The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 18: 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women

How To Use A Guy In Ten Days

A Friend in Need

Jack and Blue - Sexual Desires

Examining the Examiner

Boldly Rocked

Help in the Studio

A Private Yoga Lesson

A Cougar Finding Her Cub

Below Deck

An Unconventional Attraction

Love Online

The Ultimate

Erotic Short Story Collection 18

11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women

***
As a Special Gift for buying this collection you are entitled to
EIGHT GREAT FREE EROTICA BOOKS
not related to this one and not available for purchase anywhere PLUS
incredible deals
on new books and collections! For information on where to get all this — instantly and without any cost whatsoever — please see the last page of this book, right after the 11th story ends
***

Disclaimer:
The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and is intended for those over the age of 18 only.

***

by
Kim Wilkerson

'This is the driest summer ever,' moaned Lauren, stretched out on her sun-bed.

'I cannot believe how much you Brits complain. You crack jokes about having a three day summer with continual rain and bad weather, but now you're unhappy because it's too dry,' said Tory half-joking.

'I didn't mean dry as in the weather.'

Tory noticed her friend's glass of chilled white wine was practically overflowing.

'Honey it's not as if you're short on the wine either,' noted Tory.

'I know that. I wasn't hinting for a refill.'

'Then why whinge? The sun is out, the weather's warm, we're sitting in my wonderful garden topping up our tans, with a couple of trashy magazines and enjoying wine time.'

'I mean dry as in,' Lauren paused, 'it's not been a summer of love has it?'

Tory considered the question.

'You're right. A year from now we won't be boasting or reminiscing over this year's grand passion.'

'Hence it's been the driest summer ever.'

'Cobwebs downstairs?' teased Tory.

'I think my hymen's grown over,' laughed Lauren.

'Summer's not summer unless there's nookie involved.'

'We couldn't even afford to go abroad for a girly break this year. We've done nothing. We wasted our summer,' declared Lauren.

'Speak for yourself,' muttered Tory.

'Excuse me?'

'I said speak for yourself.'

'Let me get this straight; we're hurtling towards thirty and you don't deem a sexless summer as a sad state of affairs?' quizzed Lauren.

'I didn't say that. I said speak for yourself. Personally, I've not had a completely dry summer.'

'How come I didn't know about this?'

'Oh Lauren, we aren't joined at the hip. Everyone gets horny when the sun's out.'

'But not everyone gets to have sex. Clearly I don't, but you have?'

'It's not difficult. We're women. Men are far less discerning than women. It's much easier for a girl to get laid than a guy. We're choosy and men have to work to get into our pants. Guys think with their dicks. All we have to do is rub it like a magic lamp and it's a sausage shower.'

'You are incredibly Australian at times. How crass!' berated Lauren.

'Oh come on. You're the one all hot and bothered, waiting for a meat thermometer to rise.'

'Shut up, Tory!'

'Wow I didn't realise how grumpy you got when you aren't getting any,' murmured Tory, returning to her magazine as she let her skin bronze.

They sat in companionable silence. Despite their sniping, the two were close and their arguments were routine to spice up the friendship.

Lauren's curiosity was peaked, dis-enabling her from exerting the silent treatment she'd intended to project on Tory.

'You honestly think it's easy to find a guy to have sex with?'

Tory smirked, pleased Lauren had broken the tension. She detested ill-feelings regarding her best friend.

'I honestly do. Come on, look at me; I'm a single mother, I live with my mum and grandmother and even I'm getting a little something something.'

'Tory you're not from the hood. Lose the ghetto language.'

'It's because I'm hip and down with the kids that I'm able to obtain fresh meat.'

'How fresh is fresh?' asked Lauren slyly.

'Twenty-one.'

'Are you kidding me? You're twenty-nine.'

'Twenty-nine, two stone overweight with a toddler and estranged husband,' confessed Tory self-depreciatingly.

Lauren scanned her friend fondly. Tory was voluptuous not plump. Her size enhanced her hour glass figure. Irrespective of the extra weight she carried, her face was stunning with high cheekbones, dark brown eyes and wavy voluminous blonde hair. In her swim-suit with a light golden tan she was a gorgeous image of womanhood.'

'How has this happened? You are a single mum and you do live with your mother and grand-ma'

'He's a bingo caller.'

'Shut up!' Lauren was unable to resist mocking her.

'Wednesday night is bingo night. Mum looks after bubba and I take Grandma to the bingo. I can't drive so we share a coach with a bunch of other geriatrics – all riddled with mobility issues. Once all the games are called, I park Grandma in the queue with the oldies. While the coach driver lowers and raises the ramps to get every wheelchair on board, I nip back in for a quickie with the bingo caller. He's twenty-one and quick to cum. Once done I'm back out to board the coach to take Granny home. Simple.'

'You make the whole thing sound like a piece of cake,' whined Lauren.

'That's because it is. We've got ten days of summer left, I bet you can get laid in that time. I bet I could.'

'You're already in with the bingo caller.'

'I bet I could get a new man in ten days – if it was a one night stand.'

