Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 64 of 344 · 20 per page

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “Hold still.” He whispers his command in my ear. I try to obey but she’s fucking me with her fingers and kissing me, making it impossible to keep from moving. Some unspoken signal passes between them. She breaks away from my mouth and uses her free hand to gather my hair off my shoulders. He slides a sleek leather collar around my neck. The buckle jingles again as his practiced fingers make quick work of the fastening. “Bound by collar rules, Veronica.” His words are low and hot in my ear. She hasn’t let up on me. I’m so close to coming that I know my legs won’t hold me up if they release me from their embrace. “Rule number one. You have to ask permission to come. If you come without permission—” “Please, please, oh please,:..’ Already they have me begging, fighting with everything I have not to break the rules before I even know what the rules are. He backs off me a little and reaches around to cover her hand with his. “Naughty girl. Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking to you.” He makes Ava stop. “You don’t have permission to come, yet.” My orgasm threatens to steal over me when he draws her fingers out of me. My head is too heavy. I rest my forehead on her shoulder and draw long, ragged breaths. “Rule number one is only for coming quietly. Rule number two. You need special permission to come loudly.” I nod to let him know I understand. “Rule number three is to obey me when I say ‘Simon says’. Understand?” S Ven “Good. You will be punished for any rule that is broken.” Cold air rushes across my back when he takes a step back. It helps to clear my head. “Simon says, undress, Ronnie. Everything but your panties and your shoes.” I step away from Ava. She still has her back against the door, arms at her sides with her palms pushing flat against the door behind her. Her breasts rise and fall with her own excited breath. 284 Alice Gray I try to be quick because I don’t know if there is a time limit but my fingers are shaking. I have to slow down. When the buttons are all undone, I slip my arms out of the blouse and let it flutter to the floor. My bra is next. The black lace falls away, exposing my breasts to the cold air. My nipples sting as they contract. Skirt. I tug the small zipper down, hook my fingers into the waistband, and slide it over my hips until it puddles around my feet. Stepping out of it, I kick it aside. I’m left in nothing but my silky black thong, my heels and my new collar. “Good girl.’ His words hold encouragement. He moves closer, holding something out to me. Her collar. “Put it on her.”

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  It was a Thursday in early sunimer, the dusk misty and warm. I'd just finished buying my usual quota of uninspired staples at the Superfresh — cereal, tuna fish, TV dinners — and I was headed to the far, dim corner of the lot where I’'d parked my pickup. I never parked close to my destination; I liked to walk, and I especially liked to walk when my head was loaded with chemicals, as it usually was in those days. My job got me high. I stripped furniture for a living, and all day long I breathed fumes that put the world on a tilt, and made me feel sad when I shouldn’t, and caused me to think that my sinuses — and even the inside of my skull — were coated with a thin, shimmery layer of silver or frost or one on top of the other. When I drew near my truck, a pink light came on above me, and it shot through my fuzzy mind that this — the sudden wash of pinkness — might be another effect of the methylene chloride. But then I looked up and saw a large lilac bush, heavy with thick white flowers, and behind it a wooden apartment house, and above the white-tipped lilac, two stories up, a casement window glowing softly with a warm pink light. In a moment, the girl stepped to the window. She was wearing only a low-scooped bra and thong panties — white or possibly pink. Not a stitch more that I could see. As I stared up at her, she began to move, to stroll back and forth with a kind of slow, 352 Greg Jenkins languid, musical rhythm. Sometimes she’d turn away from me, and that’s when I saw she was wearing a thong. “God up in heaven,” I whispered. It never occurred to me that what I was doing might be wrong — or that what she was doing might be wrong. I was caught up in the moment, and while it lasted, nothing else seemed to matter. At first I didn’t think she was aware of me, but then I began to suspect differently. Her graceful movements — the strolling, the strutting — began now to evolve into something else. Into dancing. Very gradually and subtly, she’d begun to dance, swaying and stretching and undulating in the window. Her movements were slow and controlled, yet they were passionate too, especially when her long auburn hair swept across her full breasts, and her slender hands, as if of their own volition, passed down over those same breasts, to her taut belly, to her lush thighs, and then lovingly back up again. She kept at it for five or ten minutes, maybe more, and then suddenly the light cut out, and the window was dark.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  One night, while she sat on a black barstool with her back to me and I tried to capture her dragon, she told a story. “I met this up and coming tattoo artist in college, and he thought my skin was perfect. He wanted to tattoo me. I told him I couldn’t afford it. He said he just wanted to work on my skin to add me to his portfolio. That’s how I got the tats for free.” Turned out this tattoo artist became a maestro of his media. Even I knew his name. My eyes settled on the unadorned flesh on her right butt cheek. Perfect skin indeed. “‘Well, that solves one.” “One?” Her shoulder length hair hung free, still as Red Rocks. “One mystery. Now tell me why you work at Ollie’s.” “No mystery there. I love to work with my back. I like to lift things, use my muscles.” “So go to a gym. It’s obvious you could get another job.” “T don’t want another job. When I do, I’ll get one.” ‘The next position I had her hold was back on the chaise. It was a bit provocative, and gave me a perfect view of the vibrant red hair between her