The Best of Elizabeth Cage

by Elizabeth Cage

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

21 contemporary erotic short stories spanning 13 years, including 3 new stories.  Fun, quirky, romantic and sexy, Elizabeth writes about people you?ve met , people you know - and  people you?d like to know much better?..sit back and  enjoy as Elizabeth shares the sensual pleasure of a horny encounter ? again and again?..

Release date: February 6, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 160

Sample

 Eat Me

She was right. The bloke was urinating against the wall in the alleyway beside the bus station. Quite blatantly too. The question was what to do about it. And Joanne knew she had to do something. It wasn’t a situation she’d encountered before. Not like telling someone off for trampling on the grass when there was a No Trespassing sign.

It was 6.30 p.m. and Joanne had just finished another stressful day at the call centre where she worked in Customer Services. She didn’t want any more hassle. She was fed up with dealing with other people’s complaints. At this moment all she wanted was to get home to her nice, quiet flat and lovingly devour a double chocolate fudge cake.

‘Excuse me.’

As she spoke, the man glanced over his shoulder at her, not in the least distracted from the task in hand.

‘Excuse me,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t think you should be doing that in a public place.’

‘Why not?’

She was incredulous. ‘Why not? Because you’re breaking the law.’

‘Show me the sign, then, that says No Pissing.’

For a moment she was taken aback. The man stared at her, his toffee-brown eyes brazen, and she noticed that his caramel-coloured hair looked soft and freshly washed. His bronzed complexion reminded her of a crème brülée. She began to feel hungry.

‘You shouldn’t need a sign. It’s obvious.’

He studied her curiously, gestured around him to the numerous passers-by who behaved as if it was a normal Friday night occurrence in the rush hour. ‘Do you see anyone complaining?’ he asked.

Now he was getting on her nerves.

He continued cheekily, ‘Am I inundated with protests? I think not.’

They had reached stalemate.

Glaring at him, Joanne noticed that although he was behaving like a lout, he was not dressed like one. In fact, he was smartly attired, with liquorice-black trousers, a creamy white shirt open at the neck, and a leather blouson-style jacket the colour of Bourneville chocolate. He looked good enough to eat.

Joanne wondered what to do next. Perhaps she should call the police. She was certain he must be committing some kind of criminal offence. Indecent exposure. Or was it gross indecency? Thank goodness her phone was tucked neatly in her shiny handbag. Her fingers encircled it, cradling, ready to dial. And then the strangest thing happened. She was seized by a powerful urge to place her hands elsewhere.

The man noticed with interest where her eyes were straying.

‘Do you want to touch it?’ he asked.

Appalled at the suggestion, Joanne shook her head vigorously. But the man took her hand and gently placed it over his rapidly stiffening cock. She felt that she should have protested. Instead, she closed her fingers. His circumference and length were indeed impressive, crying out to be touched. She grasped him firmly and began to move her hands up and down.

‘Harder,’ he cried.

Joanne considered the steel rod in her hand. ‘I don’t think you could get much harder,’ she replied. He groaned.

‘Oh, you mean you want me to rub harder?’

Within minutes, the man came loudly. Joanne suddenly wondered about the passers-by. But it was getting dark now, and no one seemed to notice them.

‘Thank you.’ The man calmly zipped up his flies and smoothed down his shirt.

She nearly replied, ‘No problem. Think nothing of it.’ She even considered, ‘That will be £50, please.’ Her head was spinning. She fumbled for a tissue to wipe the stickiness from her hand.

‘Thank you,’ he repeated, kissing her lightly on the forehead, and before she could respond his hand was under her stretch-cotton skirt, between her legs, his fingers feather-touching through her mocha tights.

She was vaguely aware of her own murmuring, and surprised at her own excitement. She remembered reading an article somewhere that sex was so much easier with a stranger. And after all, she was hungry. Very hungry.

Carefully, he pulled down her tights. She didn’t protest. In fact, she felt almost embarrassed at the creeping wetness that she knew must be visible through her white cotton knickers. Smiling, he pulled the fabric to one side and continued to stroke her clit.

‘Relax,’ he whispered.

