The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 5 (54 page)

It took me twenty minutes. The desk gave me the room and I walked in on the new twenty-something mega-producer in Hollywood, with his razor-wire moussed hair, the steel-toed boots, and a handsome sneer that was supposed to make men respect him and women flush with giddiness.

We stared at each other for a minute. He started telling me all about the Mafia show and somewhere after the fourth time he said “goombah” I stopped listening.

I said, “Can I borrow your phone?”

Maybe he was struck by my audacity. He gave a self-serving grin and said, “Sure.”

I called Monty and said, “Monty, I’m not coming back. I’m out of this game.”

“But. . . but – wait! What about the movie?”

“Zypho and his love tentacles are going into retirement. See you around.”

“You can’t! Wait, let’s talk . . .!”

I clicked off, handed the kid his phone back, and decided to sit in Central Park for the rest of the afternoon. I had nowhere to go, but I didn’t mind. I was back in control.

Homemade hummus served with julienned red peppers, imported olives, and creamy feta-tahini dip.

Our house special – the Frozatini – made with Absolut Citron, triple sec, cranberry juice, and fresh lime juice frozen and blended to perfection. Served in a tall glass with a twist.

Today’s special: freshly prepared chicken soup with penne, vegetables, and Provençal spices.

Banana ice cream with a swirl of dark chocolate fudge, served with chocolate sauce and fresh whipped cream.

Slicing a red pepper has always been erotic for me. When I make the first cut, exposing the pepper’s flesh to the air and revealing the bulky bundle of seeds inside, I tingle a little. Then, pulling its progeny from itself and slicing away the white meaty under-flesh. Seeing the clean edges where the knife has driven, leaving behind only sweet crispness.

I arrange the sliced peppers and olives carefully on the plate. With each incision, each cut, I think of your face, the concentration in your eyes as you bend over me, the sharp curve of your mouth when you smile.

I am already hungry.

With my fluttering 50s apron and slutty pink heels, I feel like Wally Cleaver’s wet dream. As you directed me to, I tie my hair up high with pink ribbons and attach my fetter chains to my ankles. Beneath the apron I am bare, my nipples hard against the chiffon and against my hand as I brush my fingers over them, making them fat and juicy for my Master.

In the kitchen, everything is prepared so that I can serve you perfectly. I slice the limes and put the ingredients in the blender. As I mix our drinks, I feel the butterflies winging through me, knowing that soon I will be caught with my ass exposed and filled, my nipples hard, my cunt wet and hot. A drop of come escapes from me and I kneel hurriedly to clean it up, my face flushed with shame. I have twenty minutes before you’ll be home. My chains tinkle and sway as I make my way to the bathroom to complete my final task.

The black dildo is already waiting for me. I kneel on the tiles, my pussy wet, my body willing despite the fear churning through me. Bent over, I stroke my asshole, readying it. With a nervous thrill, I remember the sound of your voice this morning as you whispered your instructions, your fingers prying my cunt open, your eyes flashing and dark.

I whimper as I work the dildo slowly into my ass, the cool tiles soothing my hot face. I have never felt like such a slut, my legs spread and my ass high in the air. There is no one to see, but I know that you are watching me in your mind’s eye, seeing me bite my lip as I struggle, pushing the thick cock deeper inside. The heat of shame brings longing between my legs, my cunt swollen and hungry, and I almost touch myself before I remember that I am not allowed; that I feel pleasure only at the will of my Master. I want it so much that I am almost in tears as I force the huge cock in, my body stretching to take this piece of you that you have left for me.

Swaying as I stand, I feel a breeze whisper across my cunt and almost come right there. I clutch the sink to steady myself, willing my knees not to buckle. When I move, I feel the thick cock inside, and I imagine you shoving it deeper, pushing me down into my slave cushion.

When you open the door I am kneeling with your drink between my chained hands. My fingers and toes are tingling, my ass full and hot. Without even glancing at me you take the drink and unzip your pants. Put your cock in my mouth. I suckle, greedy to taste your velvet on my tongue. You sigh a little and I suck harder, licking and nipping, already so excited that my face contorts and my body arches up towards yours.

