Best Women's Erotica 2011 (25 page)

I put my hands on my knees and laugh, only it comes out as a giggle. God, I’m acting like a teenager—or an idiot. “That’s better. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“How did it go?” asks Matt.

“I sold every last scoop.”

“So…what’s your favorite flavor?” Trev wonders.

“These two,” I answer honestly. “That’s why I brought both; I can’t choose between them.” Then I catch his lifted eyebrows and blush. Matt, chuckling, offers me the chocolate cone.

“Want a lick?”

I shrug one shoulder and nod, tipping my lips to the creamy chocolate his tongue has already swirled over. Goddamn, we’re flirting. How did this happen? What the hell do they see in me? I’m not ugly, okay—but I’m an artsy middle-aged lady who
makes outrageous ice cream and wears clothes two decades old and her hair in a style and color that’s too young for her. I’m not like them; not the sort of person who can press into a drunken crowd or a freezing pond to rescue someone from certain death, not the sort of person who can address a total stranger as “love.” I haven’t even worked for a living until recently—I went straight from art college into marriage, and the divorce settlement and child maintenance were generous enough to keep me and Skye living comfortably. I’m a joke, by their standards.

The chili heat burns on my tongue. My cheeks are already flushed. Matt grins at me, an easy wickedness dancing in his hazel eyes, as I lick my lips. I’m not trying to be provocative, honestly: you have to lick your lips if you are eating ice cream. “That’s hot stuff,” he teases.

“This is better,” says Trev on my left. “Try some of this, Abbie.” It would be rude not to, so I turn to the golden ice cream he offers. This one is melting faster: it’s dribbling down the cone and threatening to slide off. I catch a big gobbet on my tongue, aware that they find my action vastly entertaining and still not quite believing it. “Bloody hell,” says Trev happily.

“You like the taste of his cream better than mine?” Matt complains and I giggle. Then a cold drip hits my skin, and I realize the honey ice cream is dribbling out of the tip of the cone and is marking the front of my dress.

“Ack!” I yelp, half laughing, looking down. “Call myself a professional, eh?’

There’s a drip on the inner curve of my left breast. I’m not wearing a bra—what would I need a bra for, after breast-feeding Skye flattened them so?—and this dress has a rather deep V-neck. The white trail winds down toward the cleft.

“Oh,” says Trev, looking too. “Oh…that’s…”

“Hold on,” orders Matt. He drops his own ice cream back into
the rack and then swiftly kneels before me. His fingertips graze my thighs. “Keep still,” he commands. I feel Trev’s free hand settle on the small of my back and my spine arches, thrusting my cleavage out a little more. Delicately—and it surprises me that this hearty, vital man is so careful—Matt leans forward until his lips are brushing my upper breast. I feel his breath on my skin: my own stops in my throat. I feel the tip of his tongue as he gently licks me clean.

My heart is pounding. The world seems to lurch. I stare over his head, wild eyed. We’re tucked away here, shielded by the first aid tent. Sunlight glints on the dark leaves of the hedgerow and the discarded cans in the long grass. His lips are on my breast in a lingering kiss, causing my nipples to respond greedily, hardening to points. And Trev’s hand slides up and down my spine, slow and firm.

Then Matt sits back. “Trev’s right,” he says softly, his eyes narrowing with hidden laughter. “That’s bloody good.”

Despite the warmth of the day, my nipples are standing up hard against the soft cotton. My sex is full of melting honey.

“Let’s go inside, Abbie,” Trev murmurs in my ear. “Come on.”

 

 

They take me into the ambulance and close the door on the outside world. I glance around—emergency equipment, foldout chairs, bright plastic drawers—but to be honest I’m not taking anything in. My brain has frozen. All I can think is that this is
happening to me, and that I don’t understand how. Is it a joke they’re playing? Will they suddenly back off and start to laugh at me? Will they—?

