The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (6 page)

It all starts out with him pulling up next to me in his pick-up, while I’m walking to my car. He asks if I want a ride, I get in. I don’t need a ride, but I get in
anyway and when he goes the wrong way, I keep quiet. Afraid a little of where he’s taking me but, holy shit, I have a bad crush on him so thinking about being with him excites all the fear
out of me. He drives ten minutes away from campus to a car park behind a recreation centre. He knows that it’ll be empty. All that’s around are baseball fields. There’s nothing
but dirt, bleachers and dug outs between us and the rest of the world. I’m a little scared, but my desire to have him between my legs is greater than my fears.

He reaches over and combs my hair with his fingers. I close my eyes, smile and tell him it feels good. “You like this?” he asks as he keeps finger combing my hair.

“Yes,” I answer, wanting more. I’m growing a little apprehensive, but I know it’s too late for backing out.

“You’ve been teasing me ever since you first came into my classroom. You know how much I want you?” I keep looking down at my hands as he combs my hair. “I like being
able to touch you. Do you mind me touching you?” I shake my head no, smiling a small, but nervous smile. “How about you taking off your top for me so I can get a better look at you,
I’ll help you.” I pull my sweater over my head. “Nice, you didn’t wear a bra. I like natural women.” He cups my breast in his hand. “How about we climb in the
cab?”

I crawl between the seats and get in back. It’s a tight fit, but we both adjust to the small space comfortably. We start to kiss with greed, our mouths pressing hard into each
other’s lips. “I’m hot,” he says as he pulls his shirt over his head. Seeing his bare chest makes everything real. When I reach out to touch him he asks if I like his chest
and I smile and shake my head then reach for his zipper. “You want it, huh?” I shake my head again. He grunts a little as he pulls his pants and boxer shorts off. Undressing in the cab
of a pick-up isn’t one of the easiest things to do, but we both undress. When he’s done I reach down and take his full cock into my mouth. I’m slurping it in, spitting on it,
keeping it nice and wet. “Bend over,” he tells me. I take his warm cock out of my mouth and do as he says, climbing onto all fours. He’s standing up on his knees, hunched over my
back with his hands softly touching my arse cheeks. “Pull yourself apart for me.” I turn around and look at him from over my shoulder and tell him, “I’ve never done it there
before.” He pushes on my upper back till I fall onto my hands again and as he spreads my crack open he says, “First time for everything.” Then he begins pumping his swollen cock
into my tight hole. I groan in pain, but he keeps going deeper. “Stop, it hurts,” I plead. But he keeps pressing deeper into me with a, “Shh, you wanna get us in trouble?”
as he pounds. I’m being dominated, with him plunging into me and this is what I want, remember, this is what I want.

His bigness in my arse is hurting, adding a tinge of nightmare to my fantasy. It continues to hurt more than I thought it would. I feel like I an ripping in two, but it’s a good hurt like
when you’re stretching muscles you’ve never used for the first time.

“Tell me you’re an arse-fucking whore. Tell me, tell me,” he says.

“I’m an arse-fucking whore,” I say.

He moans with a soft, “That a girl, that’s what I want to hear, now turn around and suck me.” I do everything he asks of me as if I were his student again fulfilling an
assignment. But I hesitate, thinking about my shit being on his cock. He sees my hesitance then adds, “Clean yourself off of me, baby.” I start to take him into my mouth but before I
know it he’s pushing himself to the back of my throat, making me gag a little, but I like it, I want more of him. “Now sing, ‘Our Country Tis A Thee.’” I start to take
his cock out of my mouth, “No, keep it in there and show me how well you can sing with it in your mouth.” I hum. “Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm . . . Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm .
. . Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmmm.” I lick the tip of him, look up into his eyes, while happy for giving him exactly what he wanted. “I’d give you an A if you were being graded but, since
you’re not, I have another surprise for you.”

