The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (70 page)

“Again, just your face.”

His mouth closed and he moved his head only, slowly bringing his nose, checking to see if the action was approved before going further with masturbating me with his nose.

“Sweet slave, sweet.”

He pressed his mouth to my cunt and vibrated with sounds.

“Keep on.” He must have done this for some time before I asked for his tongue again. He became just my toy machine, my vibrator but not only to me, especially to him. He knew and
became a perfect toy, my perfect slave.

“Enough.”

Slowly he left the bed and went to the kitchen while I lingered more in bed, thinking of what a wonderful and useful slave I have.

Liza (London, UK)

When my husband tells me he’s taking me out tonight, and that I should wear the clothes he’s laid out for me on the bed, I really don’t pay it a second
thought. He will often book tables at nice restaurants as a treat for me, and buy me a new outfit to wear for the occasion, and it’s a while since we’ve spent any quality time together
as he’s been so involved with his work. Perhaps he’s realized he’s been neglecting me and this is his way of saying he’s sorry. So I take a long bath, cream my body all over
with lotion, wrap a towelling robe around myself and walk into the bathroom to see what he’s chosen for me.

At first, I think he’s playing some kind of practical joke. Instead of the designer label cocktail dress and slinky lingerie I’ve been expecting, I see clothes which, frankly, are
better suited to a Soho streetwalker: a tight white crop top in some shiny material, a denim mini with a frayed hem which appears to be less of a skirt and more of a belt, a black push-up bra and
matching thong panties, made of scratchy artificial lace. No tights or stockings, just white stiletto-heeled shoes.

“I can only find some cheap, nasty stuff on the bed,” I call down the stairs to my husband. “Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake and brought the wrong bag home from
the shops?”

“There’s no mistake,” my husband calls back. “Put it on and I’ll explain in the car. Oh, and put your hair in a nice, high pony tail and make sure you’re
wearing lots of red lipstick and black eyeliner.”

By the time I’ve finished dressing and applying my make-up, I look and feel like a tart. The bra, which is clearly visible through the thin top, thrusts my small breasts out provocatively,
and the miniskirt is so short that if I bend over or stand carelessly I will be displaying the cheeks of my bum, separated by the chafing lace of my thong. I go downstairs, tottering a little on
the three-inch heels, still wondering what this is all about. My husband just nods his approval curtly, and leads me out to the car without letting me grab a coat to cover my slutty outfit.

I wait for him to give me an explanation, but he says nothing. It’s only when I realize that he is driving away from the high street, towards one of the roughest estates in town, that I
finally ask, “What the hell is going on here?”

At last he breaks down and confesses. First of all, he says, he loves me and he always will. He’s been keeping things a secret from me because he wanted to protect me, but now everything
has gone beyond that point. For the last year or so, he tells me, his business has been in financial trouble. For a while, he tried to forget about his problems, and carried on spending money he
didn’t actually have, treating the company’s funds as though they were his own personal bank account.

As the debts began to mount, in order to keep up the lavish lifestyle we had become accustomed to, he decided to borrow money to cover the shortfall, but when the bank refused to give him a loan
because they deemed him to be a bad credit risk, foolishly, he turned to the most notorious money lenders in town, the Lee brothers. He knew they were supposed to be involved with all kinds of
criminal activity, but he was desperate. Of course, despite his promises to repay the money, he hasn’t been able to, and their threats of what will happen to him if they don’t get at
least some of it back have been getting more and more vicious. Finally, he has come to a solution which is acceptable to them: he is going to pay a portion of his debts by giving them unlimited use
of my body for the night.

I can’t believe what he is telling me: it’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard, and I demand that he turns the car round right now and takes me home. There is absolutely
no way I am going to let these strangers have sex with me. My husband tells me he has tried everything else, but the two have seen the photograph of me he keeps on his desk in his office, and they
want me. And what the Lee brothers want, the Lee brothers get.

We pull to a halt in front of a rundown tower block. The walls are plastered with graffiti, a mattress and a broken fridge have been dumped on the concrete forecourt and a couple of the street
lights don’t work. I can’t help thinking that the car will probably have lost its radio and maybe even its wheels by the time we return to it.

