So far we’ve had a glimpse at the tasty offerings available within this fantastic FREE anthology, from Lily Harlem, Lucy Felthouse, Kd Grace (aka Grace Marshall) Victoria Blisse and myself. Today it’s erotic extracts all the way!!
So sit back, grab your beverage of choice, kick off the shoes, take the phone off the hook, lay back, and enjoy some delicious wordage from the rest of the Brit Babes…
First up- let’s enjoy a little Lexie Bay (aka Ruby Madsen)
Flesh for Fantasy
I can’t concentrate today because I am seeing her tonight. The thought makes my pussy wet. I crave her flesh, the smooth pale curves of her body. She is my obsession, my carefully guarded secret and she is filling my head with filthy thoughts about what I will do to her later.
My boyfriend thinks we are just friends. He doesn’t know how much I yearn to be in her arms, how I ache for the contrast of her soft body as he holds me against his hard muscle. She isn’t his type; he likes his women like me, boyish and skinny with no bum and tits that are only just a handful. Sophia is the opposite of me. My hands glide over her curves, fingers disappearing into the folds of her flesh, always a different place to explore as she moves beneath my touch.
My phone heralds the arrival of a text and I grab it. Please let it be from her. My need to be with her is bordering on insanity and I want to know that she is thinking about our evening together as much as I am.
Hey beautiful, I’m counting the minutes until you get here. I’ve got a treat for you later; I’m going to give you a makeover.
I smile because she wants me as much as I want her. I know this deep down but I hunger for the reassurance her words give me. No one has ever taken the time to woo me with words like she does, no one has taken the time to find out what I like and then turn my fantasies into reality…
I trust that has teased you into wanting to read more! Let’s dip a toe into the words of Tabitha Rayne…
I couldn’t help but stare.
She was perfection in her black bikini, standing in front of me in line for the waterslide. From her heels to her calves, all the way up the back of her thighs to the dip and crease of her buttocks, her legs were flawless. Olive, hair-free skin had me mesmerized. I was now glad of the long queue which previously had me shivering. With all the self assurance of a foreign exchange student, she gracefully lifted her ponytail and tied it in a knot. I swallowed hard as I caught a glimpse of thick dark hair curling under her arms. My heart leapt and I was instantly thrown back to my youth.
Francesca’s mother was my guilty pleasure. I would stay for long weekends at their house and spend the whole time preoccupied by the huge maternal presence that commanded the family home with gentle force. I would find any excuse to go into the kitchen and watch her knead dough on the antique pine table, her braless breasts swinging and gently slapping together beneath a purple smock dress. She was so mighty and strong and, though I couldn’t name it at the time, sensual. When she moved near me I’d inhale her scent. Underneath the rosemary and garlic, there was something else; something musky and dangerous. It at once attracted and repelled me, but I always filled my lungs with the delicious warmth, seeking that hidden perfume.
“Look at this,” Francesca pulled me into her mother’s bedroom one trip home from college. We sprawled on the bed reading Anais Nin and Nancy Friday books until we could gasp and giggle no more. I read the words, becoming more and more physically turned on. I’d had a few ferociously passionate encounters at college and was no stranger to sex, but I sensed these books were exploring something else too. Something more than the physical. They made me want to be with the mighty woman downstairs.
“I’m just going for a drink,” I told Francesca and rolled off the bed, taking care not to show the damp spot forming in my jeans.
When I got to the kitchen, Francesca’s mother was standing over a huge pot of broth on the stove. Thick meaty smells filled the room, and as she lifted her elbow to stir the great vat, a tuft of glossy black curls sprang into view. I was slightly repulsed but my mouth started watering and warmth and moisture spread between my legs. I sat on a stool and pressed my hands onto my mound, rocking my pelvis into my fists while Francesca’s mother stirred the soup. I came in my jeans just as she tapped the drips off the ladle on the side of the pot.