legs. Her vagina was particularly beautiful, with an inviting pucker that was wonderfully complex to paint. Her eyes locked on my crotch as I reached in my pants and lined my sudden hard-on up along the zipper, as if that might provide some Canvas Back 385 camouflage. She opened her legs a bit more and rested her hand on the crease of her groin. I'd only gone to bed with models twice before. Some artists claim not to be affected, but it had an undeniable Samson and Delilah effect on me. Perhaps it was the release of tension, succumbing to the inferior sense of touch, or simply a mutant synapse in my brain that sapped the creative flow. Leeny grinned. “Ever paint in the nude?” “What? “You heard me.” “Uh, yeah, on occasion.” “With a model?” “Well, no.” My chest throbbed and I took a deep breath. “Go for it.” Her eyes were locked in mine. They drifted approvingly down my chest and took in the bulge. “Do it.” I moved slowly at first, taking off my socks and shirt. I drew a deep breath then stripped off my jeans and underwear. She smiled as my boner popped free. I tried to cover, but I’ve always painted with both hands. ra I fought my urge to join Leeny‘on the chaise. I continued to paint, my cock fitfully softened and hardened. I managed, somehow, to keep to my easel for the rest of the session.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  For a moment, as my finger hovered over the purchase now button, I had my doubts. It might be 2009, but what would a new lover say if he came over and saw that this machine was his competition? Men are squeamish enough about vibrators, even the battery-operated kind, and this wasn’t the kind of toy I could shove into any drawer or closet, and since I live in Manhattan, I don’t exactly have much by way of storage space. I pictured the scene: a stud and I hot to trot, then he sees this contraption. I could say it was an exercise bench, I supposed. And then I slipped my fingers into my frilly white panties, and pictured my olive-colored ass turned a dusky rose, making the contrast against these very same panties even more intense. Tears sprang to my eyes as I tried to recall when I’d last gotten spanked. Oh yes, Raphael; he’d gotten tired of my constant lateness and hurled me across his lap, ripped my fishnets and panties, and pounded my bottom with his hand until I banged against the floor with my fists, until I almost couldn’t take it anymore, flirting on the edge of giving up. My cunt danced with excitement as I recalled his anger, and I The Spanking Machine 415 pressed the button, setting the transaction in motion. Of course, a machine wasn’t going to get angry with me, but that part I could supply for myself. Waiting for it was like having a long-distance lover and pining for his arrival. Every day without it felt shallow and empty to the point that even my clients noticed. “Claire, I think you need to get laid,’ one of the most famous actresses in the world said to me and I knew she was right; she just didn’t know how right. The day the machine was set to arrive, I called in sick and waited anxiously. I couldn’t risk my new master being misdelivered or, heaven forbid, the doorman peering too closely at the box and wondering what exactly it contained. Even though I’m sure the neighbors in my upscale high-rise have heard plenty of moaning, yelling, and spanking coming from behind my door, I’ve never out and out admitted that I’m the girl in 12D who likes to get spanked, who likes to role-play, who lets her lovers use and abuse all her orifices after a good, hard smackdown; who loves to wince the next day as she sits down in her skirt suits, wondering if the men who sit across from her at meetings or lunches, the reporters who press her for details, know exactly what’s caused the expression on her face. What I do inside the confines of my well-upholstered apartment is my business.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “You’ve met Luke, haven’t you, Karen?” my dad had said when Luke walked into our house that first night, a suit carrier flung casually over one shoulder, an overnight bag in the other hand. I remember being glued to the spot, thinking that I’d surely have remembered him if ’'d met him before. Apparently I had, briefly. Four years earlier. I guess ’d been different then. I’'d been fifteen Tic Woah kis Room 447 and a tomboy. Now I was at college, and my focus was on the adult world, with all its risks and discoveries. Luke had set down the bag he held and put his hand out to me. “You’ve grown up,” he said under his breath and looked at me with an appraising stare that made me feel hot all over. I managed to put my hand in his. He held it tightly, drawing me closer in against him. I looked up into his wickedly suggestive eyes, and it made my pussy clench. My mother disapproved of him. Why had his wife thrown him out? she demanded of my dad, when Luke was out of the house. Dad wouldn’t answer. I made up my own reasons, fantasies that featured me in a starring role. Maybe he left his wife for a hot younger woman, me. The truth was that Luke moving in had made something shift in my world. He was a man, a real man. Sex with him wouldn’t be like the fumbling bad sex I'd had with a guy I met at college. As soon as I saw Luke, I knew that it wouldn’t feel like that, not with him. Sex would be exciting, maybe even kinky. The idea of it fascinated me. Luke wasn’t what you’d call handsome, but he was attractive in a bad boy sort of a way. Tall and leanly muscled, his body suggested athletic vigor. His features were craggy, his hair cut close to his head. He had a maverick quality about him that appealed to the dark side of my imagination. At night I'd lie in my bed and imagine there was no wall between our rooms and that I could reach out and touch his body. ’'d imagine him responding. He’d climb over me and screw me into the bed, teaching me what it was like to be fucked by a real man. During the day when he was out I would go into his room and touch his things. Sometimes I even lay down on his bed. I would close my eyes and breath him in, getting high on the smell of his body and his expensive cologne, the experience building up a frenzy of longing inside me. What if he walked in and found me there? The idea of being caught by him made it even worse. Sometimes I’'d push my hand inside my jeans and press my panties into the seam of my pussy, massaging my clit for relief.