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For those who like their erotica fast and frenzied, the genre’s most popular raconteur offers you 69: Sultry Short Erotic Stories of Need and Desire. In this delightfully dirty collection, Alison Tyler has gathered the crème de la crème of erotic fiction authors to pen sixty-nine brief romps–among them, Violet Blue, Donna George Storey, Thomas S. Roche, John Albert, Kristina Lloyd, Justine Elyot and Jeremy Edwards. Each story—from a woman whose boyfriend has a proclivity for old-fashioned lingerie to a British paparazzi who gets too close to his target, to a distracted writer who needs some special motivation to stay on deadline—will leave you dizzy with satisfaction.
69
Sultry Short Erotic Stories
of Need and Desire
Edited by Alison Tyler
Foreword by Violet Blue
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Countdown
By Violet Blue
Sixty-nine ingredients make this collection a powerful cocktail that slides over the tongue like sugar on fire.
These skilled eroticists choose words like intoxicants. The flavors elicit what I can only describe as an instant hard-on.
Now we girls know what this is like.
How fast will you become aroused? Dizzyingly fast. In the time you can count to sixty-nine. The time it took to read these sixty-nine words.
Introduction
Are you pervy like me? Come on. You can confess. We’re all friends here. Have you ever pondered the goings-on at your neighbor’s house? What are they doing behind those lacy curtains? Why are those drums beating so late into the night? Now is your chance to find out—because these 69 sultry stories are designed to give you a peek into the lives of those around you. These are the people you know: your friends, your acquaintances, your coworkers, even your boss. You pass them every day on the street, at work, when you do your errands.
No, you won’t find out where they went to college, or learn the name of their second cousin, or elicit whether their favorite color is citrine or turquoise. But you might discover what turns them on, what makes them wet, what makes them hard. And you might also discover that you share an overlap or two, at least where fetishes are concerned.
Short-shorts are a specific genre of sex story. These mini-escapades are pure slivers of life, solitary snips of celluloid, single cuts off a vinyl album. These are the stories you overhear on the subway between stop A and stop B, the bits of conversation you’re privy to while riding on the elevator, the whispered secrets you catch while surreptitiously leaning forward during happy hour at your local bar.
I’ve been fascinated, mesmerized, addicted to shorts for decades now. My own first naive attempts at fiction were abbreviated scenarios I penned for my girlfriends—situations starring their crushes, fan-fiction-type fantasies that took place on solitary sheets of binder paper. That’s about 250 words in my jagged-edged cursive.
Why do I place short-shorts on such a pedestal? Simple. The authors must pull out all the stops. There is no fat. No cheating. No padding in the bras.
This is the genre I can’t get over. I’m an addict, plain and simple. This is the sixth anthology of ultra-short fiction I’ve edited (my first was way back in the ice age of the early ‘90s), and 69 presented its own unique challenges. First, I needed 69 stories to equal 100,000 words. Now, nobody ever said I was brilliant at math, so I had to give my 30+ writers extremely specific guidelines. Sure, I could have collected 69 1449.92-word stories, but where’s the fun in that? (Besides, you try to find me .92 of a word. I dare ya.) I wanted to show a range from 100 words to 2,000 (which is the maximum count in this collection). Trust me, 2,000 words is not a lot of space to tell a tale. In a 500-word story, every sentence matters. In a 100-word piece there are no extraneous images. Every solitary beat carries weight. I look at the 100-word flashers as a type of amuse-bouche, designed to titillate and stimulate and whet your appetite for the next mouthwatering course.
Next, I wanted to be sure to hit the themes that thrill me—including BDSM, spanking, oral, anal, voyeurism, exhibitionism.… Hopefully, you’ll find your favorites within these pages. And maybe you’ll even discover something new or two to try.
Are you ready to put your ear to the crack, to press your eye to the keyhole?
I know I am.
