The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 7

by Maxim Jakubowski

  He gestured with his hand.

  She held them out.

  He leaned forward, took the wispy garment. Slowly, he opened the crotch out, holding it up to the light. “Poor Lois, you were finding this hard, weren’t you?” A damp patch reminiscent of a Rorschach inkblot spanned the fabric. He breathed in appreciatively, his eyelids lowering. “Delicious.”

  A combination of embarrassment and nagging lust burned her up inside. Her juices were now marking the insides of her thighs. “Do you get off on making women hot,” she blurted, “and then leaving them hanging?”

  He rested the panties on the table, next to his wine glass, and put his hand over the bulge in his pants. “I’m a slave to this as much as you are.”

  “Hardly.” He was so controlled. She felt as if she was about to lose it and beg. Was that what he wanted her to do?

  He moved his hand, unzipping his pants and letting his cock spring free. Moisture dribbled from its tip. With one hand, he rode it up and down, slowly and deliberately, watching her reaction. It was long and thick, a prize specimen, and it was as ready for action as she was. When she glanced back up at his face, she saw it all; saw a mirror of where she was at, wrestling with her inner desires, barely controlling them.

  “Hard, isn’t it?” His mouth moved in an ironic smile.

  “Please. Jack, please?” Her hand had found its way into her pussy.

  He watched her hand moving. “What is it that you want?”

  “That.” She nodded down at his cock, her hand latched over her clit, pressing and squeezing. “Inside me.”

  “Show me how much you want it.”

  She stared at him, panting with need, then dropped to a crouch, moving in between his knees to kneel at his feet. She opened her shirt, pulled the cups of her bra down so that her tits pushed out. She plucked at her rigid nipples. “I want it so much,” she whispered, looking up at him pleadingly. She licked his cock from where his fist was braced around its base up to the tip and over.

  His eyes gleamed with pleasure, his lips parted.

  She took the swollen head into her mouth, riding it against the roof of her mouth. When he groaned, she took him deeper, rising and falling, sucking him hard. His hand loosened, his balls rode high. She drew back.

  He looked down at her, his eyes glazed. Still he made no move. Her hips swung behind her, her arse in the air, her cunt begging to be filled. “Please, please fuck me. Jack, I’m dying for you to fuck me.”

  It was as if she’d tripped a switch. Undoing his belt, he stood up, shoving his pants and jockeys to his ankles. He hauled her to her feet, kissed her fiercely, his tongue claiming her lips, her mouth. Between them, one hand moved on his cock, the other stroked her pussy, squeezing it in his hand, sending her clit wild. She whimpered, entirely locked to his actions.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her round, bending her over the dining table, pressing her down onto it, his hands roaming over her exposed buttocks as if, suddenly, he couldn’t get enough of it. He kneaded her flesh, hauling her buttocks apart, his cock nudging into her swollen pussy. He grunted with primitive pleasure when her hungry cunt quickly gave way, sucking him in. He bent over her, sliding in, filling her to the hilt.

  “Oh, yes.” She shuddered with sensation, her hands clawing for the far edge of the table.

  “Good?” he murmured against her back. When she moaned agreement, he thrust again, crushing her cervix, circling his hips as if he was testing her for ripeness. “You’re so swollen, so sensitive; your cunt is like a hot fist on my cock.”

  He wasn’t kidding. She was already close to coming.

  He thrust hard. “Wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

  She nodded again, awash with sensation, her thighs spreading, her belly flat to the table.

  “Ready to be well and truly fucked?”

  She opened her mouth to retort, to say she thought she was being fucked already, then she noticed the extent of the tension at her back, like a loaded gun. He hasn’t even started. She bit her lip, braced her arms, and nodded, her head hanging down.

  With the precision of a well-oiled machine, he started to move, grinding into her, holding her hips as he drove his cock in and out. She pressed back, meeting each thrust with a low cry, pleasure spilling from her core. He filled her completely. She felt wild, yet tethered. She came fast and hot, her cunt in spasm.

  “Nice one; feels good, Lois,” he panted. “Ready for more?” He stroked her hair, but he didn’t break his stride.