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “Si, si, claro,” I replied. He clasped my head and drew me sharply on to his cock. The sudden fullness of my mouth made me splutter and he held me there, forcing me to inhale his humidity and that smell I’'d forgotten, the smell of men, a smell reminiscent of depths and of things discarded, of dark oceans, forest floors, dereliction, old tires and knives left out in the sun. “Ast me gusta, nena,” he said approvingly as I withdrew to his tip. He held my head, adding a slight pressure as I began slurping back and forth, making it seem as if he were the one leading. Perhaps he was. That seemed at odds with me being the paying customer but I enjoyed him taking the upper hand, so perhaps the incongruity was superficial. “Qué bonita,” said Flamenco. How pretty. Those watching eyes inflamed a shame that fueled my lust. I swallowed Jordi as deep as I could, my appetite provoking him to greater force. He began fucking my face, driving into my instinctive 116 Kristina Lloyd resistance, making me whimper and cough as my saliva spilled and my eyes watered. I felt sluttish and used, at the mercy of these callous brutes, and it was bliss. My swollen cunt was so fat and rich it barely seemed to have room between my thighs. “Hey, Angel,” said Jordi, addressing his friend. “Why don’t you give her a free fuck? You would like this, nena? Es gratis!” He withdrew from my mouth to let me speak. “Si, si, follame!”’ I croaked, gazing up at Jordi through a veil of tears. He sat heavily in the chair, lowering my head to his height. I dropped on to all fours, engulfing his length again while hoping the free fuck would be as hot and rough as the free brandy. I heard Angel cross the room. Angel. What a perfect, preternatural name for this other-worldly scenario. Taking position behind me, Angel flipped up my skirt and yanked down my underwear. I groaned around Jordi’s cock and his answering groan echoed in my ears. I heard Angel unzip and I shuffled my knees wider, groaning again when he teased me by slotting his cock to the length of my folds. He sawed to and fro, the upward strain of his erection pressing into my wetness and making me ache for penetration.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  They were supposed to be doing something at work, and they were. She was doing something, anyway, talking to him while sitting beside him on super-structured swivel chairs imported at great expense from Finland (or some foreign place) in her office, which had been presented to Isabel as an incentive to take the job — she wouldn’t be working in a cubicle, in other words — and which had actually become a boon for them, since it was small enough for them to be close together — “conferring on data” — without arousing suspicions when she did this, when she tolti him stories about herself to excite him and he touched himself through his jeans or — if he was feeling bold enough — unbuckled and unzipped his pants and touched himself directly. They had started doing it a few weeks ago during lunch hour when the rest of the office emptied out. She had learned that Martin didn’t eat lunch, hardly ate at all, unlike herself, who felt even at twenty-three that she ate too much, even though others thought she was being silly, others found her attractive, Martin did, at any rate, though it took him forever to say so and, come to think of it, maybe he never actually had: he had just moved toward Isabel like an object on a ship’s table sliding amidst a storm at sea. Maybe his not eating enough explained more than his — not entirely unappealing — ultra- slimness, it had caused his — how should she say it? — lack of strength in a certain area, something she had discovered during their first date, if you could even call it a date; it had been more, again, a kind of gravitational drift in each other’s direction after hours. ‘Though now that she thought of it — as he came forcefully, hearing the most erotic part of her monologue breathed into his ear — he was only weak sexually in certain ways and not in others; in fact, he was incredibly avid when he heard her tales; she might even have called him potent, if potency didn’t imply an interaction with another person, though 150 Laurence Klavan maybe it only meant having the potential of powerfully reproducing, which Martin obviously had, even though he was currently wasting his precious (or was it inexhaustible?) reproductive material in the front flap of his underwear.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  As he emptied his bladder of the beer he had drunk he felt his cock heavy in his hand, not erect but getting there. When he washed his hands beneath the tap he felt his cheeks burning, saw in the mirror how flushed they were and splashed them with cold water. Christ how he wanted that woman behind the bar! Behind the bar, on the floor . . anywhere! . A Cruel Heartless Bitch 253 When he came out of the toilet he saw immediately that the bar was darker than before, that the curtains had been pulled across the windows and the door shut. In the gloom her pale flesh was more radiant than ever as she stood beside the door, a bunch of keys dangling from the index finger of her left hand. “Tm about to lock up for the night,” she told him. “And me?” Brian wondered, less quietly than he had intended. “Yes, and lock up you too,” she said. “Pardon?” He smiled. “IT saw you looking at my mottoes before,” she said, her eyes glancing up to the brass plaques above his head. “The ‘cruel heartless bitch’ ... that’s me. So now it’s up to you, you have thirty seconds to decide.” Her hand lifted slowly, raising the keys to the door and, as Brian smiled and leisurely drank down the last of his beer, she shot across one bolt, a second, a third, then turned key after key in a succession of locks. As she turned and came back towards him her hips swaying delightfully, he saw the first trace+of a smile on her colourless lips and reached out a hand to her. “Tt’s decided, then,” she said, at the same time that she rapped him hard across the knuckles with the heavy bunch of keys. “Shit!” he