The Mammoth Book of International Erotica Read online

  He feels the gentle bump of the ferry meeting the slip, hears the rumble of the motors as they reverse. He leaves the graffito unanswered, and seconds later he’s back in the crowd of travellers hurrying to the next destination.

  LIES

  Geraldine Zwang

  translated by Maxim Jakubowski

  It was past four in the morning when I opened the door to my flat, hesitant like a thief. I felt dirty, exhausted by what I had just come through. In the hallway’s mirror I quickly noticed the darkness surrounding my eyes, as well as a look of exaltation I had never glimpsed before. In the penumbra of the hallway, the mirror was showing me the very image of a loose woman, so far from the conservative and restrained bourgeois fifty year old image I tried to adhere to.

  I silently made my way to the bathroom when I heard my husband’s voice from the corridor.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  Unknowingly, he was saying the exact same words my father would throw at me whenever as a teenager I returned from parties at my friends. A wave of fear coursed through me, a fear which quickly changed into anger. Anger towards the proprietary male, the accountant in our couple. I’m anything but a submissive woman, far from it, but there has always been a kernel in me that makes any woman of my age her husband’s woman.

  As a soothing April dawn neared, I knew I no longer wanted this relationship and that from now onwards I would lead a new life according to my own will.

  “I’ve just been fucked,” I said, enunciating the words carefully, with an assurance that surprised me.

  Sometimes silences can feel endless, but this one lasted an eternity.

  “Is that your idea of a joke?” my husband asked disbelievingly.

  I knew for a fact that his voice was not that of someone who had just woken up. He had been waiting for me. I wasn’t surprised when he appeared at the door fully dressed. His eyes moved between wrath, incredulity and consternation. The ironic tone of his earlier question disappeared as soon as he looked at my face. I really did look like a woman who had been fucked. Eyes tired but grateful, lips ever so swollen by kisses and bites and an overindulged body that had lost its social remoteness.

  The “where have you been?” triggered an avalanche of questions: who had I been with? what had I done?

  The more he spoke, the more he was overtaken by fear. Without even providing him with any answer I was already assuming a dominant position, watching him shrink with every passing moment. I was no longer afraid and could observe this man who was my husband with detachment, even with curiosity. How could I ever have been physically content with this man for so many years? I was now resentful for the cold years when physical desire had faded to just being a memory. So, in a spirit of vengeance, to test him also, I decided to tell him everything, with nothing left out and invited him into the salon and ordered him to sit, facing me, behind his desk.

  I confessed that I had had an adventure with two men I had met at an art gallery opening.

  My husband’s face froze and I was unable to read any of his feelings right then. It was as if he was discovering a new woman he had never truly known. All of a sudden, all his certainties were falling apart. His voice all muted, he continued his interrogation.

  “But what actually happened, you didn’t go with them together, surely?”

  “I did, one in my cunt and the other in . . . my mouth then . . . in my bum.”

  My honesty and poise affected him even more than if he had witnessed the act. I saw him tighten his fists but, visibly excited, he still wanted to learn more. I knew from that very moment that power had shifted from him to me.

  “Did you know when you followed them, what they were expecting of you?” he stuttered.

  “Of course. Each one as they rubbed against me whispered into my ear what they would do to me. I was both embarrassed and flattered by their lust.”

  “What did they say?”

  “The first man was just about thirty years old. He was short but well proportioned. He hadn’t said a single word before he moved against me. I could clearly feel the tip of his cock against my leg. I’d noticed him a few times already moving around the art gallery and had found him handsome. I don’t know what came about me but I pressed hard against him to confirm I could feel his cock and didn’t mind him rubbing against me.”

  “But what did he say to you?”

  My husband couldn’t contain his excitement.

