Erotic Teasers Read online

  EROTIC TEASERS

  EROTIC TEASERS

  EDITED BY

  RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL

  Copyright © 2019 by Rachel Kramer Bussel.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start

  Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson St, Suite 3705, Jersey City, NJ 07302.

  Printed in the United States.

  Cover design: Allyson Fields

  Cover photograph: iStock

  Text design: Frank Wiedemann

  First Edition.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-264-7

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-265-4

  Contents

  Introduction: Such a Tease

  Pink Panties • ELIZA DAVID

  Guessing Game • T.C. MILL

  Fix Me! • JOSIE JORDAN

  A Real One • LEANDRA VANE

  Desdemona on the Fringe • KENDEL DAVI

  Ava Receives a Text • ELLA DAWSON

  Once Upon a Time in the Near Future • GEORGINA COTT

  Paying Attention • LN BEY

  The Hanging Gardens of Babylon • VALERIE ALEXANDER

  The Price of Patronage • EVE PENDLE

  Daily Denial • TAMMYJO ECKHART

  The Joy of Socks • ELIZABETH COLDWELL

  When You’re Told • REBECCA CROTEAU

  Blow • VAL PROZOROVA

  Bösendorfer Blues • CECILIA DUVALLE

  Aphrodite’s Garden • REBECCA CHASE

  Rogering Nadine • RICHARD BACULA

  Coming and Going • TIFFANY REISZ

  About the Authors

  About the Editor

  INTRODUCTION: SUCH A TEASE

  Like the stories and characters in this book, I’m going to tease you with my introduction. I don’t want to give away too many of the sexy secrets in these pages, because they’re the kind of sensual bliss you have to immerse yourself in to truly capture their erotic essence.

  I’ll keep it short because these sexy stories speak for themselves and I imagine you’re eager to dive into them. Unless, that is, you love the thrill of denying yourself, as many of the men and women you’ll read about here do.

  Whether they’re playing with a pair of vibrating panties at a work party, as the narrator in Eliza David’s opening story does, or engaging in orgasm denial, as happens with Nora and Nico in the closing story, “Coming and Going,” by Tiffany Reisz, these characters relish being made to wait. Of course, they’ve partnered with lovers who they know will reward them with plenty of sexual excitement along the way.

  The teasing that happens here occurs in all sorts of inventive ways, from the use of technology in “Ava Receives a Text,” by Ella Dawson, to the title activity in “Guessing Game,” by T.C. Mill, and far beyond.

  What ties these stories together is that while all the characters want to get off, whether with kink or fetish or by other means, they aren’t in a hurry…or else they relish the agony of being teased and taunted. They would rather go on a wild and sometimes wicked erotic journey than take the express route. From edging to bondage to exhibitionism and voyeurism, these sexy couplings show how arousing it can be to hold off on the big finish.

  I hope you find these stories as hot as I did, whether you tease yourself by savoring them slowly, one at a time, read them with a lover, or greedily devour them.

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Atlantic City, New Jersey

  PINK PANTIES

  Eliza David

  I stepped out of the steamy shower, sighing as I dried myself. These annual fundraising dinners for the firm got more pedantic year after year. Nonetheless, the Silvas must be in attendance, which was Ramon’s annual insistence. It just looks good, honey, my husband had explained this morning before he left for the courthouse. I understood as much. It was a look, an aesthetic. Ramon and I stood out among the sea of white lawyers and their dutiful wives. He was convinced that the added perk of us being an interracial couple is what led to his hiring six years ago. Diversity was a buzzword you could find on Franklin, Dowd and Associates’ website on multiple pages. Thus, Ramon and I—his black wife—were welcome with open arms and private parties. The latter, I suppose, was my payoff for the many nights Ramon spent nestled in his office while I waited over a cold dinner for him.

  Balance.

  Nonetheless, I’d spent the day dreading this event. It was just another indicator of how predictable our marriage had become after ten years.