We’re back to him carrying me over his shoulder. We’re only a few steps away from entering a house where two other professors will fuck me. His wallet is a hard
leather, not the soft kind that costs more, but a cheap leather and every time he takes a step it presses into my lips, hurting them a bit. His boots are ridden with dirt. He is dirty and I like it
that he’s not smelling of cologne, but of a natural odour instead. I can smell his sweat through his jeans while knowing that remnants of my shit are still on his dick. As he carries me in
the dark, up a flight of stairs, my head dangling upside down, I hear a man say, “You brought her here? You crazy?” It’s a cowardly voice. I can hear a high-pitched whine in it
and begin to think of how students probably make fun of him because of it. I know that he’ll be fucking me too, maybe not up the arse, but he’ll be trashing me out in his own style. I
am their entertainment. I am their trip back to their fraternity years. I am their wild girl, willing to do anything asked of me and I will do it willingly. “Put her on the couch.”
There’s three men all together, one for each hole. I sit naked on the couch. A man with long hair for his age hands me a glass of water. I reach out to take it then he pulls it away and says,
“For a little suck, a little sip.” I unzip his pants, take out a rather pencil thin, but long penis, and begin sucking. “That’s good.” He pulls away and hands me the
water, “Where’d ya find this one, Boss? She’s submissive as hell.” I swig it back then sit the empty glass on the floor, waiting for my next order. The whiny voiced man
walks over and tells me he wants time alone with me. I stand up and say to him with my eyes that I’m eager to please him. He takes my hand and leads me to a bedroom, but my arse-fucker
professor shouts out, “Not so quick there, she’s for all of us to share. You want a romance, you can go home to your old lady. Bring ‘er back here.” We turn around and join
the other two in the living room again. I am pleased my ass fucker is territorial.

The long-haired professor walks over to me, takes my hand away from the whiny guy then tells me to lie down on the card table. I walk over to it then lie back on its cold surface. He climbs on
top and jams his thin prick into me. “You like this, little lady?” he asks while pumping me. I answer with a quiet, “Yes.” My arse-fucker walks up and puts his dick into my
mouth. I have Pencil Dick in my hole, Arse-Fucker in my mouth and Whiny Boy looking at us from across the room while jacking himself off. “Tell me how much you like having two cocks inside of
you,” Arse-fucker says.

“I love having two cocks inside of me,” I say it with a warbled voice, with his dick still in my mouth. “Prove it,” he says as he plunges to the back of my throat.

“Tell me you love it like you
mean
it,” he demands, plunging deeper in the back of my throat as he says the word “mean”, making me wetter than I’ve ever been
before.

With as much sense as I can muster up I say, “I
love
having two cocks and would love it even more if I had all three of you inside of me.” Arse-Fucker is pleased.
“D’ya hear that, get over here.” He motions for Whiny to join us. He walks over to the card table, still whacking his meat, then the long-haired man gets off of me, turns me over
like a Rotisserie chicken, or a hog on a stick, while Arse-Fucker’s cock is still in my mouth. I’m slurping while climbing onto all fours so that every hole is accessible. Whiny asks to
get on the bottom. He gets underneath me. I slip his short chubby dick into my pussy, still sucking on Arse-Fucker’s woody, only seconds before Pencil Dick pushes his thin prick into my sore
arsehole. I keep sucking. I’m being fucked in my mouth, in my arse and my pussy while on a card table.

“Will it break before we’re done?” Whiny asks.

We move to the floor. We slide off of the table, but my territorial arse-fucker won’t let me take his cock out of my mouth. He has claimed his spot and I love sucking on him, so I keep
blowing him while the other two men find their way back into my holes.

Arse-Fucker says, “Tell me you’re a whore, tell me.”

“I’m a whore,” I say.

“Say it again, I wanna hear it again.”

“I’m a whore, I’m a whore,” I say as clearly as I can with his cock still in my mouth, while the three professors pump quicker and harder into me.

“You coming, baby?” Arse-Fucker asks me.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I moan.

“I’m close,” Whiny adds.

“Ahhhh, Theeerrrre,” Pencil Dick says while grabbing onto my hips, while coming into my ass.

With a half whisper caught between silence and screaming I repeatedly say, “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” until Whiny and Pencil Dick explode into me. The
two fill me up with their jism, but Arse-Fucker pulls out of my mouth then takes his cock into his hands and continues to stroke it in front of my face.

“You want a little bling bling, Baby? Say you do, cause here it comes.” I get his cream in my mouth, on my lips, cheek and hair. I’m soiled with sex juice. I swallow everything
that lands on my tongue. When I stand up it’s dripping out of me like individual pearls falling off a string. The men’s juice drains down my thighs, drops onto the floor, then
Arse-Fucker tells me to lick it all up. I get back down on all fours and begin to lick the come drops off of the carpet then scoop up the rest with my hands and lick my fingers clean as if I were
starving and this were the only thing I had to eat.

