Best Women's Erotica 2011 (16 page)

“Did you move my hair dryer?”

“Of course not.” I have short hair. I let my curls dry naturally. I’d have no need to touch her styling tools.

“Did you take my shoes?”

“Why would I take your shoes? We don’t even wear the same
style.” Lia was all about sky-high heels, while I favored battered motorcycle boots.

She was always accusatory, and finally, I simply stopped talking to her.

Our other roommate, Vincent, didn’t like the behavior. “You’re not going to speak?”

I shrugged.

“To me, too?”

“Well, you’re fucking her, so you’re going to take her side, aren’t you?”

That was actually my biggest problem. Lia had moved in with the two of us. And in a week, she and Vince had started up a relationship. They fucked on the kitchen table, on the sofa, in the shower. I hadn’t wanted to look too hard at what was annoying me the most—because I think if I had, I’d have seen such a strong streak of jealousy in me that I wouldn’t have been able to drown the emerald monster in my beer.

Vincent’s eyes took on a strange glow, and he simply patted me on the head as if I were a stray dog and walked out of the kitchen. I sighed and grabbed another Heineken. So it was only three p.m. It was five o’clock somewhere.

That night, Vince came into my room. I was wearing my headset so I wouldn’t have to listen to the two of them howl, and I was typing on my computer. I didn’t look up. I didn’t even acknowledge his presence until he ran his thumb over my iPod and shut down my volume. The move was strangely erotic. I could imagine his thumb running just that softly over my clit.

“What’s up?”

That same look was in his eyes. Christ, he was so goddamn handsome. Why did he have to look like that? Why did he have to be so doable and go for her instead of me?

“I want to apologize.”

Now, I settled back in my chair. I was intrigued. “For what?”

“For Lia’s behavior.”

“Shouldn’t she be the one to apologize?”

“She will. I assure you. But I have to say, I didn’t stop her from treating you badly. She’s been rude and inconsiderate and, you know, bitchy. But she’s going to pay for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, tonight, you’re going to listen to me punishing her.”

Had I been mildly interested before? If I had suddenly turned into a cartoon, my eyes would have bugged out of my head and my tongue would have lolled between my lips. In reality, I simply leaned forward, as if quietly intrigued.

Our bedrooms were connected to a bathroom. Vincent went to the wall and opened the adjoining door. Then he walked through the small tiled space and cracked the door that led to his room.

“You can stand in the bathroom. Sit on the counter. Press your face to the slit. Whatever you want. You’ll be able to eavesdrop on Lia’s discipline.”

I was instantly wet. I couldn’t tell if Vincent knew, but I felt the dampness in my panties. I crossed my legs, and Vincent smiled.

“Of course, there’ll be a payment involved.”

“What do you mean?” Did he expect me to give him money?

“Tomorrow night, she’ll get to hear you.”

“Get to hear me what?”

“Get to hear you cry.”

My thoughts felt molasses slow, dark and thick. “What are you talking about?”

His lips curled into a smile. He seemed to appreciate my feistiness. In a very patient tone he said, “Tomorrow night, Lia will
get to listen to me punishing you. I’m going to put you over my lap and turn your pale cheeks the color of a red, velvety rose.”

How had he guessed that at night I fantasized about a man spanking me? That the thought of handcuffs turned me on? That the image of a dominant man in control was all I ever needed to get off…? Vincent’s eyes were such a pretty green. I stared at him and imagined him doing all those things to me. But then I remembered what he’d proposed. The thought of her getting pleasure from my pain made me shake my head.

“No way.”

Vincent laughed, which incensed me.

“No fucking way,” I repeated, adding the expletive to let him know my feelings. I was so pissed at her. We’d been friends. There was no way on earth I was going to let her enjoy the sound of her boyfriend spanking me. What did he think I was? A tool?

“You’re going to change your mind,” he said.

“What makes you think I’d let you do that to me?”

“Same reason she’s going to let me do it to her. You want it.” And then he left the room.

