Read The Mercy of Strange Men: Erotic Stories Online

Authors: Aimee Nichols

Tags: #short stories, #menage, #erotic stories, #voyeurism, #erotic fiction, #sexy stories, #lesbian erotica, #bdsm erotica, #exhibitionism, #australian, #literary erotica, #aimee nichols

The Mercy of Strange Men: Erotic Stories (5 page)

BOOK: The Mercy of Strange Men: Erotic Stories
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‘Obviously I’m
infamous around here, so I don't think I need an introduction. What
dirt has Ellen been spreading about me?’

‘Only that
you’re her “favouritest” cousin the world. Oh, and that you
streaked at your twenty-first.’

‘Great. All the
keep-it-in-the-family stories are going to come out.’

She laughed,
and for a moment I could admire her again without guilt. I noted
with a little spark of pleasure that she seemed to have perked up
considerably during the short time we’d been talking. She leaned
across me to reach for the jug of water and I could smell her;
hell, I could almost taste her. She gave me a smile and turned to
talk to the girl on her left, and I struck up a conversation with
Jess. About what, I couldn’t tell you now – only that it was
trivial, and I was far too aware of Kate’s presence beside me. I
nearly jumped out of my skin every time she moved.

 

For nearly an
hour, we played this game. We would make small talk to each other,
then pretend to talk to other people, almost ignoring each other,
but we were both acutely aware of each other’s bodies, the heat we
generated. At least I was, and I was positive she could feel my
attraction to her from where she sat; it was strong enough to be a
physical force. I was halfway through eating my main course when
her thigh brushed mine, and I nearly choked. She began rubbing her
leg up and down against mine in slow, deliberate strokes. I wished
my skin were bare so that I could feel her flesh against mine
without hindrance of clothing. I became ultra-focused on my
breathing; it was becoming more jagged. I felt extremely warm. I
glanced across at her and noticed that she seemed to be attempting
to avoid my gaze, although a small smile flickered across her
features. With no input from me, my hand began to slide under the
table and towards her lap, seeking warmth from between her legs. I
rested my hand on her bare thigh, just below the hem of her skirt,
and she made no move to stop me. I inched the pinky finger of my
left hand under the hem of her skirt, delighting in the feeling of
the smooth silky skin usually hidden under her clothing. Without
warning she grabbed my hand and pushed it up further along her leg,
almost so that my index finger rested against her vulva. From where
my hand sat, the hot moisture of her radiated out, telling me she
was excited. I felt myself begin to respond, blood rushing to my
pussy and thighs, making me feel slightly lightheaded and very
aroused.

She turned to
me and said brightly ‘I need to use the bathroom. Come with
me?’

I admired her
style; she sounded exactly like a woman who simply didn’t want to
go to the bathroom alone, no hint of arousal or desire crept into
her voice. No one at the table had the slightest idea, but then, at
that stage I think that if we'd said we were eloping to become
circus freaks they wouldn't have cared. Amazing, the effect alcohol
can have on otherwise upright and uptight citizens.

We got up,
grabbed our bags like ladies, and hastily made our way to the
restroom. She pushed me in the door ahead of her and pounced on me
as it swung shut. Her lips were furious against mine, her hands in
my hair as I ran mine over the small of her back. We began to
gyrate our pelvises together, and I fancied I could feel her
wetness soaking into the crotch of my pants.

‘Someone might
come in’ I said, and dragged her into a cubicle, turning to lock
the door behind us. By then she was already out of her top, and I
lunged forward to assist her with removing her bra. I was rewarded
with the sight of her beautiful breasts, freed and pale, the
nipples erect and pointing in my direction. I began to unbutton my
top and she stepped forward to help me; I let it become her job as
I began to play with her small soft breasts. She tore my bra off
hungrily and took my breasts in her hands, caressing them firmly,
teasing my nipples up into little monuments of lust. I sighed
involuntarily, and she took this as an invitation to tongue-kiss me
again.

I let go of her
breasts and allowed my hands to travel down her torso, then her
thighs, bringing them up again under her skirt. She trembled as my
fingers’ light embrace moved up her inner thighs, fingertips
kissing the soft skin. I ran the back of my fingers lightly over
the sheath of material between her legs and she gasped out loud. I
began to rhythmically stroke her engorged lips, and she squirmed
against my hand, pressing her body into mine and then jerking away
again as the sensations took her. I slid my hand under her panties
and she squealed, then looked shocked at her reaction.