XXX,
Alison
Contents
The Kitchen Kink
Hare Coursing
Pulse
Speed Mating
Permission
Star Fucker
Redi-Wash
Selections from a Bedroom Closet
Dress Rehearsal
Good Cop, Bad Cop (A Story)
Come at Six
Plus One
I Dare You
Two Ways
Manners
Another Country Heard From
Frosted Kisses
Summoned
His
Talk to the Hand
Three Days
Reclamation
Open
Frozen
The Welcome Wagon
Hot Cross Buns
Granny Panties
Touchless
Cast Party
Fall Back
Love, Honor and Obey
Permissive
Hot in the City
Add it Up
Crossed
The Funeral
Floating in Blue
Suite Surprise
Shoulders
Saturday
Based on a True Story
The Barest Offering
Hers
Translation
Dessert
Skill
Attic Moment
Satisfied Customers
Closing Distance
Friends in Need
Homecoming
The Long Afternoon
Naked Lunch
Just a Kiss Away
Goes
Waking the Neighbors
Ours
Mathematics
Laplanders
Slave Market in Monochrome (A Fantasy)
In the Cold with You
Listen
Come at Nine
The Eskimo Game
Reflection
Permitted
Never Alone
Every Dollar
A is for Anal, Z is for Zenith
How Early?
About the Authors
About the Editor
Copyright
The Kitchen Kink
By Alison Tyler
“This is too hard!”
“That’s what she said.”
“I am the she, James.”
“Then I must be the ‘too hard.’”
I play punched him. “I need the perfect story to kick-start my anthology, and I can’t concentrate.”
“Ah, poor baby. Are you all wet from perusing those naughty little tales?” He bent and kissed the back of my neck. “What exactly are you reading about?”
“Spanking, ball gags, whips, chains, strangers, ménages…”
“All in the same story?”
“No, not all in the same story.”
“Well, maybe that’s your problem.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everything but the kitchen sink…”
“You mean ‘the kitchen kink.”’
“You’re not an editor,” I sighed dramatically. “You have no idea what it’s like.”
“Try me.”
I handed over a story. James began to read. “Oh, look. She’s going to get a spanking. Again. He just spanked her two seconds ago. Give the poor girl’s bare bottom a rest. She’s not going to be able to sit down for a week as it is.”
“I like that one.”
He riffled through the papers on my desk, then grabbed one and began to skim. “She’s about to blow him. But she just met him. Why would she get on her knees and open her mouth like that? She doesn’t even know his name.”
“You’re so judgmental.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I still don’t understand the issue.”
“I’ve read over a hundred stories, and I’m in that shuffling place. I keep reorganizing—this story should be at the front, this one should be near the end, this is perfect for the middle. But now I’m all conflicted.”
“Maybe I can help.”
I stared down at the papers strewn over my desk. “What do you mean?”
“You’re too close to all this smut. What you need is for me to put you over my lap, give you a nice, hard spanking, make you blow me, tie you down to the bed, and fuck you senseless. Perhaps if I do my job correctly you’ll even forget my name.”
“Tempting, but I have a big deadline.”
“That’s what she said,” he smirked. “But I’ve got something even bigger…” He put my hand on his cock, which I could feel was hard through his Levi’s.
“James, I’m working.”
“Not anymore.” He pulled the chair back from my desk.
“Look at all the stories I have to read.”
“They’ll wait.”
I pointed to the calendar. “My book is due in less than two weeks.”
“Two weeks is a long fucking time.”
He started unbuckling his belt. I set the red pen on the desk. “I guess I could take a short break.”
James grinned and helped me out of my chair.
“But I don’t need a spanking.”
“I’ll decide that,” he said, leading me into the kitchen. I watched as he sat down on one of our wooden chairs, and then I waited. Was he right? Was I so aroused from reading sexy stories that I couldn’t make any headway? And would a spanking actually clear my head or would it only heat my ass?
I was about to find out.