Her muscles seemed to be going into involuntary contractions as his thumb pressed softly, increasing the pressure between her legs. She groaned. In response, he teased her with his fingers, playing with her swollen pussy, her juices supplying all the lubrication he needed as he slowly slid a finger inside her. She gasped as tiny electrical impulses were soon transformed into jolts that threatened to consume her aching body. Any self-control she was clinging on to soon vanished. She thrust her hips forward, pushing urgently against his hand. He moved his finger in and out of her, and she became aware of the slurping sounds emanating from her pussy, like he was dipping into a pot of honey. Lifting a finger to her lips, he said, ‘Taste yourself.’ As she licked the juices dripping from his finger, his tongue joined hers, relishing the taste.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ he breathed. He ran the base of his thumb around her clit, adding to the exquisite sensations that threatened to engulf her completely. She shuddered as the first wave hit her, so powerful he had to slip his other hand around her waist to steady her. But still his fingers continued to stroke and almost before she knew it, she was coming again, gasping with the force of it.

When she was finished he got down on his knees and licked her clean, relishing each mouthful as if it were golden syrup.

‘I’m still hungry,’ he said. ‘What about you?’

‘Ravenous,’ Joanne replied, still reeling. ‘We’ve had the starter – how about the main course?’

‘And mustn’t forget the dessert,’ he murmured, pushing back her fitted jacket and caressing her erect nipples through her blouse. He stopped to undo her top button, then the next one, then the next, until the ivory cream lace of her bra was clearly visible. He slid his hand inside, gently squeezing the soft flesh. He closed his eyes, as if savouring the sensation. Joanne wondered how she would feel if someone saw her now. Her work colleagues would be shocked. Her mother would be horrified. But somehow, she didn’t care. She was enjoying herself too much. The man opened his eyes and met her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed red, her lips moist and parted invitingly. Taking her hand he said, ‘Come with me.’

‘I just did,’ she sighed.

‘I know somewhere close by we can go to.’

Amazed at herself, Joanne scooped up her discarded tights and allowed this total stranger to lead her down a quiet side road, away from the traffic and bustling commuters. What was she thinking? Had she forgotten the meaning of the word “caution”? Five minutes later, they were outside what was clearly an expensive restaurant. She felt suddenly foolish. She hadn’t expected him to buy her a meal. When he’d talked about being hungry, she’d imagined he’d meant something else.

‘Oh. I thought we were going to … that you wanted to –’ she mumbled, blushing.

‘And you were right,’ he replied, grinning.

Then she noticed the restaurant was in darkness, obviously closed.

‘We open in two hours,’ he said, taking a key from his pocket. ‘Plenty of time.’

Joanne hesitated. ‘What about your boss?’

‘I am the boss.’

He flicked a switch; the dining area was flooded with light, revealing clusters of neatly dressed bistro tables, draped in white tablecloths, each decorated with a cut-glass stem vase containing a lilac freesia. Tasteful modern paintings adorned the white walls. He led her to a quiet alcove at the back of the restaurant.

‘This is reserved for couples who prefer some privacy,’ he explained. Briskly removing the vase and bread basket, he lifted her onto the table. His hands on her knees, he carefully parted her legs, his lips brushing her thighs. Joanne felt her heart pounding. Pushing her skirt up over her hips, he pulled her knickers down and over her ankles.

‘I don’t think we need these, do we?’ he asked grinning.

Joanne shook her head as he dropped them onto the polished wood floor.

‘You smell wonderful,’ he said, burying his face in her neatly trimmed pubic hair. ‘Quite delicious, in fact.’

‘Then eat me,’ she replied.

And he proceeded to run his tongue between the lips of her labia, causing her to gasp with pleasure. She felt warm and wet, her clit already pulsating with anticipation. He sucked her into his mouth, like he was trying to extract the juice from the sweetest orange. As his tongue probed deeper and deeper, she felt her hot pussy enfolding him. Instinctively, her muscles gripped him, sucking in, then relaxing as he tongue-fucked her. Before long, she was coming again.

‘Greedy girl,’ he joked, gazing admiringly as she lay sprawled across the table, her juices spreading over the white tablecloth. ‘You’ll ruin your appetite.’ She heard him unzipping his trousers. Her pussy still throbbing, Joanne sat up, and came face to face with his erection.

Feeling it would be bad manners not to return the compliment, she licked her lips and began to suck his renewed hardness rather as she would have done her favourite ice cream lolly.