  “He said: ‘I’d love to split your luscious middle-class arse open while you’re sucking my friend off.’ His lips barely moved next to my ear, but the faint breath that came from him was already making me wet with desire. He rubbed himself against me even harder. ‘Once you’ve expertly lubricated him, he’ll slide underneath you to fuck you.’ There was a smoothness and a lack of aggression to his vulgarity. Without even thinking, I asked him: ‘Where is your friend? I’d like to feel his cock against me too.’ ”

  My husband’s patience exploded.

  “Sophie, how could you ever say something like that?”

  “I wanted that man, so why not his friend too if he was pleasant enough? Why be a hypocrite and wait for another day to gift myself to the other man?”

  “It’s disgusting.”

  “Why should it be disgusting to provide pleasure to two nice young men and get some in return? Would you consider it healthier to masturbate while watching your porn tapes?”

  Once again I’d defeated him, and he would rather suffer and know more than order me to be silent. I continued:

  “Jean-Marc introduced me to his friend Yvan. He was a very young boy, not quite twenty. He was quite beautiful and his youthful features were fascinating. I could have been his mother. I was proud of the fact they desired me. I felt young and was entertained by the envious looks of the other women surrounding us. Yvan moved towards me, his two arms outstretched as if he was about to lead me onto a dance floor.

  “She looks really hot; we’re going to have great fun. You warm her up a bit more and then come and join me at the bar,” Jean-Marc said.

  Yvan took me in his arms as if he had always known me. I didn’t even try and avoid the hard bump of his cock as it brushed against me. I could feel he was hard. As much in defiance as in provocation, I swivelled shamelessly against his young cock. His voice was very soft, still tinged with echoes of childhood, but his erotic vocabulary was way beyond his age.

  “So what was he telling you?” my husband interrupted me.

  “Do you really think I should let you know? You’re already so agitated.”

  Sitting behind his desk, I could guess my husband was touching himself, but I pretended to ignore the fact.

  “Yes, Sophie, tell me everything.”

  “OK,” I sighed, “but you asked for it. Both Yvan and Jean-Marc were whispering sheer filth in my ear, like ‘You’ll chew on my balls to get me hard again after I’ve discharged into your clammy hole.’ These salacious words they had probably said to hundreds of women before no doubt were making me crazy. For the first time in my life, I felt like a slut and I kept on pressing my parts against his cock. Yvan said that if I continued he might even come right there and then, and as a precaution moved slightly away from me. We joined Jean-Marc at the buffet table.

  “Once we had reached the table, he took my hand in his and positioned it against his cock and said quietly in my ear: ‘Look how hard you’ve made me, it’s full of come, all for you. We’re going to feed you well, you pretty slut. You’re going to love it.’

  “His impudence was electrifying me and I daringly moved the envelope one step further.

  “ ‘I’ll have you spitting into all three of my holes, you pretty things. You’ll throw up a white flag once my tongue gets working on you.’

  “Yvan smiled in admiration and caressed my arse. I did not stand back when he moved one of his fingers into my arse hole, pushing the material of my skirt into it. I groaned, still holding on for dear life to Jean-Marc’s cock, indifferent to all the
people around us in the room who meant nothing more to me any longer.

  “Jean-Marc indicated it was time for us to go and we were soon in his car. Yvan sat me in the back. As soon as we drove off, he kissed me eagerly and took hold of my breasts in both his hands. My own hands liberated his cock and I began steadily jerking it off while playing with his youthful balls. Jean-Marc loudly encouraged me.

  “ ‘Milk that dong, you fat cow, suck his cunt juice out.’

  “His driving was erratic, he was in a hurry for us to get back to his place. I could no longer hold back; I had already swallowed Yvan’s cock to the hilt a few times while fingering myself. I felt like a young girl again, all excited, with her very first lover, my lust flying in all directions.

  “In the elevator taking us up to Jean-Marc’s flat, I caught a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror and I decidedly looked beautiful, young and flushed. They roughly placed me between them and took turns rubbing their cocks against me. I moaned wordless sounds, begging for them to take me. We exited the elevator, the men pulling me out each with a finger stuck inside me.

