The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (68 page)

All I had to do was keep staring at my monitor for a couple more hours and then I could leave early. All I had to do was stare and type a few words and no one would know that I was wasted off my
arse. I just had to keep my mouth shut, my face focused, and no one would know the difference.

“Dahlia?”

I turned around.

“Urn, someone left this at the front desk for you.”

Michael reached forward and gently placed an artfully wrapped package on top of “To be Filed”. I stared. I knew this package would impress me even if I wasn’t seeing double
– the bow was red luscious silk, the paper was as smooth as satin and as brilliantly red as my fingernails, and the box was big enough to cover my entire desk.

“Do you know who dropped this off?” I asked, turning around, but Michael had already gone back to the mailing room, leaving me alone with my oversized gift.

I glanced around the room but no one seemed to have any interest in me or my enormous red box. I debated for a second whether to open it now or save it for later, but knew that I couldn’t
resist, and so, with a sigh and a tingle of anticipation, I delicately slipped the bow off and ran my nails under the tape keeping the paper shut. With a satisfying hiss, the wrapping fell to the
sides, and I stared at the white cardboard box.

I looked once more at the wrapping paper – no note, no explanation. Having no idea who would give me such a large present, much less deliver it to my desk, I opened up the box and peered
inside, hoping the contents would provide some answers.

At first, all I saw was a neatly folded stack of black lace, underwire, and red ribbon. I looked around the room – no one was watching. Was this some kind of joke? Without taking the
fabric out of the box, I reached in and lifted up the material. I groped with my left hand to see if there was anything underneath. My fingers found a slim metal chain – and nothing else.

What the fuck? I looked around the room again, but no one was watching, no one was snickering, no one was paying me any attention. Time to figure this one out, I thought.

With a quick sudden motion, I slid the fabric out of the box and into my briefcase. As I stood up, I reached into the box one last time, grabbed the chain, and dropped it into my suit pocket,
before making my way, calmly and professionally, to the restroom, all traces of inebriation eradicated by curiosity and adrenaline.

The bathroom door securely locked, I placed my briefcase on the shut toilet seat and opened it. The pile of lace and ribbon eyed me suggestively. I shook my head, smiling to myself – this
was definitely the most intriguing birthday present I’d ever received. When I lifted up the fabric, it took form and I laughed out loud. Barely enough material to cover anything worth
covering. I knew it would cover enough to make anyone lucky enough to see desperate to know what was underneath – and I knew it was the perfect size.

Within a matter of moments, my suit hung neatly on the hook behind the door, and I was wearing a decadent mass of material – all criss-crossed and tied and finessed around my breasts
– the underwire fitting perfectly under my cleavage, the ribbon wrapped around my waist and lacing up the back of the corset, the red silk creating a pattern of Xs against the sheer black
lace of the rest of the garment. The box had also thoughtfully contained a pair of black thigh-highs topped off with an inch of red lace.

I didn’t dare leave the stall to look at myself in the mirror, for fear someone would walk in, but I didn’t need to – I knew it fitted me perfectly. Slipping on my heels, I
leaned back and closed my eyes. Running my finger against the ribbon’s smooth satin, I tried to remember how long it had been since someone had stroked me the same way. It had been a very
long time.

My last boyfriend and I had split up almost a year earlier and between my work schedule and my distaste for bars and one night stands, I’d slept alone every night since, which made this
gift all the more mysterious. No one had shown much interest in me in a while, and the only appointments I made these days were with co-workers and clients.

As I ran my fingers back and forth over the trail of red ribbon, eyes closed, breath quickening, I let my mind wander. By the time my fingers reached between my legs, I was all wet. With a rush
of need and desire, I shoved first one, then two, inside, pressing along the curve of my body, breathing deeply as every inch of me focused on the hot wetness of my insides. I slowly started to
push them in and out, my left hand making its way along the fine bone of the corset’s underwire, cupping my breast and pinching my swollen nipple between my fingers.

