Best Women's Erotica 2009 Page 2

  Wendy’s body is so pale and soft. This is a naked body that has never seen sunlight, Tiger Lily can tell, and this is a girl who has never felt a man’s touch anywhere beneath the neck. That’s clear as Peter, too fascinated to bother with sexual amenities now, traces one finger over her slit. Wendy’s legs open and her eyes close with shame. “Oh, my god,” she whispers.

  Tiger Lily’s blood grows hot. She cannot bear to watch this a moment longer, Peter with yet another girl, so soft and obedient. In moments he will be playing with her clit and stroking the insides of her pussy until what will possibly be the girl’s first orgasm slams through her—and then those soft doe eyes will gaze at him in a way no girl has ever gazed at her….

  She scrambles silently through the trees, scales one and launches into her best pirate voice. The warning she calls out is ridiculous—Peter would be stupid to react to it so immediately, they both played pirate a dozen times together as kids, but his lust for war is stronger than his tactician’s instincts and he abandons Wendy in a second. “Wait here!” he commands, all boy-man authority, and fairly skips off to the Lost Boys, his boys, who are already creeping toward battle.

  Such an idiot, Tiger Lily thinks. Always forsaking the girl for the adventure, that’s Peter. But no mind. She runs back through the trees and is at Wendy’s side before the girl can put her nightgown back on.

  Wendy is sure she is going to be murdered. The girl looming over her is like no girl she’s ever seen, barely clad in a tiny buck-skin dress, her long black hair alive in the night wind. Even her voice is different and commanding as she hisses, “Shut up! I’m Tiger Lily, I’m a friend of Peter’s. The pirates are here, I’m going to rescue you.” At the word pirates, something blank and primitive tightens Wendy’s throat and she can’t say a word as the girl snatches down the nightgown from its branch and ties the sleeve quickly and expertly in a gag through her pretty mouth. Wendy chokes a bit but she has been gagged before in her brothers’ games and perhaps that is why she doesn’t protest as the black-haired girl ties up her wrists with the other sleeve and leads her off into the forest.

  Or perhaps she doesn’t protest because of the cumulative shock of the night, which began with her tossing restlessly in her bed: too old at eighteen to spend her nights staring at the London rooftops through the nursery window. There was the shock of seeing a beautiful boy her own age appear at the window with a devilish smile, a boy who climbed in to shamelessly appraise her body through the skimpy nightgown before taking her hand and tugging her out the window. The shock of flying away over London, the shock of being stripped naked and spreading her legs as Peter touched her pussy. And now this, being tied up and led off into the woods, a naked captive. Not captured by a man like in her most forbidden fantasies but by a girl—a girl with hard lean muscles and long legs who moves so fast Wendy stumbles behind her.

  Dazed as she is, it takes a minute to replay Tiger Lily’s words and realize their basic contradiction: that if Tiger Lily is Peter’s friend, why did she tie Wendy up? Her bare feet hurt from the sticks and debris of the jungle floor, and the night chill is making her stiff nipples ache. No one knows where she is. Yet soon enough they stop in a clearing, where Tiger Lily pushes her to her knees, before building a fire. She stockpiles a supply of kindling then takes her place opposite the flames.

  Now the two girls stare at each other. Wendy can see every detail of her kidnapper’s face in the firelight: a fiercely beautiful girl a little older than her with high cheekbones and fiery eyes, and a tough mouth that Wendy can tell will know exactly what to do to her. Everything about her wiry, taut body screams of sexual knowledge. This is a girl who knows what to do.

  Then Tiger Lily drops her eyes and draws all that glorious black hair over one shoulder as she gazes into the fire. She seems absentminded, tracing a bruise on one bare thigh—and it is by following the movement of her hand that Wendy realizes Tiger Lily’s legs are slightly open and her pussy is on full display. She seems either unaware of this or indifferent.

  Wendy swallows nervously. She has never seen another woman’s pussy, has never even gotten a good look at her own. She stares at it now, its mysterious pink folds, and wonders exactly where Peter had touched her to make that electric feeling ring through her.

  Tiger Lily looks up, notices her gaze, and smirks. Wendy swallows again but doesn’t shift her eyes. Yet Tiger Lily bounces abruptly to her feet, ending the show, and is at her side with that terrifying swiftness again. Roughly she pulls the knotted nightgown sleeve from her mouth. “Sorry.”