  She was his, a rag doll to his will, her body riding the table as he fucked her. Her inner thighs were slick with juices. Her feet were off the floor, heels in the air. Her tits and clit were crushed onto the table, fast growing painful with the push and shove on the hard surface.

  And then he thrust harder, swearing when he felt the hot clutch of her body on his. His fists grabbed at her buttocks, manhandling her back against his hips, anchoring her on his cock. He was so deep, wedged against her cervix; she felt his cock grow larger still. It lurched, spurting. She wriggled and flexed, on the verge of coming again. He squeezed her buttocks, as if milking himself off with her body. Acute sensation roared through her, spiraling out until every part of her was vibrating. She gave a long, low moan, her body convulsing.

  Against her back, Jack breathed hard. She put her hand over his where it rested on her hip, gratitude welling inside her. She’d never had it this hot before, she’d never taken the time.

  He reached for her and kissed her cheek, lifting her and sliding her to her feet, supporting her in his arms. “I’m not done with you yet, Lois. I want to see you perform some more.”

  She gave a breathy laugh, leaning back against him. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  “Consider it a bit of both.”

  At the end of her presentation, Lois turned to the gathering and smiled, ready to take questions. Most of the board nodded in agreement. Tim Laybourne rapped his pen on the table, swiveling his gangly head from side to side as he raised the pen in the air to make a point.

  Here we go, let’s see if Jack’s right. She leaned forward and put both hands on the table, flashing her cleavage at him. “Tim, you had a question?” She glanced past him, at Jack, who winked.

  Tim coughed uncomfortably, flushing from the top of his collar to the roots of his hair. “I remain unconvinced about the financing of this project.” He didn’t even sound convinced of his own words. Jack was right; he had the hots, severely.

  She eased onto the table, facing in his direction and resting on one hip, her short skirt growing even shorter. She lifted the finance sheet. “The figures don’t make sense?” She gave him a gently enquiring smile.

  Laybourne stared at her thigh, open mouthed and speechless.

  “If I might interject?” It was Jack and his expression indicated his restrained humor. “Why don’t you just run through that last part again? I’d certainly appreciate a repeat performance.” He lifted one eyebrow suggestively.

  The tone of his voice and the way he looked at her assured her he wasn’t just talking about a run-through on the sums. He reached for her again, invisibly nurturing her strengths. She’d always thrived on her role in the workplace, but under his knowing gaze she reveled in it. Since their encounter the week before, everything he’d said to her at work had been laden with suggestion of the sexual kind, keeping their affair on rapid simmer. And right now the tug of his call pulled on her, from cunt to mouth. She was salivating for more of what he’d given her.

  “Of course not, Jack. I’m quite sure it would benefit everybody involved.”

  Jack nodded, his eyes gleaming with affirmation. Then he sat back in his chair and watched Lois perform, just like he would watch her perform again that night, with measured willpower and the perfect level of restraint, leading to the ultimate mutual reward.

  Back by the Weekend

  Jacqueline Applebee

  My boyfriend sleeps with other women. Sometimes he sleeps with other men to
o.

  Bring them on, I say. I’m a big enough woman to handle it.

  You see, Liam has a heart that’s so big it would be selfish to try to keep it all to myself. Big heart, big cobalt-blue eyes, and I must say, a cock that’s pretty impressive too. We got into the whole sharing thing innocently enough. We were getting ready for work one quite ordinary morning, when out of the blue he asked me if he could sleep with Andy, the computing technician in his office.

  I was shocked for all of five seconds . . . and then I came round.

  Andy was leaving soon; his going-away party would be Thursday, then he would be flying off to look after his elderly parents on the Isle of Man, one of the few places in Europe where being gay is still illegal. I think Liam wanted to give Andy something special before he left. They were good friends; they had known each other for more than three years. Andy had taken Liam to the hospital after he’d sliced his arm whilst moving furniture to a new office.

