The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies by Sonia Florens Page B

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rough and made me feel used. I begin to strip and show him my bruises and scratches.
    “That one,” I say as I point to a livid graze across my thigh, “that was when he came inside me. I could feel it pulsing from his cock into me. It was like an explosion. You
never come that hard, Brian, you just kind of squirt it out a bit.” He nods morosely as he inspects my graze. “Can you smell him?” I ask. “Can you smell his body on
me?” I force his face against me, pressing his nose to my skin. “Can you?” He nods and tells me he can.
    “There’s more,” I crow. “I’ve probably lost most of it, but there’s still some of his come inside me.” Carefully, I peel off my panties. “Want to
see?” He tells me he doesn’t, but I ignore him. “Lie down,” I order. Despite his protests he complies and I straddle him once more. “There,” I tell him.
“My cunt’s still all wet and messy and dirty from his spunk. Isn’t it?” I look down and it is. I can smell it myself, the smell of sex. “I’m all dirty,
aren’t I?” He nods. “So clean me up, husband, clean all my lover’s spunk out of me.” I press myself against his mouth and know that he is licking a curious concoction
– my stale juices from earlier, the remains of Gary’s sperm and the fresh secretions of my current excitement. I ride his face for half an hour, sometimes smothering him for a minute at
a time, revelling in the act I have forced upon my husband.
    “And just think,” I tell him afterwards, “every time I fuck Gary you’re going to have to clean it up like that.”
    Like I say, I don’t think I could do these things in real life – not unless Brian said he wanted me to, and since he doesn’t talk about sex that’s unlikely. I’m not
even sure I’d enjoy it in reality: I’m not big on hurting people’s feelings. But the fantasy is wonderful. I strip myself completely naked, open the windows wide so that I can
feel the afternoon breeze on my skin and stretch myself out on the bed. Sometimes I use a vibrator, but mostly I just use my fingers – they’re more delicate, more sensitive, and
I’ve got them well trained over the years. Sometimes when I’m fantasizing about sitting on Brian’s face I’ll get up on my knees and adopt that position, imagining him below
me, looking down on where his reddened face would be, but mostly I lie back and think of cuckoldry.
    It’s a wonderful word, cuckold, so derogatory. In my fantasies I relish using it on Brian. “How’s my little cuckold tonight?” I enquire after a night out with Gary.
“Does the cuckold want to swallow up our juices now?” I imagine Brian’s crestfallen face, silently nodding, readying himself, sliding into position below me.
    Recently I have developed the fantasy a bit further. Brian and I have been going through a rough patch, and we haven’t had sex for a couple of months. Even now, though, he is still so
solicitous and caring, and it drives me mad. It makes me want to punish him more in my fantasies, and that’s exactly what I do.
    I decide that it isn’t enough for me to have an affair with his friend: I have to let Brian watch it. In real life, I’m not sure there would be many “Garys” who would
agree to this, but in my fantasy he is eager and joins me in goading Brian. The three of us sit on the settee, Gary’s arm around me, his hand lodged on my tit. He looks directly at Brian.
    “I’m gonna shag your missus in a while, Brian. That’s okay, isn’t it?” Brian makes no reply, but watches Gary’s snaking hand over my breast. “I love
your wife’s tits, Brian. Don’t you? When did you last see them? Probably weeks ago, I should think. Tell you what, mate, why don’t you get them out for us?”
    Brian looks confused and I laugh, shaking my chest provocatively.
    “Come on, Brian,” says Gary. “Get on with it, mate, I want a feel.”
    Brian leans over and slowly begins to unbutton my blouse, undressing his