  When I’d met Ramon in a dive bar after finals during my senior year at DePaul a decade prior, I thought he was way out of my league. He had resembled a young Marlon Brando, a strapping body with a thick head of dark hair and a devilish smile. Ramon was the Package, a gorgeous and debonair law student who had wowed me with his intellect and titillated me with his sensuality. It’s no wonder we ended up in bed together in my cramped Lake Shore apartment just hours later. Just the memory of my nubile brown body twisted with his tanned muscles made me wish for time to go back to the beginning of our marriage. We were wedded six months after our fateful meeting, which was meant to be a one-night stand but blossomed into love. During our first year of matrimony, the sex was daily; during the weekend, almost hourly. Ramon embodied all of the elements of the stereotypical Latin lover, taking his time with every avenue of my body. The motions were never rushed and the satisfaction lingered for days.

  Then life moved fast. After I finished school, I had fully intended to become a social worker. I wanted to give back to the West Side of Chicago, the raw but impoverished community that had raised me. That hope was dashed once I’d discovered I was pregnant. Ramon thought it best I stay home and raise Justin while he began his career as a paralegal under the firm’s founding lawyer, Warren Franklin, Esquire. While he fought cases about petty theft and small-time extortion, I earned my homeschool teaching license online. When Ramon vied for partner status, I joined a charity group headed by Berta Franklin, Warren’s wife. I hated every minute of it but it helped Ramon with his professional goals while mine were put on the back burner. A decade later, old man Warren was dead, Ramon was a late-night working partner, and me? I was an unfulfilled mother whose only recourse from my stay-at-home existence was raising money to save dolphins and bumblebees.

  I was slathered in shea butter lotion and twisting my dark brown braids into an upsweep when Ramon came in, his tie undone. Without pause, I reached for the tails of the tie with a smug smile.

  “This is your sixth gala and you still haven’t mastered tying a bow tie,” I said with a laugh.

  He chuckled in return. “Well, think of it as an incentive for this,” he said, waving a flat, square black box at me. I tightened the bow and tilted my head at the box.

  “And what is that?”

  “Just a little something to make the night more exciting for you. For us,” he said before I took the box from him. I lifted the top and, nestled between two sheets of thin black tissue paper, was a pair of hot-pink panties. The color looked cheap (which my husband knew I’d like), but the intricately woven pattern within the French lace told a more expensive tale. I raised an eyebrow as I lifted the thong out of the box.

  “You haven’t bought me lingerie in a long time,” I said before giving him a playful side-eye. “Spill it. What’d you do?”

  Ramon laughed before pulling me into his arms. “Now you know damned well you are the only woman in my life,” he said, stea
ling a peck from my lips. “I just know how mad boring these dinners are and I wanted you to feel sexy tonight.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, returning the kiss with a touch more tongue. “Well, I thank you for the gesture. Are you sure these are appropriate for a night out with Chicago’s legal elite?”

  Ramon eased his hand under my silk robe and squeezed my bare ass. “Mmmm, it’s more than appropriate, mami,” he growled against my pout before we indulged in another drugging kiss. He let me go and paced himself out of our master bathroom backward, his eyes dragging over my naked body peeking out of my robe. “Now you get dressed. Mrs. Flax is downstairs to sit with Justin and the car’ll arrive in fifteen.” He turned on the heels of his black Italian loafers and walked out, leaving me in a bit of shock. While Ramon hadn’t lost his mojo in the sack, long nights at the firm lately had kept me from experiencing his lovemaking for weeks. Now he was surprising me with expensive pink panties?

  I tossed the empty box on the black marble-topped sink and slipped my legs into the lace garment. They were a perfect fit except for what felt like a small strip of added fabric that swept the length of my intimate folds. I assumed they just needed to be broken in for the night and continued on with my prep.

  “Honey, car’s here,” Ramon yelled from downstairs as I slipped my feet into my Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Fifteen minutes had gone by faster than I had expected. I grabbed my silver satin clutch and dashed down the steps, the skirt of my knee-length emerald-green dress rustling against the backs of my thighs. I kissed the top of Justin’s curly head, nodded to Mrs. Flax, and threaded my arm through Ramon’s before we headed out the door.