  Wendy’s tongue, dry and stiff and tasting of cotton, moves tentatively around her mouth. Her knees hurt and Tiger Lily seems especially tall standing before her. “Who—why did you bring me here?”

  “Why did Peter bring you to Neverland?” Tiger Lily is staring down at her with blank obsidian eyes, but Wendy can tell from the humming tension of her body that she is feeling far from blank at the moment.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “He brought you here to fuck you, Wendy.” Tiger Lily yanks the nightgown still tied around her hands and brings her roughly to her feet. Then she jerks Wendy’s arms up over her head and moves her back and forth like a marionette, making her breasts bounce and sway.

  Fear and arousal set off a throbbing between Wendy’s legs. No one has ever taken such blatant control of her nor treated her so rudely, and it’s exciting. As Tiger Lily pushes her back toward a tree, she finds herself turning up her face expectantly for the other girl’s mouth. Instead Tiger Lily ropes the knotted nightgown on a branch, imprisoning Wendy’s arms over her head. With a dirty smirk, she takes both her tits in her hands and begins to play with them.

  “I bet you went to boarding school,” Tiger Lily accuses.

  “I did…”

  “And I bet all you girls got in each other’s beds at night.”

  “No! No, I mean, some girls, yes…”

  “But not you?”

  “No.” Wendy shakes her head too fervently, her damp brown hair falling over her nipples. Tiger Lily impatiently flings the hair away, then slaps her breasts hard as punishment.

  “You don’t cover yourself around me.” She pinches her right nipple, making Wendy gasp. “Understand?”

  “Yes.” That excitement in her pussy feels like melting honey now. Soon her thighs will be wet with it and Tiger Lily will see it and then she’ll really be punished.

  “So.” Tiger Lily resumes feeling her tits, almost in a detached exploratory manner. “You never wanted a girl to do things to you.”

  “Well, I…” Wendy can’t say the truth of this, which is that the shadow who tops her in her fantasies never has a face, let alone a gender. The shadow only has hands that stroke her, a tongue that licks her, a heat that’s sometimes as hard as the hardest cock and other times pillowy as the softest breasts.

  “Yes or no, Wendy. It’s not that difficult a question.”

  “Leave her alone.”

  The rising heat cools in Wendy as she turns to see Peter in the clearing. He’s here to rescue her, she realizes with a pang of annoyance, but she’s not quite ready to be rescued. His mouth is set in a hard little line but those green eyes aren’t quite as angry as his voice pretends. Yes, he’s pissed that Tiger Lily stole his prey—his catch, Wendy thinks—but watching her tied up naked as Tiger Lily flicks at her nipples isn’t something he’s ready to stop just yet.

  “You’re the one who took her out of her own bed and flew her here, Peter,” Tiger Lily taunts him. “Shouldn’t you have left her alone?”

  She smacks Wendy’s breasts together a few times as if they’re balloons, then dips her fingers between her legs. “Spread,” she orders. Wendy’s face burns hot now as she obeys, thighs shaking with anticipation of that first penetration of Tiger Lily’s fingers. But Tiger Lily only traces one light finger around her clit in a soft, maddening circle without taking her eyes from Peter. I am just a pawn to her, Wendy thinks. The thought only makes her clit harder.

/>   “Come on, Peter,” Tiger Lily smiles. “Come rescue your pet.”

  So he’s here at last. Peter looks as confused as Tiger Lily’s ever seen him look, rubbing his hair in a way he does when he’s thinking. It’s rumpled around his face like a golden-red halo, as if he’s an angel with a giant cock rather than the arrogant smartass she knows him to be. Once again he’s shirtless, his bare chest smooth in the firelight, and two war stripes adorn his sculpted cheekbones. He stopped to paint himself to do battle with the pirates, how ridiculous. Tiger Lily gestures to the erection swelling in his pants.

  “This is probably a little much for you so maybe you better just watch.”

  He flings himself at her with a roar. She dodges him well, with the practice of a hundred mock battles between them, then brings him down on his back. He looks stunned as she straddles him, quickly tying his hands tight with a piece of rope. But he recovers immediately.

  “I can bust right out of these knots.” He snarls at her in a way that reminds her of defensive animals trying to ward off a predator.

