The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (61 page)

“Do you have a friend for Jessica?”

“Oh, yes,” he says apologetically. Mira obviously calls the shots in this relationship. He leaves the room and comes back with a box. Mira opens it. It’s a very realistic
dildo, the kind with veins and rubber testicles dangling down. She grins at me. “It’s company policy to give these guys a name. What shall we call yours?”

I’m at a loss for words and blushing furiously. “Henry,” I murmur. It’s my boyfriend’s name.

“Okay, Henry,” she says cheerily to the obscene rubber tool. “Wanna go for a ride with your pal Jessica?”

I almost have to laugh. Mira is strapping “Henry” onto the barrel. Just then I remember where I’ve seen these things before. Long ago in my older sister’s women’s
erotica magazine there was an ad for something like this, except in the picture there was a woman straddling the barrel, her head thrown back in ecstasy. The ad said you could buy your own device
or get an instructional video. I always thought I’d like to try one or at least see that video, but of course I didn’t have the nerve to order such a thing in the mail with my mum
asking questions.

“We call this our ‘horsie’,” Mira says with a wicked smile. “It’s a crucial part of mastering the Technique, which, of course, works best when the female is
superior.” The president clears his throat nervously.

Mira helps me onto the “horsie”, I’m already quite wet and slide right down onto the saddle. “Henry” is just the right size for me, very close to my boyfriend who
is about six inches. I realize that the front area, around my clit, has a patch of furry material, like a man’s pubic hair. In spite of myself I start grinding against it.

“Good, good,” says Mira. “It looks like our Jessica has had a little riding practice before.”

Bashfully, I murmur a yes.

She reaches under the horsie and flips a switch. A small screen at the centre of the handlebars lights up. “This gives you your pressure reading. Squeeze those pussy muscles as hard as you
can.”

Again I try my best. A feeble “two point one” appears on the screen.

“For the Technique, you need at least a ten,” Mira says and pats my naked buttocks, her hand lingering there a bit too long. “But you’ll make it, my girl. Here’s
what we do. Every time I clap my hands, you squeeze. At the same time you ride up and down, very slowly.”

She claps her hands and I squeeze. This time the reading’s a little higher. She claps again and keeps clapping at a steady rhythm, although sometimes it’s faster and sometimes slow
and lazy. Before long I’m getting into it, and I imagine each clap is her hand coming down on my arse like a crop, urging me on.

“Concentrate, Jessica. Make those numbers go higher.”

I try, but it’s difficult and suddenly I’m coming and rocking on the horsie as I watch the meter numbers flutter with my contractions. The most I get is a lousy three point two.

But, as the president predicted, I am a dedicated student. I come to the studio every evening and even on weekends to practise on the horsie for hours. Within a few months I’m quite the
accomplished equestrian and doing tens on a regular basis. After I carry off the Technique quite successfully on the president himself, Mira says I’m ready to go out on the job.

Actually the first part of the assignment is more of the same – practising on the horsie with Henry attached – but, this time, there’s a client in the office outside. I’m
told to leave the door open and make sure I have myself a very good time, which I do. Then, when a special signal light goes on, I get up, dress in a skimpy skirt and midriff top – no
underwear – and walk through the office.

That’s when the president invites me along to dinner. He always takes clients to dinner when they’re in the middle of important financial negotiations. I look over at the client and
smile happily as I accept the invitation. The poor guy is red in the face and has a huge boner because, of course, he’s been watching and listening to my workout in the next room instead of
paying attention to the numbers. After dinner we all go back to the office to continue negotiations, but this time I sit on the edge of the president’s desk, with my legs open just enough to
fill the room with my natural perfume and give the client a view of my completely shaved twat. By now the guy’s sweating and trembling and he’ll sign anything to get me back to his
hotel. Both the president and I have indicated I’m up for a very personal celebration when the deal is done. Sometimes in my fantasy I take the client back to the hotel and ride him until
he’s a boneless blob of Jell-O on that bed, babbling about how I’m the most amazing fuck of his life. But usually I end up coming just as the guy takes the pen to sign, and he’s
gulping and his eyes are darting over at my bald pussy practically hanging out of my skirt and I can tell he wants me more than anything, even all the money in the world.