  Downtown Chicago’s Chandler Hotel was a sea of black tuxes and shimmery gowns when we arrived. I nodded and waved, per the wifely protocol for corporate fundraisers. The organizers selected a legal fund to donate to every year. This year, it was for the Chicago Technology Foundation. I wasn’t sure why a nonprofit STEM organization would ever need legal assistance, but it gave the firm’s good ol’ boys a reason to drink heavily and dance to old Sinatra covers all night long.

  Ramon pulled out my chair at our assigned table. I felt his warm breath on my neck as I sat down. “You like your new present?”

  I drew a blank before he sat beside me and I realized that he was talking about the panties. “Oh, yes,” I said, shifting my hips in the seat. “I’m not sure they fit, though.”

  Ramon’s brow scrunched. “What? You’re a perfect size four. Besides, you live on the treadmill. Wish I had time to work out as much as you do,” he said, giving his small paunch a rub.

  I blinked at him, feeling that familiar surge of annoyance rise in me. It was innocent-sounding comments like that that made me feel as if Ramon didn’t value what I did every day while he was at work defending his clients. While I did manage to fit in a daily workout, that wasn’t the totality of my day. I prepared third-grade lesson plans for Justin, cooked three square meals every day and—until recently—fucked my husband almost every night. I kept the house sparkling clean and managed the finances. I made sure the house was running on all cylinders while Ramon was working sixty-hour weeks. And, on top of all of that, I was still the same size I’d been ten years before when Ramon met me at that dive bar. Given all of that, I thought I deserved a run whenever I felt like it. Ramon’s condescension about my one daily moment of peace was not needed.

  “I do a lot more than work out, Ramon,” I said through clenched teeth, hoping the guests sitting on either side of us didn’t hear.

  “Hey, relax. I just—”

  “Don’t tell me to relax!” I said, my tone just loud enough to solicit a head tilt from the gray-haired gentleman to Ramon’s left. I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort to keep myself calm as Ramon took my hand.

  “Listen, I know how hard you work for us. I was just trying to give you a compliment.”

  I tilted my head, my attitude dissipating thanks to his touch. “Well, don’t think that a pair of panties that don’t fit are going to get you out of the doghouse, sir.”

  A sly smile slid across Ramon’s ruggedly handsome face as he let go of my hand and reached for his cell. “I wouldn’t bet on that, baby,” he said as the waiter approached to take our dinner selection.

  I shook my head at my husband and met the eyes of the waiter.

  “Ma’am, will you be dining on chicken or fish?”

  “I’ll have the—”

  I felt a jolt against my pussy that startled me. I looked down at myself and back at the waiter. “Sorry, um, I’ll have the fish, pl—”

  Another shot. This one hit right on my clit, which was already slightly aroused from the initial sting. I felt a drop of wetness escape my softness before I clenched. “Fish, please,” I answered, keeping it short and sweet. My breath was slightly jagged, unaware of what was happening with my seat. I turned to Ramon, whose eyes must’ve been on me the entire time I struggled to talk with the waiter.

  “I’ll have what the lady’s having,” he answered to the waiter, his gaze never breaking from mine. When the waiter moved on to the next guest, Ramon twirled his phone in his hand and placed it on the table. It wasn’t until he swiped his finger across the screen and I felt a longer vibration that I realized what he was doing.

  My hips shivered under the sensation, this time lasting ten of the longest seconds of my life. Once it stopped, my shoulders dropped and I licked my lips. “What…what are you doing?” I breathed out.

  Ramon leaned into me, his hand easing around the exposed back of my dress. “I’ll ask again: you like your new present?” He gave my neck two light kisses, which felt extra arousing thanks to the jolts that had consumed my body.

  “You’ll be under my control for the remainder of this party,” he started, his firm voice making me pool with wetness. “You won’t see me, but you’ll know I’m not far away.”