  “Once inside the apartment, I rushed towards Yvan, whose cock was sticking out of his trousers. I crouched on all fours so that my arse was well exposed and sucked him with savage glee. Jean-Marc brutally pulled up my skirt and viciously pulled the elastic of my garter belt aside and let it slam back against my thighs; it wasn’t that painful but the sharp sound it made was exciting. I heard him undress behind me. I craved for him to take me with no warning, just to feel his hard sex penetrate me before I could even feel the approach of his body. Yvan pulled his cock out of my mouth, about to come. He left the room, leaving me there on all fours. Jean-Marc forbade me to look back and ordered me to ‘polish your cunt to warm yourself up’.”

  Having reached this part of the story, Sophie was increasingly overcome by excitement; she couldn’t help rubbing her legs against each other in search of further pleasure. She was intensely living the evening all over again and had banished me from her world. I had already come in my trousers. Feverishly awakened by my ejaculation and my wife’s violent story, my own cock refused to lie down as I listened to her with fascination.

  “He handed me a bottle of rosé wine, a long and cold bottle, and I was summoned to fuck myself with it. The initial contact with the icy neck of the bottle saw my flesh contract and only served to increase my frenzy. Yvan was back and was verbally encouraging me: ‘Yes, fill that pretty pussy, cool it down for me.’ I had only introduced a few centimetres of the bottle into me, when Jean-Marc sharply pushed it in even deeper. I felt as if I had been split open, gaping in a way I had never been before. I screamed with pleasure, with shame and joy blending exquisitely in my mind and body. I felt Jean-Marc spitting against my arse hole and spreading his saliva across the pucker of my hole. I was scared; I hadn’t experienced anal sex often. He entered me with one single push forward, despite the bottle still filling my vagina. I was in heaven; my body had come to life thanks to the cock now ploughing my innards. Yvan was masturbating himself in front of me and I held my head high to eat him, milk him. All I could see was that dark column of flesh that I couldn’t reach and I begged him to let me have it. He found it amusing to tease me, to move his cock to the tip of my lips before withdrawing it again out of reach on a few occasions. I was going crazy and was impaling myself further down onto the bottle, spreading myself open even more. With a thrust of his cock, Jean-Marc pushed me toward Yvan’s member. Yvan had now sat himself down in front of me. He delicately pulled the bottle out and positioned me onto his friend’s cock. They must have done this before, as the manoeuvre was rapid and expertly done. I came at the very moment that Yvan’s glans pushed its way past my outer lips and again when he reached the pit of my cunt. Each thrust from the two men inside me had me screaming. As I felt Jean-Marc’s sperm flooding my arse, I shouted to Ivan: ‘Come in my cunt, come, come . . .’

  “And he did.

  “The three of us collapsed in a pile and it took some time for our energy to return.

  “I needed to pee and asked where the toilet was. The two men accompanied me and asked me to pee in the bath tub with them present. Like a madwoman, I did so. Initially embarrassed, I soon let myself go and spread my thighs wide so that they might enjoy the view. Once I had finished urinating, their cocks had become hard again and I felt like sucking them. First I sucked Yvan off while Jean-Marc caressed my breasts.

  “ ‘Now I feel like peeing,’ said Yvan, ‘but I’d like to pee on your pretty whorish face.’

  “He had barely said the words when a warm and bitter jet invaded my mouth. I gagged but nonetheless continued to guide the stream of pee towards my face as if I were taking a shower. I had never felt so wet, inside and outside, my slit was dripping and I managed to insert four fingers into my cunt while Yvan shook his last drops against my tongue and I swallowed them.

  “Jean-Marc joined me inside the bathtub and mounted me doggie style. He parked himself deep inside my pussy and began peeing inside me. I roared as the hot liquid conjured up a whole new feeling.

  “Later, they both sodomized me slowly until each came deep inside my arse.

  “The three of us took a shower together, still fondling each other wildly, and then they escorted me to a taxi rank.