The pain from my nipple, combined with the swelling of my clit and the pressure of my fingers, following a martini lunch, almost made me pass out. I slid back against the wall of the stall,
falling into the corner, sweat glistening on my face, my hair in my eyes, as I pressed in and out, harder and faster, feeling every inch tighten, every inch beg for more, my clit craving the
pressure of my fingers, my pussy craving the pressure of a cock. I alternated as quickly as I could – a few seconds outside, a few seconds inside, my fingers darting across the edge of my
clit, back and forth, round and round, and then inside – quick, as deep and as hard as I could shove. In and out, round and round, back and forth, every motion of my right hand echoed by my
left across my breasts.

Both breasts had long since been liberated from their lacy confines, and they swung over the underwire, quivering as my hips thrust forward and my entire body began to shake. I could feel myself
starting to come – the hint of delicious pleasure teasing me on the edge of my horizons, a promise of what would come if I kept at it, if I didn’t let up, if I shoved harder and deeper,
if I pinched stronger and tighter, if my fingers moved faster and my hips pushed further.

Leaning against that damn bathroom wall, my hair around my shoulders, my breath heavy, my face flushed, my wetness leaking down my thighs, I kept moving – my fingers, my hands, my hips,
until I could feel the sensation building and building and building and then – with one big rush, I exhaled as millions of tingling sensations rushed through me.

A huge grin on my face, I shoved my briefcase off the toilet and sat down. My chest was heaving, my head was spinning – and I felt amazing. I couldn’t remember the last time
I’d masturbated, and I certainly couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it in a public restroom. It had been way too long. What a birthday present.

Ever since David left, I’d gone into autopilot. Getting close to someone else seemed like way too much work and way too much risk. It was easier to focus on my friends and my job and my
apartment. Without anyone to run their hand between my legs, without being woken up in the morning by someone pressing up against me, it was easy to forget that my body served anything but clinical
purposes.

The last ten minutes had been a delicious reminder.

With my clit still throbbing and my nipples still swollen, I unhooked my corset and stepped back into my suit. I’d almost forgotten the day wasn’t over. I looked at my watch –
an hour or so until I could leave without guilt. I bent down to pick up my briefcase when a loud clang startled me out of my daze. I glanced over to see a pile of silver chains against the edge of
the toilet.

I smiled to myself. I’d totally forgotten. What the hell was that? Reaching over, I picked up the large circle at one end and lifted – it was a very delicate, very finely linked
leash, the clasp attached to a matching very delicate, very finely linked collar. I smiled to myself. Whoever put this gift together certainly spent a lot of money, I’d never seen a chain so
expensively made, and whoever put this gift together definitely knew how to pick things out. That outfit had fitted me perfectly, and my flesh already tingled at the feeling of cold metal against
it.

Suddenly remembering a small make-up mirror in my bag, I fastened the collar around my neck, letting the leash hang down over my shirt. I couldn’t resist. I opened up my mirror and looked
at myself. I looked naughty. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt naughty, much less looked naughty – and it felt good. I loved the way the chain looked against the collar of my
white shirt, the metallic glitter of the leash against the sober grey of my suit. I ran my fingers down the metal and felt chills down my spine. Delicious.

I unclasped the leash from the collar and slid it into my bag. I kept the collar on. I wanted its cold reminder to stay with me for the rest of the afternoon. Doing my best to keep a straight
face, I made my way back to my desk. I felt as if everyone must have heard my moans or at least noticed the excessive time I had spent in the bathroom, but no one paid me any attention, no one
commented on my pinkish cheeks or my unruly hair. I patted my hair anxiously as I sat back down at my computer, realizing I had forgotten to check my appearance in the mirror.

“Urn, excuse me?”

The meek voice came from behind me, and I spun around guiltily. The girl had long curly brown hair and huge brown eyes behind small tortoiseshell frames. I noticed her lips, which were large and
seemed just slightly dry and cracked. For an instant, I wondered what it would taste like to lick them wet.

“I really hate to bother you, but –”

“It’s no problem,” I said reassuringly. “What can I do for you?” She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t think from where. I tried to remember if I owed
her any paperwork.