  She shifts the heat and pressure of her pussy on his erection. He goes still. Subtly, with a clever smile, she rocks back and forth. His cock swells even bigger until a strangled groan escapes him.

  Stupid boy, you don’t know what you’ve been missing, she thinks. But all she says is: “I know what you want.” Wendy’s impatience and jealousy is palpable by the tree, but Tiger Lily ignores her for now. Staring into Peter’s eyes, she opens her knees until she’s showing him her pussy. So many times she’s thought of Peter reaching for her, asking her, begging her, but now she’s controlling him, and his submission is better than any of her dreams.

  “Oh, fuck yeah,” Peter mutters, his eyes locked on her.

  With one quick move she swings up and settles her crotch directly on Peter’s mouth. “Do it,” she commands, not because he doesn’t understand what she wants but because the sound of her own authority arouses her. She is soaked, wet from her clit to her asshole, and she takes pleasure in smearing it all over his nose and eyelids and cheekbones until his arrogant face shines with it.

  “Fuck me,” Peter moans against her, somewhat illogically as his tongue is desperately seeking her slit. She lifts herself just out of reach to tease him, then relents and sits down on him until the agile heat of his tongue squirms inside her.

  Deep euphoria spreads through her. “Just like that,” she whispers. She had known this would be good but just the sight of his face framed between her thighs sends an electric power through her body. Peter’s endlessly talking tongue finally silenced and fucking deep in her pussy at last, his wrists tied so he can’t fly. This is her moment.

  Tiger Lily reverses direction on his face, leans over, and takes off his pants. Then the prize is in her hands at last: Peter’s hard and straining cock. She rolls his shaft between her hands for only a moment before sucking it into her mouth, all of it, until her nose is buried in his balls. He tastes mustier than she expected, a boyish earthy taste, and his cock is as alive in her mouth as an animal. She pulls back to suck his head hard, tonguing it until he gasps.

  Peter’s not licking her pussy anymore; his tongue has slid up to frantically push inside her asshole, spearing her tightness over and over. And it’s this that really does it for her: the knowledge of his tongue in her ass pushes her over into complete orgasmic mindlessness. Her pussy squeezes over and over as a hot gush of ejaculate floods out of her. Beneath her, he pulls back in surprise, but she sits down on his face and rides out her orgasm, grinding against his mouth until the last waves sputter out.

  His hips bang the ground in frustration. “Tiger—”

  She doesn’t bother silencing him. Instead she returns to his cock, pressing it flat against his belly and wiggling her tongue up and down and around him before sucking him back inside her mouth. He writhes beneath her as if he’s gone mad. “Don’t—oh, god—don’t stop.” She keeps sucking him, feeling his balls tighten right up until the moment of no return—and then she does stop, because after making her wait for so many years, Peter really has no right to any kind of satisfaction this early in the night.

  He sinks his teeth into the right cheek of her ass with a long, frustrated groan.

  Oh, you bastard, she thinks with a mixture of indignation and amusement. She reaches back and feels the bite mark on her ass. Her fingers come away tinged with blood.

  “You little bitch,” she says and rings him across the face. It only turns him on more, making his hips dance. Her fingertip traces the bite again. Sometime tomorrow she will hold a mirror before her lifted legs and stare at the teeth marks as she fingers herself. But for now she feigns outrage.

  “Get up.” She yanks him to his feet, a naked and dazed boy looking almost sick with lust. His cock strains toward her as if magnetized. She shoves him against the tree and ropes him next to Wendy. Then she turns their bodies toward each other and begins to play with them like dolls. First she brushes Wendy’s nipples against his chest until her face burns tomato red. Then she strokes Peter’s cock over Wendy’s slit, pressing his head hard against her clit until they both moan.

  Tiger Lily laughs. “It’s not going to be that easy.”

  She returns them to their separate positions and begins to toy with them. They look so beautiful, so flushed and horny. Sliding her fingers deep into Wendy’s wet and swollen cunt, she rubs her in the way she likes herself, pressing her knuckles against the walls of her pussy. Wendy’s pale body steams and shakes, she twists against her bonds and begs to be fucked.

  Tiger Lily pulls out to stroke her clit. “Is this what you want?”

