  He leaned over and pulled up the leg of my uniform. There was a biggish lump down low that would be a bruise tomorrow, and some yellowing bruises higher up from last week.

  “Don’t you worry about it, okay?” He slung an arm around my shoulders and walked me to the door. He was still damp from training and I could feel the heat of him through my jacket. It was late and I was tired. When I first started with the club I only had school and training to worry about. Now I was training more, working fulltime to pay off my unit and studying as well. I leaned there against him feeling the bristly hair of his stubble against my forehead and the deep rumble of his voice in his chest.

  “Marty’s getting a little too cocky is all. It’s probably time we knock him down a peg or two, eh?” And with that, he sent me on my way.

  Two days later we were downstairs at Mr. Burgen’s. He didn’t mention our chat and I didn’t see him talk to Marty during class, but it was obvious something was going on when they sparred together. I was busy with my partner, but I could hear the slap that comes from a foot connecting with its target, and the thud and hiss of breath that goes with a solid punch in the chest.

  Others were looking too. Partners were still sparring halfheartedly but all eyes were on the young gun taking on the boss. We’d all seen it before and knew the ending, but that didn’t dampen the shiver of excitement prickling along my spine.

  Most of us had stopped sparring and had formed a rough circle around the two of them to watch. I turned just in time to see Marty sink a corker into Mr. Burgen’s thigh and then ram a fist up under his ribs. Marty was going hard. His shoulder was behind the punch and there was a meaty sound as it connected. Mr. Burgen pulled Marty in close and seeing them there, pressed up against each other, I wondered at the pure dumbness of men and their hormones. Mr. Burgen’s chest was almost twice as thick as Marty’s and as they turned, all I could see was Mr. Burgen’s back. Marty was lost somewhere inside the man’s arms. There was a hardness about Mr. Burgen that Marty would never have. Marty was strong enough, for sure, and he had a tight little six-pack under his uniform that would get him a contract modeling for Bonds, but there was something about Mr. Burgen that said he could weather Marty’s storm and go on dishing it out. It was there in his shoulders and in the calluses on his knuckles, but also in his eyes and the set of his jaw.

  Marty sagged as Mr. Burgen buried a big, gnarly fist in his guts and I felt a tingle of fear. I wanted to see Marty go down, but I didn’t want him hurt. Mr. Burgen had his hip behind Marty and looked set to take this one all the way to the ground, but something changed his mind and he shoved Marty away and clapped his hands. All over, everyone back on the floor.

  We ran through warm-down and stretching and I wondered what had happened. It looked to me like Marty was gagging for a thrashing and Mr. Burgen didn’t deliver. Marty was off the hook before he was on it. I felt cheated. We lined up, and after reminding us about the next training session, Mr. Burgen dismissed the class. Our eyes connected for an instant and his were cold and flat. Then he added lightly, as an afterthought, “Oh, and Marty. Could you stay back a moment?”

  It wasn’t over after all. He just wanted to get rid of the spectators.

  “How you feeling? Good?” Mr. Burgen was back on the mat, smiling. With feet together, hands by his side, Mr. Burgen wordlessly maneuvered Marty back into position. Marty felt it and his eyes slid to the clock.

  “Yeah. Um, fine but—”

  “Good. Let’s have another go at it then, shall we?” Mr. Burgen bowed, ready to begin, and Marty scrambled to catch up.

  “Cat? Count us in.” I gave the Korean command to begin and Mr. Burgen was straight onto him. Marty was jolted backward by a front kick to the guts and Mr. Burgen was there again, pounding into him with big, serious fists. Marty managed to dance away without going over but Mr. Burgen kept coming, working him toward a corner.

  Usually, Mr. Burgen hung back when sparring with a student. He let the student come to him; he showed them what they were doing wrong and dropped them without hurting them, smooth and powerful, but gentle. That’s why they call it a martial art. You got your arse kicked, sure, but he did it with such fluid grace that the landing was sweet and you’d swear he was laying you down to bed you.