  He swiped the phone and my body jerked. A soft moan escaped my lips.

  “Ramon . . . stop,” I begged softly.

  He took my earlobe into his warm mouth, suckling it for a moment before he replied, “You really want me to stop, mami?”

  “No . . . ” I said, letting my eyes close for a second before darting my gaze around the table. Not one of the other six people was paying any attention to us. Stuffed in their self-important tuxes, ties, and gowns, they were none the wiser as my husband’s hand traveled up my inner thigh. This was the wrong place for this sexual experiment, but my body needed the mystery and the sensation. I turned to him, my clit swollen and my body sizzling.

  “Don’t stop.”

  My breath caught as the tips of his fingers grazed the dampened fabric. I watched the knuckles of his free hand move across the phone, a warning of the sensation to follow. The vibration started again, softer this time, as the pressure of his fingers moved the small motor woven inside of the panties. My lips parted as the jolt shifted to the underside of my clit, sending the current straight to my G-spot.

  “Mmmmm,” I groaned, slightly moving my hips until the vibration suddenly disappeared. I turned to Ramon, his bearded face aglow with a sinister smile. It was clear the smug bastard was loving every minute of my torture. And, quiet as I kept myself, so was I.

  “Why’d you stop?” I asked in a whine, half mad. I felt his hand slip away as he turned his body from me. “There are rules,” Ramon started, taking a sip of the water from the crystal goblet to his right. He spun the cell phone in a circle on the table. It was a habit of his that annoyed me in ordinary circumstances. But now, the move was a power play. I dragged my gaze from the phone back to his lips.

  “What are the rules?” I asked, an excited tremble in my voice.

  He turned to me, his face a visage of pleasure and power. “Rule number one: the panties stay on until I take them off. The vibrator contains a body warmth detector, so I’ll get a notification on my cell if you take them off and stuff them in your purse.”

  There wasn’t a chance in hell I was taking them off but I enterta
ined the man in any case. “Got it. Next?”

  “Rule number two: you are not allowed to stimulate yourself in any way. No touching, bouncing, rubbing. Your only source of stimulation will be the pink panties.”

  I nodded, the band starting a rendition of Sinatra’s “My Way” in the background. “Anything else?”

  “Rule number three: I reserve the right to operate the vibrator at any given time tonight. If we see each other during the gala, you are to lock eyes with me while the vibration occurs.”

  The banquet hall we were in was fairly small. It excited me to think of the enhanced probability of seeing Ramon as he controlled me from across the room. “Duly noted. Continue,” I purred.

  “One last rule,” Ramon said, halting the spin of the phone. He pointed the device at me. “Rule number four, mami: you cannot orgasm.”

  Now that I didn’t like. “How will you know whether or not I came?” I mused, closing the space between our chairs.

  Ramon lowered his mouth to my ear. “Because I’ve been fucking you for over a decade. I know exactly what you look like when and after you come. I know the sweet smell of your pussy that emanates from you and takes over my senses. All dead giveaways,” he growled in my ear, causing me to clench below. I was soaking wet, certain I was leaking through the dress.

  “We’ll start after dinner. Do we have a deal?” he asked me as the waiter arrived at the table with our platters. What I assumed was my dish was placed in front of me but I hadn’t glanced at it. Ramon had my undivided attention.

  “Yes,” I said, turning to my meal of overcooked halibut with a side of asparagus and mashed potatoes. The food was bland, as expected, but my clit throbbing with anticipation of Ramon’s little game made me get through dinner quicker than expected. This was the most sexually exciting thing we’d done in years, and my dripping wet pussy was ready to continue what Ramon had started.

  An hour after dinner ended, my pussy was on fire in the most delightful way. Walking was exacerbating the sensation, with or without the electric shock. Though I hadn’t caught Ramon’s gaze, he’d clearly spotted me and brought it to my attention with spontaneous jolts to my clit. I was in mid-conversation with Berta Franklin, the widow of the firm’s founding lawyer, when Ramon decided that would be a fine time to play with the panties.