The Mammoth Book of New Erotica
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In this work the full range of sexual experience is explored. In some of the stories the mood is lighthearted, in some it is sad, and a few reach out towards the limits of human desire. The authors range from Martin Amis to Poppy Z. Brite.
or cabinets, and always suggested Jack in the Box, McDonalds – or her favorite, Burger King. I wondered how she maintained such a fine figure, eating like that; maybe one day it’d catch up on her. (I have to admit I liked the occasional sloppy hamburger, much to Ashley’s chagrin.) Nicole also liked hot dogs from Der Wienerschnitzel, but there were very few of those around. Anyway, as we drove, my fingers in Nicole’s cunt, Nicole said, “Let’s go and take some photos. I’m hungry, too.” I wasn’t
been used to the cheap, where time is really money. I knew the drill, I knew the man: yet another vicarious fuck, yet another nameless pickup so he could feel it like a woman, me, felt it – I thought, at least. I was wrong. Be efficient, he added as I climbed out of my box, I know this town. I know the way. Outside, the night was hot and sticky, a blanket wrapped around me – the day’s legacy. People moved through it like underwater ferns and fish. I knew it must have been bad, sweltering, for
it back to my car. I sat shivering and panting with the doors locked, trying to calm down. Sniffing the cunt-smell on my fingertips to see if it was real. I went back to Mark’s place. I didn’t tell him how I’d gotten so shaken and disheveled, that I’d fucked Tilly, too. We lay in bed together, just the two of us, but it was as if she lay between us still. We touched each other, but were lifetimes apart. “I’m through with her, you know,” he said. “I can’t stand the way I let her use me. I
soon as she did. The second time that night, Julie straddled me, and the third time, in the morning, we lay on our sides, spooning, and I fucked her from behind. Julie kept her apartment, but began spending more and more time at my place. By the second weekend, she’d brought over enough clothing that she could dress for work for an entire week without once repeating an item of clothing. We had sex almost every night, and occasionally during the day on weekends. Gradually, we widened our palette
knee. “Casanova lived in the eighteenth century. What’s more, he was a human.” “All true,” the roach confirmed. “And yet, you see before you Jacques Casanova.” “Jacques the roach?” “Yes, mon ange,” he confirmed. “Many cuckolded husbands called me such during my lifetime, and through a cruel trick of fate I was condemned to roam the earth in insect form.” “But surely not all cockroaches can do . . . what you do!” I exclaimed. The roach assumed a haughty pose. He even appeared to frown.