Best Women's Erotica 2011 (21 page)

“Does it matter?” Celia answered, then tapped a chastising finger to Lin’s lips. It was slick, but with Celia’s essence, not her own. Lin swirled her tongue around it greedily, pulling it into her mouth and shook her head without letting go. Then Celia asked, “How do you feel?”

She had to release the finger to answer. It wasn’t fair, and she whimpered. The hand at her glistening cunt took the whimper as encouragement. A finger slid easily inside her, filling her with warmth, while something else—the thumb, she supposed?—still circled her throbbing clit. Her parted lips were slow to move in speech; Celia traced them, teasing them. “Dizzy,” Lin whispered finally. A second finger joined the first and her back arched involuntarily, betraying her ecstasy. There was no way to play it cool and casual. And why should she? A fantasy come true was something to savor, and the lover selfless and devious enough to set it up was someone to reward enthusiastically. The opportunity to try this out, with full support and in complete safety… “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Celia promised, shifting forward on the bed. Her chuckle was low and sultry. “Like I’d miss this show,
mi linda?
You should see how you’re squirming.”

Lin wet her lips, tasting hints of Celia’s flavor. It emboldened her, like the wine had. “I want it.” It was hard to make the breathy words pass her lips, but once they were hanging in the air—once she heard her own voice say them out loud and make them real—it was easier. “I want everything.”

Lin clenched up inside, squeezing her silken passage around
his fingers in an intimate hug of encouragement. The next moan wasn’t hers. Gentle pressure nudged her thighs apart, strong fingers spread her smooth petals, and a sudden whisper of breath slid coolly over the damp, heated flesh between her thighs. She raised her knees up and apart—all the invitation he needed.

His lips were strong and purposeful, and so was his tongue. He lapped a broad, warm stroke over her clit and continued with the point of his tongue up to the boundary of lace, then started back at his fingers, still thrusting smoothly inside her and licked upward again. The digits curled, scissoring and stroking over the spongy pad of her G-spot, and her reflexive arch slid her clit right up against his waiting mouth. She could feel the stubble on his cheeks and chin, faint prickling that mingled surprisingly well with the sharp tingling already building in her. Now the fingers were thrusting more powerfully, and he suckled with increasing fervor, devouring her. The sounds of her own wetness reached her ears, but she ignored the warm burn that rose to her cheeks. He pulled her clit into his mouth, bathed it with circles and flutters and direct presses of his tongue, refusing to be parted from it even as she squirmed beneath him. A hand closed on her breast, finding her nipple and pulling it outward with a firm pinch—Celia’s trick, her touch. She could feel Celia’s breath hot and ragged across her cheek, but she didn’t feel the additional movements that would hint that her lover was pleasuring herself. No, she was just watching. Savoring.

His fingers curled up against that spot again and Lin bucked, a feral cry escaping her lips. Stars burst in the abstract darkness, but she barely noticed them for the stars bursting behind her clit and deep in her core. Those pulses of inner muscle were involuntary now, seizing up inside her and sending wave after wave of pleasure through her cunt. Slowly, he eased her down, slowing gradually before he stopped. Wet lips disengaged and kissed the
peak of her mons, then her thigh. Fingers slid out, leaving her empty and spread, craving more.

He shifted between her legs, stroking up her thighs, up her sides, cupping her breasts and squeezing Celia’s hand to her. He was strong, but he knew his own strength. And the whole time he’d been making love to her with his tongue, she realized, she’d forgotten to give a thought to who he might be.

There was a sound of plastic flexing, then of rustling, and his weight shifted from knee to knee. And then warmth returned to her cunt before she could think about it further. A thick presence painted her slickness up and down her parted labia, then angled just right and started to press inside her. Warmth. God, he was warm. Even through the thin layer of latex separating his cock from her, she could feel the heat of his body. Still awash in sensation from her climax, she was certain she could feel every ridge and vein.