  All that was gone now. There was no grace about the way Mr. Burgen moved after Marty. He stood flat and moved steadily forward. He had forced Marty out of the square, but instead of backing off and letting him back in, he kept on at him, forcing him up against the weight benches. Marty was off balance and falling backward when Mr. Burgen grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hurled him back into the square. Marty tumbled, but fear had him up in a flash. Mr. Burgen closed the distance and caught Marty’s retreating roundhouse under his arm. With one of Marty’s legs clamped under his arm, it was easy for Mr. Burgen to sweep the other one from beneath him. Marty went down and cried out as all of Mr. Burgen’s weight came down on top of him.

  “Hurt?” Mr. Burgen growled in Marty’s ear.

  “No, just—”

  Just winded, I think he was going to say, but he was cut off by Mr. Burgen’s fist as it cracked across his jaw.

  “What about now? How do you fuckin’ like it, huh?”

  Marty was pinned and bleeding and Mr. Burgen’s sweat and spit rained down on him. Mr. Burgen shifted slightly and thrust his hips savagely into Marty’s exposed groin.

  “How d’you like that?”

  “Fuck! What the hell was that?”

  “That’s my cock! C’n you feel it? That’s my fucking cock. You’re about to feel a whole lot more of it too, you little shit.”

  Now, most people would probably call time-out about now. But everything seemed fairly normal until Marty copped the backhander across the face. But even that wasn’t so weird. Marty was a schmuck who needed a good smack in the mouth.

  I was about to object, but stopped. A prickle of electricity had started flickering about in my chest when Mr. Burgen emptied the room. At some point, probably when Mr. Burgen ground his cock into Marty’s groin, that flickeryness blew a fuse and was now pumping out some serious voltage down around panties level. Mr. Burgen was a thick, muscular man and I bet he had a thick, muscular cock to match. I’d been thinking about that cock a long time. I knew it, he knew it, and I’m pretty sure his wife knew it too, but that’s where we left it, which is probably why I trained so hard, for so long, and got so damned good. All that raw sexual energy had to go somewhere.

  The other thing that shut me up was the look in his eyes. And the stories. Fact: Mr. Burgen was a returned veteran. Hot rumor: Mr. Burgen was subsequently receiving a disability pension from the department of Veteran Affairs. That got me thinking. Disability? No way. It’s certainly not for anything physical. And there’s what kept my mouth shut. The department doesn’t give those pensions away. So, if there�
��s nothing wrong with his body, then there must be something wrong with his head.

  My first thought was to find help. Mr. Burgen was obviously having some sort of psycho-soldier flashback attack. Maybe Marty’s bullying and my girly reluctance to fight back had resurrected the soldier’s need to protect and defend. Although how all that amounted to Mr. Burgen thrusting after Marty with a hard-on, I couldn’t fathom. I looked to the ceiling and listened for footsteps. Claudia, Mr. Burgen’s wife, must have been upstairs somewhere. If it actually came down to it, and Mr. Burgen was serious about giving Marty a taste of his cock, then surely Marty would squeal. That was all he could do. Mr. Burgen was twice as big and twice as mean as Marty and me put together. Surely Claudia would hear the screams and investigate.

  “She’s not up there, Cat.” Mr. Burgen was eye to eye with Marty and had pinned Marty’s arms above his head. “She left. Three months ago. Said she always came second to students anyway so I wouldn’t mind much.”

  He looked up at me. “Come over here. Sit.” His voice was quiet now, the anger gone. His face was blank, detached. I wondered if maybe the fit was passing, so I went and kneeled on the mats near them. If we could just keep him calm maybe all this would pass without anyone getting hurt.

  “Here, hold him.” I moved closer so that Marty’s head was between my thighs and carefully placed my knees on his forearms. That way, my hands were free should Mr. Burgen do anything crazy. Marty’s hands were warm as he grasped my ankles. I beamed a reassuring smile down at him. The look I got back was upside down, but it wasn’t barely controlled panic, as I expected. More like, barely controlled lust, which was just plain confusing. Marty wasn’t the closet type. If anything, he was boringly straight. He trained hard and worked long hours. I was sure he did extra cardio work on top of Mr. Burgen’s regular punishment. But then, after meeting his wife, I suspected that training was an escape from Mrs. Marty’s reign of terror. Maybe too much work and not enough play made Marty a horny boy?