‘You little
bitch!’ she exclaimed, a wicked smile lighting her face and taking
the edge off her words. ‘You're not getting to me that easily!’
With that, she hastily opened my pants and shoved her fingers
inside, finding my pussy wet and eager for her touch. I moaned and
rocked against her fingers as they expertly found my clit, first
circling and then rubbing forward and back over my responsive lips
and clitoris. My fingers found their way inside her and I began to
fuck her, stimulating her clit with the heel of my hand as I moved
my fingers in and out of her. Our bodies moved together, tensing
and shuddering as we pleasured each other. I felt so close to her
it was as if I was masturbating, and I felt all my anger towards
people and the world sliding out of me.

Together, with
the intensity of a lightning bolt, we came, both crying out and
moving against each other in frenzied passion, not caring if the
world and all our dinner companions could hear. We began to kiss
again as we came down, holding each other and shaking
uncontrollably.

‘I have to sit
down,’ she gasped, and collapsed onto the toilet seat. I followed
her lead and folded myself up onto the floor of the cubicle.

‘You can share
the seat,’ she told me, suddenly shy.

I looked up at
her. She really was beautiful. I allowed my head to snap back to
eye level, and her pussy looked evenly back at me from its nest of
blonde hair.

‘I'll be fine.
Thanks though, Kate.’ Her name sounded beautiful on my tongue.

‘That
was…incredible,’ she said, her gaze steady on me. I suddenly felt
the urge to mark her somehow, to show my lust for her visibly on
her body and, I admit, in part to attempt to make her mine. In that
moment of clarity, I realised I'd found someone I didn't want to
lose.

My gaze fell to
my bag, and I realised I had the capacity to do just what I wanted
to.

‘Kate,’ I
ventured, ‘would you object to me…decorating you?’

She looked
startled; by the looks of things, it wasn't a request she’d had
before.

‘What exactly
do you mean, Ange?’

My name, though
commonplace and plain, sounded rich and extravagant on her tongue.
I grabbed my back and rummaged through it, coming up with just what
I’d been after – a tube of lipstick. I drew it out and watched her
eyes respond to it, first confused and then light as comprehension
set in.

‘Okay’ she
said, a slow smile lifting her features. ‘Go for it.’

I removed the
lid of the lipstick and wound it out, pleased to discover that it
was my signature colour, the deep blue-scarlet Splendour. I
shuffled over to Kate on my knees and crouched between her legs.
Tentatively I began to draw on her chest, thrilling to the vivid
traces of the lipstick on her skin. I circled her breasts and down
her stomach, not intending to draw anything in particular, just
wanting to denote where I’d been on that pale, freckled frame. She
watched as I decorated her, silent but expressing her pleasure
through her energy. Feeling her arousal mounting again, I started
stroking her pussy, watching my fingers and the way her lips passed
through them. She rocked against my hand and I increased the pace
of my ministrations, feeling her tense and writhe as she began to
come again. Sweat ran down her body, coloured scarlet from the
makeup, and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

We sat staring
at each other in silence, neither one of us wanting to break what
we precariously held between us. I wanted to speak, to tell her she
was the most incredible person in the world, that she was who I
wanted most, that our sex was the most incredible thing I’d ever
shared with anyone, but I didn’t know how to phrase it without
sounding, well, pathetic.

Although she
was obviously content and satisfied, I couldn’t read how she
actually felt – whether I’d provided great sex and that was it, or
if there was something more there for her too.

Our silence was
interrupted by the sudden entrance of one of our party into the
toilets.

‘Are you guys
okay?’ asked a voice which I recognised as Jess’. ‘You've been
ages, and Mel thought she heard crying or something…’

Terror (and I
admit, a little proud thrill of exhibitionism) ran through me, but
before I could think up a lie, Kate spoke.

‘I…I'm a bit
upset’ she said, putting a slight tremor into her voice. ‘Ange has
been comforting me. We’ll be out soon.’

