Best Women's Erotica 2013

by Violet Blue

  Josie sees David’s blue cap and quickly slides in so they sit hip to hip as he turns his head to observe her clutch her three-ring binder filled with notes and run her tongue over her lips.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” David smiles and nudges her arm. “How’re you?”

  “I’m so hot,” she rasps, fanning herself with the binder.

  “Yes,” he groans, bending his mouth to her ear. “You are.” He lifts his head and looks at Josie with heat in his eyes while she continues to fan herself. “Why do you always bring your schoolwork to the game? Why do you even bother?” He gives her a look.

  Josie tosses her head back, shrugs, and laughs. “Just something to do in case I get bored. Wink wink.” Her eyes meet his, and she jabs his bearish arm as she raises her head to see Doug step over the bench and sandwich her in the middle. Two thick shoulders and firm thighs imprison her in the seat. David adjusts his cap and nods to Doug.

  “Hey, Doug.”

  “Hey, David. Josie.” More fanning. “How are you two?”

  “Good.”

  “I’m just so hot.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Doug agrees. “You definitely are.” He joins David in bobbing his head.

  “You two are so incorrigible,” Josie sighs.

  “That’s right,” Doug agrees. “We are very enCOURAGE-ABLE.” The guys laugh, and Josie rolls her eyes.

  “Ready?”

  “Yup.”

  “Think so.”

  The boys share more than alliterative names. Both sturdy football players with tree trunks for legs and an anaconda’s hug are a vision of the all-American male: thick, meaty shoulders; angular jaws; both in snug jeans and red-and-black San Diego State sweatshirts. The face of Montezuma stares from both chests. Their arms could carry a dozen Josies. They shovel mouthfuls of food through their lips and not an ounce of fat protrudes from their steam-engine torsos. Pure muscle. The answer to Josie’s every desire. They tackle each other like tanks, and they handle Josie with care but also with the strength she craves. Nothing but their hard, hot flesh can satisfy her needs, not even a bouquet of brightly colored dildos purchased at the local smut shop.

  “Please,” she mutters when she feels the tingling begin between her thighs. “Please give it to me. I need it. I deserve it.” A warm glow travels to her gut where she feels a heavy weight settling firmly and butterflies fluttering furiously. Moisture collects and pools at the entrance to her cunt. With a one-track mind, Josie ponders human anatomy and what kinky things to do with that anatomy as she sees the balls and bats. She likes to feel the balls of her men slapping her pussy lips repeatedly like last week in the library, bending over the table. But today she wants something a little different. She wants to feel the hard equipment push into her backside while she bends over, pushing backward, and she wants the guys to enter her in a tight, juicy hole a little higher than they’re used to. She wants to bend as if in prayer, as if she were offering her body, and for the guys to give her absolution because sex is her religion.

  The threesome watch Padres with tight pants running, throwing balls and patting each other’s butts. Of course, a real padre would be like a priest, and traditionally, a priest is the minister of divine worship, emptying his life of everything but his spirit and connection to a higher power. He teaches us we are nothing but our divine relationship. Our identity gets wiped clean. We are not our job, our G.P.A., our age, our name, our genetic makeup or our addictions. And yet, addiction is what brings Josie and her two men together.

  “What’s that joke about priests?” David smirks wickedly and slugs Doug in the shoulder. Doug shrugs and shakes his head. “You know. They thought it was ‘celebrate,’ but it was really ‘celibate.’ Talk about feeling ripped off, man!” He pounds Doug again.

  “Ha ha ha ha… Yeah.” Doug nods in agreement. “I think I actually did hear that one before.”

  Josie eyes David’s swollen bicep and feels her heart jump and a twinge of anticipation.

  “Good one, huh?”

  “Yeah. Have you heard this one? ‘I thought about becoming a monk when I was younger, but I decided not to because I was CLOISTERphobic.’”

  “Oh. Another good one. You just want to PUNish us.” Doug grins, chuckles, and flags a snack vendor. “Want anything, you guys? I know it’s junk, but I’m starving.”

  “No thanks.” David shakes his head.