Celia’s strap-on didn’t see as much action as the blindfold had. It came out of the toy drawer on occasion, but it wasn’t their favorite. Lin didn’t like using it because she couldn’t feel Celia reacting inside if she was using a toy rather than her own body, and besides, she thought she looked more comical than sexy with a big purple dick dangling around and bumping off her thighs. She didn’t mind receiving it, but there again, it was frustrating to know that Celia couldn’t feel how wet she was or the way she’d squeeze her muscles down encouragingly inside. Still, Lin had assumed that the experience of having a lover between her thighs, slowly filling her with the thickness of a phallus, was a fairly standard one—whether the phallus happened to be attached biologically to the lover or not.

She’d been so wrong. The toys had never felt this warm, this pliant, this…alive. It was the same and yet completely different. As he rocked forward with a heated groan and sheathed his cock
inside her, spreading her snug passage around him and pressing the firm, solid weight of his hips down against her pubic bone, she tensed again. She couldn’t tell whether the pulsing waves inside her were aftershocks or a new climax crashing on the heels of the first.

He flexed his body in a smooth, hot grind then rested in her for a few moments, reveling in her molten heat just as she reveled in the way his cock conformed to the subtle curve of her body. She moved her hips, feeling it glide thick and hard against her upper wall. The press of his groin against her clit was unyielding and warm, perfect to grind up against.

Her movement spurred his. Shifting up to his knees and cupping his hands firmly under her ass, he started to thrust, dragging the length of his erection back and forth, filling and stroking her. The gown pulled on the stockings and the stockings pulled on the gown, shifting waves of taut silk creating a constant awareness of her breasts, as if smooth fingers fluttered just over her nipples. Every grind and undulation of her body renewed their hard, needy ache.

Celia’s presence left her side, but only for a moment. Lin felt the mattress bow on one side of her head, held very still so that the knee swinging across wouldn’t clock her in the face, and she took a deep breath of her lover’s aroused scent. She heard additional sounds of wetness: kissing. She smiled and craned her neck upward and found one of Celia’s plump folds. Capturing it in her lips, she used a pull of suction to urge the slippery petals down to her.

Celia lowered the rest of the way. Lin pressed her lips firmly around the swollen little pearl and bathed it with her tongue, then delivered an intimate tongue-filled kiss right to her lover’s core. Now gasps, quiet moans and slick wet sounds filled the room completely. She could only hear and imagine the meeting
of mouths above her, but she felt every stroke of the man’s thick cock driving into her and heard her own arousal in the humid slap of each thrust. He was heating up now, faltering in his rising rhythm, and she almost thought she could feel him swelling even harder inside her.

Celia rocked firmly on her face until all Lin could do was keep her tongue extended or her lips pursed while her lover guided her clit, taking what she needed. Her squirms dislodged the blindfold, and Lin opened her eyes without thinking. Glistening candlelit folds moved above her, familiar ample curves beyond them. Her fingers tightened on Celia’s thighs, and she closed her eyes again. The man pushed Lin’s thighs back toward her body, fucking her at a steeper, tighter angle. A new wash of tingling pleasure blossomed through her. She could feel it pooling in her, building. She clenched down on the cock and was rewarded with a strangled, needy cry and feverish, pistoning plunges. He was as close as she was.

Kisses grew fierce and frantic above her. Her tongue stabbed upward, squirming into Celia’s narrow entrance. Celia’s folds slid back and forth across her slick lips with the quick jerking dance that announced her climax. Lin dug her fingers in harder and a husky feminine groan was her reward.

The man grunted and drove deep, grinding her on the root of his cock and brushing her pulsing cervix with his tip. Ecstasy bubbled up inside her. When she gave herself over to it, it burst like a shaken champagne bottle with unexpected force. Waves of heat pulsed through her, and the spasms deep in her sex now weren’t voluntary ones. Hard, rhythmic, her climax thumped just out of sync with her pounding heartbeat. Then she heard his explosive groan and felt the answering pulse twitching through her, and she knew his pleasure had peaked as well. The condom between them was filling with his seed, a little more for every
involuntary jerk of his hips. She relaxed in his grasp, turning her head to rest her lips against Celia’s thigh.

When she found control of her limbs again, she reached up and nudged the blindfold back into place with a sated smile.

