The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (5 page)

Of course, what I really craved was for the man to return. That would make my exhibition complete. Those three return visits were satisfactory, but failed to live up to the drama of my first
encounter: without the denouement of discovery, they were merely a taster, foreplay before the main event. As I stripped and cavorted around the clearing, I would look for him, hoping beyond hope
that he would reappear.

Finally, he did.

By my fifth trip to the woods, I had started to strip off as I walked. Barely beyond the wall beside the layby I peeled off my T-shirt and bra and sauntered, topless, into the depths of the
wood. It was well into autumn by now, and the sharpness of the air added an extra dimension to my excitement, a frisson of coldness shivering around my body. I found my way to the clearing, my
jeans and panties sliding over my backside, and settled on the toppled tree.

I was overtaken by the wanted sense of danger and adventure. My heart was racing, my ears pounding, and in my stomach the steady stirrings of excitement were presenting themselves. There are
times when you know, an instant before it occurs, that something is about to happen. This was such an occasion: for some reason I knew the man was there. As I bent to untie my shoes I saw a
movement in the distance. An immediate stab of panic speared my chest and my heart stopped for an instant. Without raising my head, I looked up and searched the trees.

It was him.

He was standing, as before, watching me impassively. I felt afraid, instantly cursing myself for my stupidity. But at the same time I felt a surge of sexual release, an intense excitement which
was almost overwhelming. My heart was hammering in my chest – I fancied I could even see it – and I knew my face was flushed with embarrassment. It was difficult to understand the
emotions welling inside me: part of me wanted to run away from this terrible situation, fearful and repulsed in equal measure; but another part of me was drawn to the danger and stimulation. There
was no doubt, finally, which emotion would triumph. Slowly and methodically, I continued, forcing myself to do what I knew to be wrong. I slid off my left shoe and then the right, then peeled off
my socks. Still giving no indication that I had seen my observer, I stood up and slid my jeans down to my ankles and stepped out of them. I didn’t know if he was still there or had
disappeared as he did the time before, but somehow that uncertainty increased my excitement.

This was the moment of truth. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, bending and slipping them over first my left and then my right foot. Holding them in my
right hand, I stretched my arm and let them dangle to my side. I looked up directly at where he had been, praying he would still be there.

He was.

Our eyes met and I smiled. I shook my panties provocatively and let them drop to the woodland floor and stood completely naked before my watcher. I walked away from my clothes, never letting my
eyes leave his, towards an upturned tree stump and draped myself across it, leaning back and feeling the cold, hard edge of wood rasp against my skin. Drawing my hand towards my crotch, I let my
fingers explore, seeking out my slit, parting my lips, coating them with my moisture, dragging upwards, up towards my swelling clitoris.

All the while, the man remained immobile, watching me. I felt such a peak of excitement that I fancied I was becoming detached from reality. The clearing began to spin and turn, twisting around
me, until I felt I were floating, rising above myself, shucking free from my own body. I began to feel as though I were a spirit, watching myself – watching myself being watched, an observer
of the observed. My body was electrified, my senses heightened to an unprecedented pitch. I thought I had achieved the ultimate satisfaction.

And then the man started to move. He began to walk steadily towards the clearing, treading carefully while still keeping his gaze on me. Panic and excitement can be almost indistinguishable
emotions, firing the same neurons and afflicting the same senses. I don’t know which I felt at that moment – probably both. I knew I was in danger: I had no idea who this man was and
yet I had allowed him to observe me masturbating and now remained still while he approached me. And yet, the danger was thrilling, inspiring in me an intense and deep-rooted sense of
fulfilment.

The man was approaching my clothes, about twenty yards from me. He stopped beside the untidy pile and we stared at one another silently. I was still stretched back on the tree stump and I
twisted myself to the right so that I was facing him directly. Slowly, I parted my legs. He nodded slightly, but made no other response.

