u/AllHandsOnBex

Synopsis: When the farmer’s daughter lends a hand on summer break, the temptation to get back at the boss–and Daddy–can be hard to resist.

Image 13

---

Kayleigh-Ann was called home for a summer of labor in exchange for next year’s tuition.

Day in, day out, she was in the fields with us from sunrise to sunset, never a grumble of complaint to be heard. We suspected her old man was punishing her for taking a different path than he did, or maybe he was just holding one last thing over her head before he couldn’t anymore.

She was nice to us. Friendly, respectful. She tried her best to keep up, though it was clear she wasn’t made for farm work, and it always felt like her efforts were more for our sake than anyone else’s.

One morning in early June, we got to repay her good nature. She came out to the field red-faced and teary-eyed, having just gotten into a fight with her father. We gave her an easy task that didn’t need doing, and just so happened to be out of sight from daddy’s “supervising porch”. When he came looking for her around lunchtime with a head full of steam, I sent him in the wrong direction, hoping a long walk in the hot sun would take the fight out of him.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she asked me the next day.

“Probably too much.”

That admission set our worst natures in motion. Over the next week, we went back and forth sharing increasingly-complicated ways we could prank him. We never had any intention of doing them, but it gave our idle minds something to chew on and made our bellies sore from laughing so hard. As rough a man as I am, her ideas were always far more cruel.

“What if you fucked me?” she asked, some days later when we were alone, clearing a particularly weedy patch of field.

I swore I misheard her. Or she didn’t mean it like that, but she left no room for deniability.

“Like… we meet behind the barn. I’m wearing my overalls for easy access and there’s no bottoms underneath. You could push me up against the side of the barn–or we could go up to the loft–and you could breed me like the sow he always calls me. Not just once either–that’s an accident, or indiscretion. No, you pump me every day–twice a day maybe.

“Your hands leave bruises. Your mouth leaves marks. You make me yours, then send me to family supper, walking cock-eyed, still full of your cum and so sore it hurts to sit.”

I’d never heard such filthy thoughts from a woman, much less a girl. A stereotypical, wholesome-looking farmer’s daughter. A college-educated one at that–what were they teaching kids these days?

The appeal was strong, but I remembered the old adage–A farmer’s daughter is the most dangerous implement on the farm.

“That is your most devious yet, Kay”

“Thanks,” she said with an evil grin forming. “Think it would kill him? If he found out?”

“Even if it did, you know he’d ensure we got something worse.”

“Where do you think I learned to be so devious?”

What followed was the longest silence we ever had. It spanned days, despite our paths crossing numerous times. Perhaps we’d taken the joke too far. Maybe she saw I enjoyed her vivid description more than I should have and now could only offer me the most perfunctory of acknowledgments.

Then it happened.

Late one afternoon, weeks later, I was in the tool shed, bent over and trying to separate a rack of tools woven together by lack of care and time. I don’t know how long she spent watching me, only that she was leaning against the doorway when I turned around.

“What about a blowjob?” she asked, cocking her head. “A quiet retaliation. No one has to know.”

This was the danger of the farmer’s daughter, at least this particular one. Time was on their side, and so was temptation.

I had memorized all the reasons not to, growing weaker with astonishing speed–
“Your father–my boss–is always watching, always searching for the next thing to trip his temper.”
“I’m twice your age.”
“I’m all sweaty.”
“You’re better than this.”

But she had her list of dismissals, each coming with a step toward me–
“Fuck him.”
“That makes it better, for us both, doesn’t it?”
“Who cares? So am I and I’d let you put your tongue anywhere you want to.”
“Better than getting what I want? I’m too good to suck your sweaty, hard cock until your salty, hot load pours down my throat?”

By the last one, she was on her knees looking up at me with big, bright eyes and a knowing smile.

“Please?” she asked with a confidence that only comes from never experiencing rejection at such an offer.

My stomach tightened. I nodded, because my mouth was too dry to speak and words would have made me too complicit.

With an excited hum, Kay opened my pants and took my half-chub in her hand. She made a performance of licking me from balls to tip and I was full mast by the time her tongue reached the head. I felt embarrassed at how easy it was. How shameless of my member. She only grinned.

“You have a nice cock, in case you aren’t aware.”

Her lips closed around my head, her neck bobbing, twisting them around me. At my base, her fingers tightened and made a fast rhythm of short strokes. I could feel myself throbbing, reaching a degree of hardness that usually only came right before I did. With hollow cheeks, she worked me deeper into her mouth until I reached the narrowness of her throat, then breached it.

When she came up for air, heavy strings hung between her lips and my entire length. They stretched down me as she moved to my balls, her tongue rolling them in her mouth. My shaft in her fist, her other hand closed over my head, fingertips stroking from crown to peak and back again.

“Really good balls too. I bet you have fantastic, thick loads.”

I could only groan in response.

“How about… I find out for myself?”

Another groan–more of a gasp.

I couldn’t tell where her mouth ended and fist began, all I could feel was her wet, hot touch on my entire cock, pumping me with a singular goal. A perfect balance of slide and friction at a rapid pace.

