Orgasmic, p.1
Orgasmic, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Introduction
THE WAITING GAME
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
CHEMISTRY
THE CHAIR
FIXING THE PIPES
SHARE
HURDLES
SEEING STARS
OLD FAITHFUL
PAYING IT FORWARD
THE BIG O
MOON TANTRA
FEET ON THE DASHBOARD
FROSTING FIRST
ALL SHE WANTED
MAKING SHAPES
RAPTURE
BELTED
RISE AND SHINE
TAKING THE REINS
FIRST DATE WITH THE DOM
ANIMAL INSIDE
THE LONDON O
FIGHT
SWITCH
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE EDITOR
Copyright Page
INTRODUCTION: LET ME COUNT THE WAYS…
Orgasm: like sex, it’s one word that means many different things to many different people. For many women, it’s the center of their sexual life, a daily occurrence; something to look forward to, experiment with. For some, it means a gushing rush of pleasure; for others, it’s a little wave they delight in cresting.
Every woman who orgasms may describe it differently.
Yet there are many women, myself included, who find orgasm not so easy to achieve much of the time (yes, it’s true—I love sex, and get turned on, but coming is a bit more complex for me). In “Hurdles,” Rowan Elizabeth writes of such a character: “I can’t win this. And it’s my hang-up, too. I feel like there’s something I’m just not doing right. Maybe if I tighten my legs a little more or squeeze my eyes shut harder, then we’d get there together.”
Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary defines orgasm as “intense or paroxysmal excitement; especially: an explosive discharge of neuromuscular tensions at the height of sexual arousal that is usually accompanied by the ejaculation of semen in the male and by vaginal contractions in the female.” It comes from the Latin and Greek (orgasmus/orgasmos), from organ “to grow ripe, be lustful.” I like that description, though what it leaves out is that for women, orgasm can stretch beyond the boundaries of ejaculation, can continue on and on, can be drawn out for as long as the woman (or her partner) wants to indulge in the experience.
In Lolita Lopez’s perfectly kinky story, “The Chair,” sex toys and submission go hand in hand with orgasm for the protagonist. “Lily’s orgasms changed from separate events to one long and unending oscillation of bliss.” Her “punishment” at the hands of Cal is one she’s very, very happy to absorb.
There are countless articles and books telling you how to have a bigger, better orgasm. I don’t want to add to the clamor of the voices saying, You must orgasm now. Instead, I want Orgasmic to be a fictional showcase of some of the reasons, methods and delights women bring to their orgasms. I want these red-hot stories to help get you warmed up, primed, aroused. I want them to make you squirm with desire, identification, curiosity. I want you to read these stories aloud to a lover…or someone you wish were your lover.
I did my best to capture an array of big (and little) Os, moments where the world feels like it’s exploding in your body, orgasms that rock more than just your world. These stories capture the ferocity, intensity and power of women’s orgasms, however they’re achieved. I couldn’t include every way women come in this book, or it would be much longer than it is now, but I wanted to include a varied look at what gets women off, which means it’s not always a man or another woman, or even a machine that does the trick. Vanessa Vaughn taps into a classic route with “Taking the Reins”: As I straddle the seat and slowly lower myself down, I feel a familiar tingle of excitement deep inside. I can sense the monstrous size of the body between my thighs, the large chest expanding and contracting broadly with each breath. The smell of fresh, conditioned leather smothers my senses—well, that, and also the slight musky tinge of sweat. It is a raw smell mixed with rich, dark dirt.
Speaking of orgasm how-tos, in “The Big O” by Donna George Storey, she both skewers the omnipresent women’s magazine sex advice and adds a saucy twist as her protagonist puts into practice “The Sexercise Prescription: A Stronger Secret You in Six Weeks.”
The women in Orgasmic climax from tantric sex, role-playing, piercing, G-spot play, sex toys and even chemistry—the scientific kind. They delight in food, God and handymen. They create their own objects of pleasure; they spy, tease, obey, command, argue, submit. Some are shy about their orgasms and some are bold as can be.
