I felt him before I saw him, and as the running machine behind me sprang to life I knew for sure. His presence was magnetic: the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, my shoulders tensed involuntarily, and I felt his eyes burning imprints into my body. My steps slackened in self-awareness, and as I felt the treadmill drawing me back towards him I attempted a clumsy sprint. Then I found my pace, picked up speed and ran from my desire for him.
As my warm-down came to an end I suddenly felt his absence: he’d gone. I looked around and caught a panther-like flash of him going into the changing room. This was the game we’d been playing for weeks – since I’d started at the gym, in fact. It was a cat-and-mouse game of surreptitious glances and stolen stares. The rules seemed to be that no eye-contact should be made and no words spoken, but still somehow we had made our intentions felt through our training. We’d observe one another reflected multiple times in the weight room mirrors: I’d turn my back on him whilst I did my reps, and see his body angled towards me, his hot gaze on my flexing muscles. In response he’d take to the bench press next-but-one to me and work out by my side, every powerful lift denoting his desire for me, every stretch a silent supplication, every movement sending his warm scent my way.
Today was no different: we’d been skirting around each other for an hour or so, and I’d become half-crazy with lust for him. Even outside the gym my mind had been racing with infinite imaginary scenarios of he and I kissing and coupling, sucking and fucking, and now that I’d seen him again I wanted his cock in my mouth – in fact, I wanted to drink him dry. My body felt hot with yearning, and I felt I couldn’t wait any longer to feel his skin against mine for the first time. But now he’d left I wasn’t sure what to do – was I supposed to follow him? Doubt set in: had I misconstrued the situation? Maybe it was just some idle flirting to make his workout sessions that little bit more interesting. Well, there was only one way to find out: I waited for a few moments wondering whether I was enjoying the anticipation too much to end it with the event itself, and then my need got the better of me. After all, there’s nothing quite like the element of risk to heighten sexual excitement. So, with a cursory look around at my fellow gym-goers I followed my man.
Ever-optimistic, I’d been carrying condoms to my last few visits to the gym in the hope that something might happen, so after a quick stop by my locker for some protection and lube I headed for the showers. I stopped to see if there was anyone else around – there wasn’t. Scoping the cubicles I guessed my man must be at the far end. My heart was hammering in my chest as I approached. This was make or break for me – had I made a mistake, misread the signs? I could see the back of his head and shoulders over the door, and the outline of his body through the frosted glass. As my need got the better of me I took a deep breath and stepped towards him.
There were plenty of straight men out there who’d flirted with the idea of touching me and taking my cock in their mouths, but more than once when it came to the crunch I’d been left disappointed as their courage failed them. I hesitated, torn, unsure whether in this instance my gaydar was correct. Just as I spun on my heels to leave, my magnet turned around. Again, I felt rather than saw him, and turning back, for the first time my eyes met his. With a burnt umber ring around the iris they were much darker brown than I’d imagined, slightly almond-shaped, and framed by thick lashes.
Finally seeing him face-on I realised he was even better looking than I’d initially thought. His ebony skin was pulled tightly across impressive cheekbones, a sensual, strong nose stood proudly in his face and his lips were full and inviting. His expression was open and intelligent. As he smiled in acknowledgement I suddenly felt embarrassed that I’d doubted him and been so close to wimping out. In response I pulled myself up taller, and with a show of confidence I didn’t actually feel, threw back my shoulders and pushed open the cubicle door to meet him.
Have you ever fucked anyone on a train? I have, and it was a night I’ll never forget.
I’d been visiting friends in Southern Spain, and was headed back to the UK. My finances at the time didn’t cover a plane ticket, and time not being an issue I’d decided that rail travel would be the next best option. My journey down had been uneventful – enjoyable even, since I’d randomly met some great people on the train – and after a couple of weeks of sunning myself in Seville it was time to return home.
My friends saw me off, and with a reciprocal wave and wide smile I turned and went to find my carriage. Like a French ‘couchette’, this was an old-fashioned carriage with long seats during the day that converted into four bunks at night. Thankfully my compartment seemed empty – all mine, at least for now. I couldn’t believe my luck.