She guided my hand to the back of her head. “Show me how you like it.”

The encouragement destroyed any shame I had left. My hips stroked myself between her lips, my hand bounced her head with abandon, feeling her throat open around me on every thrust. Her tongue cupped under me like a form-fit gutter ready to catch everything I’d spill and channel it to her waiting belly.

The sensation was beyond anything I’d had before. My whole body convulsed, sending hot pulses through me and into her. Moaning, her mouth grew tighter, sank deeper, my last bits spurting straight down her throat. Her fingers massaged my taut sack like they were trying to extract even more.

She didn’t release me until I had gone completely soft in her mouth. Then she smiled with the same big, bright eyes that got me into this.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“If I told you it was the best of my life, would you believe me?”

“Probably, yeah. I’ve had a lot of practice at school.” Her grin curled and she almost looked bashful.

That was the last time she asked if I wanted one. And the last time I resisted the inevitable. For the rest of the summer, anytime we had the chance–at least once a day–we kept it going. In the barn, in the shed, in the pasture. Once she even blew me in her mother’s wildflower garden right behind the house.

Occasionally, I had the thought that maybe I wasn’t the only one getting them. She had just as many opportunities with the other guys and I didn’t think for a second I was any more special than them, but I decided it didn’t really matter, ultimately.

My workdays had been better since that day in the shed. I hoped hers were too, a daily treat in a summer of punishment.

As fall arrived, I was already nostalgic for the season that had been, out on the far end of the pasture to repair a rotted fencepost with only my thoughts and the quiet, thick air. Guilt came and went, but so did regret at not accepting Kayleigh-Ann’s initial offer.

Her return to school was imminent and I already knew my memories of her would be fonder if I had ever had a proper look at her body. A more complete picture to go with all the sensations of her. I imagined her, head to toe–some parts more than others–stripped of her overalls and boots, hair styled rather than tied up, a touch of make-up on her face rather than the usual sweat and dirt.

My mind was busy building that picture when, by fate, she appeared. Not quite as I imagined–she smartly still had her rubber boots for the mucky trudge–but the shape of her was apparent, if covered by a pink sundress. The low neckline framed an abundance of pale cleavage and the tan line her usual shirts had left high on her chest.

As she rested her elbow on the fence, her short, puffy sleeves rode up to reveal a matching line on her arm. The timing of the crisp breeze and the way it tossed her hair were too perfect to be coincidence.

“Haha, what?!”

I broke my stare, shaking the absurdities of fate and magic from my head. “Nothing. What’s that for?”

“I just felt like wearing a dress today.”

“To traipse across the pasture?”

“Do you like it?” She twisted her hips as she asked me, giving the breeze more purchase on the light fabric.

For all the view, I find myself lost in her light eyes, the freckles blooming on her cheeks and nose from every long day in the sun.

“It’s very pretty. Your father give you the day off?”

“No, but it’s my last day. I thought I’d just hang out. What’s he gonna do about it?”

“Him seeing you out here in your Sunday dress–that’s just a bonus, right?”

“And you seeing what’s underneath–what you’ve been missing all summer–is yours.” She carefully lifted the hem of her dress, showing the part of her thighs previously untouched by the summer sun. “If you want it, that is.”

“I think about it every time I feel your mouth. I love how we’ve spent the summer, but every time, I wished I had taken you up on your first suggestion.”

“You should have said something.” Her whole body moved with the breeze–light, easy, wistful. “Think of all the fun we could have had.”

She lifted her skirt and danced in its soft shadow.

My eyes inspected every inch of milky skin above the sharp border of her tan. Thighs like fresh dough begging to be kneaded. Delicate dark lips held in suspense between fuller, pinker ones. Nestled higher, her hood, thick with arousal, but no less keeping secret its treasure. The tuft of amber thatch that topped it all.

Every shape, every texture, every color seared itself into my brain with the fear that it would disappear as flightily as it came.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What if you fucked me?”

“Here?”

“It’s not like I can drag you to my room.”

“Do you have a condom?”

“You finally get to fuck me, and you don’t even want to feel it?”

She reached for my hand, turned my palm toward her, and pressed it to the very features my eyes had been trying to study. Hair tickled the base of my palm, the top of it felt the firmness of a warm swell. On my fingers, smooth skin even warmer and ever-so-slightly slick.

“Kay-leigh. Ann,” I said, my reverence slowing each sound’s passage into the air.

“Don’t you want to feel that? All of it?”

Her hand left mine, but mine remained where she put it, contouring to her, fingers curling to trace her shape, probing every wrinkle, every space, mapping where warm turned warmer turned hot. Where wetness reached and where it reached from. I had to know her feel–she was right–but more urgently, I had to know her taste.

My hands closed on her narrow waist, hoisting her onto the top rail of the fence. Her ankles hooked her in place and her knees swung wide for me. Her lips parted, inviting me–whatever part of me in whatever way I chose.

I could smell her sweetness–vanilla wrapped in warm linen–over the pasture air.

Her taste was elegantly wild. Noises unrestrained but graceful.

