Best Women's Erotica 2007

by Violet Blue

  Although I’d always been in favor of hipster panties, or (at the skimpiest) bikinis, I now bought myself a rainbow of thongs, and I twitched my ass in them when I walked, feeling that ribbon of floss tickling me with every step. Opening me up.

  When I took a shower, I took great pleasure in using the pulsating massager between my rear cheeks rather than over my clit. The rush of water there had me breathless and shaking as I’d never been before. And when I touched myself solo, I’d finger my ass simultaneously, and my orgasms intensified in ways I’d never imagined. Nobody had told me. Nobody had explained.

  Maybe, I thought, Byron needed to see what it would feel like. Maybe nobody had told him, either. The next time we made love, I tried to touch him back there, but he swatted my hand away, and the lovemaking stopped abruptly. How could I consider that? How could I dream he’d be into that? When I went down on him soon after, something he did like, I tried accidentally-on-purpose to kiss him back there, slipping lower between his legs than normal, but he pulled me back up to his cock, horrified that I would even consider rimming him.

  The more he denied me, the more I craved what I couldn’t have.

  How strange that something I’d never known I wanted now consumed me. I dreamed about him taking my ass. I wanted him to pound into me. I felt as if I were on fire all the time, felt as if the curves of my ass were a beacon, a neon sign, pulsing. Throbbing. And was I just imagining things, or were other people suddenly realizing how cool my ass was? I wore tighter jeans. I wore shorter, flirtier skirts. Byron’s best friend, Joshua, seemed to notice. On a day when I wore Daisy Duke cutoffs, he couldn’t keep his eyes off me. But Byron was oblivious.

  I was determined to wake him up.

  Whenever I felt the mood was right, I’d try to perk Byron up to the concept. I’d ask him to play with me the way he’d played with Vacation Girl, the trippy little blonde-haired minx in the Vuarnet shades who’d let him take her from behind. But what did I know? Maybe she’d taken him. Maybe she’d fucked him from below.

  “Come on,” I begged yet again one evening after a party. We were both tipsy, but I acted a little more drunk than I really felt. “Come on, Byron, let’s try it.”

  By then he knew exactly what I meant. We’d had this conversation often enough for him to know what “it” was. His face squinched up. He shook his head. He looked as if he’d just taken a bite of something rotten.

  “I want to,” I told him, giving him my most desirous look. Lashes fluttering. Bottom lip in a bitable pout.

  “No,” he said, in a tone that let me know he was gearing up for a fight. “No way.”

  Although I hadn’t given the concept of anal sex much thought before Byron and I got together, now I had discovered that I really did want to. Men had been complimenting my ass for years. Since high school, even. Boys who suddenly realized that they weren’t breast men, but ass men, took an extra look at my derriere when I walked by. Did anything come between me and my Calvins? That’s what the boys wanted to know. Byron had that ass in his very own bed, and he wouldn’t glance at it twice.

  How crazy it is that I begged. How pathetic that I had to go that low.

  He’d fucked her that way. It was all I could think about. She got him to do it. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  I got drunk again. Drunker this time. But I was prepared. I’d purchased a bottle of glistening lube. I unfurled a fresh towel and spread the blue terry cloth out on the bed while Byron was in the adjoining bathroom, brushing his teeth. My body, ass included, was squeaky clean from a shower. I was Crested, Scoped, and Dialed, as tempting as I could possibly manage. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew that most men would have dived at the opportunity of doing me the way I craved. Young chicklet on the bed, ass up, ready for sex.

  Byron said no.

  He didn’t want to do the act with the girl he would marry. That’s what it all came down to. He tried to make it seem as if he were sparing me an indignity. Really, I could tell the truth was a different story entirely. I wasn’t worth it. The fight that followed was groundbreaking. Byron didn’t like me arguing with him about anything, and he punished me by leaving the apartment, storming out to have a cool-down walk in the night air.

  All by myself, and drunker still, I looked at the photos from his vacation in New York, the one he’d gone on with Joshua after finishing graduate school. The one where he’d met the girl. I saw her gazing from under her shades, saw her daring me.

  I took that dare.