  “There you are, I’ve told you all.”

  As soon as I’d finished my story, my husband leaped on me, his cock harder than I’d seen it for a very long time. Without a word, he threw me onto the settee and forced my lips apart with his girth. His lust was pleasing; my husband wanted me again. His erection was a gift for me and I sucked him off as if my very life depended on it, forcing him to spit out a torrent of come that I swallowed like a divine offering. His pleasure roared.

  I gazed at my man with love, as if I was discovering him anew:

  “Oh, the sort of things you have me imagining, my love.”

  “Thank, you, mon amour.”

  THE NAUGHTY YARD

  Michael Hemmingson

  YES, YES, OKAY now, it is time, you’ve been waiting long enough, it is indeed time, so gather around now, gather close, don’t be afraid to sit close to one another, maybe not too close, but close enough, all of us, around this fire, because it is story time now, it’s time for a story, a story set in the past, basically, you could even categorize this as an historical romance if you will, set in a time when there wasn’t so much fear about getting close, fear about sex&death, that horrid thing called AIDS was just around the corner like some foolish kid on his bike, going too fast and not looking where he’s destined – although right now (the time of this parable) it was rather remote and not widespread; you see, it is when this yarn begins, and people were happily careless when it came to (sex), careless because there was not that (fear of death), and you may not believe it now (but history proves this), as this tale (which is history) will prove it, and we will begin with the opening scene, as such: inside one of the bedrooms of a two bedroom apartment in Southern California, where we find a petite young lady of twenty-three, dark-haired, modestly tanned, in bed with myself, and her name happens to be, for the sake of this text, Kathy, she is in bed with me and we are making love, we are fucking, call it what you will, because this girl – Kathy – this girl and I don’t even know each other that well – I mean, we know each other, we’re friends as such, we have been friends for quite a while, were lovers for some time, until she called it off, called it off for a few months – that is, until this night in question here, where we have connected again, we are fucking again: at her proposal – you see, we were at this bar, drinking, talking, drinking&drinking (she loves beer) and we came back here, to her place, and we went into her bedroom and started to take off our clothes and then, well, you get the gist of the scenario; NEVERTHELESS, so here we are, so there we were, Kathy&myself, myself&Kathy, on her bed (which happens to be a noisy bed) the springs going eeeech eeeech with each thrust of myself into Kathy’s self, eeeech eeeech goes the bed, and she’s moaning
. I’m moaning, we are, in fact, enjoying the moment, and – and I feel myself coming, yes yes yes, you understand this feeling (both you men and women listening to this), the intensity, you know it, the joy joy joy, this sudden moment where the world is ready to come apart like a badly stitched garment, where the Universe itself is on the verge of imminent collapse, as this bed is on the margin of destruction, and I come, I scream, I empty my balls into Kathy’s warm cunt (making it warmer), and in that brief moment I frightfully think of the moon, and Beth, my darling Beth now gone from me, but I push these baneful head things away for this is neither the time nor place, I should concentrate on Kathy, and Kathy grabs at me, legs in the air, going yes yes yes, come, and I am: and when I am done, I fall on her, she doesn’t mind, she rubs her hands up my back, into my hair, and I roll off her, light a cigarette, and she watches me as I smoke (she doesn’t smoke), my come starting to leak out of her, her pussy red and still open, and she watches me and she says I’m spent and she says (head propped up on pillow as Jackie Collins always puts it in her books) she says I feel good you know I’m glad you decided to come over.

  I say that I am glad she invited me over.

  She says well you know there we were, sitting in that bar again, that same bar we used to always go to, having the same drinks we always used to drink, and you know we were talking about all this&that, bric&brac, but you know I wasn’t really listening to what you were gabbing about.

  I say you weren’t listening to me?

  She says I wasn’t listening to us. She says I just kept saying to myself in my head I really want to fuck him tonight.

  I tell her I had the same thoughts.