  Mr. Burgen whipped the bottom half of Marty’s uniform off, jocks and all, and my theory was confirmed. Marty’s rigid cock sprung free and met his stomach with a meaty thwack. Marty’s eyes flickered shut and he sucked in a breath. Mr. Burgen’s eyes bored into mine as he undid his black instructor’s belt. His pants were already on the floor next to Marty’s but his cock was tenting the bottom of his jacket.

  Fuck! What look was on my face? Was it stuck in a dumb stare, mouth slack, drool pooling? Because that’s the track my brain was on. Get it together, girl! Any second now he’ll have the belt undone and the jacket off and then he’ll be right here in front of you, all hot, hard flesh and rushing blood.

  Panic seized me. Pure selfishness it was, but what if the Real Mr. Burgen didn’t cut the mustard? I’d spent years wondering, with fingers wandering. The Mr. Burgen I knew and loved was more than half fantasy. And my dedication to training was more than half dedication to Burgen-watching. What if doing this revealed him as just a normal guy?

  I had seen the top half of him before, and it was definitely fantasy fodder. One of my best memories was of summer training sessions when he sparred in just pants and belt. The pants had settled down low on his hips and the belt had ridden high, framing that delicious overlap of belly muscle and hip. And the bottom half was fine too. Typical working man: hairy, sock-tanned, complete with chunky, wheelbarrow-pushin’ grunt. But what about the bit in the middle?

  “Martin is sorry for being a bully, Cat.”

  He still had his jacket on and was back kneeling between Marty’s legs. Marty actually lifted his legs and placed them over Mr. Burgen’s thighs. I couldn’t see Burgen’s cock for the fall of the jacket but knew that Marty could probably feel the heat and sway of it against his balls. Marty groaned loudly and I almost groaned with him as Burgen wrapped one of those big, callused hands around Marty’s cock and started pumping it. The contrast of that massive, scarred weapon stroking the smooth, satiny skin of Marty’s cock had me checking my pants. Surely the moisture was seeping through. And the gentleness with which he did it, almost lovingly: how could something so ugly, so purpose-built, still remember how to touch like that? My hand strayed to my cunt, ostensibly only to check for rising damp, but I kept it there. The pressure against my clit was delicious, and I couldn’t help but give it a gentle rub through my pants.

  “Martin wants to apologize, Cat.” Mr. Burgen was focused on Marty’s cock in his hand and his voice was a murmur.

  “You should let him make it up to you.” He saw my hand and a smile appeared as a crinkling around his eyes and a subtle lift in the corners of his mouth. He inhaled deeply through his nose and his gaze caught my eyes at the same time his nose caught my scent.

  “Go on. Do it.” His voice was guttural now; more breathy, more needy. The smile at the corners of his mouth grew a little.

  “Drown the little fucker. You deserve it.”

  I stood and hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my pants. Marty was grinning up at me and winking, so in one smooth movement I dropped my pants, stepped out of them and sat on that stupid, grinning face. Marty’s mouth latched like a sucker fish on to my clit and I gasped at the intensity of it. I ground my cunt into his face to try and force him to ease off a little, but he responded by plunging a thumb deep into my pussy. I sighed gratefully at the welcome intrusion and rocked back onto it. The vacuum seal on my clit had settled down to a deep, throbbing rhythm, and I could feel Marty’s other thumb working the wetness back toward my arse.

  I had shut my eyes when Marty first put tongue to clit but I was dragged back to reality by someone tugging on my belt. Mr. Burgen was there, but the jacket was off and he now had a firm hold on two cocks. I savored every sweet bulge and ripple as my gaze dropped from his wicked smirk down to the pair of slippery cocks thrusting gently into his fist. I saw the cause of the slipperiness. A big drop of precome oozed from Burgen’s piss slit and slowly tracked down the purple, mushroom head of his cock to disappear underneath, swallowed up amidst the heat and friction of the two writhing cocks.