  “I’m always hungry,” says Josie. “But I don’t think my stomach’s empty. It’s something else.” Both men turn to her with raised eyebrows, rapt. Unthinking, she spreads her legs slightly. At times, she behaves like an empty-headed bimbo: slutty, ready to jump into bed with anyone. She acts like the stereotypical blonde, yet her tresses could not be confused with anything but brunette. Josie is short for Josefina. Sepia-toned photos of her sour-faced family arriving on Ellis Island prove her true colors.

  The ballpark is a simple location. It always has been. The three friends hint to one another of what’s to immediately follow: Doug winks, David jokes and smiles, and Josie licks her lips. They meet regularly, weekly even, to fulfill their basest desires in whatever fashion will successfully satisfy their gnawing cravings. Josie grabs one of David’s fries and pops it in her mouth while leering at Doug and chewing slowly, making a show of licking the catsup from each finger.

  Mewling softly, Josie reaches her hand past Doug’s face, grazes his cheek and fiddles with his hair. At the same time, she places her other hand in David’s lap, running her index finger along the length of him through the denim, and as his erection hardens further, she feels a knot growing in her gut. Her appetite increases as she unzips David’s tight jeans, fondles his warmth and feels him grow firmer. Tempted to climb into his lap with her escalating hunger, she takes a deep breath and looks at Doug.

  Doug wolfs down his hot dog, gulps his beer and avoids the terrorizing seagulls. He leans into Josie’s now-aggressive petting with his head and sucks her earlobe when he’s done swallowing.

  “Ooo. God, your tongue is awesome.” She looks like a cat enjoying a scratch behind the ears. She loves to watch him chew and swallow. That gulp, that thick, moving throat tempts her and makes her body tug from the inside.

  “Hey, Josie,” Doug says hoarsely with a smirk. “Look.” He glances down at his own lap where his bulge mimics David’s.

  “Oh, boy,” Josie says, and chuckles. Her binder falls to the sticky ground as she works both hands around both cocks.

  “We’ll have to be fast once we get there so…” After Josie grants him access to her pussy by spreading her legs farther, David unbuttons and unzips her jeans. She gazes into his dark eyes while he slides his finger along the slit and moves slow circles around her already slick clit, gradually increasing his pace so that it matches that of her stroking. Josie moans and licks her lower lip. “That’s it, gorgeous,” he tells her as he draws his finger toward the front along with a generous pool of thick cream. “You are so ready.” She looks into his eyes. David’s mother being Japanese adds an exotic look to his face that Josie finds thrilling.

  Twenty-five hundred years ago the Buddha is said to have attained Sunyata: he freed himself from anything worldly clinging to him and achieved significance in the great void. Looking at the baseball diamond is like looking into a void, the void. If you are a nihilist, baseball would not release you from worldly suffering, nor would a hot dog from a wandering vendor or a priest’s forgiveness for multiple sins. In Sunyata, you find peace in the absence of all that is worldly. You find relief in nothingness. Josie finds relief in sex. She can empty her life of all meaningless waste when she meets with her men, and she can exist in a world where nothing else matters. The world disappears. No more school, no more worries, no past, no future. Just now.

  David grips Josie’s wrist, ceasing her fervent stroking, and lets out a strong sigh. “Jesus.” His eyes roll up for a moment. “Stop. Let’s go.” He grunts and tugs Josie’s arm as he stands. He does a quick tuck and zip while Josie closes
her own jeans and reaches into her pocket to palm a pinkie-length packet of lube. Both men adjust their jeans that have grown so tight in the front there is no question as to what they want. They have to hurry. After rushing up the stairs, they usher Josie into the men’s restroom, where, after checking that it’s empty, David hangs his black market CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE placard.

  All three rush in. As the game continues with cheers from the crowd, the men squeeze Josie between them inside the doorway and explore her body, running their hands up and down while kissing her mouth. They alternate between massaging her body and pressing their lips to hers, nuzzling any exposed skin around her throat. David breathes into her pulsating neck while Doug places his palm on one of her braless breasts under the blouse with his fingers at her nipple. Josie gnaws the necks and mouths of the two men while enjoying their male flesh and muscular bodies. Twisting her head back and forth, Josie devours the guys before moving them closer to the sink where she can grip the hard surface to steady herself as she bends over.

