The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (51 page)

Heather (Glasgow, Scotland)

Bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in the other I strolled to the window for perhaps the hundredth time in half an hour. Was I restless, was I confused? Yes. Only the
day before I had moved my stuff consisting of four carton boxes, one suitcase and a microwave into this small damp Glasgow flat.

I called it coming back to my Scottish roots but in truth I was running away at twenty-seven; having qualified as an interior architect two years ago, I hoped that my job chances would be better
in Glasgow – I’d found nothing in the overcrowded London market apart from Mark, my dead-end ex of approximately two weeks.

Mark had been a rocker – well, he was in a rock band of sorts. What can I say about Mark except his cock was huge, and yeah, the sex was great – he had a personality about as
interesting as a snail and an IQ of zero.

Did I love him?

No. I’ve never been in love, sometimes wonder what the word actually means. Is it created by fairies? This magic little gift that only the good girls get. Then, in that case, I’m
bad.

Hey, I’m worse than bad – I must be as bad as they make ‘em.

Do I miss him?

No!

Do I miss the sex?

Yes.

I took another gulp of wine. It helped dull the pain. I pulled the curtains back and stared out at the road workers who were, to my untrained eye, fixing some sort of power line. Even although
it was six o’clock in the evening, it was still bright on this overcast day in March and the workers below had become like a little TV show to me. Dressed in yellow jackets, jeans and high
sturdy boots, they were something to occupy my thoughts other than my ex, my non-existent finances, and the dire economy. They weren’t nice-looking men, not one male strip-a-gram among
them.

Wait! That had been the case until a second ago. The man who now walked into their midst was gorgeous, a male Greek Adonis – better, Michelangelo’s David walking and breathing in the
flesh.

My thighs clamped and throbbed alarmingly, my glass shook and a trickle of red wine spilled on the carpet. Hell! I would have to get someone in to clean it, but I would worry about that
later.

My eyes wanted to return to the perfect male specimen below and I let them.

He was tall with jet black cropped hair. A few X-rated thoughts ran through my head, just looking at him. Hungrily I watched him, momentarily absorbed in the way his T-shirt so nicely outlined
his wide shoulders and strong back, and then there were those jeans, lovingly cupping his long, well-defined legs, not to mention the best-looking butt I’d ever seen.

Suddenly I wanted to kiss that butt, to run my tongue along its smooth moonshine crack.

I sighed lustily, then shrugged it off. I had given up on men. A shame, really, because he definitely had a body designed to tempt women – sort of sinner and saint all packed into one very
well-put-together unit.

My pussy was hot and wet. Sometimes – well, most of the time – the little horny organ between my legs had to be obeyed.

And so it was that I obeyed her now.

Placing my glass on the windowsill, I gave way to the fantasy building in my head. A fantasy that I had always had; although the time and often the location changed, the dark-haired, blue-eyed
man never did.

In the fantasy I was running – from what and from whom I don’t know. My hair spiralling out behind my body, the wind on my naked flesh cool. Suddenly I fell but there was danger:
what and who this danger was I had no idea. But then it didn’t matter, a strong, long-fingered, firm hand grasped my own, pulling me to my feet. Then we were running and running: me
breathless and him, this tall dark stranger, not breathless at all. Pulling me along to keep up with his pace, his powerful strides cutting and flattening the soggy plant life beneath his furry
boots.

Then I stumbled.

And suddenly strong arms encircled me and I was warm and secure against a hard chest. His heartbeat beating rhythmically beneath my cheek while his strides on the hard earth jolted through my
entire body beneath the moonlit darkness.

There was danger still but nevertheless I felt safe in this stranger’s arms. Turning my head, further into his chest, so that I could breathe in the animal scents of his furs, I was
aroused: then it came to me suddenly. In my fantasy, I had gone back in time; I was a modern woman saved from some kind of prehistoric beast by a cave-age man.

I shivered in anticipation, wondering what this man – when the time was safe – would do to me. Would he kiss me? Would he make me his wife or would he ravish my body?

Eventually we came to a cave. It was still dark and terribly cold. He lay me down on a bed of furs and left me alone. My breath came in short bursts, grey and icy under the moonlight; I was
afraid and excited all at the same time.

