Best Women's Erotica 2014

OUT IN THE OPEN

It’s only 7:00 a.m., and my panties are already damp.

I lock myself into the tiny unisex bathroom and slip them off over my sandals, then wad them into a ball and stuff them into the bottom of my backpack. My long skirt flows around my bare skin as I step back out into the public eye. The coffee shop is almost deserted today. Kind of disappointing, really. Less people around not only lowers the risk, but gives me less fodder for my fantasies. Then I realize it’s still early; the morning rush hasn’t begun. So, I stay.

“One large café mocha, please.”

The girl behind the counter has large, vacuous eyes and blood-red nail polish on her long fingernails. She looks bored. As I look at her, I wonder about her sexual appetites. Does she prefer to be on top, in control and dominant? Is she capable of multiple orgasms? Then, the question that always follows these random musings. Does she masturbate? I picture her leaning against the counter, pulling up her short denim skirt, and fingering her swollen clit. Her red nails shimmer under the fluorescent lights as she wriggles in bliss.

“Anything else?” Her soft voice snaps me back to earth.

“No thanks.”

As she prepares my order, my eyes bounce around the room. I see a man in a perfectly tailored business suit, sipping a cup of black coffee as he reads the newspaper. My pondering begins again. Is he married? Does he have a satisfying sex life? He doesn’t look like the type who would masturbate, but I’m sure he does. I imagine him behind a large, expensive desk, fly undone, stroking his thick cock with quick jerks while he watches porn on the Internet. My mouth waters, and my hunger grows. I imagine the look on his face as he reaches orgasm, eyes shut tight, wet lips open. Afterward, he cleans up with a pristine, white handkerchief as he hums a country song.

“Here’s your mocha.” I shiver when her hand lightly brushes mine as she hands me my order.

I sit at a table in a far corner, facing the door. Two more people enter the shop: an older man, and a middle-aged woman wearing a business suit with sneakers. Commuters, only here for a fleeting moment before they head off to toil the day away, fueled by caffeine. Neither of them notices me. It’s not that I’m forgettable; it’s just that I have learned the fine art of blending in. I can become part of the landscape, so entwined with it that I’m almost like a piece of furniture. Hiding in plain sight is not only a survival mechanism; it’s also a very helpful aspect to my hobby.

The shop has free wi-fi, so I pull out my laptop and get it set up. I enter the password for my blog and feel myself starting to drip. The excitement is almost too much to bear sometimes. My blog is the newest aspect of my naughty little pastime but has quickly become part of my daily routine. Being a part-time college student far from home, I have many free hours to fill. I sip my café mocha as I wait for the page to load. The businessman I had been watching earlier folds his newspaper neatly, then leaves the shop. The sneaker-footed woman claims his vacant chair. She looks so stressed, her lips pursed as she furiously sends a text. My mind puts together a complicated scenario for her as I begin to type.

There is a woman sitting across from me. Buttoned up, all business. What is she like when she lets her hair down? I’ll bet she likes it in the ass. I can almost see her, bent over, plump round butt in the air, shivering with lust as she waits to be taken. She might even like a little spanking first. After he makes her ass nice and pink, her lover pours massage oil between her spread cheeks and then rubs it into her hungry hole as she mewls like a cat in heat. She longs to be stuffed with cock, and her lover obliges. While he fucks her back door, she sucks his fingers.

Seeing the words in my head come to life on the screen is almost surreal. I hit the enter key, publishing my dirty thoughts for the world to see. Anonymously, of course.

My screen name is Mischievous Mindy, and my blog is called The Wet Panty Chronicles. I have over a thousand followers, all filthy minded individuals who are captivated by my silly little hobby. My fingers fly over the keyboard.

She’s wearing bright-red lipstick. I wonder if it ends up on her boss’s dick. At the end of the day, his cock probably looks like a throbbing, dripping candy cane. Do you think she swallows? I do. Underneath that Talbot’s suit, she’s all slut, just waiting for her next taste of cock. I’ll bet she likes her hair firmly tugged as she slurps down a mouthful of hot semen. Afterward, she licks her fingers and smiles.

By now I’m completely worked up, but I make myself wait. The time isn’t right, since the morning crowd has gotten thicker. My last entry has already received a thumbs up from one of my readers. It turns me on that someone is out there, pouring over my words and possibly masturbating while they do so. I turn my attention to a young man that is waiting for a large order. He looks twitchy and nervous. I imagine he is the new office boy for a team of horny executives.

Anxious coffee boy shifts from foot to foot as he waits in line. I wonder why he is so uptight. Is he afraid of getting the order wrong? What will happen back at the office if he does? Will he have to suck his boss’s dick?