“This is terribly awkward,” she flashed a nervous grin, her hands anxiously twisting together, “but, you see,” and then it all came out in one sudden rush. “I went
out at lunch and I bought myself a present and I left it on my desk while I ran to answer the phone and the lunch receptionist thought it was for you because my name is also Dahlia and the regular
receptionist told her it was Dahlia’s box, and I don’t know exactly how it happened but she told Michael and somehow he thought it was yours and then I asked him if he’d seen it
and he said oh no, he had thought it was for you, and he gave it to you, and I don’t know if this makes any sense, but I wondered if you knew where my box was?”

I smiled. Of course. Of course it wasn’t for me. Of course not. How ludicrous. Only in my life. I smiled at her, at this darling girl with the dry lips and the nervous hands.

“Nice to meet you, Dahlia.”

She laughed shyly, her hands resting for an instant against the edge of my desk.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” I asked, motioning to my extra chair. She sat down and stared at me, clearly wondering what I was going to say next.

“The box is here.” I gestured under my desk, showing her where I had tucked the package before my trip to the bathroom, “but the contents are in my bag. I’m
sorry.”

She looked at me, confused.

“I couldn’t resist. I had to try it on.”

She laughed again, a bit longer this time and a bit less shy.

I reached into my bag and pulled out Dahlia’s outfit and slipped it back into the box. The leash I placed carefully on top, before handing it all to her.

“I’m really sorry about this. You must think I am terribly strange.” Her eyes stared straight into mine, wondering what I thought of her.

I smiled back at her. “Not at all. I think you are wonderful. It is the best birthday present I have ever had.”

“It’s your birthday today?” she exclaimed in wonder.

“Yes, yes, it is.” I couldn’t help smiling at this delightful girl.

“Oh, God, I had no idea. Why, then you must keep this. It should be yours.” She pushed the box back at me.

“No, no, no. It is yours. I got to try it on. That was amazing enough for me. It’s your outfit. It belongs to you.”

There was a pause while we both thought about what to say next.

“Please. I’d like you to have it.”

I couldn’t stop staring at her lips. “No, no, that’s okay, it’s not really me, anyway. I like my underwear to be brighter than the clothes I wear on top . . .”

She laughed again, this time the shyness almost gone, the brown eyes seemingly bigger and browner than before, and I began to notice little hints of gold inside them.

“You know,” she leaned over to me and said, in a soft whisper, “they have corsets in red and pink and blue . . .”

My first thought was that her lips were only inches from mine. My second thought was that I’d never kissed a girl. My third thought was that a pink corset might be the best thing I could
ever buy.

“Will you take me to the shop? I want to go.”

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “If you won’t let me give you mine as a birthday present, perhaps you can let me buy you another?”

“Only if you let me buy you a drink after?”

I couldn’t believe it. I was flirting with a girl. I was flirting with a girl also named Dahlia. I was sitting at my desk, flirting with a girl with my name, and all I could think about
was how her lips would feel between my teeth.

“I would love it,” she said as she stood up. “Shall I stop by your desk at six?”

“That sounds great.” I couldn’t stop smiling at this creature.

She leaned over again, her lips inches from my face, and my breath stopped. What was she doing? Was she going to press her lips against mine, her tongue in my mouth, running against my teeth,
her breath mixing with mine? Was she going to kiss me at my desk?

“You can keep the collar,” she whispered, and then she turned to walk away.

I closed my eyes, waiting for my heart to return to normal. Two more hours to six.

Arnanece (Puerto Rico)

I am Arnanece, and I am a 50-year-old woman. Ever since I remember, I have had sexual fantasies of dominating a male. Being from San Juan, Puerto Rico has not helped develop
that fantasy to fulfillment, although it has become an addiction since I was eight years old and masturbated to Robin Hood kneeling at having recognized King Richard, or Pedro Infante apologizing
to his father. The earlier fantasies involved father-son, king or queen and military knight, but soon developed to woman dominating man, and from words and looks moved to sexual and conscious
consent. The Internet has helped fulfill a lot of these fantasies virtually and has helped to fulfill some in real life, but what a woman develops in her fantasy world is hard to meet. Therefore my
hands and my best lover, my mind, play an active role in my sexual life that maybe no man will ever satisfy, although I do not give up in my search.