James pulled me over his lap and stroked my rear with one of his big, strong hands. “Are your panties wet from reading the stories or thinking about the spanking I’m going to give you?”
“Both,” I told him honestly.
He let his hand land on my bottom. I didn’t pretend to squeal or twitch. There was no true pain in this type of smack. But then he pushed my yoga pants down my thighs and began to stroke my panty-clad ass. I grew very still. He pulled down my bikini briefs next and started to spank me hard and fast on my bare skin. And what was that? He’d grabbed hold of a wooden spoon. In seconds, all thoughts of work evaporated, so when he asked, “Now, what were you complaining about before?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t know,” I murmured.
He spanked me until my ass felt hot and swollen, and then he pushed me down in front of him. “Open your mouth.” He cradled my face with one hand, and I parted my lips. James stood, and I raised myself up on my knees and began to suck his cock. “That’s a good little editor,” he crooned. “Make my cock all nice and wet. You know where it’s going to go.”
My mind stuttered, but I kept my mouth busy.
“I just have to remember where I put the cuffs.”
Christ, he really was going to prove a point, wasn’t he? “They’re in the drawer by the dresser,” I said when I took a breather.
“Good girl.” He pulled away from me and went to get the tools. In seconds, I had my hands cuffed over my head,and James was bending me over the Corian countertop. He’d gotten the lube as well as the cuffs, and I felt him drizzle the slick stuff between the cheeks of my ass.
First, he fucked my pussy. “Damn, you’re wet.” He thrust hard and fast, and I shut my eyes tight, my body practically humming with pleasure. But right when I was on the cusp, he pulled out and pressed the head of his cock against my asshole. I shivered and sucked in my breath.
“Relax, baby. It only works if you submit.”
He was right. His words unlocked me. Calmness stole over my body—the sensation of giving in always brings me peace.
As James drove forward, he said, “Now, what was your problem?”
“I don’t have any problems,” I panted.
He let one hand rest under my body, giving my clit the perfect amount of pressure. “You were all confused.”
I shook my head. Not anymore.
He stroked my clit as he fucked my ass. Being touched like that was overwhelming. I closed my eyes tight and held my breath. I could sense James getting closer, and I willed myself to come with him. James began to slide in and out of me at a quick clip.
“I’m going to…” I whispered.
“Do it,” he hissed back.
I collapsed against the smooth, cool counter, aware of how flushed I felt, my breathing ragged, my body shaking. James held on to me, his arms tight around my body, and then he undid the cuffs, rubbed my wrists and carried me to the bathroom for a shower.
“Now you can go back and try to choose your opening piece,” James said as he turned on the hot water.
“I think I found what exactly I was looking for,” I told him with a smile.
Hare Coursing
By Janine Ashbless
“What sort of a girl do you think I am?” she asked, slightly shocked.
“The prettiest one here,” said Brandon, who played guitar and electric double bass. He curled a stray lock of her long hair around his finger.
“Fun. Smart. Sexy,” added Erik. He was the lead singer of the duo.
“And just a little bit drunk,” Brandon added.
“I’d have to be completely bladdered to go with both of you!” she reprimanded, giggling. “That’s just so…slutty.”
“Slutty. What does that mean? That you’re not choosey? Which of us is the ugly one, then?
She gave them a sarcastic look over the top of her wineglass. They were both handsome—and they knew it. Handsome, and talented enough to be headed a lot further than playing for her great-aunt Elsie’s sixtieth birthday party. Their set had easily been the entertainment highlight of the evening. Now, out in the club parking lot, at the very edge of the light, all three of them were missing the buffet dinner. “Don’t be daft.”
“Don’t you think Erik’s hot?”
She lifted a brow. “He’s not bad, I suppose.”
“What about me?”
Both the men flanking her were as lean and fit as hounds, and they’d been flirting with her for half an hour now. She’d once seen a pair of dogs chasing a hare like that: one at each shoulder. “You’re okay, too.”