  What I did was indefensible. What I did was wrong, wrong, wrong. What I did wasn’t actually a what but a who—Joshua Sparks, Byron’s best friend.

  I didn’t start up with the “fuck my ass” request immediately. I simply began responding to the flirtatiousness in Josh’s dark brown eyes whenever we were together. I held his interested stare a beat too long. Whenever we talked, I put my hand on his shoulder, or thigh, or the inside of his wrist. At parties, I stood too close. At dinners, I always sat across from him, and my stockinged toes did naughty things between his legs from under the table.

  Josh started calling when he knew Byron wasn’t going to be around. “Hey, Gina, is Byron there?”

  “No, Josh.”

  “Good—”

  He wanted me to talk dirty to him when he was at work. “Tell me what you want,” he’d demand. “Tell me everything.”

  “You first,” I’d counter.

  He wanted me to watch him jerk off.

  I could do that.

  He wanted me to give him a blow job in his car, during rush hour.

  I could do that, too.

  He wanted me every which way he could get me. At least, that’s what he promised. “Every which way—and then all those ways again.”

  But would he fulfill my one true desire? That was the question. Or would he make me beg the way I had begged Byron, my fingers on the split of my ass, ready to open myself up to him? Would he make me beg, and then reject me? I didn’t think I could handle that.

  When Josh and I finally got together after all those months of dancing around the issue, I didn’t know how to ask. I simply rolled over in bed and bumped him from behind.

  “Byron won’t,” I told him. “I’ve asked, and he won’t.”

  “Why not?” His strong fingertips lingered between my ass-cheeks. He touched me more firmly and I shuddered all over. “Why, Gina?” I looked at my ring, glinting at me accusingly from the bedside table. I looked over my shoulder at Josh. “Why do you want to so bad?” he asked, amending his original question.

  “Because he won’t.” I’d built the act into something else in my mind. A super hurdle. Something to overcome.

  Josh didn’t want me to see it like that. He wanted me not to get over it, but to revel in every single second. He didn’t want me to beg him to fuck my ass, he wanted me to beg him not to stop. He explained this to me as he touched my naked skin, humbling me with the sensation of his fingers spreading me apart. Making my heart race faster as he inspected me. And suddenly I didn’t want him to fuck me there just because Byron wouldn’t. I wanted him to fuck my ass because I needed him to. I wanted him to drive inside of me, to make me scream, to make me feel as if he were fucking me all the way through my body.

  Josh knew what he was doing. There was plenty of lube and there was lots of stroking. He slid in one finger. Then two.

  “Oh, yes,” I sighed. “Oh, Josh.”

  He finger-fucked my ass as he rubbed my clit with his free hand. My body responded instantly. I felt the wetness spreading down my legs as my pussy grew steadily more aroused. He dribbled the shivery cold lube down the split between my cheeks until it rained onto the crisp sheets. He made me come before he even brought his cock to my hole. He made me come again with only the very head of it inside of me.

  “Oh, god,” I murmured, undone by the feeling. “Oh, fucking god—”

  He kissed the back of my neck as he worked me, and when he slid in all the way, I bit into the pillow and cried.
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  Byron was wrong. Yeah, it hurt, but it hurt in the best way possible. It hurt like nothing else ever had, and the pleasure of being filled was like no other experience. I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want it to end.

  I thought about Byron denying me this. I thought about the spiky-haired blonde and her “I dare you” stare. And then I came again, as the diamonds made dizzy, drunken rainbows from my knockoff ring on the bedside table.

  I tried to make myself feel bad for leaving Byron. I told myself I ought to have at least a twinge of guilty conscience over it. But the truth is this: he simply wasn’t worth it.

  ANIMALS

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “I want you to hold me down and fuck me hard. Don’t treat me like myself, or like a woman at all—treat me like an animal,” I told him, the last such pronouncement I would make. Aidan was the kind of guy who always made me feel depraved, and he had a special knack for making my pussy tighten so fiercely I worried that it would stay that way permanently, the way parents warn their kids their eyebrows will stay furrowed if they keep on frowning. I’d been lusting after him for almost a year, but had finally broken through my own fear and told him what I wanted from him, only to find he felt the same way. I’d never asked anyone anything of the sort—a little spanking, a few minutes of bondage, a few dirty words thrown my way, but that was about it. This was different. This was real, raw. That’s how much I wanted him. At first, I wasn’t sure if he got what I was saying—I didn’t want him to hold back, at all. I could tell that he had been holding back, just enough to make me long for more, to make me feel slightly put off, as if he thought I was too fragile to take what he could really give me.