I had no idea how things would resolve. I was afraid that he would approach, that he would wish to touch me, to join me. That wasn’t part of the game. With increasing agitation I watched
as he bent and began to pick up my clothing. He took my panties and stuffed them into a pocket, then grabbed the rest of my belongings. Gathering them to his chest, he stood before me silently,
almost challengingly, then turned and began to walk away.

I resisted the temptation to shout out, but only just. The situation was sliding out of my control but, I realized, wasn’t that exactly what I wanted? The man was toying with me –
watching silently and then helping himself to my clothing. We both knew we were engaged in a game, and the excitement was derived from not understanding what the game was. Or how it would
finish.

My hands were shaking and a constant tremble had settled in my thighs as I rose from the tree stump and began to follow the man. It was hard going, as I had nothing on my feet, but he walked
slowly, looking back every so often. He was drawing me towards him and I was helpless, with no option but to follow. We were headed back in the direction of my car and gradually the wood began to
thin, increasing shafts of daylight penetrating the high cover and basking us in cold sun. With each step my exposure felt more extreme and it was becoming increasingly difficult to prevent myself
from shouting out to him to stop. He was leading and I wanted to follow, but my courage was slipping.

Still he marched on, and I realized that he intended to go all the way to the edge of the wood. As he reached the little stone wall at the layby he turned and faced me. I stood still, completely
exposed, fear coursing through my body. The man felt in the pocket of my jeans and picked out my car keys. Mimicking the way I had dangled my panties before him, he swung them in front of me for a
moment, then turned and climbed over the wall, out of the wood.

I almost screamed at that point. Fuck, I thought, he’s going to take my car, leave me stranded, with no clothes. I scrabbled up the slope towards the wall. I heard my car door open and
close and began to cry as thoughts flashed through my mind of how I was going to extricate myself from this. I reached the wall and looked over, willing myself not to hear the sound of the engine
starting.

The man was in the passenger seat, watching me. My clothes were piled on the roof of the car, on the far side nearest the road. Instantly, fear became excitement, those twin emotions alternating
once more in my mind. The game was still on.

I readied myself and summoned up my reserves of courage. Listening for the sound of approaching traffic, I climbed over the wall and scrambled back onto the layby. As I did so a car passed, but
it was travelling too fast and I was standing too far back in the layby for the driver to see me. Emboldened, I stood tall and walked towards the car. The man was watching me closely, observing my
reactions, and I was determined to show no fear. I slowed my walk to a crawl, the fear of discovery by a passing vehicle creeping across my skin, but I refused to let it dominate me. I walked round
the car and onto the main road, stopping by the rear passenger door. I looked up and down the road. There was a car approaching, a couple of hundred yards away and instinct yelled at me to get in
my car and hide. The game dictated otherwise, and I made a great play of gathering my clothing from the roof of the car, securing it carefully to my breast before proceeding. As the car neared I
opened the back door and slid in, out of sight. I was closing the door as it passed.

I looked up and faced the man in the passenger seat. He smiled.

He was in his mid-fifties, craggy-faced and impassive. Deep set eyes, brown and hard, appraised me carefully, his wide, thin mouth fixed certainly. He was handsome in the way that all confident
men are, self-assurance ascribing a nobility to the features that, individually, they might not warrant. He was dressed casually, in browns and greens, a countryman with no sense of fashion. His
body was strong, with a broad chest and enormous hands and long, thin legs. He watched me sardonically, but chose not to say anything. I was glad about that.

I felt immensely self-conscious, almost humiliated, seated in the back of my own car, completely naked while a stranger sat watching from the front. His gaze wandered over my body, and I felt
his eyes bore into my breasts and down my stomach, towards my bush and the hidden features below. My body was tingling. My nipples were hardened and erect and my stomach was churning. I wanted him
to see. I wanted him to see everything. I didn’t understand it, but it was important to me that I exposed myself completely to the watcher.