swore, clutching one hand in the other as she moved past him, behind the bar and towards a door. “A cruel heartless bitch,” she reminded him, “but at least ’m good at it.” And as she disappeared through the door she said, “This way, if you have the courage.” When Brian had soothed the stinging in his knuckles, shaken his hand to chase away the pain, he clenched that hand into a fist and followed. Beyond the door she had passed through was a staircase, dark, and from the bowels of the building there came a strong smell of beer. As he descended the stairs he felt the walls rough on either side, the floor bare stone beneath his feet as he reached the bottom. A basement flat, was it? Or a cellar? Sure enough, to one side, in a darkened room, he could make out kegs and barrels of beer, bottles of gas and crates of empties. To the other side a door was slightly ajar, a crack of light escaping to point the way. Cautiously he pushed this open, stepped through. She was standing in the centre of the room, her legs spread wide,

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  He leashes her collar to the headboard before bending between her legs to ease her panties off. With a lover’s gentle touch, he decorates her thighs with thick leather cuffs. A silver chain links the cuffs together, leaving her just enough slack to spread her legs. With his tongue and fingers, he teases her for a moment. Watching them elicits a groan from me. Her hips rise off the bed to meet his touch. Jealousy flashes its heat across my skin even as he moves away from her to me. He kisses me for the first time, tasting of Ava. I want to touch him but I don’t dare. Not yet. “Do you want to see her come, Veronica?” he asks. “God, yes.” He is rough in his handling of me as he jostles me into place between her legs. The soft skin of her inner thighs presses hot against the outside of mine. It’s a tight connection, constrained by the length of chain. He slithers around me and pulls first my right wrist, then my left, behind my back. The material he binds my wrists with feels like warm velvet. When the knots are secure, he pulls me against him. His excitement over this grown-up version of a child’s game is plain to feel. “Ready, Veronica?” “Yes.” Caught up in my own excitement, it comes out as a low whisper. “Simon says, down on the floor, on your knees.” I drop to my knees on the thick carpeting. More jingling. His hands reach around my throat, a short length of chain with clips at each end grasped in his fingers. He clips one end to the center link binding her thighs and the other end to the ring imbedded in my collar. “Beautiful,” he says. Simon Says 287 He stands, admiring his work for just a moment before starting to take pictures. When he is satisfied, he sets the camera aside. Kneeling behind me, he reaches around either side of my body to stroke her skin above the cuffs. “Simon says, show me. Show me what you can do with your mouth and your tongue. Make her come loudly.” He thrusts himself against me, encouraging me toward her while his fingers raise thin red lines on her pale skin. Pushing back into him, the chain tethered to my collar goes taut with a metallic chink. She likes being made to wait, likes being teased on the edge for as long as possible. I don’t know if I can wait that long.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  No. He has to go one step further. He has to push it. He has to lean back in those thankfully smooth and soundless meeting room chairs, stretching his glorious body out for my delectation. He has to take his pen, and pat it lightly against his full lower lip. That lower lip I want to bite. Even worse, he then decides to part those biteable lips, and just ever so slightly nudge the pen inside. I see his perfect white teeth bite down — not hard enough to leave any sort of mark, but not lightly, either. The perfect biting strength for, say, a nipple. And then maybe his tongue could . . oh yes. Just flicker against the thing in his mouth. And maybe he could then... . Suck. I watch his cheeks hollow, just a little, just enough to put a person in mind of a little boy sucking’on a lollipop, rather than anything lewd. But, of course, it’s lewd to mie. It’s lewd because I know what he is and what it means, the tease. Because that’s what he’s doing, really. He’s teasing me with his perfectly cut features and his broad shoulders and his limpid eyes and his sucking mouth. He probably thinks I won’t do a thing about any of it, because how could such a lovely creature as him be interested in me? But he’s a fool. I would say he’s playing with fire, but fire has nothing on my libido. When the meeting ends, I line my voice with calm cool iron and say to him: “Can I see you in my office, Brad?” Of course he has a name like Brad. Something wholesome and cute. If he were a girl, he’d be called Candy. “Of course, Ms Layton,” he replies, and oh the devil pushes just the right hint of bemusement into his voice. Why, he has no idea what I might want with fim. He is only a little insignificant peon. What on earth could he have done wrong? I am going to show you what you have done wrong, Brad. I hear him lolloping after me. He’s very tall and near gangly, despite the bulk of his chest and shoulders. I suppose that’s why I don’t feel intimidated by his size, though I accept that there are other reasons. 322 Charlotte Stein It’s hard to be intimidated by a floozy. Even though I think he wants me to be intimidated. I think he wants me to be in awe of his sexual power, in thrall to him. I should be hypnotized and tormented by his behaviour and the way he looks. Big boss woman Ms Layton brought low? We'll see. Once we're inside the safety of my office, I close the door behind us. I lock it. He jerks a little when I do, but it’s too late for him to be surprised and innocent. Now he’s going to have to pay the piper.