“I’ve got to piss, baby.” Arse-Fucker walks over to me. I’m still on all fours. I open my mouth and he begins urinating into it. I let the piss fill my mouth till it
begins to overflow then I swallow it. The other two Professors laugh and hum and haw about how Arse-Fucker’s gone too far. I smile at them and shake my head, no, because I’m willing,
totally willing to please, to be the object of their desire, at their disposal, because I want to know in every fibre of my being what it means to be lesser, what it feels like to be trashed,
reviled, completely undone, completely woman.

Arse-Fucker brings me my clothes and asks if I want to shower.

I say, “No. Thank you, but thanks for the offer.” I don’t want to wash the experience away so quickly. I want to wear their come home with me like a badge of honour. I want to
feel them dry up inside me, on my thighs to where I see a clear layer of their come sticking to my body as if I were a child again playing with glue and watching it dry, peeling it only when
I’m ready, liking the way it feels as I unpeel it from my skin.

“Can I drive you to your car?” Arse-Fucker asks.

I smile, then burst into laughter, remembering that that was how the night began. He smiles, asks me for a hug, asks if I’m all right.

I answer, “I’m perfectly fine,” and as I say that to him I begin to feel it happening, all the “equal opportunity” bullshit that hovers over the psyche of men these
days and how awfully accommodating they’ve become towards women. I think for a second about how men probably truly feel and about how awful it is that they can’t be their complete
desirous flirtatious selves anymore. I become saddened when I think about how much honesty is lost inside of the whirl and twirl of “political correctness”. I think of him and his
politeness, his offers and how dry it all feels in comparison to the juiciness of his dominating ways. I begin missing Arse-Fucker’s madness. I want to feel like a sexual being, not shunned,
to feel that sense of sexuality alive and kicking in every pulse I walk by. I mean, why not? So I embrace the fantasy world, forgetting the graces of men, their smooth safe talk. I tell him,
“I don’t want you to ask me for a hug, if I want a ride or a shower. I want you to force me into letting you fuck me up the arse again even though I’m sore. I want you to make me
hum patriotic songs with your dick in my mouth.”

So with that, my fantasy ends with me humming, “Oh, Beautiful,” with Arse-Fucker’s cock in my mouth. “Hmm, Hmm, Hmm, Hmm . . .” He smiles, liking the music
that’s being played with his penis while Whiny and Pencil Dick pop beers and wait their turn.

Catriona (Caledon, Canada)

This is my movie. I direct it and form it. I am the cast and the writer and the producer. It is all mine.

My life, how should I say? Leaves a lot to be desired. In fact, it could be called dull, boring and not fulfilled. Usually I paint but this time I am painting a movie in my mind.

This is what I need.

Frame 1: See the unicorn, his head hanging low and his body close to the ground. Tiredness numbs every cell of his body. Instead of doing the many useful, constructive things
needing to be done by busy unicorns, he sits heavily, rests his head in the smooth warm hollow of his favourite rock and basks in a circle of sun. Light dapples the dense black of his coat. A blue
jay beside him screeches, raucous and wide-awake. His is the Canadian forest. He is king and I am about to be queen.

Frame 2: He rubs his horn against the bark of an elm and scratches at the earth, digging with his hoof, until, as if bored, he looks up at the sky and yawns.

The best part of spring is the pink trillium. He loves to put his nose right into the trumpet and breathe in the Ontarioness of the flower.

He has walked through a carpet of camomile and the air is full of the bitter-sweet smell of the herb.

He curses the world, and spring, and pink miliums and this strange sweet and bitter smell. He ambles to the stream, kneels into the soft sand and laps the clear, babbling water. Grazes for a
while then eats a few miliums, though generally he never eats them.

All round him a bad aura touches everything. It is in my purples, mustards and navys; it is in the way my shapes are square and sharp and hard. People ask me what the shapes
and the lines and the colours mean. Why should a painting have a meaning? It means whatever they want it to mean. It is a feeling. This one is the feeling of a unicorn and the ravine and the
miliums and the shapes and colours in my paintings are the life of the unicorn and my own breath in him. My paintings are the flowers my grandmother scattered here and the herbs she grew and the
spring of camomile under my feet.