I think it’s interesting that my fantasies start out with me being all shy and repressed, but as I get turned on, I take control and get the better of snooty guys in white coats and
business suits. It’s a form of pussy power, I suppose. I’d say in spite of the shame my parents made me feel about my sexuality, it’s become a very positive force in my marriage.
My husband and I have a great relationship, and we treat each other as equals. It’s different out in the real world, though. I don’t think women have an equal share of power in public
life yet, but that’s a nice fantasy to have, too.

Jayden (Hancock, USA)

The lake wasn’t crowded that day, even though the temperature hovered around ninety. And it was humid – a steamy, dripping scorcher of a day when the only thing
that mattered was keeping cool.

There were small knots of people scattered around the lakefront. They lay unmoving in the sun as if immobilized by her rays, but the three of us opted for the semi-shade of a scrubby ash tree.
We too were motionless, feeling the sweat wind and trickle down our bodies.

I felt a tickling as a bead of perspiration slipped from under my bikini top and trailed down my torso. Jessie reached over and caught it, then lifted his index finger to his tongue.

“You taste great even when you’re well done, Jayden.”

I turned my head to face him, laughing at his mischievous expression. Jessie grinned, brushed a lock of his shaggy hair out of his blue eyes, and spread his hand over my stomach.

Lang rolled up on his elbow. He watched Jessie’s hand traverse the moist hills and valleys of my body and his face twisted into a mask of resentment. “I wish Crystal was here,”
he said. It was at least the twentieth time he’d expressed this sentiment.

I felt sorry for him. We’d been planning this picnic for weeks, then Crystal had called and cancelled at the last minute. Lang’s disappointment was palpable, so Jessie insisted he
come along with us anyway. He had, but he’d been brooding all day.

“I’m sure she’s just as bummed out as you are,” I assured him, rolling to face him, “and she can’t be having much fun – spending a day like this sick in
bed.”

I stopped talking, because I saw he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring at my chest. I glanced down and saw that the strap of my bikini top had slipped down over my shoulder,
allowing one breast to nearly pop free of its narrow confines.

Lang’s eyes were popping in a similar manner. “Anyhow,” I continued, adjusting my strap, “maybe we could plan another picnic for next week, when Crystal’s feeling
better.”

“Maybe,” Lang agreed, but his eyes were still on my body. The undisguised lust in them made me a little uncomfortable but, in truth, I didn’t really mind him looking at me that
way.

I’d always found Lang exceedingly hot, with his curly dark hair, olive skin, and solid, muscular body, and I knew he was attracted to me, as well. Lang had a weakness for tall, willowy
blondes and I was just his flavour, a fact which he transmitted by an occasional smoky flash of his dark eyes. He’d complain how Jessie had always gotten the best girls and tease us both,
singing that Rick Springfield song from the Eighties,
Jessie’s Girl.
“Where can I find . . . a woman like that?” he’d chant. I could tell Jessie got off on the fact
that his buddy found me so attractive, but I sometimes wondered if he realized just how deep that admiration ran.

Of course Jessie had no reason to worry, not really. No matter how hot Lang and I found each other we’d never act on it, because Jessie was too important to both of us. Lang and Jessie had
been roommates since college and close friends since childhood. They were different as night and day – if Lang was dark and mysterious as the night, then Jessie was the bright gold of day,
with his long blond hair, quick smile, and lean swimmer’s build. Each was intensely sexy in his own way, but it was Jessie I loved. We’d been a couple for two very happy years and I
knew he was the one I’d be spending the rest of my life with.

Much as I adored Jessie, though, I couldn’t resist indulging in the occasional naughty fantasy about Lang. Some nights when Jessie and I made love, the mere thought that Lang was in the
next room was enough to send me spinning into a potent, savage orgasm.

The way Lang was looking at me now made me wonder if he’d heard me on some of those occasions. His dark eyes seemed to lap me up and I flushed, shifting back against the comforting
solidity of Jessie’s body. Despite the heat he readily spooned around me and I felt his crotch fit snugly into the hollow beneath my buttocks.

Jessie reached for the strap of my bikini top. “Leave it,” he commanded, drawing it back down over my shoulder. “It looks good that way. Doesn’t it, Lang-o?”

“It does,” Lang agreed, his eyes once again on my partially exposed breast.