  “You know what I want,” she says. “In the ass.”

  Doug inhales sharply. “Unbelievable.” He jerks his head toward David and back again while whispering, “You really are the hottest woman I’ve ever known.”

  David nods his agreement while breathing, “Yeah.”

  Josie tosses David the lube, which he hastily opens with his teeth. Josie leans over the basin, facing the mirror, and grips the edges as David unbuttons, unzips and yanks down her jeans, kicking her legs apart after letting her pull one leg free. She bends her body lower so that the guys can see their target and exhales while she turns her head to look at their approach. Both guys stare at that juicy pink swirl, that glistening red vortex, that hypnotic hot aperture in their line of vision for a moment. While Doug moves to stand watch at the door, David releases himself from his jeans, strokes himself furiously with an ample squirt of lube and hesitantly enters Josie from behind.

  Josie feels his wet acorn-tip toy at the rim before punching through. She yelps while raising her face to the sky then growls as he reaches around to finger her swollen clit while slowly pushing into the taut hole.

  “So tight,” he breathes as he buries himself into her, sliding thick and full completely to her core, filling the void, filling the emptiness, giving her a moment of intense relief and satisfaction after a second of pain. Pushing backward, she feels drops of sweat hitting her back and David leaning against her so his body molds to hers. As he wraps her in his arms while employing his fingers to massage her clit with a puddle of lube mixed with her own warm juices, he whimpers as he restrains himself from pounding into her.

  Even so, Josie wants to thrust backward. Pain is far from her mind. All she can think about is his slick finger and that she doesn’t want it to stop moving. Already, she can feel the tingling climb up her shoulders. She wants to drive toward the end and feel the fireworks explode throughout her body.

  “You’re so wet.” His breath comes faster. “How is it possible?”

  With his middle finger, David strokes her swollen folds and runs delicious circles around her clit while Josie looks into the mirror to see her own flushed face.

  “Oh, yeah,” she exhales. Her eyes and open mouth exhibit sweet torment. She clenches her teeth. “Please.” She bucks against him harder as he circles his finger faster. “I deserve it.”

  A round of cheering causes Doug to glance furtively out the door and whip his head around whispering, “Hurry it up, guys. We have to be fast.”

  “More,” Josie whimpers. “Please.”

  Holding his breath, David pumps with more need until he empties into her and exhales with a long groan into her hair. He thrusts twice more and rocks. When he’s completely spent and has quickly cleaned her backside and himself with a paper towel, he trades places with Doug, who uses the remainder of the lube packet before throwing it into the trash.

  Josie observes her own restlessness and whimpers into the mirror. “Hurry. Now,” she pleads at Doug’s eyes and looks at the strands of her hair caught in a few coarse whiskers.

  Doug squeezes into her and, even in their haste, they move with determination. He licks his fingers and reaches around Josie’s hips to touch her while he slides in and out, stroking that spot just along the length of her clit that has swelled into its own appendage. He rubs her with two fingers just at her entrance, just around the clit, and pushes into her slowly from behind so she can feel him on her back and force her closer to the sink, making Josie plead at her face in the mirror.

  “Oh, pleeeease.”

  Josie glimpses Doug’s eyes in the mirror again and senses the impending culmination to their efforts. She’s so close. Just there. A few more thrusts and a few more strokes to go.

  “Don’t stop,” she groans through each thrust.

  Doug’s stamina proves worthwhile, as Josie watches herself contract in climax and sees her own face in the mirror, glossy. “Yesss!” she cries as she clamps down on her jaw, her hands squeeze the sink and her hair sticks to her clammy cheeks and forehead. Small beads of sweat dot her upper lip and temples. She whimpers while Doug finishes her and gives one final push, and she feels him pulse inside her. She holds her breath before letting it go loudly, jerking her shoulders, buckling at the knees. Her palms ache and tingle from the hard, concrete basin. They both continue to groan and sigh as their bodies gradually descend into relaxation.