They come, and come and come again, and they do it in some of the hottest, most creative ways you can think of. Visit me at orgasmicbook.wordpress.com if you just can’t get enough… orgasms, that is.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
THE WAITING GAME
Elizabeth Coldwell
It starts with a simple game of cards, just another way of passing the time on this washout of a holiday. When Danny and I booked the cottage, intending to get away from the pressures of work for a week, we had visions of long walks along the beach and dinner in cozy country pubs. Instead, we’ve had three days of the worst weather in living memory. It’s too wet to go anywhere or see anything; all we’ve done is lounge in front of the fire, working our way through the shelf of battered old paperbacks the owners have thoughtfully left in the living room. And then Danny, searching a drawer in the hope of finding a box of matches and sparing himself a dash out in the rain to the local shop, finds the cards.
I half expect him to suggest we play strip poker, but he’s never been that predictable and besides, neither of us really knows the rules. Looking for a game that is slightly more intellectually stimulating than Snap, we settle on Cheat. As we work our way steadily through a bottle of chardonnay and a big bag of tortilla chips, we’re soon howling with laughter and calling each other a cheat at every opportunity. Danny suggests that to make things more interesting, if either of us is caught declaring a card he or she hasn’t got or makes an incorrect challenge, then that player should pay a forfeit. I ask him what he has in mind and he just smiles. I don’t worry about it too much; I can usually tell when he’s bluffing because he’s no good at keeping his expression neutral. If we were playing strip poker, I’d have him down to his boxers by now.
So when Danny announces that he’s got an ace, I simply have to challenge him: three have already come out, and the remaining one is in my hand, ready to be played. “Cheat!” I yell, and he turns the card over. To my incredulity, I’m looking at the ace of spades.
“That can’t be possible,” I say. “There have to be five aces in the pack.”
Danny snorts derisively. “You’re just a bad loser, Jade. Looks like you’re going to have to pay that forfeit.”
I could argue, but I’m already beginning to wonder whether I actually imagined the ace I thought I was holding. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”
Even before he tells me, I’m fairly sure it’s going to be something sexual and more than likely something humiliating. Danny isn’t cruel, but he does like to try to convince me he’s the boss in our relationship. And I’ll admit that sometimes I would like him to take control, if only he knew it; there’s a dirty little part of me that gets unaccountably excited at the thought of my laid-back husband suddenly asserting his dominance over me. Maybe he’ll order me to strip off and run around outside, naked in the cold October rain. Or maybe he’ll whip out his cock and demand a blow job.
Yes, it’ll be the blow job. I’m already preparing to get down on my knees in front of him when his reply stops me in my tracks. “It’s more what I don’t want you to do,” he says. “Your forfeit is that you aren’t going to be allowed to come until I give you permission.”
So it is a control game. And I think I know why he’s chosen this particular one.
I’ve never been one of those women who want—or need—orgasm after orgasm. Indeed, I’ve found the more frequently I come, the weaker, less enjoyable and harder to achieve those climaxes become. Whereas if I haven’t come for a few days, the release is so strong, so all consuming that it leaves me spent and thoroughly satisfied. I once mentioned this to Danny, early on in our relationship, and while it’s usually meant that he’s never tried to bring me to a second orgasm in a night, knowing I’m completely happy with the first, now he’s using that information to take our sex play to an entirely different level.
“And are you going to give me any idea how long I might have to wait?” I ask.
He shakes his head, an evil smile crossing his handsome features. “It might be before the end of the holiday—then again, it might not. All I will say is that by the time I do let you come, you’ll be wanting it more than you ever have.”
I think that’s the end of it for the time being, but then he adds, “Now, I want you to go into the bedroom and get that little vibrator of yours. I know you’ve brought it with you, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Bring it back here, there’s a good girl.”
The emphasis he places on the words “good girl” makes me shiver, and I wonder how long Danny has actually been thinking about making something like this happen.