  Maybe it’s because, outside the bedroom, I’m his boss at our small town’s indie record store. I’m the girl all the wannabe guitar players drool over—five-nine, long jet-black hair often tinged with green or red, eyebrow ring, purple lipstick, powder-pale face. My clothes, some mixture of black, tight, and sexy, usually paired with imaginative stockings and combat boots, never fail to make at least one set of eyes turn at the store. But Aidan, unlike most of the guys who passed my way, caught my gaze immediately. He was smart, not just some snot-nosed punk looking to steal CDs when they thought I wasn’t looking. Aidan could talk as easily about Dorothy Parker or Bukowski as he could the Buzzcocks or Braid or even the Beatles. He didn’t lord his intelligence over anyone there, either, it just came out if you provoked him enough and stayed hidden, like a turtle under its shell, if you didn’t. He was more clean-cut than the other guys, so you had to peer a little more closely to see his edge, to catch a sneer or raised brow, to see the smirks that were gone almost before they’d even formed. He had plenty of scars and dreams and fantasies, but they were wrapped up so tight I didn’t know if he’d be able to let go, even though it was clear from his rock-hard cock and the look on his face, eyes half-lidded and wet mouth slack, that he wanted me.

  I was sick and tired of lying back and letting some guy rock his cock inside me as if we were on a seesaw, gliding gently upward, pausing, then zooming downward at the most predictable pace imaginable. Even at twenty-five, I knew that sex should take you out of the everyday, should make you as wild and ferocious as a rabid dog—in heat. The guys before Aidan had been cute enough, but they just couldn’t give me what I most craved, what I dreamed about, squirming against my slithering fingers as the walls of my bedroom shook with the latest single the store had sent our way.

  “Are you sure that’s really what you want, Tina? You already drive me so crazy with that sweet ass of yours, twitching it the way you do when you walk, like you’re moving each of those cheeks separately, taunting me with them so I just want to grab you and smack them till they’re bright red.” Just hearing the normally sly, sarcastic Aidan saying those words, thinking those thoughts, made a tiny trickle of liquid slide down my thigh. Since somehow finding ourselves wedged together behind the counter last week during closing, we’d been fucking like rabbits until every moment seemed suffused with his scent, his touch. Even when we weren’t together, my pussy was working overtime, as if asking when he’d be back.

  We were standing in the doorway of my tiny kitchen, part of the so-called bargain I’d scored to live in the East Village, meaning I got a minuscule doll-sized set of three rooms, rammed right up against my neighbors’ identical layouts. But I didn’t care, because how much room did I really need to get fucked into oblivion?

  Aidan was behind me, his back against the front door, while mine was slammed against his hard cock. I could feel it pressing between my ass cheeks as I pushed back against him, and I leaned down, showing off my flexibility by wrapping my wrists around my ankles, making my already short black latex skirt ride up my unusually bare thighs. I was sure my tiny, wet red thong barely covered my pussy lips. He growled, and I knew I had him right where I wanted him. He tugged upward on one side of the thong, making it dig into my cunt lips until I whimpered, tears of joy forming in my eyes. More, I thought, I want more. Then he let go, but immediately grabbed my hips and slammed me hard back against his dick. I heard the metallic twang of his zipper being undone, and then his warm cockhead was tracing the contours of my slit, tapping against my opening as if he was testing out the right key to unlock my door. Except Aidan knew after only a week together that he could have me anywhere and everywhere, could take me when I least expected it and I’d be wet and ready for him. He was simply that kind of guy. Just as I was getting used to the feel of him rubbing against me, making me ache more than I would have thought possible, he stopped.

