The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Lucy Taylor by Lucy Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

heavy, pendulous breasts lolled against the other’s flat chest, huge, coffee-colored nipples brushing smooth pink ones. She lifted the girl’s head, tongue-kissed her, then lapped her way down the skeletal torso to the straw-colored thatch between her thighs.
    The girl didn’t move or give indication that she knew what was happening. Nicholas strained to see if she even breathed. Her eyes were unblinking. He wondered if she might have died.
    Myriam angled herself between the girl’s legs. A thick, purple-crowned phallus lolled between her thighs. Never had Nicholas seen a dildo so life-like; nor could he determine where it had been strapped on. For a disorienting moment, he suffered the illusion that the cock was actually Myriam’s, that she had somehow metamorphosed into a male.
    As she slid inside the girl, some of the watchers sank into each other’s arms and began to couple with great urgency. Matings of the same and opposite sex in positions both conventional and exotically perverse while, as always, there were men who touched no one but themselves, waiting to anoint the fornicators with their gush of semen.
    A woman with long black hair threaded with grey slid her legs through Nicholas’s. She dipped down and took his cock into her mouth, but not even that distracted him from what was taking place on stage. The girl that Myriam fucked had come to life now. Writhing, bucking, whimpering, her back arching so the outline of her ribs showed clearly beneath the blue-white skin.
    Tears streamed down the girl’s thin face. Myriam stopped thrusting. The girl calmed. While those in the audience continued their mating, the two on stage lay quietly together, neither of them moving, suspended in that moment of sublime transcendence that, to Nicholas, had seemed to last for hours, that moment which had removed one illness to replace it with another, a kind of hopeless longing akin to homesickness.
    He put his hands down on the head of the woman sucking him. His fingers threaded through her hair. He held her still and shut his eyes, forcing himself to remain motionless as he willed the experience he’d had with Myriam to return. It was in vain – nothing was recaptured, only a greater and more enervating sense of futility and loss.
    Gently he slid himself free of the woman’s warm, willing mouth. Gazed down into her face searching for some remnant of the experience with Myriam – because he felt nothing, did that mean she felt nothing, too?
    “Have you been with Myriam?” he asked.
    She nodded – but only after a pause, warily, like a child reluctant to confess a minor theft. “I wasn’t sick, though. There was just a lump, a tiny one, that went away on its own.”
    “When you were having sex with her, what did you feel?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t remember it,” and dipped her head again.
    “Wait,” said Nicholas, lifting her chin. “Do you think about how it felt to be with her? Do you dream of being with her again?”
    “I
told
you, I don’t remember what it was like,” the woman hissed. Fear capered in her eyes. She pulled away, and Nicholas let her go.
    On stage, Myriam lifted the girl up, so that they sat facing each other, the girl astride Myriam’s cock. Again, they became motionless, staring into each other’s eyes.
    It’s some kind of hypnotism
, thought Nicholas, but even as the idea occurred to him, he rejected it. He hadn’t been hypnotized when he was making love with Myriam, nor in the grip of some sex-induced trance. What he’d experienced, for that matter, hadn’t even been entirely sexual, although perhaps he simply hadn’t recognized it as such, wasn’t as well versed with the parameters of eroticism as he’d have liked to think. Maybe not everyone who coupled with Myriam felt it. Maybe they were too frightened to admit that they did or, like Sonny, their minds could simply not expand to accommodate the magnitude of the experience.
    Around him, the orgy grew more lusty, the