  I didn’t want to pity Marty, considering that I was sitting on his face and he was doing such a fine job down there, but lining the two of them up for judging like that was unfair. The difference in length was negligible, and difficult to estimate given their positions, but the difference in girth was brutal. Like its owner, Mr. Burgen’s cock was big and mean looking, and I wanted it instantly. Burgen’s fist, that looked so outlandishly large wrapped around Marty’s cock, was now back in proportion. Everything was in proportion, and the fantasy was intact. My ability to think, however, was failing.

  “Play fair, Cat. Jacket off.”

  He had my belt undone and getting the jacket off was no problem. They cross over in front, held in place by the belt and a little tie at the hip, but they always gape and come undone anyway. The bra was another story. Thumping someone is a high impact sport, so I always wore my firmest sports bra with the racer back, a bastard to undo. To complicate matters, Burgen had relinquished his grip on their cocks and, leaning forward, sucked half my left tit into his greedy mouth—bra and all. The other one wasn’t missing out, his hand cupping and squeezing the nipple, but now I really needed the bra off. Maybe Marty sensed my distress, or maybe he missed Burgen’s vise grip on his cock. Either way, he had my bra undone without missing a beat on my clit. The second the clasp was unhooked, Burgen had the bra up and over my head and was latched back on to my tit.

  I looked down at him then, and before I could stop myself, I touched his face. Just for a second. I took in the rasp of the salt-and-pepper stubble against my palm. I felt the muscles in his jaw and throat working and saw those warm, brown eyes—Mr. Burgen’s eyes now, not the blood-crazed soldier—swivel to look at me. I clamped mine shut and crushed his face against my boob and focused on the orgasm that was building in my cunt.

  I wanted—no, needed—cock. Now. I was going to come soon and I wanted Burgen’s cock in me when I did. But I also wanted to see Marty get what wa
s coming to him. First things first.

  With a sound like somebody opening an air lock, I disconnected from Marty’s mouth and smirked up at Mr. Burgen. “Your turn.”

  I wasn’t sure if he’d go for it but Marty didn’t give him the chance to refuse. Marty took a hairy arsecheek in each hand and engulfed Mr. Burgen’s cock in his hot, pouty mouth. I heard Mr. Burgen suck in a breath and he seemed to expand in front of me. Marty set a steady rhythm, easing off until the purple head of Mr. Burgen’s cock almost escaped from his lips, then returning hungrily to bury his nose in the hair at the base of the shaft. At first Mr. Burgen seemed content to sit back and let Marty suck him. It wasn’t long, however, before Mr. Burgen was thrusting gently to meet him. And not long after that, Mr. Burgen took a white-knuckled hold of Marty’s head and began fucking Marty’s mouth in earnest.

  One of Marty’s hands came snaking between my legs, searching for my clit, but I had beaten him to it. Two fingers dipped quickly into my dripping cunt before heading on to probe gently at my puckered arse. I was stuck staring at Mr. Burgen’s veiny cock alternately disappearing and emerging again from Marty’s accepting mouth. I had seen and felt enough in class over the years to know that Mr. Burgen harbored a healthy, hot-blooded libido. However, I was coming to understand that there were depths to the man that I hadn’t even considered.

  “Ohh, fuck!”

  It was more of an exclamation than a request on my part. Marty had apparently tired of gently probing my butt, and had instead thrust a whole thumb and half his hand up there. But Mr. Burgen had interpreted it as an order to be carried out at once. He gestured that I should turn around and, popping his cock from Marty’s lips, he took me by the hips and pulled me down onto his cock. He thrust hard to meet me and I grunted as my arse slammed up against the hardness of his belly. He pulled out and thrust all the way back in, filling me up and clutching me there, hard up against him. A few moments passed with jiggling backward and I half wondered what he was up to. I was so full and tight on his cock I didn’t really care. Then he sank down carefully and I went with him, perched there on his lap, and I heard him groan loudly against my neck.