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  She’d evidently been practicing, because her dancing was more advanced than before, more stylized. She did things, for example, with the scarf, flicking it this way and that, drawing it across her golden skin, even working it back and forth between her thighs, against her crotch. She appeared to be listening to music, and I wondered what song it might be. Or maybe there was no music, just a self-generated rhythm that flowed inside the dancer and nowhere else. More than before, I tried to glimpse her face, which wasn’t easy since the window’s rectangle tended to limit my view to just the center portions of her curvy body. But now and then I did spy her face and was struck not so much by its youthful, understated beauty as by its look of pure and innocent rapture. Her eyes were half-closed and her lips parted; she seemed lost within herself, or perhaps outside herself, and blissfully happy. Yet I was certain she was also aware of me. ‘Toward the end of the show, she stripped off her bra and danced topless, her round, uptilted breasts gently heaving. Then the window went dark. My own chest was heaving as much as hers. For a-long while I stood there at the edge of the dim lot wanting to do something but not knowing what I should do, exactly. I considered erupting into a raucous round of clapping and whooping but was afraid I might draw more attention from the neighbors than from the girl, and unfriendly attention at that. I weighed walking over and knocking on her door but wasn’t sure if this response would be welcome either. (Was she alone in there?) I had no precedent for how to act in this situation, and the chemicals in my head were clouding my thinking, feeding my doubt. So I continued to just stand and stare up silently Strippers 35) at the dark window. In the end, I picked up my bags, carried them to my truck and drove away. Not surprisingly, I began dropping by the Superfresh several evenings a week whether I needed groceries or not. I’d always arrive at the same time, about eight o’clock, and I’d always park in the same location; I wanted to be consistent. I also made it a point to go into the store and buy something, however trivial: a pack of Juicy Fruit, a roll of Tums, a carton of Winstons. Buying something allowed me to tell myself that I was there for a legitimate, defensible purpose and not just to watch some delightfully misguided babe dancing and stripping — or stripping and dancing — in a window. But I knew the real reason I was hanging around that parking lot, and Id bet hard cash the girl did too.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  tumbler from the floor and offered it to me. Luke followed and stood close by, at the foot of the bed. When I glanced his way, I got an eyeful of bare chest and open fly. Just what I wanted. The only part I wasn’t sure about was the other woman. “I’m Lisa,” she said. “I’m glad you came to play with us .. .” She was flirting with me. 450 Saskia Walker I didn’t think it was possible for my temperature to rise any more than it already had, but it did. Okay. We were going to “play”, and I didn’t think she was referring to a card game. She was looking at me as if she were deciding which item of my clothing to take off first. Luke, half undressed already, smiled down at us. I was getting the gist of the setup now. He wanted two women. As long as one of them was me, I figured I could roll with it. But the way she was looking at me . . that did weird things to me. She was very sexy. I found I wanted her to flirt with me some more. I swigged heavily from the glass. It was whiskey. The potent liquid washed over my tongue and, when I swallowed, the hit was just what I needed. “Thanks,” I said as I handed the glass back, and tried to look as relaxed as she did. Crossing my legs, I rested one hand on the surface of the bed. . Luke smiled down at me, approvingly. I had to take a deep breath _ to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. Jesus, this was really happening. All I could think was: Thank god for the whiskey. The woman, Lisa, sprawled easily on to the bed beside me. When she got settled she reached over and ran her hand down the length of my hair. I stared at her, and when she paused with her fingers close against my neck, I smiled. She moved lower, touching my breasts briefly through my ‘Fshirt, before wrapping her arm around my waist and drawing me closer to her. I rolled on to the bed next to her and she kissed me full on the mouth. I was stunned, and stiffened. I’d never kissed another woman before then. But then I melted, because she was all soft and yet full on, at the same time. I felt the urge to answer her, and I kissed her back. Oh, how delicious that was. For a moment I almost forgot that Luke was there. Almost. When I looked back, he had a gleam in his eyes and the bulge at his groin was larger. Between my thighs I was aching with longing and with him looming over the pair of us I felt the urge to be wild, to explore. I pushed my hand into Lisa’s silky hair, and drew her in for another sweet kiss.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  Gus groaned. Click, click. “Wait,” Bobby said, stepping between her and the cameras. She - became a goddess under his gaze and his hands felt divine where he touched her shoulders while he turned her slightly in the chair, so that her breast stood in sharp silhouette. He took the roses and selected one, the darkest of the dozen, and rested the cool bloom 482 Angela Caperton against her nipple. “Hold it there,” he said. Benticy nodded his approval as Bobby stepped back. She imagined each of the men in turn as an absent lover whose memory had come upon her like a ghost, wistful, vulnerable, the red flesh of the rose the spirit of distant lips, kissing the brown tip of her breast. “Beautiful,” Bendey breathed. Hundreds of clicks filled the room. They shot her with the roses, without the roses, standing, sitting, her body arched into the lhght. Her nipples softened only to harden again as Bentley or Bobby posed her, and she felt their arousal as each new seduction unfolded. Somewhat to Desi’s disappointment, no one asked her to remove her skirt. “We’re losing the morning light,’ Doug Spencer said after awhile. “Time to move to the seraglio,’ Mr Bentley laughed. “Would you like some wine or a drink, Desi?” She picked up her blouse and draped it around her shoulders, a thin vein of self-consciousness creeping into her when the cameras no longer courted their queen. She was glad, but also a little sorry, when Charlie brought her a robe. Smiling, still slick between her legs, her voice trembled