We take the lift, which is in semi-darkness and stinks of urine, up to the ninth floor. My husband raps on the door of one of the flats. It is opened by a man who must be a good six foot four in
height, with a lean, powerful physique. I have to admit he is not unattractive, but he looks rough and ready, his dark eyes hard in his tanned face. He eyes me slowly up and down, and his lips
curve upwards in a feral smile.

“Very tasty,” he mutters. I almost expect him to haul me inside the flat and leave my husband on the doorstep, but he doesn’t. Instead, the two of us follow him into the living
room. It’s small and cramped, with a stained carpet and a three-piece suite with torn beige covers, and it smells of mould and boiled cabbage. I can’t believe the Lee brothers actually
live in this squalid little place, given the amount of money they’re reputed to have made from all their dodgy dealings, and I suspect this is just the place they use when they want to give
someone a working over – though not usually of the type they’re clearly planning to give me.

The other brother is lounging on the settee, but he gets to his feet as I enter the room. He’s about ten years younger than his sibling, slightly shorter and stockier, with blue eyes and
spiky, highlighted blond hair. They don’t look anything alike, and I suspect they have different fathers. The one thing they do share, however, is a look of undisguised lust as they stare at
me. Their eyes seem to be stripping me naked, and I feel vulnerable but also suddenly, shockingly excited. What do they want to do to me? Will they expect me to perform sex acts I never have for my
husband? Will I be able to say no? And, more importantly, will I want to?

Without being told, my husband goes and sits on a wooden-backed chair in a corner of the room. The dark one – I haven’t been given any kind of introduction, nor do I expect one
– unthreads the thin leather belt from his trousers and uses it to fasten my husband’s wrists securely behind him, binding him to the chair. There are beads of sweat on his brow and a
panicked look in his eyes as he realizes he’s helpless. Whatever these two lowlifes decide to do to me from now on, he can’t prevent it.

The blond comes to stand behind me. He grabs hold of my honey-blonde pony tail, and twists my head round to face his. Though his features are softer than his brother’s, and I suspect he
probably has the nicer nature of the two, I’m acutely aware of how much bigger and more powerful he is than me, and a strange mixture of fear and anticipation shudders through me.

He presses his mouth to my neck, and I think for a moment he’s going to kiss me. Instead, his teeth nip my skin, just enough to bruise, and I realize he’s leaving his mark on me with
a love bite. I wriggle in his grasp, but he holds me tightly. I can feel his cock beginning to stir in his jeans, the hard length of it pressing against my backside.

“Cute body your missus has got,” he says to my husband, “and I can’t wait to see it naked.”

As he speaks, he is pulling at the midriff-baring top I’m wearing. The stitching in one of the badly finished seams gives way, and he casually tears the garment off my body.

“Not got much in the way of tits, has she?” the older brother says, and my face flushes with embarrassment at being discussed so crudely.

“I dunno,” the blond replies, squeezing my breasts through the push-up bra. “I reckon there are a couple of nice little mouthfuls here.”

“Well, get them out, then,” his brother tells him, and the blond reaches into the cups of the bra and scoops my breasts out. The nipples stiffen under a combination of his touch and
the greedy gaze of his brother, and I almost want to thrust my chest out further, as if to prove to them that I’ve got something worth looking at.

I’ve almost forgotten that my husband is sitting meek and immobile in a chair, and then I glance over and meet his gaze. He looks away, ashamed, but I have seen the size of the bulge in
his trousers and know that having to watch what is being done to me is turning him on.

The blond is still playing with my nipples, and I realize how much I want to feel his mouth on them. His brother has other ideas, though.

“Strip the rest of it off her,” he says. “I want to see her cunt.”

Again, my cheeks burn: my husband has never called it that in all the time we’ve been together. Sex with him is gentle and tender; not rough and crude. There’s nothing but roughness
and crudity about these two, so why do I find what they’re doing so exciting?

The blond does as his brother asks, unzipping the miniskirt and letting it drop to the floor. Then he tugs my panties down and off. I’m standing there in nothing but bra and high heels,
nipples hard, pussy damp. I can smell my own arousal, and I’m sure they must be able to, too.