My tongue painted the map my fingers had drawn. Crest to valley. Shore to prairie and back. Stream turned to river.

Fingers curled in my hair.

Tender moans turned lively, the sound of her letting go.

Her head fell back, her hat tumbling into the tall grass, hair unruly on the breeze.

Losing any sense of self-preservation, I grabbed her hips, pulled her from the fence, and spun her around. The fantasy she had sown in me months earlier, fed by the summer sun and her devious mouth, was at its peak. I couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t let it rot in the field, a waste, and it was clear she shared my sentiment.

She put her boot on one rail and kicked the other high and wide, landing it on top of the fence, her flexibility and need laid bare. Her waist curved over the fence, the top of her dress fighting to contain her tits while the bottom sat over her back.

It wasn’t the sneaky fuck against the side of the barn that she had proposed, it was something much more. It had a sweetness to it, a romance even, but it was no less raw, no less urgent.

As I stepped forward and pulled myself out of my pants, she watched me closely, studying me in the same way I’d done to her.

A glow backlit her freckles. Her eyes were wide and bright as ever. I still couldn’t believe she wanted this like I did, how I ever caught her eye in this particular way, but there was no denying that she did.

A whimper and a trail of stilted breaths left her as I lined myself up, as I slid between her lips and they wrapped me in her heat. Slowly, I eased myself into her, feeling her narrows open around me, embrace me in velvet texture and the sweet slick that remained heavy on my lips.

Every inch was a new noise, louder and more pleading.

I wrapped my arm around her front, sliding my fingers down her neckline to finally feel the weight of her in my hand. She closed her hand over mine and squeezed herself in it, harder than I would have dared. Her fantasy said marks and bruises, and she must have meant it.

When I bottomed out, she chirped in a burst of surprise glee, but that was the last shred of innocence I heard. Her eyes rolled back, her noises turned feral as I began pumping, getting louder and grittier as I gained confidence behind her. As I went faster. Harder.

I gave in to the full fantasy–not hers, but the timeless one shared by farmhands and neighbor boys alike, about giving in to the advances of the farmer’s precious daughter, discovering she’s every bit as horny and spry as you could hope for, and a sexual freak to boot. It’s a good thing this came late in the summer, or else the consequences would have been impossible to escape.

I tugged down her dress, letting her tits swing and clap in the fall air. The fence creaked beneath her, every loose rail rattling from one post to the next. Her boots squeaked against the rough wood. Her ass, on the larger side for a girl of her size, filled my view and the sound of my balls slapping wet against her rang in my ears.

I wasn’t long for this encounter. It welled up inside me with an urgency beyond what her mouth ever did. But I still owed her something from her fantasy.

Leaning over her, I brought my mouth to her neck, low, where it would be easily covered. I grazed her skin with my teeth. Let them dig in. Pulled her into my mouth, pulsing suction, a pinch. An animalistic bellow broke from deep within her. Her fingers dug into my scalp as she held me in place. I sucked harder, feeling my orgasm grow imminent.

I tried to bury my noises in her neck. They sounded like hers when they erupted from her throat.

My arm tightened around her. My hips snapped, shallow, urgent, already out of sorts, then shot back, pulling myself free. My body tensed and shook with each pulse. White noise overwhelmed my ears, but I heard spurt after spurt splash against the backs of her thighs.

When I stood up, I saw my pearly streams crawling down her skin, into her boots.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” she said, planting her boots in the mud and turning toward me.

I panicked, realizing my laundry list of misdeeds with this one way at the top. I knew it was too good to be true. I let myself get carried away. I misunderstood… something. Maybe everything.

“I– I’m so–”

She cut me off with a peck on my lips, her hands lingering on my cheeks, followed by a bright smile. “I thought you understood the plan was not for it to end up in my boots.”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure. Thought I’d play it safe.”

“Safe. Yeah, fucking the farmer’s daughter in the pasture is fine, but… cumming in her would be too much.”

My relief came out as a laugh.

“I’m going to go relax in the barn, but you should come by when you can. Hang out for a bit. Shade, sweet tea… biscuits… me.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by.”

“You had better not keep me waiting,” she said, flashing a coy smile. “And next time, no more safe. No more careful. Whatever you want as long as I end up with every drop inside me.”

Synopsis: Eddie the mechanic is helping neighbor Della, who promised him “generous thanks” for his services. There’s only one problem: her man.

Image 1

---

As Eddie gives a bolt its last quarter turn, the car shifts and his wrench bangs off the side of the engine. His face scrunches, but he keeps his curses in his throat.

Glancing around the open hood, he sees the car’s owner, his neighbor Della, pressed against the car by a rough-cut man who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. Her sneaker squeaks against the door and her skirt is bunched high on her thighs like she’s inviting penetration.

It’s her car–her driveway, presumably–but the man is staking his own sort of claim.

The interference of the rocking car is annoying–not to mention the wet sounds of making out, with bursts of hums and moans for emphasis–but worse, Eddie feels he’s been the victim of a bait-and-switch. Her naughty schoolgirl fit and the way she said she’d “thank him generously” wasn’t why he offered to help, but he can’t ignore the feeling that this dude is getting a laugh–and maybe more–at his expense.