slightly as she nodded to Mr Bentley. “A little wine, maybe?” Most of the men had a Collins, though Mr Bentley took straight Scotch. They talked about the photos, about film and lenses, things Desi knew nothing about, but they talked to her too, including her in their discussion of the poses, what they saw through their lenses, what they hoped to capture. Her. She. Light made solid on glossy paper for unknown — and known -— eyes to see. She sat among them, her breasts still, for all purposes, bare, their gazes easier on her now, though she still saw the heat in their eyes, the anticipation of whatever lay ahead, and she shared that anticipation with them, loving the threads of communion and impulse. ‘The wine was sweet and barely chilled. Desi had only had wine a few times, at weddings and parties, but she remembered how much she liked it, how the warmth moved under her skin. When the drinks had been mostly consumed, Charlie helped everyone move their tripods and gear across the room to the Oriental divan at the center of the bank of lamps. “We'll spend the rest of the afternoon here, Desi,’ Mr Bentley said. “I bet you have a good imagination. Our theme will be a night in a harem. Is that all right with you?” Calendar Girl 483

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  Angel spoke to Jordi in Catalan, tight hard words muttered under his breath. Jordi replied, throaty and urgent. With a sound like an expletive, Angel slammed into me, hissing as he lodged himself high. He was meaty and solid and he clasped my hips, gripping hard as he began driving into my hole. Every thrust jolted my body, jerking me forward on to Jordi’s lap. I felt skewered all the way through, my mouth and cunt both stuffed to capacity. The two men worked together, fucking, pushing, grunting and groaning. Occasionally they exchanged words I didn’t understand and once or twice there was amusement and faint laughter. They had me. They well and truly had me. And when Angel reached for my clit, I knew I was lost. My climax raced closer and I bleated with nearness. Angel hissed in Catalan. Jordi growled. “Sigue, sigue,” he said. He grabbed fistfuls of my hair, his cock swelling to its absolute limit in my mouth. I was a rag doll between the two men, so close to coming my limbs seemed to have lost their bones. With a hoarse cry, Jordi came, flooding my mouth with his bitter silk, and the sound of his release tipped me over the edge. I came hard, disoriented and dizzy as pleasure clutched and stars exploded in my mind. Moments later, my body began to drop with exhaustion but there was no letup from Angel. He kept fucking me like there was no On My Knees in Barcelona Li? tomorrow and my pulpy walls, swollen with sensitivity, clung to his thrusts. I held Jordi in my mouth, gasping on his dwindling erection until Angel’s hammering became so frenzied I fancied he wanted to destroy me. He peaked with a long, low groan, wedging himself deep, and I moaned around Jordi’s cock, wishing I could melt clean away. The three of us held still until Jordi stroked my hair, a tender gesture that took me by surprise. Angel caressed my buttocks. For a minute or two, we rested in silence and, in those moments, I felt we shared a tacit understanding and mutual respect. We had all got what we wanted and were grateful. But I didn’t want to stay. I had nothing to say to them, nor them to me. Conversation would have made us awkward and I wanted to leave it there, pure and perfect, a moment out of time devoted entirely to pleasure. Angel slipped away and I tidied myself up. Jordi asked how I was. I told him I was fine just as Angel returned with my jug, full to the brim with ice. There was no one in the bar when I left and all the lights were off. Jordi unlocked the door so I could leave. Gi

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  I kiss her thigh before opening my mouth to lick a wet path from her inner thigh to her outer, just above the edge of the cuff. Her breath comes in fast, excited little noises. I switch paths, working my tongue up, letting the chain between us grow slack. She jumps a little as the chain settles against her pussy. As much as I want to taste her and lick her and feel her come in my mouth, I hold back, pulling the chain tight again so that I can’do the same to her other thigh. Her whole body vibrates. Shé moanss louder and longer this time. He leans his weight forward, pinning my bound arms between us, urging me on. Time has run out, there’s nowhere left to go but forward. I trace my lips across her smooth, bare skin for the first time. She hisses and jerks. A warm trickle runs down the curve of her thigh. I want to hear her begging to come. Using only the faintest touch, I kiss my way toward her clit, stopping just short. She moans and rocks her whole body toward me, straining for contact. He stands and begins undressing. When he has everything off, he kneels behind me and leans against me once again. “Youw’re so good with her,” he whispers. “Simon says, make us both come, Veronica.” He shifts on to his knees and slides his cock against my bound hands. “Make us both come.” Without letting up on her, I grip his cock so he can fuck my hands. He reaches forward, his fingers digging into her thighs while he thrusts. Every time he buries his cock in the tight well of my fists, it forces my mouth harder against her. He helps me fuck her this way, all on the same rhythm. So close, she is so close. All it takes is my ~ tongue finally flashing across her clit to set her off. She begs for permission to come loudly. He swells in my hands at the sound of her words. 288 Alice Gray Before he can even finish granting her permission, I feel her climax flow through her body, hear her loud cries of release, taste her orgasm. He comes right behind her, spraying hot jets across my back. She goes quiet first, laying limp on the soft bed. He rests his weight against me, his breathing deep and controlled. After a couple of minutes, he backs off me. “Tt’s your turn, Veronica. We’re both going to make you come. Simon says.” Rain and the Library Kris Saknussemm ‘The thing about research is that it’s so much more fun with two. And the thing about a library is that it’s like a superstore for people who love books and secret, seemingly random knowledge that suddenly gets found, as if part of a quest. So, I was excited about you helping me dig up a very hard to find book in the main files.