  Wendy’s legs strain open. “No…!”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Just fuck me,” Wendy gasps, a pink flush spreading across her breasts. She seeks to bring Tiger Lily closer by locking her ankles around her, but Tiger Lily deftly steps out of her way. “Don’t stop, oh, please don’t.”

  She fingers Wendy’s clit for a few moments longer, then slides in three fingers, deep as she can go. Now she fucks her hard and rapidly, holding Wendy around the waist so she has to take it. The girl’s cunt feels impossibly full and wet around her fingers and as a low growl breaks from her mouth, Tiger Lily feels her come; Wendy’s velvety heat clenches her over and over until wet aftershocks tremble deep in her own pussy.

  Tiger Lily gently withdraws her fingers and smears the glistening juices over Peter’s parted lips. His eyes are locked on her, not Wendy, with reverence. Oh, Peter, she thinks, we haven’t even started.

  “Kiss me,” she says. Her mouth, her tough mouth that has insulted and mocked him so many nights and cried his name alone in her bedroom, covers his. He tastes of Wendy’s honeyed brine and then his own surprising sweetness. A sweet boy with a hard cock, captured at last. He’s not flying anywhere until she’s done with him, and the night has only begun as she presses her cool long body against his flushed and trembling one. Tiger Lily twists her arms up around his neck like a lover, like she dreamed of when she was young and romantic and naïve. But now she grabs his thick soft hair in her fist and twists it, pulling his head back so she can bite his lips.

  “Anything you want,” he begs in a low voice. “But please, please…”

  What I want, she thinks, is to fly. And then it’s happening, his cock pushes into the initial tightness of her pussy, demanding and inexorable yet torturously slow. She hooks one leg around his waist and brings him in deeper inch by teasing inch, until the cool sac of his balls rests against her. Already she’s beginning to throb as they start to thrust, his heat and his hardness driving her up and up into blinding wet bliss, and then they’re really fucking, faster and faster until at last Tiger Lily is flying.

  LIVE BED SHOW

  Elizabeth Coldwell

  I sat on the end of the bed, looking out into the rainy Amsterdam night. My bare legs were crossed at the ankles and the straps of my nightdress were sliding down my shoulders, threatening to let my breasts spill free.
It was a look designed to entice passersby to slow down, stop, maybe even think about making a purchase. But unlike the girls in the windows of the red-light district, over in the old part of town, I wasn’t selling myself. I was selling the bed beneath me. Or at least that’s how it started.

  I came to Amsterdam because I fell in love with Jamie. I stayed because I fell in love with the city.

  Jamie was an employee of the London arm of a Dutch investment bank, and a breed I normally went out of my way to avoid. I hated brash City types, with their loud voices, overconfident manner, and constant bragging about the size of everything from their annual bonuses to their cocks. But while the other blokes in his party were trying to grope my bum or stare down my cleavage as I served their meal, he was quieter, politer—and more than passably cute. At the end of the evening, he contrived to slip me his mobile phone number on the back of his business card, telling me he’d like to see me again. Three weeks after our first date, he told me he’d been seconded to the bank’s headquarters in Amsterdam for six months, then asked me to move over there with him. It was a stupidly impulsive reaction on his part—and an equally impulsive one on mine to agree. But I was so sure it would work out that I packed in my waitressing job and gave my landlord notice on the flat I rented.

  And it did work out. The bank had a ground-floor apartment on the Prinsengracht canal, a few minutes’ walk from Jamie’s new office and near to the Jordaan, the warren of streets packed with artsy-crafty little shops and brown cafés that were a magnet for tourists. It was quiet and tastefully decorated, with everything a tired businessman would need to entertain himself at the end of a long day, including a wall-mounted plasma screen TV, top-of-the-range sound system, and a power shower more than big enough for Jamie and me to use together. With no need to contribute to anything but our food bills, I was as close as I would ever come to being a kept woman, and I used the time I had to my advantage, roaming the canals with my camera. I had been trying to make a career in photography, which was what I had studied at art college, and this seemed like the ideal opportunity to build up a portfolio of work. I took black-and-white shots of everything from the queue of tourists snaking ’round the block as they waited to get into Anne Frank’s house to a couple cycling hand in hand by the side of the canal, to one of the window girls taking a cigarette break, lounging against a wall in her trashy lingerie and thigh-boots.