“I said low fat, bitch!” the lawyer growls, as he pushes his cock against the boy’s soft lips.

“Sorry, sir,” the boy will mumble as he fights back a smile. Two more partners walk in and he is stripped naked, then fondled by all the men, much to his great delight.

I have to stop and take a large gulp of my mocha before I can continue. In the meantime, sneaker woman leaves, and another takes her place. This one is younger and wears high-heeled pumps. Her legs are shapely.

A new woman is in my line of sight. Young, in professional attire. Her size-eight feet are stuffed into size-seven red heels. She smells like cheap body spray, and her eyes dart around nervously. Maybe she’s meeting someone here, an older man perhaps?

As my words fill the blank space on the screen, the shop door opens and a man in a black suit enters. His eyes light up when he joins her at the table. Wedding band, slightly gray at the temples. My mind speeds up as I think of their story.

Bingo! He just showed up, married, guilty eyes, dirty mind. She is rubbing her knee against his under the table, trying hard to be coquettish, but she comes across as cheap and desperate. I’ll bet when they’re fucking, she calls him Daddy.

“Fuck me harder, Daddy!” she’ll moan as he bends her over the bed in their cheap motel room. Maybe he tells her she’s a naughty girl, then smacks her ass while he drills her wet slit. She looks like the type who would like that. Former cheerleader, she probably had a crush on the football coach, which started her obsession with older men.

They don’t notice me watching, of course. No one ever does. I picture her with pink furry handcuffs holding her hands taut against the small of her back as she kneels in front of his hard cock. He pinches her nipples and then allows her to lick the slick, flared tip. The visions in my head leave me wet and throbbing.

I hope I don’t leave a damp spot on the back of my skirt. It won’t be long, and I will have to take care of myself. Once the crowd thins out a little, that is.

A young couple takes the table to my left. Thrift-store hipsters, they kiss in between sips of their organic soy latte. Holding hands so tightly, as if each is afraid the other will dart off. Both of them are attractive, although slightly cliché and boring, but in my fantasy, they are quite the opposite.

Young college couple, sucking face. He secretly wants to add another boy to the mix; she dreams of tying him up and shoving an organic carrot up his tender, virgin ass. What kind of sex do vegans have? I always imagine it has vegetables involved somehow. No offense to you veggie lovers out there. Or perhaps I’ve just given you ideas. I fucked myself with a cucumber once, right in the stockroom of the grocery store. Then I put it back in the bin and laughed as I walked away.

I snicker to myself. The vegan couple rub noses. Gag. I am not as turned on as I was a few minutes ago, and instead turn my attention back to the May/December romance at the center table. He is looking at her with a mixture of disdain and lust. With his right hand, he twists his wedding band as they talk softly. She puts her hand on top of his, but he jerks away from her touch and shakes his head slightly. She bites her lip. I want to stand over her and slap her face.

Young woman sitting with older man has read a certain trilogy too many times. She needs to grow a backbone, then find herself a young blue-collar type, one who will give her the honest, solid fucking that she’s really craving. Why do women get involved with married men? It’s like they’re setting themselves up for failure. Wait! She looks pissed. She just pushed her chair back and stood up. Wow! She dumped her coffee in his lap and stormed off! Good for you, Blondie!

I snicker, and he glares at me as he dabs at his crotch with a wad of paper napkins. I shrug and hunker over my laptop. The soggy businessman hurries off, and another female employee rushes over to clean up the mess.

“Did you see that? They’ve been coming in here for the last few weeks; I don’t know what she saw in him anyway.”

“He probably has a nice-sized bank account.” I hate the way my voice sounds, always so small and mousy.

“You got that right. Little Blondie was a gold digger. You need a refill?”

“No thanks.” She gives me a smile and a nod and then heads back behind the counter. She’s cute, with a ponytail and Keds on her feet. I imagine her swapping hot kisses with red fingernail girl.

I wonder if the two coffee shop girls ever feel each other up in the back room between customers. I’d like to watch them. Small perky tits, henna tattoos; they would be sweet to each other. Maybe one would drizzle caramel topping over the other’s nipples, then slowly lick it off while fingers explore wet folds.

I wiggle in my chair, extremely hot and bothered. My eyes sweep the shop. There is one customer in line and another at a table with his back to me. It’s time. I contemplate how to do it. My long, gauzy skirt has pockets. I cut a hole in one of them, to allow for easy access to my pussy. All I have to do is slip my hand in my pocket and finger myself to climax.