Jessie kissed my shoulder, his hand moving around my body. As Lang watched, Jessie’s fingers surrounded the soft circumference of my breast and gave it a firm, deliberate squeeze.

Lang’s eyes widened and I was shocked speechless. Before I could recover, Lang scrambled to his feet. “I’m going in for a dip,” he said abruptly, heading for the
water.

Jessie laughed softly and nuzzled my ear. Normally this melted me, but this time I pulled away and glared at him. “What was
that?”

His blue eyes were wide and innocent. “What?”

“You
know
what!” I snapped, yanking the strap of my bikini back into place. “Why are you groping me right in front of Lang?”

He chuckled again and sneaked another quick feel. “I’m sorry, Jayden. I just couldn’t resist. He’s got such a hard-on for you he can hardly look at you.”

“He does not,” I insisted, but I felt the flesh twitch between my legs.

“Oh, yes, he does,” Jessie maintained, his fingers stroking the underside of my breast. “Didn’t you notice he was pitching a tent?”

As a matter of fact, I had, and I could see that Jessie sported a similarly stiff rod. “Lang is your best friend,” I reminded him. “Doesn’t it bother you, to have him
check me out that way?”

“No,” he assured me. “It doesn’t. I can hardly blame him. I mean, look at you, babe.”

His hand slipped lower and burrowed between my legs. I cast an uneasy glance over my shoulder. “Jessie, somebody might see . . .”

“No one’s close enough,” he whispered, his hand coaxing my thighs apart.

But one person was. Lang was no more than twenty-five feet away, standing in waist-deep water. His eyes were on us as he sank to his knees, the water rising to his chin.

“You know what he’s doing, don’t you?” Jessie asked softly. “He’s jerking off, wishing it was
him
with his hand on your pussy . . .”

I could feel my vagina loosening, becoming slick. Jessie kissed me then, slipping his tongue into my mouth as his finger slipped around the edge of my bikini bottoms.

“You want to fuck him, don’t you?” he whispered against my mouth.

My eyes widened and I shook my head, but Jessie pressed closer. “Tell me the truth,” he urged. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Taking his big cock, sucking
it,” he continued, as his fingers probed the slippery crevice between my legs. “Fucking it . . .”

I couldn’t lie, because he could feel how hot his words were making me. “Maybe I have,” I confessed, “but I love
you,
Jessie. I would never . . .”

“But what if I said it was okay?” he said, stroking my swollen nether lips. “What if I said you could fuck him . . . if I could watch?”

I’m not sure if it was outrage or arousal that caused my sudden shortness of breath. “I couldn’t do that,” I said. “Jessie, I just couldn’t! And what makes
you think Lang would want to, anyway?”

“Because Crystal’s holding out on him,” Jessie confided, his index finger gently nudging my clit. “He told me. He hasn’t gotten any in three months, not since he
started dating her, and he’s ready to explode.”

I couldn’t answer, suddenly suffused with the vision of myself naked in bed with Lang as Jessie stood over our intermingled bodies. I closed my eyes and pressed closer to Jessie as a spark
of desire flared in my stomach and plunged downward, making me tremble as it ignited between my legs.

How would it feel to be the kind of woman who’d do something like that – have sex with another man while her lover watched? It would take a particular sort of woman, a wild, wanton
creature who wasn’t afraid to take risks.

And what about Lang? How exactly would one go about convincing him that he wanted to take part in such a thing? I wouldn’t even know how to approach it with him, so I’d have to leave
it to Jessie. Once that thought occurred to me the scenario suddenly coalesced into a real possibility, though, because Jessie is the most persuasive person I’ve ever known.

I knew that I’d be merely a prop, an observer who would watch, fascinated, as her lover seduced his best friend. He’d use my body to do it: drizzling suntan oil over my torso and
massaging it into my flesh with long, sensual strokes; running his fingers over the small scraps of fabric covering my most private parts; making my nipples harden right through the cloth.

Lang might make a pretense of ignoring us, which will force Jessie to take more extreme actions. I suspect that he’ll push my bikini top aside, far enough to entirely bare one breast. The
angle of Jessie’s body will shield me from the eyes of other beachcombers, but do nothing to conceal me from Lang, who won’t be able to tear his eyes off my erect nipple.