‘That feels good,’ he groaned, as she flicked her tongue over his knob, tracing its smooth length. She teased him for some time before turning her attention to his balls, licking each one in turn, rolling it in her mouth like a giant profiterole. She could feel him trembling, and guessed he was close to coming.

‘Not yet.’ He sighed, pulling away. ‘I want this to last.’

But he couldn’t resist her for long.

‘Feed me,’ she demanded and he soon thrust his cock back into her mouth, filling it. He gasped as she deep-throated him before sliding her mouth away, until only the tip of his cock was held tantalizingly between her soft lips. She opened her mouth, releasing him.

‘Do you want more?’ she asked.

He moaned appreciatively. Once again, she took his cock in her mouth, enveloping it, and began to suck vigorously, squeezing, as if she was trying to milk him dry. Suddenly, he came in violent spurts, the creamy fluid exploding onto her taste buds like heavenly nectar. There was so much of it, too much to swallow it all. The sticky liquid dribbled down the sides of her mouth. She licked her lips, wanting to lap it up. Waste not, want not.

‘My compliments to the chef,’ Joanne joked, wiping her hand across her mouth. But still she wasn’t satisfied. Tonight, she had a big appetite. She wanted more. As he leant back against the table, still panting, Joanne began to fondle his limp cock, determined to bring it back to life. He laughed, but as she wrapped her hands around it, pumping, he placed his hands over hers, increasing the pressure. It took less time than either of them expected and soon he was stiff once more.

‘Very appetising,’ she observed, pressing her groin against him.

Quickly sensing her mood, he reached into his pocket and produced a pack of strawberry-flavoured condoms.

‘Hope you like fruit,’ he said.

‘If it’s ripe and juicy,’ she replied, pushing him down onto the floor. He looked up at her swollen pussy as she stood over him.

‘Still hot, I see,’ he whispered.

Joanne straddled him and carefully lowered herself onto his ramrod cock. She was gaping open, wider than she’d ever been before. He slid inside her, filling her to the hilt in seconds, she was so wet. Closing her eyes, Joanne wrapped her legs around him, clutching him and locking him to her. She alternately gripped and relaxed with her muscles, while he pumped rhythmically.

‘Faster,’ she pleaded.

Gathering speed, he thrust furiously into her, his rampant cock pounding, his balls slapping against her. Finally, her body jerked as waves engulfed her. She felt his cock pulse as her convulsions triggered his orgasm and their bodies shuddered as they came together. They lay panting, their bodies entwined, mutually satiated, waiting for the calm to return.

After a while he said apologetically, ‘My staff will be arriving shortly.’

She reached for her abandoned knickers. ‘I ought to be getting home,’ she replied, matter of fact.

‘Before you leave, there’s something I want to give you,’ he said, heading for the kitchen. Minutes later he returned.

‘I promised you dessert,’ he said, presenting her with a generous slab of chocolate chip cheesecake. ‘On the house.’

‘Thanks, but actually, I’m full up,’ she replied. Then she added, dipping her finger into the creamy chocolate swirl, ‘But there are some things a girl simply can’t resist.’



Peacocks

Thirty-nine-year-old Nikki Campbell didn’t believe in fate. Or so she had always thought. But this had to be more than a coincidence.

Dubrovnik, though beautiful and charming, was not a large city. And the unspoilt island of Lokrum, a ten-minute boat ride from the Old Port, was only a few miles across: an uninhabited haven of natural beauty, lush with pines and cypress trees, its only permanent residents the magnificent peacocks, strutting and posing. Like the cute American tourist. He reminded her of a peacock.

Nikki had first set eyes on him during the second day of her visit, while she was sipping a refreshing cold beer. After spending the morning exploring the walled city, she’d taken a detour up some steep steps to an old Jesuit church where elderly local women sold hand-crafted lace shawls while feral cats wandered and basked in the baking hot sun. She’d noticed the sign for the Buza – the hole-in-the-wall bar she’d read about in her guidebook.

She followed the signs that led to an oasis cut into the rock face; a hidden gem of a place offering panoramic views of the blue Adriatic. Nikki sat beneath the thatched umbrellas offering shade and ordered a drink. R. . .