The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

padded seat, leaving her enough slack to flatten her palms on the green velvet. With her body leaning like that, at forty-five degrees, her breasts hung. There were tiny silvery creases radiating from where they were rooted, beneath her armpits, another delicious imperfection.

Dangling like that, her breasts seemed almost detached from her body, separate entities. Stuart prodded one. It swung, slapped the other, and sent trembling ripples through it.

“Sway,” he said.

She did. He watched, directly and in the dressing table’s mirror. He stood behind her and reached around her body, taking a breast in each hand. His fingers milked at her. He stared into the mirror, watching disembodied hands manipulate Plasticine breasts, pluck pretend nipples.

His erection grew, tenting the silk of his pyjama pants out between the flaps of his robe. The wet spot on the silk nudged between the cheeks of her bum.

“You brought baby oil?”

“In my bag.”

He parted her buttocks and dripped oil onto the base of her spine. It trickled. It ran the valley to the little brown crater and soaked into it for a dozen drops before overflowing and dribbling to coat the backwards pout of her sex. Stuart’s finger traced the glistening, pausing at her anus, rimming before probing.

She inhaled sharply, but the ring of muscle was totally relaxed.

“I’m going to bugger you,” he said.

“Yes, Stuart.”

“Have you been sodomized before?”

She paused before saying, “Would you like me to have been?”

“I want the truth, damn you, not what you think I want to hear!”

“Then – yes, Stuart.”

“Did you like it?”

She didn’t answer. He slapped her bottom. “Did you like it?”

“I think I’ll like it when you do it, Stuart, if that’s what you want.”

He wasn’t going to get the truth out of her. There was no truth in her. It didn’t matter. She was going to have something else in her, something more powerful than truth – his cock deep in her rectum. A universal truth?

Stuart parted his fly and let his cock lance out. He slopped oil into his palm. It splashed in his haste, saturating the front of his pyjama pants. It didn’t matter what the hotel’s laundry service would think. Nothing mattered except the constricted tunnel of flesh that was waiting for his cock.

Two fingers wriggled into her anus, preparing the way, ignoring whatever she felt, pleasure or pain. The head of his cock was screaming at him, “In! In!”

Thumbs prying her open, sliding insecurely on a sheen of oil. Nuzzle up tight, an impossible invasion. The entrance was so small, and he was so bursting big, bigger than he’d ever been. Push. Push. An elastic giving sensation. Push again. A rubber collar, spreading. A – a – a…

A plop. My God, he was in! The head of his cock was past the ring. Muscles closed around his cock’s neck, but he was in and there was nothing that was going to stop him going the rest of the way. The eye of his cock was staring up a long dark tight passage, assessing the cruel glee it was about to feel.

Stuart took Virginia by the bones of her hips, fingers hooked into delicate hollows, and he pulled…

There was a long divine dragging slithery sensation, and he’d done it! Even if he stopped right then, he’d done it. He’d buggered a woman!

But he didn’t stop. His cock took insane control, making him thrust and pull back and thrust and pull back and thrust and thrust… and he came. He came a glorious come, pumping thick and hot, shuddering and groaning aloud.

Stuart left her there, tied to the stool, and went for a shower. She was in the same position when he returned. It was as if he hadn’t done it, except for the snail-trail down the inside of her thigh and the glistening of her still-parted sphincter.

He untied her and retied her, hands behind her back. He had her give him a blow-job like that, with no help from him. It should have taken an age, but she was good at what she did. Her mouth started soft and loose and slow and noisy, gobbling and wobbling on him. Once he was urgent-stiff again, she clamped firmly and accelerated, nodding fast, faster, fastest. His cock’s head rippled across the roof of her mouth, and he came again.

It wasn’t even noon yet.

There was compassion and affection in him. That was bad. He had to absolve himself, a little.

“Get dressed. I’m going to buy you a coat.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I don’t like the way you look in that one. I want you to look sexy – for me.”

The shopping concourse below the Sheraton links with another, and another. You can wander for miles beneath Toronto. In February, you’re grateful.

He bought her a short black plastic coat, lined with fake fur, and a pair of boots to match. She didn’t choose them. What he liked, she liked. It wasn’t until they passed a jeweller’s that she showed any interest in anything.

Stuart asked her, “What are you looking at?”

“Those earrings. They’re lovely.”

“They look like the ones you’re wearing, but smaller.”

“Yes.”

“You really like them?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’re yours.”

She didn’t even tell him he didn’t have to.

He told her he’d take her home in a cab again, but she said she had something to do downtown. She asked him, “Tomorrow?”

He nodded and turned on his heel before sanity made him change his mind.

She arrived in his suite wearing her glossy new coat.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“You have?”

She posed, one leg turned in front of the other, a shoulder drooping, and opened her coat. Her being naked under it didn’t surprise him at all. He’d half expected that. What shocked him was the earrings he’d bought her. She was wearing them – one through each freshly pierced nipple.

Stuart felt a twinge of nausea that was instantly washed away in a flood of lust. He took her on her back, on the scratchy carpet, thrusting into her frantic as a teen, arched up from his waist, his eyes feasting on the mutilations that she’d endured for his sake.

“How on earth did you get that done?” he asked, once he was calm and drained.

“There’s a place in a side street, between King and Queen. They do piercing and tattooing. Should I get a tattoo?”

He thought of her mound, shaved bald and reading, “Stuart’s”.

“No,” he said. “Let’s go buy you a dress.”

When her nipples had healed enough that he dared touch them he used those rings a lot. He steered her by them, and used them to tug on, and once held fistfuls of ice on them, to claw the chill inside her flesh. Stuart took her in every position he could dream up, tied and free, orally, anally, between her breasts and vaginally.

When he told her that the next day would be his last in Toronto for a while, she didn’t cry. She simply told him that she really needed to borrow five hundred dollars.

That was a relief. Five hundred was cheap, and it would constitute a “pay-off. It transformed their relationship from “emotional” to “commercial”. He counted out ten fifties and waited for her to tell him she couldn’t make it for the next day, but she didn’t. She just confirmed, “Nine-thirty?”