Would he come back or was I alone in this strange new land?

A shuffle, followed by the sound of sliding stones, and then his large frame in the entrance of the cave blocked out the moonlight.

I was saved.

My skin tingled, for what would my primitive rescuer take as his payment?

Me, my body, my soul or – worse – my heart?

A spark, the sound of flint hitting stone, and then a small fire jumped into life. My rescuer’s back was to me, his shoulders were wide, and the frame beneath the deer skins muscular.

The fire crackled and he turned to me. Suddenly I found myself snared by a pair of blue eyes, as icy cool as the frozen landscape that was his home. I swallowed while the firelight continued to
play off his sculpted face, pushing tiny shadows here and there beneath his strong nose and square chin.

He pulled back the furs covering my trembling body. I trembled all the harder from a combination of cold and nerves.

What did he have in mind?

Pulling off his boots and stripping away his trousers, he turned to me, completely naked in the firelight.

My eyes widened, and I had to resist the urge to pull the furs back up to my chin. His blue eyes were hungry for me, his wide shoulders giving way to a flat abdomen sporting a six-pack, then
there were his slender hips and long powerful legs. His groin – oh, his delicious black hairy groin – caused my temperature to accelerate. He was hard, his cock standing up proud and
erect from a mound of curly hair. I blinked for, truly, in my entire life I had never seen a cock so large: ten inches long and so thick that it would be impossible to close my fingers around its
tip.

He undressed me, his fingers warm against my cool flesh. I shivered more from anticipation than actual fear, for my pussy was wet, the moisture clinging uncomfortably between my legs. I wanted
his hard cock in me, I wanted this prehistoric man to fuck me.

No ceremony here, no cute foreplay to get me aroused; when I was naked he grunted with satisfaction and pushed me back against the furs. Pushing my thighs apart with one large hand, grabbing my
breast with the other, he moved over me. For a moment I felt the furriness of him against my thigh; then he was entering me and there was nothing gentle about it.

I gasped and cried out, my fingernails digging into his back, while he gripped my butt and moved back and forth over me, plunging into me time and time again, with a force that rocked my world.
In no time my body was soaked with perspiration. He was rough and hard.

And I loved it!

With a cry I arched up against him, pushing his cock hard against the tender back wall of my pussy; then I climaxed, my thighs throbbing as wave after wave of sweet fiery emotion touched every
cell in my body. He continued to move over and in me, his breath fanning across my face, now and again a glimpse of blue eyes in the darkness; then, withdrawing his cock, he turned me around so
that I was facing the floor, the fluffy furs tickling my nose. He parted my thighs, lay over me so that his weight was pushing me down hard against the ground, and then . . .

Hell!
My cell phone rang, interrupting my train of thought just as my fantasy was getting interesting. I pulled my hand from my panties and reached for the slim flip phone in my
handbag.

“Oh, hi, Mum.”

“Have you settled in yet?”

“I just got here.”

“Have you unpacked?”

I looked around at my stuff still in the cartons. “Yeah.” There was a rat-a-tat-tat on the outside door. “Wait, Mum, I’ll call you back, okay? Someone’s at the
door.”

I snapped the phone, and the most devastating sight I’d seen in a long time greeted me. Devastating for what? My libido, that’s what! Six feet two inches of prime male flesh filled
my doorway. Maths had never been my strong point but I clocked him at around thirty-two, give or take a couple of years. Certainly not much older than me.

“Hi.” The dark haired man extended his hand. “I’m Blake and you must be Heather?” At my nod, he smiled warmly. Perfect white teeth flashed, and the soft skin around
his eyes crinkled. Damn and blast that he was wearing sunglasses, for I couldn’t see their colour. “I just wanted to let you know that sometime this evening, and possibly tomorrow as
well, the power will be out in your building.”

My skin tingled; his sexy deep Scottish accent washed over my body like a caress. I cursed that I didn’t have one; then, having been born in London to a Scottish mother and English father,
there was fat chance of that.

When I looked up, he was grinning. I blinked but, nope, he was still grinning.

“What?”

He smiled warmly “I just said, it’s probably a good idea to get a flashlight.”