My vibrator is tucked in the side pocket of my suitcase, wrapped in an innocent-looking pink silk scarf. It’s small but powerful and has never let me down—which might not be a good thing, given the rule Danny has just outlined. I drop a couple of batteries into the chamber and return to the living room, where Danny has spread a t owel on the sofa cushions. He’s also brought a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen. Extra-virgin, I notice, looking at the viscous greenish liquid, and I realize my mind is trying to seek any diversion from what might be about to happen.
“I’m sure you’ve already guessed what I want you to do,” he says. “Slip your knickers off, make yourself comfortable and use the vibrator on yourself. I brought you a little something for lubrication, just in case you need it.”
He hands me the bottle with a little smirk. I’m squirming inside, but the way he’s treating me, with a hint of arrogance and condescension so lacking in his usual personality, is turning me on like no one’s business.
Danny sits in the rocking chair by the fireplace to watch. He’s refilled his wineglass and looks as though he’s settling in to enjoy the show. I’m wearing my favorite pair of pajama bottoms, navy blue with pink and white polka dots. They might be ideal for lounging around the house, but I know I’m going to have to take them off as well as my knickers.
My husband’s eyes never leave me as I shimmy out of my clothing. It’s warm in the cottage but my skin is suddenly bristling with goose bumps as I stand before him, naked from the waist down. He doesn’t say a word, but I know his gaze is fixed squarely on the triangle of hair between my legs, freshly waxed for our holiday. Though he’s trying his best to remain impassive, the distinct bulge forming at the front of his jogging bottoms can’t help but give his real feelings away.
The bottle of oil is heavy in my hand as I unscrew the top. I feel strangely self-conscious as I lie back on the towel and spread my legs, even though Danny has seen me half-undressed so many times before. The difference is I’m not usually being required to exhibit myself for him, nor to drizzle oil along my hairless pussy lips till I can feel it trickling down over my tight little rosebud. This extra lubrication won’t really be necessary, but it makes what I’m being asked to do all the ruder. Danny shifts in his seat as I switch on the vibrator, its buzzing surprisingly loud; he’s no longer able to resist the temptation to cup and stroke his cock as he watches.
Knowing he’s getting off on this almost as much as I am, I begin to tease myself with the toy. I think Danny is going to give me instructions, telling me where to press and how much pressure to apply, but apart from the slapping of his palm against his cock and the occasional grunt, it’s almost possible to forget he’s actually there. I start to lose myself in the moment, pushing the vibrator up inside me just a little way before pulling back out to focus on the area just around my clit in the way that’s always guaranteed to make me come.
I’m bucking my hips, feeling those little tickly sensations that mean my orgasm can’t be too far away, which is precisely when Danny orders me to stop what I’m doing and play the vibrator over my nipples instead. Lifting my T-shirt, I do as he asks, a little reluctantly. But a forfeit’s a forfeit, after all, I think, as I feel those delicious spasms die away.
Keeping that thought in mind doesn’t make things any easier to bear when Danny tells me I can turn my attention back to my pussy. Again, he watches me take myself right to the brink and again he makes me stop before I get there. I’m sure, as we go into this routine for a third time, that this is when he’ll finally allow me to come. I’m wrong. Still unsatisfied, my thighs sticky with a mixture of my own juices and the olive oil, I’m made to put the vibrator away in my bedside drawer. The expression on Danny’s face as I do so tells me he is loving being in charge far too much to end the game now.
I spend the next couple of days in the same state of sweet torment. At Danny’s request, I dress in a skirt with no knickers beneath it. It gives him the access he needs to slip a finger up under the hem whenever he feels like it, driving me half-crazy by playing with my clit until I’m on the verge of climaxing and then pulling away. I’m washing the dishes after dinner one evening when he comes up behind me, pressing his hard cock into the cleft of my buttocks and clutching my breasts through my top. He rubs himself against me, letting me know how excited he is, and I reckon he’s going to fuck me where I stand. But his self-control is stronger than I might have expected; he’s doing just enough to keep me in a state where all I can think about is when he’s going to let me come and what it will feel like when I do.