“Should be good now.”

“Should be? Heh. Some expert,” the man scoffs.

Eddie takes it in stride. “All fixes need testing.”

“Maybe if you don’t know what you’re doing,” the man mutters.

“Good thing you’re here to test it,” Della chirps, pulling the door open behind herself.

“Me?!”

“It’s the least you can do. Really. The least.” Her voice has a sharpness to it, like you’d hear between rounds of a fight.

“Fiiiiine,” he moans, getting into the driver’s seat.

She leans into the car, “Now, what you need to do is–”

“I know, I know.”

“No. You don’t. Listen,” she continues, her tone fraying, “Go down to Costco. Drive around the lot like you’re looking for a spot, but go through the whole lot. Like… 10 minutes. Then drive back, circle the block a few times. Then you can park it.”

“Costco?! What the fuck? That place is a nightmare. It’s going to take me like an hour!”

“That’s where it always happens,” she insists. “Right when I am pulling in!”

“Waste of time. You’re not making any sense. I’ll just go around the block.”

Eddie looks up from his half-packed toolbag. “She’s right. That’s what she told me and it makes total sense. The transmission lock-up on these old things can be finicky. It won’t happen until you’ve gone about 20 miles at highway speed. Then when you drop below like… 10, 15, it stalls. If you do that and it stays running, we know it’s fixed.”

“Yeah, and if it doesn’t, I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere on the highway, or worse–fucking Costco!”

“Nope. Let it sit for a few minutes. It’ll unstick and you can start it back up.”

“Told you,” she snaps.

“Heh. Fine.” The man starts the car and tears out of the driveway, barely missing Eddie.

“That’s a thing?” she asks.

“It can be,” Eddie says with a coy look, “But not on this car.”

“What matters is that it worked.”

He tosses a handful of tools into his bag, then turns to her. “You want to tell me why you were trying to get rid of him, aside from the obvious?”

“The obvious being that he’s a stubborn, know-it-all dick?” Her hands sit on canted hips as she huffs and rolls her eyes.

“Your words, not mine.”

Della steps closer and reaches for his hand. “Come inside so I can thank you. We don’t have much time.”

“Oh, that’s… not… uh… necessary…”

“Deed for a deed. Seems fair. You did yours because you think I’m cute. I’m doing mine because I think you are too.”

“I was just being nice. Neighborly.”

“So am I. Let me.”

Her hand snakes over his hip and he doesn’t resist. Doesn’t flinch. She bites her lip and twists at the hips, her skirt accentuating her ploy. She lunges at him, her lips landing on his. Their lips press, part, but when he feels her tongue in his mouth, he pulls away.

“Are… you… sure about this?”

“I wouldn’t be trying so hard if I wasn’t.”

It becomes clear to Eddie that she knows what she is doing and that she knows it will work. It’s not worth resisting, possibly offending her. He picks up his bag and follows her into the house.

The pleats of her skirt ripple as she walks, but do nothing to distract him from the small, round ass underneath them. Briefly, he wonders if he’ll get to see it or if this is just another tease. Maybe her thanks will come in the form of a home-baked pie and a cup of drip coffee, which would be more than enough had he not let his desire get carried away.

As if to answer, to alleviate his concern, she pushes him against the wall and presses herself to him. Her mouth smothers any questions that might have arisen, while her hands work quickly on his pants. She drops to her knees, taking his pants down with her.

“Oh, fuck yeah. Ex-act-ly as I hoped.”

Her mouth envelopes him entirely, all the way to the hilt. Surprise and pleasure hit him at once. His head thuds against the wall as he takes a deep breath. He tries to relax into it, to let go of the vestiges of fear and paranoia clawing at his mind, to embrace the urgency and aggression of her mouth.

To call it “wet” would be an understatement. It’s a deluge, sloppy in everything but technique. Spit rolls down his balls as she slurps him from base to tip, before plunging deep again. Her hand catches the excess, working it to a foam along his shaft whenever she comes up for a breath.

The abruptness of this encounter is the only thing holding back his release, but stroke by stroke, swirl by swirl, her mouth pushes him closer. His hole puckers as his insides coil. It feels imminent when she releases him with a wet pop.

The cold air is a reprieve.

“Such a nice fucking cock,” she says, looking up at him with an intensity that sends a tingle down his spine. “You should fuck me with it.”

“Ohhhh-kay.”

As she turns around and leans over the counter, her ass peeks from under her skirt, looking much nicer than he’d hoped. A bounce on the balls of her feet sends the hem higher, revealing the barest of pussies–bare as in unclad, bare as in hairless, bare as in presented in its full, sparkling glory.

“Gonna look at it all day, or are you gonna fuck it?”

Eddie can’t believe his luck, but he isn’t about to question it either. In fact, the less he thinks about it, the better. He takes a step and begins to line himself up when she throws herself back, the entire depth of her walls wrapping him as eagerly as her mouth had. Her moan shakes the kitchen as her cheeks flatten against his body.