I nodded. If the power was going to be out, it certainly made sense.

“Hello, Earth calling pretty lady in the doorway.”

“Sorry.” I blinked again. “I was away in my own little world. What did you say?”

“I said, don’t leave it too late. The lights will be going off around eight – and, the next time you decide to touch yourself, make sure you’ve closed the curtains
properly.”

I flushed scarlet to the ears. “You saw that? I mean, you saw me . . .”

“Lady, I saw everything.”

Shit.
I closed my eyes and raised my head to the ceiling, praying for inspiration. What must this guy think of me?

“Don’t be embarrassed. We all do it.”

I looked at him, and saw my mortified reflection reflected back in his dark shades. “Yeah but not in public.”

“I enjoyed it.”

His voice was low and sultry and sent shivers down my spine. He turned on his heel, but not before I’d seen that he was aroused; his tight-fitting jeans hid nothing.

Out of breath and panting, I was struggling up the stairs of my building shortly before eight, with a bag of shopping in one hand and a new torch in the other. The blasted
elevator wasn’t working again, but when did it ever? There was a crack, a low hum and then the lights went out. I was left alone in complete darkness, my heart accelerating out of control, a
half-eaten packet of potato crisps my only companion.

In a moment of inspiration, it came to me that I had my brand new flashy torch, thanks to sexy worker guy, complete with batteries. All I had to do was get the little things in the torch and
Bob’s your uncle. Rummaging in the bag until I found the necessary, I placed the torch on the step. A cat screeched; swirling around, my foot collided with it. I could only stand there
breathing hard, cursing the cat as the torch clunked and clicked away down the stairs.

There was no point retrieving the torch; I reasoned it would probably be lying in a thousand pieces somewhere. The bottom of my shopping bag split open just as I stepped onto the next step. My
foot squashed in what could only have been yogurt and, with a crash, I fell. Sitting alone in complete darkness, in sticky cold yogurt, I felt like crying. Out of nowhere a strong, long-fingered,
firm hand grasped my own, pulling me to my feet.

I gasped and fell against a brick-hard chest. Something about the whole thing was so familiar yet different. It came to me that the man reminded me of my prehistoric fantasy.

Suddenly I was aroused and hotter than an inferno.

Gently he steered me along the corridor in the direction of my doorway. How could he know where I lived? I wondered, but I was far too horny to give it adequate thought. If I didn’t take
my chance now I would lose it. I stepped away from him. His breathing in the darkness slowed. It was a moment before he reached for me and, when he did, his hand collided with my breast; quickly he
jerked it back.

I bit back the sigh in my throat and waited. This time, when his hand reached out it encountered my face. Turning my head into his palm, I kissed the sensitive skin there and ran my tongue along
his middle finger before taking it fully into my mouth.

He gasped but didn’t say anything.

Good! My prehistoric man never spoke, nor should he if the moment was going to be perfect.

With a grunt he pushed me up against the wall, his hands eagerly exploring every part of my body. I shut my eyes; in my head I was in a different place, a cave in an icy, untamed land.

His hands tugged at the front of my zipper. Pulling my hair back, he kissed me hard on the mouth; then, grabbing my butt, he pulled me against his erection.

I tried not to whimper, not to speak – it was so much sexier – but I was wet and horny for him, there was no denying that.

With a grunt, he pulled down my jeans, jerked his fingers in my panties and ripped them in half. As easily as if they were made of paper rather than lace. Breathing hard, he rubbed his hand
through my pubic hair. I never shaved and, judging by the grunts coming from him, he seemed to appreciate that fact. One hand stroked up beneath my jumper and cupped my breast through my bra, while
the other parted the lips of my pussy and slid a finger inside my warm creamy centre.

I shut my eyes tightly and fought the urge to buck up against him. His finger was moving quickly in and out of me now, hitting all the right spots, his other hand wreaking havoc on my erect,
stiff left nipple.

Giving into desire, I gasped and pulled him firmly towards me; tangling my tongue with his, I melted in his kiss. I never kissed my prehistoric lover in my fantasy but then, this was a real
living, breathing man before me, and I had to have . . . all of him.