They kiss me, both of them in turn, urging up against me with their big, hard bodies, sandwiching me between them as they press their caresses upon me. I taste chocolate and chili, honey and saffron. Their tongues are eager, their hands bold. Stubble scrapes my skin. Teeth tease my ears, my neck, my nipples. Trev has kept hold of his ice cream, though it is melting over his hand now: he encourages me to lick it, to suck his fingers, to pass the soft cream from my mouth to his. In the meantime Matt is pulling up my dress, working it over my shoulders, stripping me bare.

I tremble, anticipating their mockery.

Instead, the flash of Trev’s teeth signals pure appetite. He touches the melting ice cream to my right nipple, and as I flinch from the cold Matt catches me, holding me still. As Matt props himself against the stretcher bed and pulls me off balance against him, Trev paints my body with the cold cream: my freckled breastbone, my dark stiff nipples, my puckered stomach. All the way down to the juncture of my legs. He tugs down my panties and, discarding the cone, squashes the last handful of ice cream into my sex, slathering it over my labia, squashing it up into my hot core until it melts and runs down my thighs. It’s shudderingly cold and I squirm in Matt’s embrace, biting back the squeals. I’m half aware that the blond man is tugging at his own clothes, pulling his cock out, but I can’t see it—I just know it as a slab of burning heat thrust against my cold bottom.

Then Trev gets down and eats the ice cream off me, tits and belly and thighs, all the way. I must be salty from the day’s work but he doesn’t care. His mouth is both hungry and tender. It makes me fear, and it makes me need, and ultimately it makes
me surrender, opening my legs to let him plunge his mouth and his hand between. His fingers go inside me, diving through the cream. His mouth devours my clit, sucking and nibbling and licking like I’m a gelato. I heave up against Matt’s torso, feeling his hands cup my breasts and tug at my sticky nipples. I’m helpless to resist. Trev’s hand is working me insistently, each thrust opening me more. His mouth has taken control of my whole body. Matt’s tongue is hot and wet in my ear; I’m being eaten by both men and I can’t stop it, I can’t help it, I’m coming now with breathy unmistakable squeals—and Matt growls “Yes—you give it all up now; that’s right,” in my ear as my world turns inside out.

Orgasm leaves me shaken and trembling. Trev stands and pulls me up against him, stroking the wet strands of hair back from my face, and I focus my eyes with some effort. He’s smiling, but his cock is straining impatiently against me. I can feel it through his green paramedic trousers. “What happens now?” I ask in a tiny voice.

“What do you want to happen, Abbie?” he murmurs, brushing my face with kisses, rubbing my palm against the swollen ridge in his pants.

“I want…” I reach behind me for Matt. He’s got his flies open and his cock is standing up hard under his stroking hand, and as he guides my fingers to grip that thick shaft I realize he’s already clad it in a skin of latex. Smooth operator.

“Want this?” Matt asks, voice full of chocolate.

“I want both of you,” I confess.

Trev’s eyebrows arch. “Together?’

What am I thinking of, at my age? This is crazy. “Yes,” I gasp.

Trev nods, and hands me back to Matt like a gift. He pulls me into his lap, tipping me forward from the hips to get the
right angle. I spread my thighs, groaning involuntarily as I feel his blunt cockhead press home into the wild sweet slather of my pussy. I tip farther down, looking up, and I glimpse his ruddy, golden-furred balls bouncing between my thighs as he works his way inside me with little jiggling thrusts. It feels wonderful—and my long-unused muscles are responding to his girth as if to a miracle. I’m turning from solid to liquid. But I’m so off balance I’m going to fall, and I reach out and grab Trev’s thighs to steady myself.

He’s unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt. He reveals a flat stomach furred with dark hair and a long stiff cock that’s already slick at the tip. Taking my head by my braided hair, he feeds that member between my lips. His cock and balls taste salty, sweaty and sexual—it would make a terrible flavor for an ice cream, and I’m so hungry for it.

The ambulance is cramped, our positions lacking all grace. I’m glad I don’t have to do much except hold on in there. Matt thrusts into my pussy and Trev fucks my throat. I give him a swirling lick with my tongue on each backstroke but my concentration is already slipping elsewhere; as I reach down to my own clit, feeling the tendons tighten in my legs, I know I’m going to hit orgasm again, this time with both men inside me, my throat and pussy both full of cock and semen and ice cream.