Well, fuck him. I slammed the door to the bathroom. Let them have their own kinky little spank fest. I would have no part of it. I put my headset back on and returned to my typing. I’d been hired to abridge an ancient Chinese morality fable, and I knew that I could easily lose myself in my work. At least, I could until the sound of Lia crying out reached me even through the earphones. First, I turned up the volume. Come on, Anthony. You and your Peppers have more power than a bitchy blonde, don’t you? I got closer to the computer. I continued nipping and tucking—a word here, a line there. I had to cut nearly a third of the book—but my first pass was in slow, steady spanks. I mean, slices. Fucking hell.

Her cries increased in volume. I responded by turning my sound up louder. I could feel the rhythm in my core.

But then the song ended. And before the next one started up, I could hear her. I let my thumb caress the volume control. I thought of Vincent’s big hands. I turned off the iPod.

Would they know if I moved into the bathroom, if I got closer so I could really hear and maybe see? They couldn’t possibly. I stood and walked as quietly as I’d ever walked before across the floor. The sounds in the other room didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t change in any way. Silently, I opened the door to the bathroom and stepped inside. The noises were louder now—sobs and sighs. I stood entirely still. Had they heard me? Did they know I had given up all sense of decorum and headed into no-man’s-land?

If anything, the sound of Lia’s cries upped in intensity. There was no way either one of them could have heard my stockinged footsteps.

Still, I held my breath as I tiptoed my way across the cold tiled floor then aligned my face with the crack in the door and peered inside. There were candles. Everywhere. Who knew Vincent was so romantic? That fact made me hate Lia even more. Fat ivory candles burned on the windowsill. Twisted black spirals flickered on the dresser. Candlelight provided the only illumination in the room—but it was enough. Enough for me to see…

My thighs clenched involuntarily. I felt a jolt of arousal zing through me. I’d never watched anyone fuck before. Never eavesdropped. Never peeked. No, they weren’t fucking—not yet, anyway. But what they were doing was definitely a turn-on.

Vincent had Lia over his lap, and he was punishing her sweet, sassy ass with a paddle. I’d seen that ass swish down the hallway. I had seen it when she’d bent over to unload the laundry, seen it when she went prancing out the door in a far-too-short,
schoolgirl skirt, which I now saw was in a crumpled ball on the floor. But this was my favorite time. Because he was wielding that paddle with finesse, and Lia continued to cry out and kick her heels and pound her fists uselessly in protest. Or mock protest. I wondered if she could have gotten free if she had tried hard enough. But then I saw Vincent grimace and grab both of her hands in one of his. He pinned her wrists neatly at the small of her back and then let go a volley of blows on her hindquarters.

Damn. That must have hurt.

I swallowed hard, and then I did something completely unexpected—to me, anyway. I put one hand down under the waistband of my yoga pants, and I touched my clit. Just touched it, mind you. I didn’t rub. I didn’t press. I simply set my middle finger right against my clit and watched.

Vincent discarded the paddle on the bed and lifted Lia in his arms. Was he going to console her? Was he going to kiss away her tears? No. He moved her so that she was right in the center of their bed, and he picked up a pair of handcuffs.

Holy hell. This was getting better by the second; at least for me, if not Lia. Because she looked a bit scared as Vincent moved on to bind her ankles to the footboard. I was starting to really enjoy myself. But then a thought occurred to me. He had told me that tonight I could listen to Lia, and tomorrow night… I pushed that thought out of my head. There was no way he could make me. No way they could force me…not if I didn’t want them to.

And yet, I was starting to change my mind about that, because as I watched, Vincent stripped out of his clothes. Oh, he was so handsome—too handsome. I stared as he opened up a bottle of lube and poured a puddle into his palm. Lia began to strain against the bindings. I guess she’d thought he was simply going to fuck her. Vincent clearly had his own ideas.

“If you fight, things will go worse for you,” he said.

The finger, which had only been resting on my clit, began to make slow circles, as if with a mind of its own. I wasn’t telling myself to make those circles. I was doing no instructing at all.

I watched, mesmerized, as Vincent jacked his hand up and down his cock, getting the head and shaft all wet with the lube. Then he spread Lia’s asscheeks and ran his fingertips between them.

