Best Women's Erotica 2011 Read Online Free PDF

and licked. Choking sounds came from me, from beyond me; I floated above us and watched him tease me, wished I was corporeal so I could smack him on the back of his head. Finally he pulled my underwear down and threw it on the floor. He fucked me with his tongue and lips and fingers until I gushed again and again and again, all over him and his bed and his sheets.
    I had to fuck this man, whose last name I didn’t know, whose past I didn’t care about or his future or his dreams, his childhood pets or religious beliefs; I had to have him in me and it had to be now.

    He knelt above me, stroking his cock and staring at me as I shivered. I held my arms out to him; my hair was all over the pillows; I probably looked like a drowning maiden in the sea of his sheets.
    “Condom?” I whispered.
    He nodded, smiled small, and reached over to his nightstand to rummage around for a silver square.
    He rolled it onto his cock looking at me with one eyebrow raised, while I lay back on the pillows and idly fingered myself. He kissed me, pinched my nipples hard, went down for a few good licks before coming back up to my face and kissing me, his mouth smelling like my come, rubbing his cock against my clit. I bit his lower lip, not softly, and he finally relented and slipped inside of me inch by inch.
    We both inhaled shakily, like car accident victims walking with canes on ice.
    His penis felt like a true extension of himself; not just something he was wildly thrusting, hoping to hit something good, but a deliberate appendage he controlled as easily and naturally as his hand. He pushed inside of me, gently and persistently, knocking my cervix as surely as he’d ring a doorbell, and I gasped. It felt good but hurt, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to push back or whimper.
    “Am I hurting you?”
    “Yeah, but…don’t worry about it. Just keep going.”
    “Why shouldn’t I worry about hurting you?”
    I didn’t have an answer for that.
    So I did both. I flexed around him, and he gasped back. We had found our back-and-forth rhythm and were gaining speed when he stopped suddenly and pulled me up with him so we were sitting face-to-face. He hadn’t even withdrawn from me; he raised me as easily as a rag doll and I let him. I wanted him to
flop me around like an ancient Raggedy Ann doll.
    I kissed him long and deep, fucking his mouth with my tongue, trying to get it as deep inside him as he was inside of me. His cock jumped inside me.
    “I’m not moving until you come again,” he said.
    “Is this a challenge or a threat? A bet or a promise?”
    “All of it, all of it,” he said and kissed me with those wide, rough lips. I ran my nails up his sides, circled his nipples, lingeringly pinched one and then the other. He bit his lip.
    “You are making this very, very difficult.”
    “What are we betting, exactly?”
    “It’s a bet we both win,” he said and began slowly rubbing my clit, up and down, a deliberate stroke that I could feel lift my clit so it hovered, tip in the air, until he released it and started again. Up and down, with him jumping deep inside me, so deep I imagined him nudging my ovaries and rearranging my guts. I flexed around his cock, hard, dancingly, over and over and over again until I came so hard I couldn’t see for a few seconds. His beautiful dotted shoulders had red fingernail-shaped crescents beginning to swell among those clouds, tiny suns to remember me by.
    He put his arms behind me and gently laid me back down on the bed. There was no longer a need for speed or gentleness, no doorbell ringing or questionable knocking; just sheer, brutal fucking. His clouds and flowers would be destroyed, but that’s why artists do touch-ups, right? Sweat dripped down his cheeks and neck and onto my chest; I licked his chin. His eyes were open; he stared into me and past me, and it scared me a little, how almost angry and sad he seemed. Sometimes people cry when they come; it’s happened to me. Never to a guy I