  In the evening, Josie has trouble sleeping. Her schoolbooks stare at her from her desk, and she feels a void only sex can fill. Although still sore, she wants to beg the boys for another fix. Some must have a manicure, diet soda or a newspaper tabloid. For others, it’s television or religion. For some, it’s food. For Josie it’s sex. In the barren, musty stacks of the fifth floor of the library, in Doug’s bed, David’s Jacuzzi, or in the stadium restroom, relief comes when you know nothing in this world can possibly complete you, and you don’t care anyway. Sex is her answer to any question. When you float in abandon before scattering into a million pieces throughout the universe like chips in a parking lot, you know that being on the verge of an earth-shattering, mind-blowing climax is really all there ever truly is.

  Reflecting on the day, Josie decides she has delayed long enough. Smiling to herself, she picks up the phone.

  SUSANNA

  Krissy Kneen

  Susanna had a talent with words. This fact came as a surprise to her because for the most part her life had been shrouded in silence. Her first language was Auslan, one of the hand-signal languages invented to communicate with the deaf. Her tiny baby’s hands pulled rhythmically on invisible teats when she was hungry, milking the air. Her mother, a silent beauty smelling of milk and lavender, responded to her call by lifting one swollen breast out of her floral dress.

  Spoken words were useless in Susanna’s home. Her parents’ hands could shout out commands, punish her naughtiness or soothe her into sleep with hand-stories of little girls in the forest and big bad wolves made of hooked claw-fingers. Her name was a collection of letters spelled out on her fingertips. It was a difficult word for a little girl to pronounce without the benefit of sound. She could spell it clumsily at first, but her mother pointed to the framed painting hung above her bed, Susanna and the Elders by Artemisia Gentileschi.

  S-u-s-a-n-n-a, her mother spelled out, her fingers graceful. She pointed to her daughter. Susanna, she spelled out again. The painting and the girl. Later, Susanna peered at the painting, the naked young woman illuminated by the spill from the moon. The girl in the painting attempted to hold a bedsheet up to cover her breasts. Two clothed men stared at her and although they seemed more thoughtful than lustful, something about the way they looked at her was unsettling. Susanna held her own bedsheet up, covering one of her own small breasts, imitating her namesake. The other was exposed to the moonlight. She imagined the two men hiding in the shadows and a delicious thrill, half fear, half pleasure, began to warm her stomach. She pulled the blanket up over her nakedness and closed her eyes ti
ght, but whenever she peeked up at the painting, Susanna was always there. Naked; exposed.

  She entered the world of spoken words hesitantly, her silence often misinterpreted as shyness. While the other children screamed and shouted, Susanna sat quietly, watching. The world of school was a barrage of noise. She sat through each day longing for the silent relief of home.

  For her final assignment at university she made a silent film, a tribute to the older examples of the craft. In Susanna’s film the women expressed their passion with a fist held to the breast. The men responded with a widening of the eyes. Her assessors were confused. No words? they wrote beside her final grade. Perhaps you could have at least provided some emotive music. She left university for the last time stepping out into noisy peak-hour traffic, wondering what exactly she was meant to do.

  For a time she helped at a school for hearing-impaired children, breezing from one gloriously quiet classroom to another, distributing cartridge paper and pots of paint. The children were not silent, they clattered and thumped like any children, they grunted and screeched occasionally. But eventually they would settle into a comfortable hush, and Susanna settled with them, completely content.

  It was at this school that she met the man who would become her only lover, a deaf man, recently divorced. He had custody of his profoundly deaf son every second week and on the weeks in between Susanna would climb silently into his neatly turned-out bed. They would use their hands to break the silence, making words that were nothing but a dance of the fingers, a barely discernible sliding between the Auslan word for sex and the physical expression of the act itself.

  David was a good lover, expressive. His fingers demonstrated to her what he could not say. His mouth, passive throughout the day, was put to better use in the evenings. His lips formed shapes that spoke to her body as words could not. His tongue found ways to express his desire without the use of vowels and consonants. She learned from him a language of love that was as utterly different from the general machinations of sex as Auslan is different from English itself.