The older brother thrusts a hand between my legs without ceremony, finding me wet. His thumb settles on my clit, rubbing it hard. It normally takes very little of this type of treatment to bring
me to orgasm, and despite myself I am panting with desire when he abruptly withdraws his fingers and orders me to my knees.

I comply, and am rewarded with the sight of him unzipping the fly of his jeans. He wears nothing beneath them, and the dark arrow of pubic hair that leads to his groin comes into view, followed
seconds later by the hardening length of his penis. Even partially erect, it looks big, and I shudder with guilty pleasure at the thought of being made to take something that size in front of my
husband.

His brother follows suit rapidly. His cock, almost fully hard from where he’s been rubbing against me, is not particularly long, but is thicker than any I’ve ever known.

“Suck me,” the blond commands, pressing his helmet to my lips. I open my mouth and take the fat purple head inside. He tastes sweaty and a little sour, but the intensely male aroma
of him has its own power to arouse me, and I begin to lick him with an eagerness which surprises me. I lap briefly at the little slit in the tip of his cock, inducing it to weep a tear of salty
juice into my throat.

A hand suddenly grabs hold of my pony tail, yanking my head back painfully. Not wanting to be left out, his brother is now demanding that I pay him the same attention. He thrusts his erection
into my mouth, causing me to gag as the blunt glans nudges against my soft palate. He does not want gentle strokes of my tongue; instead, he is keeping tight hold of my head, thrusting hard between
my lips and effectively fucking my mouth.

The blond soon grows tired of his brother monopolizing my mouth, greedy for the touch of my lips and tongue on his cock once more. As he urges me to blow him again, I take the initiative and
grasp a penis in each hand, proceeding to suck and nibble on each one in turn.

I can’t help wondering whether I will be required to suck them both till they climax. Will they make me swallow their loads, or will they spray my face and hair with their come? The
question is rendered irrelevant when the dark one pulls right out of my mouth.

Is he going to fuck me now? Suddenly, more than anything, I want to feel that huge cock powering into me. I’m sure that, as far as he is concerned, size is all that matters and technique
is an alien concept. To my shame, the thought of being treated as little more than a sex doll by him excites me intensely.

“You take her cunt,” he tells his brother, as though this is an arrangement they make on a regular basis. “I’m having her arse.”

This is something I’m not prepared for. My husband has suggested anal sex on a couple of occasions in the past and I’ve always turned him down. I certainly don’t want my first
time to be here, like this – and yet I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to have this man penetrate my forbidden hole.

“You’ve got no problem with me fucking your slut of a wife up the arse, have you?” he calls across to my husband. There is no answer, but the damp spot which is darkening the
front of my husband’s trousers tells its own story. What he has already seen has been enough to make him come, without even touching his cock.

“Do you want us to get her nice and wet first?” he continues.

“Yeah, I’m sure he wants to watch that,” his brother replies. “What do you reckon? I’m having her cunt, so I’ll lick that. You want her arse, so you lick
that.”

The blond lies on his back, before ordering me to kneel above his face, my rump raised in the air. In this position, my bottom is easily accessible to his brother, and it is his tongue I feel
first, snaking out to touch my tight little rosebud. I groan as the blond joins in, licking my crease with rapid strokes of his tongue. In truth, I am in very little need of his attention, my sex
already flooding with juice, but I give in eagerly to the feel of two hot mouths working me front and back. I feel the hard tip of a tongue press at my anus, the muscular ring relaxing enough to
allow it to penetrate me a little way.

At this point, the two men seem to reach an unspoken agreement, deciding I am ready to take them both. The blond swivels round underneath me, so that now it is the head of his cock that waits at
the entrance to my moist channel. Holding my sex lips apart with my fingers, I lower myself down on to the solid column of flesh, feeling it push my rippled walls apart. Once I have taken as much
of him as I can comfortably manage, his brother presses his helmet against my other hole. I am aware of a swift pain as my sphincter tries to fight against the unfamiliar intrusion, then he is
inside me, stretching my back passage as widely as his brother is stretching me in front.