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “Have I...?” he starts to say, but I think something in my expression stops him. “Yes. You’ve done something very wrong. Very wrong indeed.” His face falls — and he does it well, too. It hardly looks put on at all. “I’m so sorry, Ms Layton,” he says. “How can I make it up?” Again, it’s all very convincing. He’s a clever boy. “Bend over that desk, and write on the notepad I have there exactly what you’ve done wrong, and how you expect to resolve the matter.” He hesitates for the barest of moments. I see his tongue touch his upper teeth. And then he does exactly what I’ve asked. He presents his rump to me perfectly, just like in the stationery cupboard, and then he takes up my best pen and starts scribbling with it. Each time he scribbles, his bottom wiggles just a little bit. It’s delightful. It’s begging for my hand. I don’t know why he makes that little shocked sound, when I whack my palm against that begging flesh. “Hoh!” he gasps. But he doesn’t stop writing. He doesn’t even turn around. It’s the third slap he looks back at me on, and I see his eyes so naked and his cheeks flushed and that mouth hanging open. Shock and sex and hunger all stirred up together. “Eyes front,” I tell him. “While I punish you.” “Ts this how you punish all your staff?” he asks, so I reach around and unbuckle his belt. Clearly he needs something more severe, and he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even go to stop my hand or ask again if I do this with all staff, he just moans and whispers something I can’t hear. “Louder,” I say, so he shouts out with a break in the middle: “T can’t believe this is happening!” “What did you think would happen, tease?” “I—” he starts to say, but then I yank his Calvin Kleins down to meet the trousers that are now around his ankles, and he groans for me some more. Slut 323 He has stopped writing altogether now. The pen is still clutched in his hand, however, though that doesn’t last long. Once his underpants hit the floor so does the pen, and, though I can’t see, I know exactly what he’s doing: jerking off. His thighs butt against the desk. His hips roll. I hear that slick clicking of a hand shuttling up and down a stiff cock, and he must know I can, too. But he doesn’t stop. Not even when I slap his bare buttocks hard enough to leave a mark. Instead he gasps: “I’m going to come all over the nice neat writing [ve just done for you.” “Bad slut,” I tell him, and slap right over the handprint I’ve just made.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “That he liked them.” “That’s all?” “That they were big. That I had nice ones.” “Then what did he do?” “He kissed around, then licked around, then bit around my nipples. He wouldn’t suck them. He was tormenting me.” “Did your nipples get hard?” “So hard.” “What did you do?” “TI begged him to suck them. And he said I’d have to wait.” “Were you wet?” “So wet.” “What happened then?” “He made me promise that I would swallow his come if he sucked my nipples.” Biase “And what did you do?” “T promised that I would.” + “And did you?” Presalvaters “T really want to hear about that.” ‘There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, as she heard only Martin’s slow, slightly cold-congested breathing. Then, “T’ll call you back,” he said and hung up. k She made up the stories, of course, having long since exhausted her actual experiences, which she had fictionalized in the first place as to make them virtually unrecognizable. She saw herself as a kind of Sheherazade, though only vaguely aware of who that was. When Isabel looked up the name online, she saw that the analogy wasn’t perfect but close enough to make her feel connected to an oral tradition, in a line of great raconteurs. Yet after more weeks, this remained the only connection she could feel. Martin never stopped wanting to hear her “memories” (which she assumed he knew were padded with details picked up from porn films she saw online, actually had researched at home in her idle hours, the sites not being “safe for work”, and then made less ~ mechanical and cold when she offered them up as her own) but this remained the extent of their physical relationship. Soon he was not requesting to do it after work any more but only in the office, and didn’t reciprocate by touching her (for she, being shyer, refused to 156 Laurence Klavan have that done in public and still insisted on going to the ladies’ room by herself, and then even stopped doing that). Isabel began to feel their actions were fading into another form of passivity, more work, in other words, a new and modern job, the pressing of a penis the same as that of a “send” button, etc. It was around this time that their boss, Owen, requested her appearance in his office after five.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  It wasn’t the intentional fondling that was sending him to the edge, but the accidental brush of her breast on his arm, when her foot stepped on his, when her hair tangled on his slight stubble. Beneath the blindfold he felt the sweat gather and pour down his chest as it rose and fell, gulping for enough oxygen to stay standing and in control. Each breath was just more poison — smelling her sweat. When her hand snaked around from behind his back and down the front of his pants he knew that was the point of no return. He could either throw her away and lock her back up, or he could give in for just a little bit longer, to see just how far he could hold out. She didn’t pause — one hand she let creep further into his pants while the other undid his belt buckle and whipped it away in a flash. She put the belt around her neck and tightened it, leaving the end in his hand. While she stepped back to the front, she grabbed the blindfold away and saw his cheeks were flushed. “Took at me.” He looked at her as she crouched in front of him and unzipped his trousers with one hand while the other gestured for him to tighten the belt around her neck, which he did. When he looked down at her, he saw himself, rock hard, a slight movement with every heartbeat