You pull away and I can feel you watching me, regarding me with the cool detachment that covers you when you Master me. Your voice is gentle steel. “You have a giant, black dildo stuffed in your ass,” you say slowly, with precision. “Why is that, little cunt?”

Hot pain splashes across my face. I can feel the finger marks where you’ve slapped me for not responding soon enough.

“I asked you a question, cunt. Why do you have a black dildo in your ass?”

My cunt floods, my face reddens, but this time I respond tentatively.

“Because it pleases Master?”

“Wrong,” you say calmly. “Slave has a dildo up her ass because slave likes to be degraded and humiliated. Because slave needs to be used this way.”

We both know that you’re right, and I moan with the trueness of it, trembling beneath your gaze. You kneel over me and hold the base of the dildo, waiting for my answer.

With the sound of your voice, still steady, I feel myself fall, reaching towards the hot ocean that threatens to drown us both.

“Yes, Master,” I gasp, and you start pumping the cock into my ass. I twitch and whimper. My tongue lolls out of my mouth as I pant beneath your touch.

“Such a good girl,” you purr, “my sweet slave, come for me, little slave, with your Master’s cock in you,” and that’s all it takes. I’m grunting and pushing my ass against your hand, my come spraying onto the cushion and dripping down my legs, and I’m begging – “Take me apart, Master, fuck me” – the words twisting out of me as I come. It’s another kind of coming, the filth that I speak, as cathartic and healing as the pain that you so carefully inflict.

When I finally rest beneath you, you reinsert the dildo. You stroke my hair and face. “Now drink your cocktail, little one, while I get you your dinner.” Your smile is so bright and true that I find myself brushing away tears as I settle onto my pillow to wait.

My slave is so beautiful, kneeling in front of me, but I try not to let her know it. I just take the drink and give her my cock to suck, her face wild, her hands fluttering to stroke my thighs and balls. I let her suck for awhile, knowing the pleasure it brings her, before moving my attention to the fat dildo she has in her ass, the base peeking out shyly.

She jumps a little when I address her, lost as she is in the moment. I can tell how uncomfortable she is, and yet how excited, how proud she is to be owned this way and to do as I bid her. I pitch my voice as softly as I can while I torment her with hard truths about herself, watching her wriggle and writhe in dismay. Funny that this foreign thing, this plastic device, could have such power, and yet we are both swept away by it.

I grab the dildo, forcing it into her again and again as she cries out beneath me. Her ass is hungry and offers no resistance; as I fuck her I listen to her mews of delight and feel almost dizzy with my own lust. I want to put my cock there, instead, and spurt my come into my slave, my darling girl, my most precious possession.

When she starts to come, when her whispers become grunts, I am ready. She doesn’t see the bowl I slip under her, so that her boy-come squirts into it hot and slick. She bucks and squirms, her face glorious and her mouth making words she hardly knows she speaks, begging to be fucked and filled, taken and torn. The words twist in her mouth, fierce and enraged with her need. She gives a final gasp and I whisk the bowl out of her sight.

Once she is still and calm, I fill her back up with the black cock, so that she will remember what she is, and I touch her cheek, so that she will remember whom she belongs to. Before I go to get her dinner, I rub her own come into her hair, delighting at the feel of it in her curls.

When I bring the dog bowl out, her eyes widen, but she knows not to speak. She casts her eyes down at the floor. I move slowly, aware that she is dying to know what is in the bowl, what she will eat at my command. I sense her relief when she smells it.

“Now, slave, I know that my bitch in heat likes meat, so I went out and got the best, yummiest dinner that I could for my beloved puppy.”

As soon as she relaxes, I bring the other bowl out from behind my back.

“But if you don’t eat it all, you’ll have this instead.”

I know she remembers the taste of her own come and doesn’t like the overwhelming tang of it.

“Maybe I should mix it in for you,” I mock, “let you taste your own filth.”

She shakes her head violently, eyes closed tight, but obediently opens her mouth for me.

I set the bowl in front of her and wait for her to notice that there is no spoon. She looks up at me for instruction. The trust in her electric eyes feeds me.