 

Rounds of fevered fucking had been interspersed with quiet snuggling and slow, languid kisses that had, inevitably, led back to more. He didn’t leave until Lin had sampled everything she wanted to try—everything but the berries, completely forgotten on the nightstand. Celia brought the bowl to Lin in the tub, feeding her a piece of fruit and joining her in the sea of warmth and bubbles. Lin knew the dreamy smile was still stuck on her face.

“What’d you think?”

Lin pulled Celia back against her and slid her arms around her lover’s beautiful curves. “Thank you so much for that. It was something I never thought I’d feel. It was…mm. So intense.”

Celia shifted a little and turned to her, studying her eyes. There’d been something in her voice, and she knew Celia had caught it. “But?”

Lin smiled. She touched a strawberry to Celia’s nose. “But he wasn’t you.”

LAPS

Sommer Marsden

 

 

I can see him there as I round the curve—Gus—like a wraith, like a malicious spirit. I swear I can see his white-white smile in the purple twilight air. I’m probably hallucinating. I snap a fingertip length off the twig, and I drop it on the ground. One more lap down.

“You can walk this one,” he says, so softly I think maybe I imagined it. But I nearly weep with gratitude. I walk—a fast pace for anyone—but fuck, it’s walking not running, and that’s all that matters.

My heart pounds and my ears buzz, and I feel like with my next breath I could pass out, be sick or maybe just expire entirely. The soft early evening breeze pushes Gus’s laugh across the air to my ears. I shiver.

I walk as fast as a human can and worry at my stick with my fingertip. I’m not sure when I started that ritual. Maybe the first time Gus brought me here to train, rewarding me afterward. He punished me hard, making me run until my body was so out
of control I shook with the force of my anxiety. But when my galloping heart slowed to a pound and my eyes regulated themselves so the bright spots disappeared from my vision, he gave me my just rewards. And I was hooked.

I rub at the stick like a string of worry beads, rounding the corner of the track where he stands. My stomach sizzles with nerves and I feel lightheaded. What will the verdict be? I snap off a tiny section of the stick and drop it. It is my way of tracking laps, of passing time, of delivering my own bit of punishment to a dried-out twig from a majestic tree.

“Run and then walk and then run this one. So one third of running, one of walking and that last third, baby, you better haul ass,” he says, his voice harsh and dark.

I run. I picture—to pass the time as I mete out punishment to my own struggling body—his fingers coming at me. Cool with dark paint. Gentle due to my hard, hard work. I picture him laying me flat in a bed of black and taking me there under the skies that soar like black velvet domes with pinpricks of starlight for accent. I picture Gus, flipping me, bowing me low, ramming into me from behind and fucking me until the only light in my world is the bright strobe of my own emotion behind my closed eyelids.

I feel the telltale slide of moisture in my sports panties that is most definitely not sweat. I feel the subtle kiss of my nylon running shorts on my bare legs that tempts me like an inanimate lover. I walk, forcing my elbows to fly high, my legs to stay true. And when I round the section where the announcer’s platform sits, I start to run full out though my skin is tingling in that bizarre way that says I am flirting with the line of too much, too fast, too far.

I round the bend, my sneakers smacking the track with a vengeance. He is laughing. I can hear him. “Come on, Robbie.
Roberta Jean Monroe. Hustle. Make this count. This is mile five. Final lap. Slam it,” he roars, and I take off like the devil himself is nipping at my heels.

I rub that stick so hard I expect it to catch fire. I’m desperate to go anywhere in my head that is not focused on my distraught body. I need to go to any mental place that allows me to find a Zen state. To find a way to push away the ache and throb in my left knee, the stitch in my right side. Any place that makes the unstable bang of my heart in my chest less frightening or blots out the hot cold war of my skin because it is struggling to cool me despite the calm, gentle breeze of the May evening.

I am desperate and I run, proving myself to me, to him, to anyone watching. And when I have proven myself, Gus will prove what a good girl I am. That is my reward and I push my mind to find that place in my head, that place where Gus is showing me that I am his good, good girl.

Before I know it, my sneakers trip past that final white line and Gus whispers, in the now near-dark, “Walk it off, Robbie.”

I drop my beloved stick. Stagger past him for one more lap, letting my discordant body find its rhythm again.