And then I realised the air-con didn’t work. Or rather, it probably never had: it looked more like a dodgy fan system than anything, and now even the dodgy fan system was no more. I opened the window as far as possible and sat back on the seat: there, better. I had a slight breeze blowing on my skin, and the sun behind me. I put on my headphones and drifted away to the motion of the train: I’d found living Spanish hours inspiring but tiring, and a little shut-eye could only do me good.
I was woken from my reverie by the carriage door slamming. We’d clearly arrived at Cordoba without me even realising the train had stopped. Still slightly groggy, I was startled to see an apologetic-looking guy taking the seat opposite.
“Cansada?” he asked “Lo siento.”
I knew enough Spanish to understand but not enough to respond: “Yes, I was sleeping. It’s fine.”
“Ah, you are English?” he brightened.
“Scottish, actually, but I won’t hold it against you” I smiled.
Sebastian was younger than me, Spanish, easy-going, intelligent, and fortunately for me, great company. We clearly hit it off because the hours flew by as we chatted, and then all of a sudden it was evening.
The train stopped again and took on more passengers. As it moved off and no-one approached our carriage I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Despite the cooler night air, just from the heat radiating from Sebastian and I it was getting hot in our compartment, and I wasn’t sure how we’d manage with any more people crammed in to our little sweatbox.
A moment later a shadow fell across us and the door opened to reveal an attractive but rather harassed-looking man, swearing in Italian. Sebastian got up to help carry in his collection of bags and suitcases, and once he’d arranged himself and sat down our new roommate visibly relaxed, exhaled exaggeratedly, and shot us a beaming smile. He had absolutely astounding teeth, and they gleamed against his dark skin.
“Mario”, he said by way of greeting, leaning over to shake our hands.
We introduced ourselves, and he apologised for the swearing. He’d been up and down most of the train with all that – effing – luggage, being bounced from pillar to post, because some – unmentionable – conductor had sent him on a wild goose chase for his – cover your ears – carriage. But thank – shh! – he was here now, so how would we like a drink to celebrate?
In my rusty schoolgirl Italian I answered I’d love some, and Mario seemed delighted by my response. Handing over a couple of beers – still cold! – his grin grew even wider as Sebastian pulled out a big bottle of wine. Not to be outdone I dug into my bag for some Cava. Having been caught out with nothing to share with my fellow passengers on my journey down to Spain, this time I’d bought a couple of bottles wrapped wine coolers for the trip home, and it was still drinking temperature. I’d even bought plastic cups – the boys were impressed!
Needless to say the next couple of hours passed in a blur and neither myself, Sebastian nor Mario were ready for bed when the conductor came back past to set the bunks up. We decided to put up the extra bed ourselves when the time came, and Sebastian being the only Spaniard was talked through how to do it. Meanwhile, as the heat became increasingly intense we joked that since we had to keep our liquid levels up somehow, we may as well continue drinking. I was having fun! And I’m not ashamed to admit, some of my enjoyment was due to the attention of being the only woman among two rather good-looking men.
“This is what holidays are all about”, I drunkenly toasted: “To sun, sea and sex!”
“It is night, we are in countryside, and we are not doing dirty like she says Christina Aguilera” Sebastian pointed out.
I was so happily sozzled, I couldn’t help myself: “That’s my favourite karaoke song!” I exclaimed, and jumping up I started singing and gyrating provocatively. I may not have been wearing Christina’s chaps, but from the expression on the guys’ faces I could see that my flimsy summer dress was having the desired effect. They joined in with full voice at every ‘dirty’, and meeting me alternately on the narrow floor and benches had a go at Christina’s dance moves. It was hilarious seeing the glee on their faces as we all tried to dance like pop stars around the tiny train compartment, and their attempts at stimulating sex on each other had me in absolute stitches. If I wasn’t already on my way back to Scotland, then this would certainly be something to write home about.
I don’t know who started it, but suddenly I noticed Mario was doing a stripping routine as he sang, and looking over at Sebastian I saw he was already down to his pants – and they seemed to be sliding southward too! Well, what the hell: I drew my dress over my head and waved it lasso-style in the air. Finally I was cooler, and with my bra off too, well, that would feel even better, I was sure.
Stripped down to my knickers I wriggled and jiggled with joy, and it was no time before I had Sebastian dancing on one side of me and Mario on the other. I laughed in delight. This was going even more swimmingly than I could have hoped.