“I’m coming,” gasps Trev.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

VALERIE ALEXANDER
is a freelance writer and novelist living in Arizona. Her work has been published in
Best of Best Women’s Erotica
and
Best Lesbian Erotica.

 

JACQUELINE APPLEBEE
(
writing-in-shadows.co.uk
) is a black, bisexual British woman who breaks down barriers with smut. Jacqueline’s stories have appeared in anthologies including
Best Women’s Erotica, Best of Best Women’s Erotica 2,
and
Best Lesbian Erotica.
Jacqueline has penned
Erotic Brits
, a sexy tour around the United Kingdom and Ireland.

 

JANINE ASHBLESS
(
janineashbless.blogspot.com
) is the author of five books of paranormal and fantasy erotica published by Black Lace and blogs about minotaurs, Victorian art and writing dirty. Her short stories for Cleis have been published in anthologies including
Best Women’s Erotica 2009, Sweet Love
and
Fairy Tale Lust.

 

Located somewhere in the wilds of the Delmarva Peninsula,
CHRISSIE BENTLEY
is the author of seven erotic novels and collections, and myriad short stories, published online and in print. An avid collector of vintage erotic film and photographs, she has three cats and a sense of humor.

 

RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL
(
rachelkramerbussel.com
) is an author, editor, blogger and In the Flesh Reading Series host. Her books include the novel
Everything But
and the nonfiction work
The Art of the Erotic Love Letter.
She’s edited over thirty erotica anthologies, including
Passion; Fast Girls; Spanked; Peep Show; Please, Sir
and
Please, Ma’am.

 

LANA FOX
is a writing instructor and assistant magazine editor. Her erotic stories have appeared, or are forthcoming, in Clean Sheets and anthologies published by Xcite Books, Harlequin Spice and Cleis Press. She also publishes literary and fantasy fiction under a different name. Find Lana online at:
lanafox.com
.

 

CYNTHIA HAMILTON
is the pen name of a bisexual woman living in San Francisco. By day, she edits fiction professionally. After hours, she likes to let her own imagination off the leash.

 

LOUISA HARTE’s
(
louisaharte.com
) erotic fiction appears in the Cleis Press anthologies
Best Women’s Erotica 2010
and
Fairy Tale Lust
. Currently living in New Zealand, she finds inspiration from many places, including her thoughts, dreams and fantasies.

 

LOUISE LAGRIS
lives in New York City and likes it very much most of the time.

 

KIRSTY LOGAN
(
kirstylogan.com
) has only been to Skye once, but now dreams of islands. She writes, edits, teaches and reviews books in Glasgow, Scotland. Her first erotic short story is published in
Girl Crush,
and her nonfiction sex writing appears at The Rumpus and Clean Sheets. She has a semicolon tattooed on her toe.

 

Author of hundreds of short dirty stories,
SOMMER MARSDEN
(
SmutGirl.blogspot.com
) has appeared in dozens of anthologies, and she is the author of numerous novels including the upcoming
Calendar Girl.
Sommer recently edited some stellar authors in
Dirtyville
and
Kinkyville
for her own so small it’s nearly invisible press, Spastic Girl Press.

 

VELVET MOORE
(
VelvetMoore.com
) is a twentysomething who began writing erotica-style works during adolescence and officially entered the world of erotic fiction several years ago. She has been published on the Web at sites including CleanSheets. com and
TheEroticWoman.com
, and
ForTheGirls.com
. She currently resides in Ohio.

 

LOLA OLSON
is a soon to be grad student grateful for sex positivity as it’s made a positive influence in her life. She has gone from hating her body and fearing sexuality to embracing it and using it positively.

 

GISELLE RENARDE
is the author of over a dozen books and a short story contributor to more than twenty. For more information on Giselle Renarde and her work, visit her website at
freewebs.com/gisellerenarde
.