I almost wish he’d put me into some sort of chastity belt; at least that way I would be completely off-limits, waiting patiently till he chooses to release me. What he’s done instead is more subtle, more frustrating; my whole being seems concentrated into the area between my legs, and I’m constantly aware of the maddening ache there—an ache that won’t be eased until Danny decides the time is right. He could ask me to do anything and I would agree, if only to be allowed to experience that marvelous moment when my orgasm bursts through me.
On the final morning of our holiday, the weather breaks at last. We wake to the sun shining through the thin curtains and the promise of a beautiful day to come. Danny suggests we go out for breakfast and then take that much-delayed walk along the beach. I’m about to roll out of bed so I can shower when he grabs hold of me.
“Not so fast. I want you to take care of this first.” He gestures to his erection, standing swollen and proud.
He lies back, hands clasped behind his head and a big smile on his face as I go to work. I gaze at him submissively as I suck, mouth full of his hot, salty flesh, wondering whether this will be the last day he chooses to play the role of master and whether our sex life will go back to its usual vanilla pattern once we return to the old routine. We certainly won’t be having sex on a weekday morning, not with Danny’s early start and my long commute, so I give in to the novelty of it, taking even more of my husband’s length into my clutching throat.
When he decides I’ve pleasured him enough, he urges me up onto all fours. I feel his face pushing between my buttocks and his tongue worming into my cunt, licking wetly and opening me up for him.
I’m twitchy with anticipation by the time I feel him sliding into me. For the past few days he’s kept me on edge, and even now I don’t know whether this will end with both of us coming—or just Danny. Tense and impatient, I push back hard on his cock as it noses its way into me. It’s been a long time since I’ve put so much into a fuck; my breasts are bouncing and the bedsprings are creaking as Danny and I move in a swift, animal rhythm. I can feel the sweat breaking out in little beads in the hollow of my back. Danny’s finger finds my clit, rubbing firmly, and yet again I find myself beginning the swift ride to ecstasy. My husband is now as attuned to the pattern of my orgasm as I am, and as he’s done so many times over the course of this holiday, he pulls back, letting the intensity fade.
“Don’t forget, Jade,” he murmurs, “not till I say so.”
He thrusts into me harder than ever. His breathing is harsh in my ear, and his fingers are practically crushing my nipples as he toys with them. I’d almost forgotten sex could be so rough, so frantic, and I’m loving every moment of it. Again he turns his attention to my clit, but this time when he starts stroking it he doesn’t stop. I’m expecting him to back off, and that’s why I’m so startled when instead he says, “Come for me.”
The pleasure that has been building and building with no outlet for so many days now comes gushing forth. The tingling, throbbing, pounding feeling that radiates out from my sex to flood the whole of my lower half is so intense that I actually scream. I’m calling out Danny’s name, begging him not to stop and using all the foul, filthy words that never pass my lips at any other time. I have truly never had an orgasm like it, and by the time the sensation has passed, I am weak and shaking.
Danny pulls out of me and as I lie on my back, he kneels over me, wanking his cock till the come spurts out of it in big, pearly gobs that decorate my belly, marking me as his.
“So was it worth the wait?” he asks as I smile up at him.
All I can do is nod my head. Even if I could find the words, I don’t think I have the energy to speak them.
That evening, as we’re making a final tour of the cottage before we set off for home, making sure we’re in no danger of leaving anything behind, I find the playing cards lying half-hidden under the living room sofa. Remembering the game of Cheat, I pick them up and flick through them. To my utter disbelief, I realize there really are five aces in the pack, along with a couple of extra sevens and two queen of hearts. On impulse, I slip the cards in my bag. After all, who would have any use for such a rogue deck—apart from someone who has suddenly realized the whole world of possibilities that might spring from another game of forfeits?