The atmosphere was charged and I was sure I caught her eyes flit across my tiny hard nipples while she swept away wild peppery hair from her brow with her forearm. I lifted my ribcage and stared at her, daring her to look again, but she didn’t. She turned back to the range and opened the oven door. Steam and the odour of fresh baked bread broke the spell and I hopped off the stool and sped back up to Francesca, at once invigorated and ashamed.
And now, at the swimming pool of all places, these feelings had returned. The queue bustled into me and I stumbled slightly into the back of the poised beauty in front. She looked haughtily round and I licked my lips involuntarily at the sight of hers. Full and raw with a dusting of fine hairs on her upper lip. Suddenly I was consumed with want for this woman. I could have grabbed her there and then. I could feel my nipples peaking as she looked at me straight in the eye…
Okay- fanning yourself with a handy newspaper yet? Swapped the cup of tea for a cool drink with plenty of ice? Take a deep breath dear reader- because here comes Natalie Dae (aka Emmy Ellis, Geraldine O’Hara and Sarah Masters)…
I need a woman who wants me to fuck her until she thinks she’s going to fall apart. I need a woman who wants me as much as I want her. I need…her.
In the murk of his bedroom—just a small nightlight glowing on his bedside cabinet—Will stared at the grey, shimmering shape in front of him. He shivered, anticipating its manifestation into the woman who’d visited him nightly for God knew how long. Time was a blur. She had remained a shape at first, then, over the nights that followed, showed herself more and more. He knew why he hadn’t been able to see all of her—she wasn’t real, wasn’t firm enough in his mind for him to bring her into proper focus. In short, he didn’t know what he wanted, wasn’t sure who his perfect partner would be, and he needed to know in order for her to exist. He was nearly there, though. The previous evening she’d almost revealed her whole self, from her naked, hour-glass figure to her long, blue-tinted black hair, but her face was still a mystery.
Nude beneath the sheets, he let out a laboured breath, staring at the foot of his bed and willing her to change. To speak. If she did he’d be lucky. No woman had spoken to him in that way for months. And that was what he wanted—a woman to encourage him out of his shell with filthy words that inspired his cock to harden, had him reciprocating, getting her wet and wanting. Yet he didn’t have the courage to return those words—he knew he wouldn’t, that if a woman approached him and whispered the things he imagined she might, he’d stall, become more introverted. She was a figment of his imagination, nothing more, borne of loneliness and the need to share his life with someone.
How had it come to this…this woman of his dreams plaguing his nights?
He knew only too well. Leading a solitary life was a killer.
There, a sparkle of her outline, an aura that lit her up, then she filled herself in, much like the hour glass she was, the sand growing from the bottom up until she became full. At last, her face was clear, one of staggering beauty that had him realising he’d known her all along in his subconscious. A breeze through his open window fluttered her hair, streaming it out to one side, showcasing a dainty chin and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Startling green eyes seemed to light for a moment before dousing—I imagined that; no one’s eyes glow like that—and she curved her full, rose-pink lips into a slightly parted smile.
Christ, she’s so fucking beautiful…
That was the problem. He’d created a woman who didn’t exist. He’d made her ideal, while he was far from that. He needed to have his hair cut—it had grown long and unkempt since…well, since the other her had been in his life—and he’d allowed his stubble to grow into something more than a speckle of five o’clock shadow.
He wondered if he was going crazy, holed up as he was each evening after work and only going out every so often at weekends. Whether he’d created his perfect woman so he could feel less alone, less of a… failure. Since his last relationship had withered, he’d lacked the self-confidence to go out and find a new lover, someone to laugh with, be with. Someone to sit beside and not have to say a word to. A woman who just knew him. Instead, he’d concentrated on working out, his muscles so defined now, the skin covering them untouched by feminine hands.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice reedy, as though she hadn’t quite been able to completely arrive.
I should be asking her that question…
I feel I shouldn’t be interrupting you now- I’m sure you’d rather I just quickly reminded you where you can get the complete anthology, and left you to read and… umm… stuff, in peace…
I’ll just tip toe off, and leave you to it (oh- and I think you’ll find replacement batteries in the top drawer if you need them….)