However, I’m feeling extra naughty today. With tense fingers, I tease up the hem of my skirt, then stroke my swollen nub. Right there in the middle of the coffee shop. If someone dropped a quarter, and bent down, he could quite possibly catch a glimpse of my wet clit getting a nice massage. It doesn’t take me long to reach orgasm. The sweet sensation ripples through my body and makes me gasp just a little, under my breath. Once finished, I pull my skirt back down, lick my finger and resume typing.

Oh, that felt so good. My clit was so hard, like a tiny penis. I yanked up my skirt this time, laying my pussy bare for all the world to see. I fingered it quick, and almost made too much noise when I came. No one is the wiser as I sit here and smolder.

I drink my coffee and remember the first time I masturbated in public. It was six months ago. The therapist I am seeing for my social anxiety disorder advised me to get out in public more, instead of barricading myself in my dorm. I decided the library was a good compromise. It’s crowded, but still quiet, a cocoon of friendly books and comfortable chairs.

I found myself an isolated corner and began to read a historical romance novel. The prose was clean and virginal, so I filled in the dirty parts in my head. After a few wild fantasies, I became completely aroused, and decided to head home to the privacy of my dorm for a bit of self-love. A sudden rainstorm prevented me from taking the long walk home, so I scanned the library.

I found the perfect spot: it was secluded, yet still in the open. Anyone could have stumbled upon me, skirt yanked up, fingers inside my panties as I brought myself to a toe-curling orgasm. It was a life-changing experience, so thrilling and naughty. I was hooked from that moment. Suddenly, public places are not so terrifying. Instead, they are opportunities to bask in my new obsession.

Sometimes I fantasize about taking things too far, just to see what would happen. Like maybe I will sit on top of the coffee shop table, pull my skirt up to my waist and spread my legs wide. I will rub my clit with the bowl of one of those little plastic spoons until I scream in mad pleasure. Can you imagine the look on the customers’ faces?

I consider leaving, but I’m not quite satisfied. A few new customers have entered the shop. One is a burly construction worker. His faded jeans are tight, showing off a taut, muscular ass. I wonder what his chiseled male perfection would feel like under my hands.

As much as I obsess about sex, I’ve never performed the act with another. Only myself. More and more lately, I want to experience it. The heat of exchange, tongue kisses, hungry fingers, skin on skin. My disorder prevents me from moving forward. Still, I am close. The burly male sits at the table across from me. He’s reading something on his phone as he sips his coffee.

Once again, I publish my thoughts.

Hot construction worker sitting across from me. Black coffee, so honest and unpretentious. His hard body drapes over the chair like he owns it. Black backpack at his feet, his boots heavy and dusty. Dark blond hair curls over his collar, diamond stud in one ear. I wonder if he knows how sexy he is, how he makes my mouth water. The hint of a tattoo peeks out from one tight sleeve.

I stop and take a sip of my mocha, which is now ice cold, then hit the enter key. My words appear as if by magic. Twelve point Times New Roman. Black. My fantasy begins anew, but this time with a twist as I weave myself into the story.

His shoulders are so broad. The skin on his handsome face is bronzed from working outside. Rough fingers. I can almost feel them on my skin. We will meet in a quiet alley. He’ll kiss me as he pulls up my skirt. Those rough hands will grip my ass tightly as his tongue explores my mouth. I will lift up one leg, and rest it on his hip, opening myself up for exploration. First, his fingers will slide over my dripping slit. Once wet, they will slide back, and his index finger will push against my puckered hole. It will make me feel like the dirty little slut I really am.

I am starting to sweat as my fingers tap against the keys. He glances in my direction and smiles.

“You’re working really hard over there.”

“Writing a paper for school.” I squeak. Mischievous Mindy is really Mousy Maggie.

My foot taps nervously. I want the floor to open up beneath me and swallow me up. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him; I do. It’s just that the anxiety has me in a choke hold. He is so attractive. In my head I straddle his lap and rub my pussy against his knee until I erupt. In reality, I can barely look him in the eye. There is Xanax in my backpack, a life preserver for when the anxiety threatens to drown me. Knowing the tiny bottle is there comforts me.

“Freshman?”

“Yes. Literature major.” Already I have divulged more about myself than usual.

“Going to be a writer, huh? Good for you.”

He takes a sip. I love the way his dusky lips caress the edge of the cup as he drinks. His fingers are thick. In my mind, I lie across his lap and let him pull up my skirt. He smacks my bare bottom lightly, just enough to leave a tingle. So much want inside, it consumes me. He looks into his paper cup.

“I need a refill. You?”

“Oh, no thanks.”

I watch him as he heads back to the counter, phone in hand, reading voraciously. My fingers find the keys.

If only I had the courage to ask for what I really want. His cock is probably glorious. Thick and hearty, it would spread me open so deliciously wide.