'Are you suggesting a girls night out?'

Lauren's eyes sparkled at the idea of an evening of drinking and dancing.

'No, I'm suggesting you and I can get laid in ten days,' asserted Tory.

'Where am I going to have the potential to meet a guy if we don't go to a pub or a club or something?'

'Be creative.'

'That's ridiculous. You're clearly not willing to help me have a summer fling,' sulked Lauren.

'I am. I'm trying to encourage self confidence. You're pretty Lauren. You can get a guy without any effort. I'm teaching you to think out of the box. Explore new ideas for sex.'

'If I name any location, you truly believe you could find a man there to bed?'

'Not only that. I'll find the guy in whatever location you give me and fuck him there too.'

Lauren couldn't help but giggle at Tory's outrageous bragging.

'Okay, prove it,' proposed Lauren.

'What's in it for me though?'

'Sex.'

'Yeah but I'm already getting that,' reminded Tory.

'If you go ahead with it, I'll do the same; you can choose the location for me.'

'Deal.'

The girls shook hands, grinning competitively at each other.

***

Lauren may have thought she'd given Tory an ambitious spot by choosing a supermarket but Tory was already confident she'd walk the test.

Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays were out – they were days when single people were looking for sex in traditional social environments tailored to the weekend crowds. Thursday was a risky choice – serious clubbers considered it the early start to the weekend. Wednesday was bingo – she didn't want to let her gran down, nor did she want to miss out on sex with her toy-boy bingo caller. Tory was only left with Monday and Tuesday as her sex shopping days.

She crossed out Monday as a potential opportunity. Hard-core social animals would let their weekend antics spillover into Monday night. Thus people shopping on a Monday were more likely to be exhausted from the weekend to even consider sex. It had to be a Tuesday. Tory figured no one ever did anything on a Tuesday, making people less inclined to turn down a sexual invitation. Boredom alone would drive them to accept the brazen Australian's offer.

She removed the baby seat from her tiny red Volkswagen. It may not be cool to have four generations of single women living under the same roof, but it had its perks.

'Grandma, you happy to look after Lucy while I go to the shops.'

The tone suggested an order; not a request.

'How long will you be out for?' asked her Grandmother suspiciously.

Tory checked her watch. It was 9.00pm.

'Tomorrow morning.'

She caught her Grandmother's eyebrows rising.

'What on earth is going to take you twelve hours to shop for?'

'The product's not easy to locate,' said Tory honestly.

'Don't be such a stupid girl. The super-size supermarket on Lee High Road sells everything; you'll be fine there – it won't take long. I'll babysit my little princess until you're back.'

'Thanks Gran, you're the best,' said Tory kissing her cheek affectionately.

The outfit Tory selected required a degree of consideration. It couldn't be over the top glamorous or she'd look like a high-class hooker. Dressing down would have her appear as a dowdy, overweight, uneducated, young single mum.

She slipped into skin tight black jeans and an oversized men's long white dress shirt. In her leather boots, Tory's reflection in the mirror screamed single, successful and sexy.

Parking her car in a bay that was a substantial walk from the front entrance, she grabbed a trolley to set to work. Operation 'Supermarket Sex' didn't get off to a thrilling start though.

Tory had timed her arrival perfectly. By 9pm the supermarket was free from families and regular shoppers. She'd hoped it'd be full of desperate lonely single people buying microwave meals for one, but grimaced as she concluded that the majority of patrons were youthful exuberant small groups of flat-sharing friends shopping for inexpensive snacks and an abundance of alcohol.

Tory lent on her trolley, wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles. She remembered reading a dating article claiming the products in a trolley spoke volumes about an individual. Faking a healthy, wholesome body conscious façade she lurked round the fresh fruit and vegetable section.

After ninety minutes of examining the ripeness of avocados and perusing the variety of pre-prepared salads, she realised her permanently empty trolley conveyed the presence of a homeless person hoping to find warmth and shelter in the supermarket before the impending ejection to sleep outdoors.

To ease the humiliation, seeing the supermarket's tiny café was shutting she went to get a cup of coffee for a break. After the café closed there'd be no seats left and her high heels were already taking their toll on her heels. Pouting, she sipped her rancid coffee that had been left for hours stewing on a hot plate. It tasted like bracken.

'Not quite Starbucks is it?' aired a voice behind her.

She swung round in her plastic chair. He was dressed in a suit, not tailored but not cheap or mass produced. He had a middle-class aura. Squeezed in the table behind her, he appeared tall and slim. Friendliness was not commonplace in London, leading Tory to perceive his conversational pleasantry as a good sign. In her fifteen years in London, Tory had learnt no Englishman would initiate a conversation with a woman he found unattractive.

Game on.

The best part of originating from 'Down Under' was that Australians were accepted as being unapologetically socially inept, forward, outright and outspoken.

'Mind if I join you,' she asked, sitting opposite him not needing an answer.

He shook his head.

'You're Australian right?'

'How'd you guess?'

'Your accent. Your attitude. I went there in my gap year but that was way too many years ago.'