The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 19: 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women Read online

  Almost as soon as the visual popped into her head of the two of them dancing naked together—with their own private pianist no less—Ann suddenly felt her sex let loose with an almost completely unexpected orgasm. Her knees got weak and she shook against Andy's hard body, just as the song climaxed as well (given the length, this must be an extended version?).

  She fell into him, and as she hoped they always would be, his arms took her weight and he held her close. Knowing what had happened, he guided her back to the table and their champagne, which the staff had helpfully chilled.

  “Are you okay,” Andy asked, concern crossing his face as he saw the tears trickle down his wife’s face.

  “Yes,” she whispered, taking a sip of her champagne just to serve to wet her throat. “It is all just so overwhelming. I am riding waves of emotion that I have simply never thought possible before.”

  He smiled and held her hand, letting her compose herself in her own good time. They listened to a few more songs before the pianist finished his set and took his leave. Both Ann and Andy went up and thanked him personally for the special touch he had added to their honeymoon vacation. It was a moment neither would soon forget.

  They finished their drinks and with a hefty tip left the little piano bar arm in arm.

  “How about this time you let me lead the way,” Ann said as she took the lead and almost drug Andy along.

  She led him up to the sports bar in the upper rear of the ship. As she’d expected it was pretty crowded with folks gathered to watch the second half of Monday Night Football, which was just getting underway.

  Andy had given her a memorable moment with the Righteous Brothers, and she wanted to return the favor. She knew it was killing him not to see his favorite team, the Cowboys play. Incidentally they were playing tonight, but yet to his credit Andy hadn’t said a word about it.

  She got them a pretty good high-top table where he could get his gridiron God fix.

  “You do not need to do this,” he said, giving her a kiss after he spoke, “I can totally miss the game. Being with you is so much more important to me right now.”

  “Well,” she said as she motioned for the barkeep to grab them a pair of beers, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. And giving what you need makes me happy. More than you will ever know.”

  The beers—actually the barkeep had brought a bucket over—arrived and Ann took out two and handed one to Andy after twisting off the cap.

  “Here is to us,” Ann said, clinking the longneck of her bottle against Andy’s.

  “No,” he said with one eye cocked to the side to watch Tony Romo fumble yet another snap from center, “Here is to you.” Their bottle clinked again and both took a healthy swig.

  “You know,” she said, continuing, “This is more our style. As much as I adore and enjoy the fancy dinners, the private concerts with champagne service, this is what I love most. I like just hanging out relaxing with you with a few beers.”

  “If I had known that a few months ago,” he said with a devilish gleam in his eye, “I could have saved a ton of money and just gotten us a room at the Motel 6 by the nearest Hooters.”

  “Oh no,” she replied, now almost choking on her beer in her mirth, “That would most definitely not been in order. This is a trip we’ll never forget.” She took another pull from her bottle. “Plus the sex is way hotter aboard a ship I’ve learned.”

  “And tomorrow is that private island,” he said. “Gives me more than a few ideas.”

  She let him focus on the game, for which she only had a slight interest. Instead she let her mind wander to tomorrow’s visit to the island and the rest of their trip. Then back to their home and checking out their wedding larder.

  It was hard not to get carried away with all of the excitement of this new life together with all of the fun benchmarks and other important events she and Andy would be sharing together. She tried to restrain herself and keep her focus but after a few minutes of frustration she decided it was okay to let loose.

  The path of a newlywed on the start of a great adventure with her new husband was a path that she didn’t plan on treading down again. It was fine for her to get crazy and enjoy herself without worrying about the consequences for now.

  She replaced her empty bottle in the bucket and grabbed another, enjoying the crisp sound as she twisted the cap off. She grabbed another and passed it over to Andy.

  “Let’s enjoy tonight,” she said, “And tomorrow in the morning.”

  He smiled and kissed her, leaving a faint taste of cool beer. She squeezed his leg and smiled.

  Sometimes heaven is easy to achieve.

  ***

  [Hope you liked the story and don't forget your 8 complimentary books, which you may find a download link to on the last page of this collection, just after the 11th story ends. Now, on to the next story!]

  Mercy Fuck

  by

  Bernice Jacobs

  Mercy spent countless hours combing her tangled hair. She didn't do it because she enjoyed it, she felt like she needed to, like a surgeon sewing a cut, or a dermatologist erasing a scar.

  For Mercy, maintaining her appearance was a societal requirement for a woman, especially for young professional women like herself. Despite this, she reluctantly carried out the process of beautifying herself with a sense of duty over any feeling of delight, like a prison guard carrying out an execution.

  No matter how nice her newly applied gelled manicured nails looked, Mercy equated her life to that of a prisoners'. She felt like a slave to all the ridiculous demands burdening her delicate shoulders and tiring her well moisturized hands.