  He pushed me roughly forward, and I had to scramble to place my hands on the floor in front of me to steady myself. Then he shoved the remaining fabric of my skirt well over my hips and reared back, slapping my right ass cheek hard. The sting traveled throughout my body, seeming to leave my mouth in a whoosh of air. I had to really focus not to tip over, and then he did it again, the sound echoing through the room. He tugged on my thong, harder this time, keeping it there so it bisected my lips, letting them fall on either side of the thin piece of fabric. “You want me to treat you like an animal, T? I hope you’re ready for me.” I am, I am, I mouthed to myself.

  Then he let out a growl, mimicking several animals at once as he brought his hand down and spanked me again, this time using his hand to get at both cheeks at once. He leaned down, and before I knew what was happening his teeth had sunk into my skin, the fleshy underside of my ass, his mouth moist, his teeth sharp as I got what I’d asked for, got the fangs and claws as his nails dug into me, his teeth nipping down my ass to play at my thighs. When he moved us into the other room, carrying me over to the bed and laying me down on the mattress, my body pressed flat against the crisp sheets, all of me bared, open, waiting, I sneaked a peek behind me and almost didn’t recognize him. Like the best actors, he’d become someone else, gone to his own primal core as he scowled, his features contorted into a wild snarl of pleasure and passion and lust and sadism, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he whacked my legs apart. I went limp, a willing rag doll, as he pounced on me. His weight pushed me deeper into the bed, his cock pushing against my slit.

  I felt deliciously, delightfully small, a little girl to his hugeness, as his hands raked through my hair, then clawed down my back, the red lines burning as he did his best to mark me, brand me his wildest animal. He reached beneath me, pinching my clit hard, until it hardly even felt like my special nub, but something else entirely. He ground my hard pink button between his fingers, so tight I felt almost numb, a blaze of heat wicking its way upward and inside, then petering out just as quickly as it started. I’d wanted something, certainly, when I’d asked for this treatment, wanted to go farther than I ever had, shed some layer of skin that’s essential for daily life but feels like a cloak during sex, even when I’m naked. I’d wanted something vaguely urgent, something like the Nine Inch Nails line, something like what I’d seen in those porn videos where the girl screams and screams and screams until you don’
t quite know what’s happening to her, only that she cannot live without it. But whatever I’d wanted, whatever I’d dreamed about, Aidan had torched completely. My meek little fantasies were child’s play compared to this, were like going to first base when he’d simply upended the whole ballpark. With just his bare hands, his voice, his cock, he became an animal for me, one who wouldn’t take no for an answer because he didn’t even speak any language, let alone English. He became exactly what I hadn’t known I needed until then, his paws digging at me, burrowing deep inside, stretching not only my pussy but my boundaries as he bit and dug and pinched and thrust.

  My cunt was so perfectly sore, so raw, so hot, that when he finally slammed his cock into me, I went wild. The sounds I let out now were inhuman ones, bubbling up like some deep ancestral wail, coiling forth from my stomach, my cunt, my gut, my memories. My body was pinned beneath him, as much by shock as by force, and I let the tears stream down my cheeks, let him overtake me as his cock seemed to fill my entire body, coursing through me like blood, like power, like magic. Later, I would laugh at how truly out-of-this-world this was, how far removed from our petty punk politics, our little scene, the endless rounds of gossip. Whereas other girls might tattoo their sluttiness across their arms, or their asses, or their chests, the way Aidan fucked me went deeper than any ink ever could. It marked me inside, until I thought I might explode, combusting right there, his prey through and through. He speared me, plunging inside me with all the force he’d been holding in for years, forever possibly, going further than I’d have thought possible, literally and figuratively, smashing me into the floor while my body tried not to escape but to mold to his, to fuse against him so I could feel what he was feeding me forever. As he plundered me, as he fucked me like the animal I’d become, he gave me so much more than his cock, so much more than simply his body. Aidan gave me his darkest self, like a werewolf or a witch, the kind that only came out at night, under the coveted safety of the dark, a self meant not for public viewing but for me alone. His dark side became mine as we growled at each other, shaking with need until I crumbled first, howling, baying, barking, making noises that were neither animal nor human, but somewhere caught between the two, my body twisted beneath him as I let his power crash over and then through me. I was still quaking when he came, his semen shooting into me like a rocket launching.