“No…” she murmured.

“Yes…” he responded.

I watched, swallowing hard, as Vincent got behind her on the bed and used both hands now to spread her asscheeks wide apart—as he pushed the head of his cock into what I could only guess was her tight little asshole.

Lia cried out. Vincent made soothing noises to her under his breath. I imagined him fucking me like that, envisioned him putting me over his lap and spanking my ass and then preparing me just as he was preparing her, and then… Oh, god, I was going to come. I was. Right there in the bathroom, no better than any other peeping Tom. I shut my eyes. I listened to her whimper, and I let myself go.

Quietly, as quietly as I possibly could, I slipped back to my room.

I was still telling myself that they didn’t have to know what I’d done, that there was no way they could force me to reciprocate.

But I didn’t believe me. I’ve never been a good liar.

 

In the morning, I didn’t leave my bed. I waited for both of my roommates to get dressed, make coffee and head off to their respective offices. Then I tiptoed my way down the hall to snag a cup of joe for myself. I was surprised by what I saw on the kitchen table.

A schoolgirl skirt.

Lia’s schoolgirl skirt.

Pinned to the hem was a note:

What did that mean? Well, I knew what it meant. Put on the skirt if I wanted to have what happened to Lia happen to me. And I did. Sort of. I wanted Vincent to do all those naughty, nasty things to me. But I didn’t want Lia to have the pleasure of watching. So I was torn. And what if the skirt didn’t fit me?

I held up the red-and-black plaid. The hem reached only the tops of my thighs. This was barely long enough to be called a mini.

It wouldn’t hurt to try on the skirt. That wasn’t agreeing to anything. Nobody was home. I stripped off my yoga pants and slid on the skirt, buttoned the side. The skirt seemed even shorter once I had it on. But it fit.

I was about to take the thing off again, when I had second thoughts. Nobody would know if I wore the skirt for a little while. Nobody would know if I went into my bedroom, grabbed my vibrator and made myself come while I had the skirt on. Who would tell Vincent? The skirt? My dildo?

If I couldn’t participate in their little ménage à fuck, I could at least get off at the thought. I went to the bedroom and snagged my toy from the bedside table. With images from the previous night still fresh in my mind, I sprawled on the bed and started to touch myself. I worked slowly, not turning on the vibrator at first, just running the toy up and down between my legs, over my panties, pressing hard on my clit.

Finally, I turned on the motor and slid aside my panties. Oh, god, that felt good. The fabric of the skirt was a little scratchy against my bare thighs, and for some reason, I liked that. There was sex in this skirt. I thought of Lia wearing the naughty outfit.
I thought of the way she’d looked when Vincent had punished her. I imagined being the one over his lap, feeling his hand drag up the hem, feeling his palm on my ass. I…

“Thought so.”

Jesus Christ.

Vincent was standing in the doorway of my bedroom. At first, I tried to feign indignation. But indignation—or anything else, for that matter—is a difficult emotion to slip into when you are spread-eagled on your bed with a toy in your twat.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

I stared at him and swallowed hard. I didn’t think I could make myself come while he was watching. And yet I didn’t think I could stop myself from coming regardless of who was watching. Even if that who turned out to be Lia, who stepped into the doorway next to him.

Damn.

“Keep going,” Lia said softly. “You look so pretty.”

What were they doing back? They were supposed to be at work! Lia took a step into the room, and I just stared. Was she going to say something snide, like always? Was she going to tell me that I wasn’t handling the vibrator correctly?

No, she sat on the edge of the bed and started to stroke my legs. I stared at her. Sure, she was beautiful. I’d always thought so. But the last few months had made her ugly in my mind. Such a know-it-all. And so bossy. Yet she wasn’t being bossy now, she was being helpful, her fingers running up and down my inner thighs.

“Why don’t you let Lia work the vibrator?”

That was Vincent. He was being helpful, too.

“I don’t think you should let her come yet,” Lia said, as if I’d agreed to something. As if we were all on the same page. “I think you should spank her first. She is wearing my skirt after all.”