  Mercy credited her voluptuous curves to all of her promotions, having very little respect for men as most of them typically ignored the vast intellect, neglecting it like an orphan or an unwanted step-child. Mercy reached her boiling point, tired of playing by the hypocritical norms ruling the male dominated world. She wouldn't take it anymore, pledging to rebel against it all.

  Mercy had only been in love once, but it was extremely brief and every man she'd been with since him was always myopically concerned with getting his, having no concern for ensuring she was satisfied while gazing at her with their celebratory smiles of satisfaction, beaming like sun rays just before rolling their lazy bodies out of her bed and making their way to the door.

  Mercy's breaking point splintered like an old brittle stick in the last few days. Now, she was determined to live her life by her rules, as ruthless as they were, taking another big swig of the well-aged whiskey from the flask she received after becoming the youngest attorney in her firm in its hundred year history.

  Determined to side-step the naive expectations of the modern era, she was ready to let go of all inhibition, giving herself permission to be as reckless as she needed to be in order to treat men like objects of pleasure and nothing more.

  Running her fingers through her hair, deliberately tussling it into chaos, her dress swaying in the frosty weather, she briskly proceeded towards the Elite High-Class Bullet Train. Only people with a great deal of money, or a company that sponsored seats, could afford to ride it.

  Mercy, for the first time in her young life, was determined to impulsively pursue her personal pleasure whatever the risk. Taking another giant swig from her silver plated flask, while taking her first step onto the train, she allowed herself to enjoy the burn it caused as it tumbled down her throat.

  For most of Mercy's life, her time was strictly devoted to achieving success in her field. She was never great at getting close to people and always felt like an outsider.

  It took a long time before Mercy could bring herself to get close to someone. Only one time in her life had she ever met a man that she felt close to right away, but that was a long time ago. She tried not to think about it, especially not tonight.

  The next few steps she took on the train, Mercy grew excited at the thought of acting out spontaneously, convinced this was the only way she'd be able to break free of th
e grueling loneliness and misery she'd been spiraling down recently, and she took another drink to celebrate such an optimistic prospect.

  Walking toward the section of seats that were open to anyone who pays per ride, different than the section of seats reserved for her massive firm, hoping that this small act might help push her towards more spontaneous and unpredictable situations to act on.

  Staring at the seat she usually sat in when she rode the train, she took another few drinks from her flask. A few moments later, a corpulent woman she didn't recognize suspiciously looked around, and then deposited herself in it.

  “Pathetic wench,” Mercy whispered under her breath much too quiet for anyone else to hear, laughing as she did. She took another swig of whiskey as she began wondering if she felt as unhappy on the inside as the heavy woman taking her usual seat looked on the outside.

  The train began moving quickly, shooting along the track with great force. Mercy loved riding this extremely exclusive train, filled with only the best and the brightest people her massive city had to offer. This social separation helped her feel important, somehow, making the ride to and from work the best part of her day.

  Continuing to take a few more drinks from her large flask, a man's voice abruptly resonated, as if it was from the male lead of a classic romantic movie. Sitting alone in her comfortable booth, Mercy closed her eyes slowly, pressing her weary forehead against the cold window pane.

  Without realizing what she was doing, Mercy began running her soft hand under her dress rerunning the memory of the man's sexy voice in her head, while her fingers slid smoothly towards her warm slit.

  Too caught up in herself to notice, the man with the classically romantic voice sat down next to her. Feeling her seat sink as he sat down, she opened her eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see him, as if she'd somehow summoned him by fantasizing about him touching her.

  Moving her fingers with more intensity, she caused them to dance around her pussy, concentrating hard to resist the temptation of allowing her body to buck out of control as she began enjoying herself more than she'd anticipated.

  The man's hand carelessly drifted against her exposed knee, causing Mercy to instinctively jerk away, even though she secretly hoped it hadn't been an accident, wanting nothing more than for him to take her in his willing arms and place her on top of him so she could ride him like a wild bronco. The man, however, just continued ignoring her.

  Opening his lid of freshly brewed coffee, the cup indicating he'd purchased it from the dining car, the aroma ran through Mercy's veins like a soothing drug. Discreetly watching over the man, she began wondering what he did for a living, not recognizing him as a politician or from the number of trade magazines she perused from time to time.

  The man, continuing to act as if he was unaware of her caused Mercy to turn away from him completely, catching a reflection of her pretty face in the window. Her lips were bright red, her hair was freshly tousled.

  If my hair was combed, Mercy began thinking, I'd probably be good enough for him to pay attention to me. If I looked together, he'd probably find me worth talking to, someone worth pursuing even.

  What an asshole, Mercy continued thinking illogically. Mercy, buzzing off of good whiskey, felt insulted as if the man's actions were nothing more than an example of the man's absurd rules governing the world, desperately wanting to find a man who found her beautiful in every moment of every day regardless of how messy her hair looked.