Her pussy isn’t the tightest he ever had, which he counts as a blessing given how thoroughly her mouth had already worked him. That it takes him in one go with such shameless enthusiasm, such overwhelming heat nearly ends him before he can even start.

He stands there, recomposing himself, avoiding even the slightest of flinches that might topple his resolve and cut short her generosity.

Reaching behind to find his hands, she purrs over her shoulder, “Show me what those strong hands can do.”

His fingers encircle each hip, clutching her flesh, her bone through crumpled pleats.

“Don’t be shy, big guy. I can take it.”

His hips send hers crashing against the counter.

Another jolt rattles the contents of the drawer. Her body chases him on every withdrawal, only to thump the counter on the subsequent thrust. His hand on her lower back presses her flat, holds her in place. She growls in appreciation of his control.

“Yessss. Fuck.”

Each pump is a slow pull, a pause filled with her whimpers, a snap forward that sends her moans ringing off the side of the toaster. It’s a brutal grind rather than a furious fucking, one aimed at keeping him off the edge while repeatedly pushing her over it.

Harder and harder, his legs and hips drive him into her, until her heels come off the floor.

“Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme,” she wails.

Deeper he grinds, bottomed-out but still seeking, pulling her off her tip-toes, her sneakers banging a sluggish beat on cabinet doors.

“Fuuuuck. Fuuuuck. Fuuuuuuuuck.” she says, emptying her lungs in bursts.

Acceptance spreads through Eddie. Of the situation, of her body offered to him and pinned to the counter. Of his own impending brink. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna–”

“Don’t pull out–fuck–don’t pull out.” Her body tenses, trying fruitlessly to grind back, her voice becoming a tangle of whines.

“I’m– I’m– Augggghhhh”

As he pulses inside her, she lets out a low groan. Limp on the counter, legs dangling, she says softly, “That makes me wish my car broke more often.”

Her words arrive a split-second before the clank of her car shocks him back to reality. His nerves break from sedation, muscles tighten, his senses returning on high alert.

She hisses, “I knew he wouldn’t fucking listen.”

Eddie stumbles backward, immediately pulling himself back together, his cock still half hard and slick as he stuffs it into his hastily-drawn boxers.

“Here. Out the back. The alley.”

Catching him by the arm, Della drags him across the kitchen.

His anxious fingers fumble with the closure of his pants, his mouth running in spurts, “I should have that– salvaged radiator for you– by Thursday. The patch should hold– until then. Do you want me to come ba–”

“Babe?” the man’s voice echoes through the house as she pushes Eddie out the door.

“I’ll come by then. And I’ll be very thankful.”

“Ok, yeah, that–”

Della’s arm flies out, catching him by the shirt and pulling him back for a kiss. Biting her lip, she releases him with a shove and a whisper. “Thanks again, cutie.”

Eddie is barely out of sight when she hears the man again, now directly behind her. “Babe!”

“Yeah?” she turns.

“Car’s fine.”

“Good.”

“How much did he overcharge you? Coming out here and all that. Couldn’t have been cheap. Those fuckin’ mec–”

“He didn’t charge me anything.”

“Nothing?”

“I just… batted my eyes… smiled…”

“Heh. What a sucker.”

“Totally.”

Synopsis: Angela has been casually fucking a group of guys who share an apartment in her building, a secret she’s kept from her roommates. When the guys invite them all to a party, things turn competitive between the girls.

Inspired by Image 4

---

Carlo is in his kitchen packing a meal for work. “Ange, you coming to the party tonight?”

“Party party, or like… party?” I ask, scooping an obscene portion of spinach dip with a tortilla chip. These boys always have leftovers on their table, usually something one of them brought home from work the night before.

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, like…” I say between chews, “–not bad, by the way–one I’ll probably come to, the other not so much.”

“Which is which?”

From the other room, Serge spoils the ruse. “Bring your roommates. We wanna meet them.”

There is a reason I always came here and they only knew that I “live upstairs”–while my roommates and I share everything else, this particular apartment has been my secret for some time.

Don’t be fooled by the shabby exterior, the shabby interior, or the general disrepair of everything else–our building is full of many wonders and I’ve mapped most of them. I know who has the best plug. Who will lend me their steam cleaner. And who is usually available when other needs arise.

Which is why I’m here in the first place.

“Using me to get to my roommates is low,” I say, stealing another hefty scoop and shoveling it home only to indecently continue with a full mouth, “And right now, I feel woefully un-used.”

Carlo passes me on his way out the door, “See you tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight!” Serge insists, “After we’ve met your roommates.”

I playfully show him my middle finger and turn into the hall. Gabriel’s door is cracked just enough for me to see bedsheets over legs, and an ass that is too soft and feminine to be his own.

“Evan? You up?” I call out, not waiting for an answer before I turn the door handle and peer in. “You got five, ten minutes? I’ve got an itch to scratch before work.”

“Yeah, uh,” he says, waving me in as he stands awkwardly in only boxers in the middle of his room. His dirty blond hair and skin look damp from the shower. “You know I’m always down.”