With a bare arm around each man I was in heaven – especially when as if by some secret signal they both dipped down to suckle my breasts in stereo. This may not have been entirely expected, but that’s not to say it wasn’t welcome: I’d had fantasises about this kind of thing, but never in my wildest dreams had I thought it would be so easy to engineer – or feel so natural. It was neither awkward nor intimidating, and I genuinely couldn’t believe my luck: I couldn’t have imagined my threesome any better. And to think the real fun hadn’t even begun…
Following in the footsteps of Ultimate Burlesque and Ultimate Decadence (Xcite) which so far have raised well over £10,000 for Macmillan Cancer Support, comes Ultimate Pleasure (Cliterati First Editions in alliance with The XX Corporation), an erotic e-anthology where one hundred percent of the profits raised will be donated directly to charity.
Comprising ten erotic tales from writers as celebrated and diverse as Lucy Felthouse, Remittance Girl and KL Gillespie, with a foreword by the infamous Dr Brooke Magnanti (AKA Belle De Jour) and a conclusion from Dr Malcolm VandenBurg on the realities of sex and cancer, Ultimate Pleasure has erotic intimacy covered from start to finish – and at all points in between.
If the stories inspire you to start expanding your sexual realities as well as fantasies, Ultimate Pleasure also offers one lucky reader the opportunity to win an exquisite leather collar from multi award-winning master craftsmen to international royalty, Masters Desire.
Compatible with iBooks, Kindle and other popular e-readers, purchase of Ultimate Pleasure comes with a free PDF copy, with every penny of the £3.50 cover price going straight to Macmillan Cancer Support.
The web is full of smut but there’s very little out there for the discerning reader. Originally created by Emily Dubberleyin 2001 as a free sex website for women, Cliterati has been providing fantasies for free for over a decade. Ably adding sex education, erotic art, photography and fashion to its roster, and with over a decade of erotic experience under its belt, today Cliterati is open to all.
Become sexually cliterate and join the Cliterati at www.cliterati.co.uk
About The XX Corporation
The XX Corporation is a new media company from internet minds for internet people. Along with publishing excellent titles such as Ultimate Pleasure, it creates editorial for businesses (video, photos, audio and text) and develops apps and hardware through its XX Corp Labs division. Mic Wright, The XX Corporation’s CEO says: “We’re really delighted to work with Cliterati to get this incredible anthology out into the world and to lend a hand in raising even more money for the vital work Macmillan Cancer Care do every day.”
About Masters Desire
Masters Desire design and manufacture luxurious bondage and restraint equipment. They create accessories for the sexually adventurous, not fashion items. Masters Desire products are exclusive, designed for the discerning individual and handmade by master craftsmen in England with the finest leathers. Honoured as the best leather artisans in the world seven times with a combined experience of over thirty years, their work lives in royal palaces and has appeared at Olympic events.
Far be it from me to blow my own trumpet when I could be metaphorically blowing yours, but suffice to say that a story of mine appearing in print is enough of an opportunity to shout “I’m in this book!” very loudly.
So, which weighty tome features your fabulous words? I hear you ask. Only The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12: Over 40 outstanding pieces of short erotic fiction, edited by Maxim Jakubowski, out on 7th November and available now for pre-order on Kindle or Paperback!
The book is described as “A collection of 48 original, sensual and provocative sexual adventures, the twelfth volume of The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica offers the very best new work of both deservedly well-known names and up-and-coming talents. Here you will find an exciting diversity of erotic writing which explores the full breadth of human emotional, sensual and sexual experience – vanilla is emphatically not the only flavour – in stories which are by turns intriguing, shocking, fascinating and enchanting.”
You can read a excerpt of my “outstanding….original, sensual and provocative sexual adventure” here.
Did I mention you could pre-order the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12 on Kindle or Paperback?!
After all, it’s been forty years since Nancy Friday published the ground-breaking My Secret Garden, featuring her forays into the world of female fantasy. According to Dubberley, in the very same month in 1973 that Friday released her book, even infamous champion of the single woman, Cosmopolitan Editor Helen Gurley Brown, “ran a feature written by her in-house psychiatrist, with the opening line, ‘Women do not have sexual fantasies, period. Men do.’”
So, in an unprecedented era where an erotic trilogy has broken records and smashed sales, and when the profits of sex toy companies have increased exponentially due to said phenomena, how much has changed?