“Which one of us do you want to disappoint, then?”
“Maybe,” she said chirpily, “I want to disappoint you both.”
“Oh…I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Are you wanting us to fight over you?” Erik’s grin suggested he was not in a fighting mood. His fingertips had been on the small of her back for the last ten minutes, stroking her gently through her party dress. She hadn’t objected.
“Now that’s an idea.” Her tone was pert.
“Winner takes all?” Brandon’s voice dropped to a sexy growl. He ran the back of his finger over her cheek and she flushed.
“You’d like to see two guys fight for the right to fuck you?”
“Oh,” she protested, not quite happy with Erik’s choice of words but finding the discomfort compelling.
“Stripped down, maybe? D’you want to watch us wrestle? That’s pretty kinky of you.”
“I’d win, of course,” Brandon pointed out.
“Feck off,” laughed Erik. “Don’t listen to him. I’d kick his butt.”
“But it’d be a pity to waste so much energy, wouldn’t it? When there are so much better ways to spend it.”
“Make love, not war, eh?”
“You guys are bad!” She squirmed happily.
“I mean, think of the possibilities. Two men. That’s two mouths kissing you, love. Four hands, touching you all over. Two big solid cocks for you to ride as long as you liked.”
She shivered.
Brandon leaned in and kissed her cheek softly. “Two men sucking your breasts at once,” he whispered.
“A hand on your hot button,” Erik murmured in her other ear, tickling her with his warm breath. “Another up your sweet, wet pussy. Two others on your ass, stroking you in all the right places.”
“Oh!” she said, her body full of heat and confusion. With a man at either side and the wall of a flowerbed behind her rump, it was impossible to turn away.
“D’you like the sound of that?” Brandon asked. The lift of his hand drew her attention down to where her nipple had pebbled against the thin cloth of her dress. “It looks like you like it.” One finger circled the stiff point delicately, sending tingles of pleasure through her flesh. She stared, mesmerized—and then Erik turned her face toward him and kissed her, just as softly, his tongue brushing against hers in time to the other man’s caress of her tit.
No matter how the hare had zigzagged from side to side, there was always a hound there.
“Um,” she gasped, pulling back after a long moment. “We shouldn’t.”
“You’re right. You might drop your glass. Here—let me take that.” Erik slipped it from her unresisting fingers and planted it in the earth behind her. His body leaned in against hers as he moved, and she felt the hard jut of his erection. She knew she should be protesting. But Brandon still had her right nipple, flicking it, and she couldn’t think past that thrill of sensation.
“Please,” she said incoherently, turning to that man—and then it was his turn to kiss her. His mouth was smoky with rolling tobacco, his tongue warm and slow. She felt Erik cup her left breast, too, and a moan rose from the depths of her being.
“There,” Brandon said when he had finished kissing away her words and her breath. “Now, you did like that.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But…”
“But…?”
“I feel bad.”
His hand moved down from her breast, trailing over the shallow curve of her stomach, stroking in circles as it approached her pubic mound. “You feel fucking marvelous.”
“That’s not what I meant.” But her voice was uneven, and her hips tilted in response to his caress.
“Come on,” Erik murmured. “You must have thought about it. Two guys. Both focused on you, both trying to outdo each other—giving you everything you ever dreamed of. It must be a turn-on.”
“That’s just dirty,” she said, and whimpered as Brandon’s finger tickled the thin cotton shielding her swollen clit.
“Too fucking right, it’s dirty. Dirty is good. Dirty is his cock up your wet pussy while mine slips in and out between those amazing lips. Dirty is him licking you out from the front while I do it from the back. Dirty is both our cocks rubbing all over your beautiful tits. In fact it’s so dirty,” Brandon said, butting softly up against her, his arm wrapped right round her waist, “that the thought of it is making both of us hard as rock. And I bet it’s making you wet.”
She arched her back, pushing her breast into Erik’s cupped hand. “I’m not wet.”