“Same and that is why I’m here so much.” I don’t bother to shut the door behind me. I don’t have much shame generally, but here I have basically none and that adds to the experience for me.

He laughs, taking a second to look me up and down. I know I’m a prize–my messy, unwashed hair, the favorite tee I sleep in that’s so threadbare it’s practically sheer, my loose cartoon-adorned PJ pants, and a discolored pair of plastic slides–but the way he looks makes me actually feel like one. A little. “What’s it today?”

“Cum in me and send me home.”

“Ohhhhh. Alright!” His voice is eager but his body hasn’t caught up yet. He turns in place like he is looking for something. “Uh, get comfy?”

I pass him and prop myself against the hefty wood chest of drawers he shares with Carlo.

“Here’s fine.” With no time or need for frills, I drop my pants to the floor and hook my underwear aside from behind, on my toes lifting my hips backward to present my need. “Like this.”

This isn’t about the build-up or the process, it’s perfunctory. It’s common in every sense, whether in Evan’s room, or one of the others. My last day off was spent drifting from one room to another, following the goings and comings of the boys.

He gives himself a couple of strokes as he steps toward me, bending his knees to get under my backside, then bucking up, pushing my hips onto the dresser. The edge digs in, grinds against my bones. It’s certain to leave a mark I can savor through my shift, a notice of where I’ve been and what I did there. Knowing Evan, it won’t be the only one.

My hips pinned, I arch my back so the front of me is openly on-offer for his hands, resting my head on his shoulder and stretching my neck so it’s available for his mouth. He knows what to do. His hands clamp to my tits, fingertips pressed to bone, my flesh spilling between his fingers. His lips close to my neck, followed by his teeth. A drag. Suction. The wet tip of his tongue.

Grinding with his hips, the pressure of him moves inside me. His aren’t thrusts of aggression, but of control. He doesn’t pound in long thrusts, he massages deep. The fullness doesn’t relent, though it moves in shallow waves. His teeth pinch. His grip tugs my tits in circles.

“Oh, just like that…” I sigh. Is it possible for such a partner in such a casual affair to know you too well? If so, he might. I feel it in the pressure of the wood against my hip bones. In the bump of each rib under his fingers. In the way his breath shakes because he’s already there and know that’s exactly what I came here for.

The groan rattles my throat from the outside. His hips push me higher, himself deeper. His pulses echo through my whole body.

“You’re always such a good fuck,” he whispers. It makes me feel a little dirty. A little used. But that fact that I feel is what matters most. It gives me life before my umpteenth soulless shift in a row.

I snap my underwear back in place to hold in his mess. Turning back to him, a coy grin pulls the corners of my lips and I let myself sink back against the dresser for a second. “Thanks.”

Standing there, his dick still veiny but beginning to slump, he searches for anything to say. “We’re having a–”

“Yeah, I heard.” I spy a cup on the dresser, pick it up for a sniff–tequila, mid-range–then throw its contents down my throat with a squint before reaching down for my pants.

“I’ll see you then?”

“If you’re lucky!” I chirp, resetting my shirt over my tits and tugging it smooth down my belly. I kiss him on the cheek and let my fingertip drag down his slick, floppy cock as I pass him to leave.

Pulling the handle of their front door, I hear Serge remind me, “Roommates!”

=

I knew I’d show up to the party. Whether my shift went well or poorly, I’d need the release. Thinking about that, and what Evan left inside me before work, is what got me through my evening.

When I got home, I took a quick shower, threw on some tight jeans and a sparkly top that was a glorified bralette in its coverage. A pass with foundation and another with concealer had me looking like I wasn’t running on fumes. A dash of eyeliner and splash of pink on my lips did the rest of the work to make me look like I belonged at a party.

Whichever type of party this was, I’d probably be ok. The handful of looks I get from other residents on the way convince me I’ll fit in well enough and I am sure to get what I want.

I let myself in.

Their apartment is loud, but probably not enough to trigger our overworked superintendent’s “I’m not mad, just disappointed” tone. He goes through a lot, dealing with a building full of service workers coming and going at all hours, many of them living five-to a-unit without management’s knowledge, but I like to think he lets most things slide out of love rather than self-preservation.

I hear a feminine voice with a perceptible slur, “AAAaange!”

My roommate Sree filters through a crush of people toward me, and I glimpse Serge’s shit-eating grin across the room. I’ll talk to him about that later.

“Soooo glad you’re here! They said you kinda blew them off when they invited you. But this is so much fun!”

At least one aspect of my secret is safe. “That’s cool. What, uh– what’s been, going on?” I ask, trying not to tip my hand.

“Ummm…” Sree says, looking evasive. Melanin and the poor lighting can’t hide the way she’s blushing. “I… may have… hooked up. A little.”

“A… little? With who?”

“Evan. He’s cuuuuuuuuuute.” Her smile runs out of control over her face.

I’d need to talk to him about that too. I just got here and already I had a list of to-dos. This was supposed to be fun.

“I was sitting next to him, then on his lap, because like, it’s a little crowded, and we’ve been making out like, all night.”

“Making out?”

“Yeah,” she said, growing bashful.