brought yet more blood and more pressure that he was only just tolerating. She stuck out her tongue, which was red and wet, then licked her lips for moisture. Leaning in, her lips tightened and he had to grip a nearby chair as her warmth met his body, teasing with her tongue as it moved along his shaft. Her movements were slow at first then firm; on the backward stroke she would suck in so that it felt there was no more room, then her hot breath would release him until she inched closer and closer each time, deeper and deeper. She looked to the chair where his fingernails were tearing at the chintz fabric. Looking up, she saw his head bent back, the sweat rolling over his hard nipples and his Adam’s apple dancing as he gasped for more air. She wondered what he was thinking about to stop him from blowing. Usually the man would have by now. Her strategy shifted into the next phase. She stopped on his shaft and instead massaged his balls — kissing, then sucking while her other hand ran up the inside of his thighs. “Mon dieu...” As soon as he said the words he woke up to himself. Oh no, she’s winning. Indeed she was, smiling with those lips that were so twisting him with irrational thoughts beyond the chess moves he was playing in his mind for distraction. The Escape 207

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “But I thought you use professional models?” “Not always. To tell you the truth, I don’t always like using professionals. A lot of them are a pain in the arse. They think they’re doing me a favor by turning up for a shoot, they whinge, they whine and they have these terribly possessive girlfriends who want to claw my eyes out for daring to look at their man naked. So I put adverts in places, and I get guys who’ve never modeled before, but they have great bodies and they have this natural, unspoilt air about them. I’ve even shot guys [ve met in the street before now.” A memory swam into my mind: a bloke I'd seen in a coffee shop on Regent Street, impossibly tall, Viking fair. He’d been a Danish student, disbelieving at first when I’d pressed my card into his hand, then flattered, and grateful for the money the shoot would bring. The photos had been among the best I’d taken, and Dare had used them as their centrefold. I sensed in the man sitting before me the same potential. “So say I was modeling for you, how would you shoot me?” he asked. “In the bedroom,” I replied without hesitation, the image forming in my mind so vivid I could almost touch it. “I’d have you lying in the crumpled sheets, looking like you’d just had the best sex of your life.” I could see it now: his limbs spread languidly on the bed, the rucked-up sheet nothing more than a strip of fabric across his groin, soon to be pulled away to reveal his hard cock in all its glory ... “Sounds good,” he said. “Why don’t we go for it?” I gaped at him. “Are you serious?” The dimple appeared in his cheek. “Why not? Ever since that designer told me what he did, I’ve had a fantasy about posing for some sexy photographs. This seems like the perfect chance.” ’ Ducks 245 If he was up for it, who was I to argue? I had been bemoaning the lack of suitable models less than an hour earlier, and now one had pitched up in my living room. “I'll need a couple of minutes to set things up. There’s another can in the fridge if you want it,” I told him. My camera was sitting in the spare bedroom, which I had converted into my darkroom when I’d bought the flat. I went to hunt it out, together with a couple of lamps which would create the dramatic lighting I needed for the shots I had in mind.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  The platter was set on our table. It was a piece of art. The different colored rolls were beautifully arranged, each with a mosaic inside, flecks of green and orange highlighting the more subtle fish colors, the fanned tail of a shrimp emergihg from the center of a large roll as if beckoning us to eat. And we ate. The hot wasabi and salty soy sobered me and my sushi-drunk was better than any alcohol high. I ate beyond full. I couldn’t get enough of the raw fish. If ’'d been fucking instead of eating, and I would not have traded those Nobu rolls for anything, not anything, my cock would have been ripped raw. When we left the restaurant, me walking chivalrously behind my date who’d insisted on paying since, she desperately said, ’d made her forget her ex completely, I made eye-contact with the thick sushi chef. He nodded once for me and I nodded once for him. Thad no type. I had fucked them all, every age and race and ethnicity, from every continent, and not because I was playing Around the World. It just happened that way. I think most thirty-seven-year-olds, if they were still single and enjoyed the single life that was New York City, would have been around the world several times. But when I saw her, walking out of Sushi Samba just before I was walking in, I stopped. Nothing made me stop when sushi was the destination, but she did. My sushi could wait an extra minute even if I had spent the day in my cubicle dreaming of Brazilian fusion rolls. She was beautiful, but there are many beautiful women in New York City. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman IJ had ever seen, not at all. Her eyes 422 Adam Berlin were a little too close together and her nose was a little wide and her body, while thin and fit, did not have the long, lean minx-quality that was as close to a type as I came. But her mouth was perfect. Her lips were the color of the best cut of tuna, rich and red and moist-looking and, seeing her lips, I couldn’t help but think about what her other lips looked like. I pictured her. I pictured myself in her. My cock inside two perfectly cut, sushi-colored lips. I had to stop. And I had to talk. I wasn’t even drunk, but I was drunk with wanting her and so, standing there on the crowded side of Seventh Avenue, I forced myself to block out the noise and block out my need for fusion rolls served with three flavors of dipping sauce, and I looked in her eyes instead of her mouth. “You,” I said, simple and clean, one-word raw. She didn’t say anything. But her eyes were clear and she didn’t move her eyes. “Even if youre full, even if you’re stuffed, come back inside with