  I said it seemed like a good idea, but I made Liam promise to tell me all the naughty details afterwards. It was as simple as that. By the time we caught the train to Liverpool Street station that ordinary morning, our relationship had evolved in a most interesting way.

  The two men spent a passion-filled night together and when Liam told me everything they had done, I ripped his clothes off and we devoured each other.

  I’m not jealous. Actually, I’m strangely happy. And the only requirement I have is that whenever Liam spends time with someone else, I want him to make sure he’s back by the weekend. That’s our special time.

  One Sunday morning a few weeks later, Liam was in a fine mood. “Babe?” he looked up at me coyly from between my open legs, where he had lain his pale shaved head. I was blissful and receptive after the altogether satisfying licking he had just given me.

  “Umm?” I looked down, enjoying the contrast between my dark skin and Liam’s paleness: I often went the colour of rosewood after sex, changing from rich brown to a glowing reddish.

  “There’s a new receptionist.” He spoke the muffled words into my warm thighs, still wet with his saliva.

  “Another one?”

  “Her name is Joysna. She’s delicious. Shy as you please.”

  I smiled and stroked his scalp affectionately.

  “You don’t have to ask my permission.”

  “Yes, I do. I don’t want to do anything without letting you know first.”

  “What is it you want to do?” I asked as he raised himself up and then collapsed on my shoulder. I leant my head against his scrubby beard – only a few days’ growth, but already prickly as hell. “Do you want to eat her up or eat her out?” I drawled with a fake sultry-sexy voice. It didn’t quite work, though, with my Cockney accent.

  Liam stifled a chuckle and snuggled closer.

  “She says she doesn’t mess with married men.”

  “We’re not married. Does she know that we’re not married?”

  “I think she meant it figuratively.”

  “I’ll have to set her straight then.”

  And that was that.

  A few days later I was loitering in the Princess Louise pub at 6:00 p.m.; it was the nearest watering hole to Liam’s workplace in Holborn, and on a warm Wednesday evening it was packed with staff from the neighbouring offices.

  I spotted Joysna easily; Liam had described her to a tee: a tall, deliriously juicy Indian woman, with hot honey skin and long wavy black hair. I sidled up to her as she waited to be served at the bar and introduced myself. “Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m Liam’s girlfriend. Can we talk?”

  She looked mildly freaked as I held out my hand and smiled politely at her.

  We found some low plush seats at the back of the bar and sipped our drinks whilst Joysna fiddled with the hem of her floral skirt, distracting me with the sight of her ripe thighs peeking out from beneath the fabric.

  Liam has very good taste.

  “Liam likes you. He’s told me how lovely you are and that you have reservations about being with him.”

  She stared into her glass in silence.

  “Is this some kind of set-up?” she asked quietly. Her timid voice held a note of wariness, but she looked so edible! Her pouting lips were way too glossy and inviting for their own good. The thought of “eating her up” suddenly came to mind.

  “You have every right to be suspicious,” I reassured her, “but no, this isn’t a set-up, or some evil plan to take advantage of you.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” Now she was staring at me with earnest inquiry.

  “Like I said, Liam would like to get to know you better. He sees other people, but he doesn’t fool about, or take things lightly. Liam respects himself and everyone he’s with.”

  “How many others are there?” she blurted out in a suddenly strong Northern accent that surprised me. She looked about the bar and whispered lower: “I don’t want to be the ‘other woman’ in your relationship.” Her accent was weaker now, as she relaxed, with just a bit of a Bradford lilt to it.

  I laughed at that and she smiled back, looking more at ease.

  “Look, I’m not going to force you or anything like that, but I do want you to know that you don’t have to be afraid. You’re not hurting anyone.”

  With that she slumped back in her plush seat, blowing out a resigned puff of air. Her skirt rode up a little more. I gazed discreetly at the scrumptious butterscotch of her flesh.

  “I want him to have a good time, with good people – hot safer sex and lots of fun,” I explained, leaving out the ‘back by the weekend’ bit. I thought it best to not overwhelm her right then.

  “I’m not used to being invited to sleep with someone else’s partner, but I do like Liam.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s been so kind to me since I started at the Institute.”