I’ll leave it to sexpert Emily Dubberley to bring you bang up to date…
Fresh from the inspirational, stimulating and exceedingly welcoming weekend that was Eroticon 2013 (let’s learn to writesexright,
write rite right?!), I thought it would be fun to share the scripts some of us wrote in the final Creative Writing session of the conference.
Experienced and encouraging author K D Grace set us the exercise of beginning a narrative in medias res – from the midpoint of the story. She suggested we write for ten minutes, starting slap-bang in the middle of the action: no preamble, no introduction, no easing the reader in gently.
I found this a fascinating challenge time-wise, as I soon realised that with my method of writing, using pen and paper extremely was tricky because I was constantly editing and revising what I’d just written. Instead, I had to move onto Notes on my iPhone so that I could move sections of text around and delete and amend as necessary. This had the result of a rather short and embarrassingly clichéd paragraph of text: I don’t really go for the ripped, athletic type, but nonetheless my female character was mesmerised by her man’s unusual physical prowess. Please don’t hold it against me…
Emily studied Nick as he stood there, feet planted firmly on the ground and parted slightly to accommodate his burgeoning desire. She let her gaze travel upward, tracing over the rough terrain of his finely defined abdominals, up to the broad plains of his chest and then across to his wide shoulders. Finally she let her eyes climb to his lips, where a slight smile rested at the corners, belying good humour as well as expectant arousal.
So now it’s your turn: ten minutes of your unedited/ uncorrected prose please, and yes, you can also try this at home kids – just remember to start in medias res (in the middle of the drama). Exciting times!
This is an excerpt of Part 2 of Red’s Rock Star Romance. Click here to read an excerpt from Part 1.
“I’m speechless”, I said, turning to Nicky.
“Then don’t speak”, he suggested with a smile, taking my face in his hands and giving me the longest JD and Coke flavoured kiss I’d ever had. God, it was delicious, and I was wholly lost in its lusciousness.
“Red…” Nicky breathed into me, drinking in my kisses as if he’d spent a month in the desert and I was the oasis he’d craved. “I am…crazy about you…I haven’t…stopped thinking about you…since the last time I saw you…I want you…I need you…to…” He broke off, kissing me fervently between breaths, and I was swept away by his intensity and sincerity.
After a while he sat back to have a proper look at me. “I can’t believe I’ve finally kissed you”, Nicky said, “You’ve been on my mind for months.”
I laughed, legitimately surprised at a rock star thinking about me, a random girl he’d met a couple of times on his travels around the globe. “You’re kidding me, right?” I asked.
“Did that song sound like I was kidding?” He argued, mildly offended. I had to concede that no, it didn’t. “I’m not some asshole rock star, you know” Nicky persisted.
“I never said you were an ‘asshole’” I joked, mimicking his American accent. At that I got another fake dead arm. And another kiss, which led to…Nicky’s hands on my breasts, my hands on his chest, and a simultaneous lifting of tops that could’ve taught The Chippendales a thing or two in the name of synchronised stripping. Nicky dipped his head, and through my lace bra took a nipple in his mouth. There’s something about the feel – and even just the thought – of licks and kisses through material which really gets me going, and I groaned involuntarily as he teased me with his teeth, the lace from my bra scratching my skin just the right amount, his hands kneading and cupping as he embraced my full breasts with his hands.
I pulled Nicky closer towards me, and desperate to feel his skin on mine, in less than as second I’d shed my bra so that I was pressed against him, naked from the waist up. We were burning with lust for each other, a slick sheen of sex sweat sticking us to one another before we’d even fully undressed. But then that didn’t take long either, as laughing together we fought to rid ourselves of our hot, tight, skinny jeans. With a little help from the other we each managed to free ourselves of our Levis, and soon I found myself lying on top of Nicky in my knickers, dry-humping him like a teenager, desperate to feel him inside me, but prolonging the excitement and anticipation for as long as possible. It was so good to be so carefree and yet so intensely, sexually raw at the same time that I felt freer than I had with anyone in a long time, and I let myself go in an abandon of harlot-like hormones and lust.
“Wow”, exhaled Nicky “now this was worth waiting for…” I bucked against him, confirming his statement, letting him know that I wanted it too.