‘Are you going
to be okay?’ Jess was concerned. ‘Is there anything…’

‘No, I’ll be
fine. Just give us a few minutes.’

‘Done. See you
soon.’ And the door to the restaurant swung open and closed
again.

I looked at
Kate but still could not read her. I began to feel ashamed and
idiotic – she mustn't give a damn, I was probably just a cheap fuck
to her. And that hurt. That hurt excruciatingly.

‘Do you want my
phone number?’ I managed to ask. ‘I'm going to head home. I think
there’s going to be a male stripper at one of their venues, and
that's not my thing.’

‘Sure,’ she
said, looking a little dazed or perhaps something else. I hoped it
was dazed. ‘Got a pen?’

‘Um, no. Just
lipstick.’ I managed a grin. She smiled back wanly and invited me
to write on her. I scribbled my number, said my goodbyes, and left
her in the cubicle. Back in the restaurant, I made a hasty excuse
about feeling a bit sick and walked outside into the chilly autumn
night.

 

Three nights
later, melancholy, I sat at my CD player, looking for music that
would suit my mood. The party was still firm in my mind, but I was
attempting to let it go, convinced that I meant nothing to
Kate.

I jumped at the
sound of the phone ringing, and stumbled to answer it. Kate's voice
came down the line to me, breathy but as alive as I'd remembered
it.

‘Hi, Ange, hope
you don’t mind me ringing you…’

‘Of course
not!’ I cut in before I could stop myself. ‘I've been hoping you'd
call.’ Those words didn’t say it enough.

‘Great! I’ve
been thinking, and I’d really like to see you again. What happened
the other night feels really special to me. I could tell you felt
that way too, but I was too overcome to be able to tell you. I’ve
never had that happen before. I’m sorry if I seemed disinterested,
I just…’

‘It's fine,
Kate. I want to see you again too. I haven’t been able to get you
out of my mind.’

‘Really?’ she
sounded surprised, and more than a little flattered. ‘Great. How
about you come over to my place?’

‘Sure,’ I said,
and she gave me her address.

‘Oh, and
Ange?’

‘Yes?’

‘Bring your
lipstick!’

 

All Eyes on
Him

 

1.

I know enough about university lecture theatres not
to romanticize them, not to think of them as hallowed halls of
learning so much as holding pens for bored, spoiled undergraduates,
but even so I'm surprised by this one. It's huge for an Arts
subject lecture venue, which suggests that this subject attracts a
large enrolment; that this lecturer has important things to say.
It's barely one third full, however. I know it's the shockingly
early hour of 10am on a Tuesday, but I still would have thought
that the students could rouse themselves out of bed for the man who
will be talking, the one I'm here to see. And the lack of other
bodies makes it harder for me to decide where to seat myself. I
don't want to be too much of a distraction. First year PoliSci is
serious business.

I decide on
halfway back, towards the right hand side. He arrives just as I'm
sorting out the notebook and pen I've brought. Amongst the laptops
and iPads, my paper is downright anachronistic, but it will do.
It's a prop.

He radiates
power, control, dominating his space, commanding attention from
every mind in the room. It makes me wet.

 

 

2.

His message
stood out to me. So many of the men who contact me seem to fail at
basic reading comprehension. They top from the bottom from the
first sentence; they fail to realize that I, too, am human, and
seeking to meet my own desires, not just theirs. Worse still are
the dominant men who are sure that they can be the ones to change
my mind, make me learn that what I really want is to be dominated,
not to dominate. The ones who feel they can break me.

In contrast, he
was polite, measured, and respectful to the point of
obsequiousness. The fact that his profile showed him to be deeply
into or curious about some of my favourite things, and his photos
showed him to be attractive in an unconventional way, didn't hurt
either.

He might not
stand out to you, if you saw him on the street going about his day.
But he stands out to me, when we are together, and he stands out
here in this auditorium.

 

I know our
first coffee meeting involved some good conversation, but the
memory of what was actually said remains ungraspable, copied over
and erased by all that has come since. I know he was charming,
polite, eager without presumptuousness, honest and genuine in the
small details he gave of his everyday life.

We met on
neutral ground like the sensible grownups we are, but it didn't
take long before I knew I wanted to take him home and fuck him.

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