  “He’s a good guy and a very considerate lover. You’ll have a great time.” I felt like a saleswoman all of a sudden, but my words were true – Liam was very special.

  “I suppose we could get together . . . but I have a condition.” She suddenly leaned forward and smiled dangerously at me. Every single hair on my body stood on end.

  I gazed at this strange woman, trying for cool. “What’s the condition?” I asked breezily, straightening my tunic top; the multicoloured African fabric was suddenly too bright to look at.

  “That you stay with us whilst we . . .” She paused shyly. “Whilst we do it.” She emphasised the “it” and wiggled her chest.

  I choked on my orange juice, spluttering it all over my top and our small table. Several other patrons turned and looked at me with grins on their faces.

  “I thought you were shy. Liam said you were shy!” I managed to croak the words, dabbing at my clothes.

  “You’ve inspired me to be bolder,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and flashing that hazardous smile once more.

  “Bolder? No, bold would be you and me getting it on in the toilets. This condition of yours, my friend – this is a whole other world.” I couldn’t believe the little slut! I brushed my hand through my tight-cropped afro exasperatedly.

  She stared me up and down. I waited for whatever she was going to say next. “Okay, then, I’m game.” She grinned. “If you’re too scared to watch your fella and me do the business, then you and I can just take ourselves off to the loos right now.”

  I wasn’t quite sure how things had turned around so quickly.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, I found myself squeezing into a small cubicle, with Joysna inching herself in after me.

  I had to laugh at what we were actually doing. Even if we didn’t have sex, we would certainly get to know each other a whole lot better. I was determined to call her bluff – and I was sure it was a bluff: no one goes from timid to wanton in the space of a few seconds.

  There were certainly worse places to try this; at least the pub had decent facilities that weren’t dirty or smelly.

  Just as I was thinking that, Joysna elbowed me in t
he ribcage as she finally popped into the stall, the jolt making me topple backwards onto the plastic toilet seat. Joysna had a fit of giggles as she landed on me heavily, her breasts jiggling in her low-cut white work blouse.

  Her weight was making me pant.

  “How do men manage this?” She squeaked out the words between hiccupping laughter.

  “Beats me,” I gasped.

  The sight of her heaving tits had instantly eclipsed the pain I felt. I wanted to get into her cleavage so badly, I was practically salivating. I grabbed two generous handfuls of flesh and pulled her to my face, burying myself in her, breathing her in.

  Her perfumed skin was softer than I could have imagined, creamy smooth, a sweet rich dessert just waiting to be eaten up. She tasted delicious, too, like heady cardamom and scented mangoes.

  I was in heaven.

  Joysna straddled my large thighs, rubbing herself against the denim of my baggy jeans. She kissed me hungrily, her wide fat tongue reaching out to meet mine. Our teeth clashed as she bore down, sucking my tongue into her mouth with force. This was no shy, inexperienced girl. Joysna was wild.

  “Liam told me about you, too,” she whispered against my ear once she came up for air. “You sounded really nice.”

  I silently thanked Liam and proceeded to lift her round, caramel-coloured globes out of the black underwired bra she was wearing. Her mocha nipples stood erect, inviting me down. I bit them greedily, chewing and sucking until she moaned against my neck.

  She rose up and wiggled out of her blouse and bra, knocking her shoulders and elbows against the sides of the stall.

  Whilst she was still standing, I took the opportunity to sneak beneath her skirt, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl as I pulled and tugged her knickers down until they pooled about her ankles. She jiggled like crazy as I snaked a hand around to her backside, gripping a hot, round cheek and massaging it, firmly but sensuously. The whole cubicle smelt of sex-sweat and Joysna’s delicious scent, our perfumes trapped by the confined space.

  She went very still as my inquiring fingertip investigated her ass, circling the heated sensitive flesh there. She looked down at me strangely, and then slowly closed her dark eyes and let out a loud, long sigh. As the sound left her, tension seemed to leach out of her system. She relaxed against my touch, melting like molten brown sugar before my eyes, swallowing my finger into her syrupy depths.