He actually comes back, just as I make the last of my words public, and turns his chair to face mine before his sits down. He stops reading and rewards me with a brilliant grin.

“What’s your name, cutie?”

“Maggie.” My tongue is thick, and I can barely speak. Can he feel my lust? Will he act on it?

“Ben.” He looks at me over his cup as he takes a sip. I notice his deep-brown eyes as they rove over my breasts. I’m wearing a tight light-blue T-shirt, no bra. I like the way he’s looking at me, like a hungry wolf eyes a tender lamb. He leans forward slightly. “Where do you go to school?”

“Western University.”

“I should have known. The campus is right downtown.”

His voice is deep and sensuous. It makes me squirm in my chair. A tiny bit of chest hair is visible at the neck of his T-shirt. I wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped up in those muscular arms while getting fucked by his hard cock. I need to know. The desperation of my lust-filled wanting takes over. Deep inside my brain, something snaps, and a floodgate opens. My mouth forms words, almost on its own.

“Do you start work anytime soon?” I feel my nipples harden and poke at my shirt.

He glances at his watch. “Look at that, I have an hour to kill.” He notices my nipples, and a sly smile forms on his lips.

I smile back. Then close my laptop. I imagine my desire is a brave warrior that slays my fear and frees me from its icy shackles. It’s time. I stand up and motion for him to follow. He does, without question. The shop is deserted, save for the two coffee shop girls. They are standing close, whispering to each other as they giggle. We head into the unisex bathroom, and he locks the door behind us.

Before I can blink, our lips meet and we begin to devour each other with mad hunger. Ben tugs at my T-shirt, then pulls it over my head and tosses it aside. He pulls away from my lips and then yanks my skirt down to my ankles. I step out of it and kick it to the side. Now I am naked, save for my sandals. Standing there before him, exposed and vulnerable, causes a delicious thrill to trickle over my body. The deep-brown eyes take in every inch of me, and he smiles, then licks his lips. He pulls me close and takes one of my nipples in his mouth. First he sucks it gently, then grazes it with his teeth. An ember of smoldering heat seems to make a path from the tip of my breast, right down to my clit. I can feel it swell while wetness drips down my inner thighs.

He returns to my mouth and licks my bottom lip while he cups my ass. I mewl like a kitten. My fantasy is coming to life. I lift my right leg and rest my knee against his hip. I feel my pussy spread open for him, slick and juicy. His hand reaches between my legs, and his fingers begin to slide over my wet folds.

“You’re so wet, it’s dripping all over,” he whispers. His index finger slides inside my pussy, then retreats, only to press against my puckered hole. I suck in air over the dirty sensation as Ben’s finger slides slowly inside my ass. I feel my muscles squeeze against the intrusion, which only adds to the sinful pleasure.

Ben drops to his knees, keeping his finger inside my ass as he does. His hot tongue laps at my swollen clit. I lean back against the sink to allow him better access. His lips suck the hard knot, while his thumb pushes inside my pussy. The wicked delight of having both holes teased at once threatens to melt me from the inside out. His fingers dive in and out while his lips return to my clit. He sucks and licks until I am clenching in blissful release, pleasure like I have never known.

The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave and drowns me. Panting, I push his head away. The fingers slide out and he stands before me, the tip of his hard cock sticking out of the waistband of his jeans. Wordlessly, I too drop to my knees. The tiled floor is frigid under my skin, in sharp contrast to the fire that is licking my body. I can’t get his pants unzipped fast enough. His erect cock is like a steel pipe under my fingers and even more glorious than I imagined.

First, I lick the flared tip, lapping up the pearl of liquid that hangs from it. Bitter heat floods my mouth, while his gentle fingers twist into my hair. He emits a soft moan. It’s so much better than my wildest fantasies, flesh and blood throbbing beneath my lips; his musky male scent intoxicates my senses. My virgin mouth continues to suck as I explore his body. I slide my fingers back and stroke him behind his scrotum. The skin feels like velvet under my fingers. I knead his balls next and then take one into my mouth. It causes Ben to arch his back and cry out.

“That’s so fucking good.”

Hearing his lust puts me over the edge. I continue to lavish attention on his scrotum while I use my free hand to finger my clit. In seconds I am dropping headfirst into ecstasy as my body shudders in yet another powerful orgasm. Ben gasps as I take his cock behind my lips and suck him in deeper.

“I’m going to…”

He tightens, and I feel a vibration in his scrotum. I do not pull away; instead, I drink in his essence. The salty tang burns my throat as I swallow, yet I welcome the sensation. Never have I felt more alive than at this moment. I lick the head, taking every drop he has to offer. Ben pulls me to my feet and gives my ass a gentle slap.

“I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, Mischievous Mindy.”