“No?”
“Shall we prove it?”
Brandon gathered her skirt with his fingers, lifting it until he could slip his hand into the front of her panties. “Oh, you liar,” he admonished, grinning, finding her slit swollen and slippery. “Dirty little liar.”
“Oh!” Her clit sparked with the brush of his fingertip.
“You owe both of us a kiss for that,” said Erik. As his mouth claimed it, his hand joined Brandon’s down between her thighs. Between them they easily took control, their fingers light but insistent. The frictionless, tormenting pressure of their caresses on her clit and labia and the mouth of her cunt soon had her uttering stifled urgent moans against Erik’s tongue.
He pulled away—then used a hand in her hair to turn her to Brandon. “Now kiss him.”
Her lips were parted already, open. His tongue slid into her as easily as his fingers. But when she started to come she pulled abruptly away and jerked from one man to the other, rubbing her face against their skin and sobbing with pleasure as orgasm danced through her. She had to be held upright as she came, spinning down from her climax.
“That felt good, didn’t it?” Brandon’s voice was thick, like the hard cock pushing against his clothes and into her hip. Erik’s palm cupped and squeezed her pubic mound, rousing her again.
“Oh…yes. Good. Dirty. Good.” Her heart was hammering.
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
“Both of us?”
“Yes. Please, yes. Both of you. I want both of you.”
They both smiled. “Well,” said Brandon. “If you insist.”
Pulse
By Vida Bailey
Back me up against the wall, lean in, babe, your mouth close to mine, but don’t kiss me yet. Just out of reach. Breathe in the air that catches in my chest, the wanting.
Touch me. Catch a breast maybe, and push, and squeeze and fix me there, nailed to the wall with desire. Skirts pushed up, your hand between my thighs, firm, insistent, fingers working, finding the warmth, where I’m swollen against thin layers of Lycra and lace. Waiting for you.
Your mouth on mine.
Your mouth on me.
My hands in your hair—my heart in my mouth.
Speed Mating
By Sophia Valenti
Bars are totally not my thing. Yet that Friday night I found myself standing in one of the most popular watering holes in town. I’d arrived straight from the office, feeling just a little uncomfortable in my white silk blouse, black pencil skirt and pearls while everyone else in the jovial crowd was dressed so casually.
Why had I agreed to this? Damn that Michelle. She can get me to do almost anything. After much cajoling—and flat-out whining—she had convinced me to go with her to this speed-dating event. Yeah, I was single, but that wasn’t a problem for me. I was happy with my life, I’d argued. But when that stance didn’t work, she played the pity card, telling me that she was looking for a boyfriend and needed me there for emotional support.
Call me a sucker—I went. And that’s how I wound up in a crowd of murmuring singles, each of us sporting a numbered sticker. Michelle, with her bouncy blonde curls and blushing cheeks, looked beautiful and eager and had already caught the eye of several gentlemen. Meanwhile, I leaned back against the bar, trying to remain unnoticed by potential suitors for as long as possible while I sipped my cocktail and listened to the moderator give a rundown of the rules: The women would sit at one side of the table and the men along the other. Each couple had five minutes to chat, after which a bell would ring, signaling for the guys to shift down one seat. Sounded simple enough. I could pull off being friendly for a couple of minutes at a clip. Sure, I wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone, but I didn’t plan on being impolite. I could smile through this for my friend’s sake.
I downed my drink and turned to place my empty glass on the bar, and that’s when I saw him. Chatting people swirled around me, but their noise and movements faded into the background. He commanded my total attention. With thick black hair and piercing blue eyes, he looked like he’d stepped off a movie set. I took note right away of his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He certainly filled out a T-shirt better than anyone else I’d ever seen. The cotton fabric clung to his toned frame in just the right way, giving a tempting hint of how well cut his muscles were. My gaze traveled down his flat stomach with unabashed slowness, wandering along his torso to his jeans.