“Yes,” I say, “that’s a good girl. Go ahead and eat, sweetest bitch,” and she bends over the dish, her small pink tongue darting out to lap at the soup.

“Do you like your dinner, pet?” She nods so sweetly that I almost lose control and take her into my arms.

She slurps at her food the way I like her to, puppy-dog noises deep in her throat, and I can see the freedom shining on her face as she transforms into my favorite animal. With her tongue out and eyes closed she looks like she does when she comes, messy and wild. I move around to finger her and her sopping cunt betrays her need.

As I fuck her with my hand I feel her concentration waver, so I shove her face back into her bowl – “Keep eating, little bitch, and maybe Master will let puppy come.” A shudder works its way through her body as she crouches over her bowl. She is wet and smooth, warm on my fingers, and she begins to thrust backwards as she laps, moans escaping her mouth as she eats. It doesn’t take long for my little puppy to writhe and twist under me, making a mess on the floor, her juices spilling out hot and salty.

“I think puppy’s all done,” I tell her. Even as she quivers I can feel her acceptance, her innate awareness of what will come next. “Come over here and clean up this mess you made.”

She clatters around quickly, her chains swinging against the floor.

“Go ahead, little bitch,” I say, “lick it all up.”

My puppy does a good job, gets every drop, and my cock throbs, the ache to be fucking her and holding her and kissing her, deep in my chest. The dildo is still in her ass and I give it a little shove to keep her balanced on the edge of arousal. I feel her sharp intake of breath – she already needs to come again.

It is this that I so cherish, these dark places where we are united in our trust and fear. I always guide our steps so that neither of us will go too far or fear that we will fall. She knows that I will always be there to catch her gently and bring her safely home.

Crouching on her pillow she is so calm and radiant that I almost forget to breathe.

“I was going to feed you the rest, my darling slave, but we need to do something else, instead. Are you ready?”

With her nod, I reach for her gratefully, pulling her towards me so that I can kiss her, and it’s only moments before I am inside her, my cock pressing against her warm flesh. She shrieks and moans. As I fuck her harder I can feel the other cock buried deep inside. I find it with one hand and pump it lightly into her, drawing my cocks in and out of her, feeling the energy that sparks and flickers between us.

“Come for me, little angel, come for me, slave, come for me, come for me.” I repeat it like the mantra we share as I move with her, her body warm and sweet. “Come for me, my bitch, my slut, my little girl, my cunt,” – and we growl and gasp, breathing together, wild animals howling in the twilight.

When her come erupts out of her, gushing around my balls, I feel myself let go. I am not her Master any more, just her lover making my own sounds into her mouth as I thrust and moan, tumbling into the ocean that only she brings me.

After we have tangled together on the floor, our come spilled and shared, I sit in my chair and my slave kneels happily, chained at my feet. I stroke her hair and she rests her head on my knee with a sigh.

I think about how she will look, snuggled next to me on the floor, her eyes closed tight as she tastes the ice cream, licking the sweet coldness from the spoon. Tilting her head up to me, waiting for the next bite. I know how much she will delight obeying me, how much I will delight in watching her face. I know that alone we will always be hungry, and that together we will always be full.

These are my screwed up thoughts about my sex life and other exaggerations. In college, I watched this guy squeezing his zit on his neck in my computer class. It was repulsive and yet fascinating at the same time. I could not look away. He wasn’t a bad looking guy either, almost fuckable, except for the craters. The eruption was like a grand finale to his finger ballet, and I almost applauded. As I watched him wipe off the discharge on his jeans, I realized I hadn’t even heard what the teacher had said for the last ten minutes, which was a bad thing because she had just given us our instructions for our final exam.

Two years later, I came across this same guy in a redneck bar, which overlooked the lake. It was a rough sort of place, and I was there by myself, nursing a long neck beer. I was thankful I wasn’t at home with my mom and adolescent brother, eating Hamburger Helper and listening to her wax poetic about how wonderful the intern girls were in her office. When she did this, she reminded me of a husband who didn’t have a clue that his poor wife might not want to hear about the strippers and waitresses he recently flirted with. It made you wonder if they were so great what were you? Chopped liver?