  This shit's so one sided, Mercy continued thinking, opening up the lid of her flask, sending a number of gulps directly down, without any concern of the man's judgment sitting next to her.

  Mercy wanted a new life, she continued realizing. My curves and my beauty, coupled with my brain, are far too much of a goddamn rare commodity in this screwed up backwards world, Mercy began mentally ranting. I should be able to have everything I want, whenever the hell I want it, she continued thinking, intentionally pulling her dress down to expose the top of her breasts a great deal more.

  Closing the lid of her flask, she went back to touching herself, ignoring the man sitting next to her, despite slowly moving her other hand towards his leg until it was only a centimeter from him. I should run my finger nails up his leg, Mercy thought, he'd be all over me then I bet. I should run them straight up his crotch and wrap them around his man parts, forcing every drop of his blood rushing towards it.

  Tilting her head down, she gazed at the sheer array of colors painting her dress. The beauty of it turned her on even more, and her fingers began gently whisking against her pink pussy lips.

  My dress alone should be enough to make any man hard, Mercy continued thinking, while slyly peering out the corner of her eye, noticing the man next to her blatantly staring at her partially exposed breasts, unaware of what she was discreetly doing under the coat she cleverly draped herself in for the modicum of privacy it provided.

  The excitement of the moment, however, sent shivers of electricity up and down her spine, energizing her fingers like never before. At only twenty-six years old, Mercy usually felt decades older with the sheer amount of responsibility her professional life burdened her with, but as she began pressing the tip of her middle finger into her pink hole, she finally felt her age again.

  I should be on every man's short list of who he wants to fuck, she began thinking becoming more and more aroused as she did.

  Men should be killing each other to eat me out every night, especially with as fit as I keep myself, she continued thinking.

  With her free hand still resting next to the gentleman's leg, his perverted eye's burning a hole in her chest, she could tell how bad he wanted to pluck her nipples with his firm fingers. She knew how desperate he was to play with her breasts, his arousal beginning to show in the bulge growing in his pants.

  As Mercy continued subtly watching the man's facial expression grow more and more intense, she could tell he wanted to throw his face under her colorful dress and cup her pussy in his mouth.

  Mercy continued circling her sensitive clit with the tips of her two fingers, but as the excitement grew she pushed them both into her moist pink hole and couldn't stop herself from letting out an airy sigh of satisfaction, loud enough that the man sitting next to her was sure to recognize what she was so excited about.

  Mercy was aware that her light outburst probably wasn't heard by anyone other than the man sitting next to her, but she was sure the man sitting next to her heard it as he proudly smiled with great joy at his discovery.

  In response, Mercy moved her free hand intentionally across the top of the man's thigh, skipping her fingers to his crotch as she softly squeezed his stiff penis as if she was giving it a handshake. Feeling his balls throb against her finger tips, she pushed her two fingers back into her insatiable pink pussy, as deep as they'd go.

  “That's it bitch,” the man's silky voice quietly let out, before releasing a moan as Mercy squeezed his dick hard before quickly recoiling it, causing the man to pop up on to his feet like a rocket, as his steaming coffee splashed down across his blood filled genitals, while the cup crashed down atop his expensive shoes.

  “Serves you right, pervert!” Mercy shouted. “Now don't try touching me again, asshole!” Mercy yelled even louder, angry at the man for calling her a 'bitch' so brazenly, finding enough satisfaction in his coffee covered cock to smile with joy, while commanding him to “find another seat,” ordering him around like a new employee back in her office.

  His crotch was soaking wet. As he walked back into the aisle, his hard erect penis was visible through his thin dress pants to every onlooker, his manliness falling under the scrutiny of every judging eye, all of which convicting him of being guilty as a sexual predator before he exited the train car in dishonor.

  “Wasn't that Michael T. Cone?” A woman's voice piped up.

  “Who?” a man's voice asked.

  “You know, the property tycoon,” the woman answered.

  “Yeah it was!” a different person sa
id, amidst a large number of people grunting and making noises people make when they disapprove of something.

  “Well, I don't give a shit how much property that asshole owns,” a man stood up, “he doesn't own people!” The handsome man, stoically stood while shaking his head in disbelief, and with his strong chin directed towards her, his stony eyes filled with concern made contact with hers where he lipped her a question through his crooked grin, “are you okay?”

  Mercy, ignoring the emotions his concern sent rushing through her, delicately stood up. She took a great amount of care stepping over Michael T. Cone's spilled coffee as she made her way into the aisle.

  Walking to the opposite door that Michael T. Cone exited from, she opened the door leading to another train car. Looking over shoulder before exiting the train car, she winked at the handsome man with stony eyes, as if to thank him for her concern and she took her leave.