Scratch that. Maybe I don’t need to talk to him.

“I think I wanna… you know… go to his room. When he’s ready!”

I try to keep a straight face. Evan isn’t the worst choice for her. I decide to be magnanimous. “You should. Tell him what you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just be safe. You don’t know who els– Well, you know, be safe.”

When she leaves me with a hug, I try to find Serge and his smug grin. I snag a drink on the way, brushing elbows with a handful of familiar residents–Tara, Marquis, Ross; Elena, Helena, Elaina (who confusingly share a unit downstairs). For my roommates’ sakes, I was thankful it was this kind of party. The boys shouldn’t be too much trouble with a varied crowd to keep them distracted.

“This is what I get for my generosity with you boys?” I scold Serge.

He laughs it off. “No, that’s later. Like I said– tonight, after we meet your roommates.”

The desire to ragefuck him on principle–right now–stirs in me. He’s such a shit.

“We’re not that bad. Are we? That you don’t trust us with them?”

“I think I trusted you a bit too much, that you wouldn’t invite them behind my back.”

Serge rocks his head back and forth. “We had to. And we didn’t do anything that they didn’t start.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sree is all over Evan since she got here.”

“So I heard.”

“And Kayden…” He looks around, ushering me out of the crowded dining-room-turned-bar. I follow him around the corner, into the hall, where the music drops off enough for me to hear Kayden’s distinctive noises. It’s not bad enough that I have to hear them at home, but here in my sexual stomping grounds?

I sigh.

Sree being here is one thing. She’s too reserved to be a threat to my on-going activities with the boys. Kayden is real competition. Her appetites seem to exceed mine, as do her abilities to snag men, sometimes on their way from my bedroom, other times on their way to it. All that to say, she plays dirty to get what she wants.

And she is in Tal and Serge’s room getting absolutely dicked down by the sound of it. EEE-ah, EEE-ah. Harder, daddy, her cloying voice seeps through the door.

“Invite me in,” I tell Serge, knowing how petty that sounds.

Stone-faced, he dares to tell me, “I’m still recovering.”

“You too?!” I click my teeth at him. I tease, “Serge, baby, I thought we had something special.”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

Kayden continues, unrelenting, EEE-ah, EEE-ah, EEEEEEEEE–

“You’re all special to me. In your own ways. You know that.” I don’t love the fact that I’m soothing his ego after he fucked my roommate behind my back and turned me down. How am I the one left out?

“Find me later?” he dares to ask.

Yes! Yes! YES! FUUUUCK! she cries.

My bruised ego needs to get away from this door, from Serge.

I rejoin the party for long enough to get another drink before I see Carlo. We nod to each other and make our way through the crowd. I hug him, asking, “Have you, uh, gotten up to anything?”

“I just got home. I haven’t even changed.”

“Thank god. Maybe I can help you with that?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” he says, already leading me back to the hall.

Thank him again. Thank Carlo too, because I am vulnerable and needy and on the verge of falling apart at the seams, and he can sense it.

In the room he shares with Evan, he guides me backward to his twin bed. It’s not much, but it’s always served us well. I have his shirt half-unsnapped by the time we get there. My fingers clutch his plackets, holding them to my chest. Our mouths haven’t parted since just before we entered. My back hits the sheets and my tits fill his hands.

His excitement grinds against mine through his workpants and my jeans. My fingers trace the hair and tacky skin of his chest and his tongue is fully inside my mouth. He knows what I need. I’ll even wait patiently for it, knowing it’s coming.

I peel the shirt from his back. His fingers pull the neckline of my top, turning it from racy to downright lewd, not stopping until it’s nestled under the crease of my tits. With it out of the way, his mouth captures one nipple, then the other. His gentle suction makes me moan. The swirls of his tongue make me writhe under him.

Light and music pour in as the door swings open. I hear a gasp.

Sree and Evan stand tentative in the doorway.

“Don’t mind us. Come in,” I tell them.

Sree pauses before asking, “Really?”

“Better you than Kayden.”

Carlo’s lips cut me off. I let out a gasp of my own as he grinds harder. I arch my back and work my hips against him, enjoying the trail of his mouth down my neck, his hands kneading my tits. I turn my head, curious about the shrinking violent and the man who fucked me raw in this very room hours ago. They’re side-by-side under a sheet. I watch their slow kisses, the slower motion beneath the sheet.

I could be jealous, but I am happy for her, truly. Evan’s a decent guy and a decent-er lover, for lack of a less-romantic term that fits.

A hard circular grind from Carlo pulls a heavy groan from my throat. I reach for the front of my jeans, letting them out so he can strip them from me. He takes my underwear too. His fingers plunge full-depth into my aching, soaked cunt and another unrefined groan bursts from me.

Sree smiles at me from across the room before she retreats under the sheet. I see the shape of her sliding down Evan until her head is halfway down him. The sound of her mouth follows, just audible over the sound of Carlo’s fingers pumping in my wetness. Then slurps. A gag. I watch her motion gain amplitude, then tempo.

“You should fuck me,” I say.