I slid down the seat and settled myself. Our eyes met, and slowly I looked downwards towards my pussy. His eyes followed and when he was staring directly at me I slowly began to part my legs,
stretching them wide, opening myself before him. I slid forward once more and lay before him, totally exposed. An involuntary sigh rose from my chest as I played my hand towards my slit, running my
fingers the length of my lips and parting them, easing them aside, opening up the pinkness and moistness within. All the while he stared intently, drinking up the vision before him. I began to
stroke my fingers up and down my lips, sometimes outside, sometimes inside, feeling them swell with excitement, while my thumb circled my clitoris, round and round, tantalizingly, exquisitely.
Hooking my left arm under my thigh, I stretched towards my backside and pressed my middle finger against my hole, probing and teasing, while my right hand continued to draw me towards a climax.

I forced myself not to close my eyes as the moment approached – I was determined to see the watcher’s reaction. My middle finger was in my arse by now, probing and twisting, and my
thumb was pressed hard to my clitoris. I began to squeeze it and slide my fingers either side, pushing myself to the boundaries where pain and pleasure meet. I gasped as the first wave of my climax
jolted out of my womb and down my thighs and into my toes. Another followed, and another, and then they began to merge into one another as my body was consumed by the fire of fulfilment. My eyes
were closing automatically, but I forced myself to watch the watcher, an additional shiver of satisfaction sliding through me as I saw the sly contentment on his face. I was panting like a dog,
mouth opened wide, the trauma of my delight etched in my expression, as the waves flooded through my veins and nerves, flesh and bone.

Slowly, the rush began to subside and I was left, tingling, hot and flushed, on the back seat. My inclination then was to cover myself, the moment over, but I chose not to. Rather, I stretched
myself even wider apart, hooking my leg over the front seat and pulling my arse cheeks apart, so that the watcher had a clear view of everything. Somehow, that felt even more erotic. Before, I had
been performing, indulging in a sexual act. Now, I was just wanton, spread casually before a stranger. It gave me the most extraordinary sense of humiliation and liberation, all at once. And at
that moment – only at that moment – I felt complete, and satisfied.

The watcher seemed to sense this. He nodded, his expression unchanged, and yet I knew he was pleased. He took my panties from his pocket and kissed them. Watching me, following my expression, he
slowly returned them to the pocket. I nodded.

The watcher opened the door and without looking back walked back into the woods.

Krista (San Diego, USA)

I’m totally afraid of anal sex, but I still want it. I secretly want a man to ram it in good without being sensitive to my needs. I want him to hammer into me without
bothering with whether I like it or not. I’m not whacked out or anything, I just dream of being able to withstand rough sex.

When I play with myself I close my eyes and think about a man I’ve known that’s had power over me. I visualize him luring me into his car and taking me to some remote place where he
ends up giving me exactly what I deserve.

He’s an acquaintance, an old professor of mine. He calls me names like, “Cunt, Bitch and Whore”. He makes me say things to him like, “I’m a cock-sucking whore that
loves to suck cock.” He tells me after I blow him for a while that I did a shitty job and to do it over, again and again, till I get it right. He fucks me up the arse, with his dick and his
fist till I can barely walk, long after I beg him to stop. And when he’s done driving into me, he takes me to his friend’s house where a couple of guys are waiting to gang-bang me.
They’re professors too, smart men that possess a dictionary’s worth of words inside of their heads. I can’t always understand what they’re saying. They say words like,
“peritoneum” when they’re making me swallow their come. They ask me things like, “Does that touch your peritoneum?” when I’m giving them blow jobs.

So there I am, willingly kidnapped, fucked to exhaustion and about to be devoured by three professors. The bald-headed one with bulging biceps (from all the manual labour he does around the yard
for his wife on the weekends) carries me over his shoulder. As I look down at his cowboy boots I notice that the seams on the back of his jeans are tattered. I press my face into his Levi-covered
arse and feel the bulk of his wallet pressing into my mouth. I beg him to let me down, but he darts a “Shut the fuck up” at me while squeezing my legs. I’m butt naked. His juice
is still trickling down my thighs and my nipples are sore from him tugging on them. I reflect back to him pulling on them with his fingers as he pounded into my virgin arsehole. I begin to whimper.
He tells me to “Shut the fuck up” again, that I deserved it.