Carlo enters me eagerly, but with an easy slide. He sucks my tits more, his mouth and hips building rhythm together. Then his fingers find my clit and begin unraveling me.

I cry out when I cum, and I know Sree hears it. Her and Evan are talking, but they sound underwater to me.

Carlo flips me over, pounds into me from behind, holding my hips up while my tits grace the sheets. I take the hard fucking he gives me–I’m thankful for it–and watch as Evan and Sree follow along, matching our position, Carlo’s pace, and even my noises.

“Spank me,” she says.

Crack.

“More!”

I have new respect for Sree. I never thought she could be like this. I always–

I lose the thought as another orgasm hits me. Then Sree finds hers too, her noises pitchy and tense.

It’s too much for Evan. He groans and his body goes stiff before collapsing next to her.

Her eyes don’t leave me. If anything, they intensify. I bite my smile and let my eyes roll back for emphasis as Carlo rails against my backside.

“You want anything?” Evan asks her, getting up from his bed.

“A drink.”

“Hang on,” I interject.

Carlo pauses mid-thrust, using the opportunity to wipe his brow and take a few breaths.

I turn to him to ask, “Would it be alright if Serge joined us?”

“Did you want me to finish?”

“Yeah, but, later? I want you both. I’m feeling greedy.”

Carlo seems startled, but recovers smoothly. “No problem.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Evan, be a dear and get Serge for me.”

“Uh. Alright?”

“I can… uh… go, too,” Sree says.

“You should definitely stay.”

While my ego does need soothing, it also wants to make a statement. To claim what it feels is mine. And it wants witnesses.

Kayden might have already fucked two of them, but I’ll have two at once and spend the rest of the night ensuring none of them have anything left for her. I’ll conscript Sree to help, if I have to. We’re allies now.

Serge enters looking as confused as Evan did when he left.

“Recovered?” I ask.

“Yes?”

“It’s later, and Carlo needs a break.”

“He– I– What?”

“Come fuck me,” I say, settling onto my back, one leg off the side, the other flat on the bed. My clit hums under the swirl of my fingers. I’m certain he can hear how wet I am. Carlo stands beside the bed and I pull him into my mouth.

Serge doesn’t waste time. He plants his knees between mine and thrusts into me. Tense gasps on my lips turn to whimpers as he tests my depths. Whether I’m warmed up or not, he’s a lot to handle. He never fails to break me in a particular way.

“Whoa… I…” Evan says when he returns.

“You’re next, if Sree doesn’t have dibs. But she can have whoever she wants.”

Her surprise fades to a grin as she summons Carlo to the other side of the room, only a few steps away.

My attention returns to Serge, to his aggressive wet kisses, and the plap of him barreling into me. I rock my hips under him, pumping back, ensuring my clit gets the grinding she needs.

Under his grunting, his breaths, there’s conversation in the room. The noises of the others getting set-up and settled. I don’t care what they’re doing. Serge’s dick has me on edge, split wide, stretched deep, helpless and needy for all of him, then more, then who knows.

I feel soft fingers on the arm I hooked over his shoulders–Sree’s. She smiles at me from inches away. In my fog, Evan and Carlo had pushed the other bed next to this one, an arrangement that is honestly still too small for five adults. It’s dizzying to take in as Serge sits up and the tension of his dick nearly lifts my hips from the bed.

I tip my head back to see Carlo kneeling above me, one knee to my shoulder, the other to Sree’s. Our mouths close on his dick in unison, like we’d practiced it, like we did this shit all the fucking time. Our lips brush each other’s.

Her eyes narrow over the top of his cock. Her lips curl. She is making her own statement, letting me in on her secret too.

We kiss our respective sides. Drag our tongues down him together, then apart. She pauses to focus on the sensation of Evan’s mouth descending between her legs, then we continue on Carlo as the duo continue on us. Serge’s fucking, Evan’s eating, both pushing bursts of noise from our mouths.

“Switch,” she says like a minx.

The boys pause, eager to do so but unsure of who should go where.

“Clockwise,” she insists, pulling Serge by the arm toward her.

“Condom?” he asks.

“No,” she chuckles. “I think I know where we all have been.”

I would chuckle back, but my throat is already stuffed with Evan’s cock, with gags from that and moans from Carlo’s head teasing my slit. Sree has gone silent and still with Serge’s girth testing her entrance. She takes my hand and squeezes it. When her fingers go wide to the treadiest, tensest of moans, I know he’s breached her.

Finding a rhythm for all five of us is hard. It feels chaotic at first, every body trying to move a different direction, trying to get theirs without getting in the way, but things soon fall into place. Sree’s dainty chirps alternate with my lurid moans as Serge and Carlo fuck us in earnest, as their hands trade tits to squeeze and clits to rub.

I watch the jolts of Sree’s body. Watch Serge’s eyes taking her all in. There’s a twinge inside me at the fact that Sree’s pussy makes Serge’s eyes roll back, that I’m not enough for him and his big dick and his aggressive hands and his sloppy kisses–that he had to fuck both of my roommates too.

But it’s silly. I’m no better. I’ve been fucking all four of his roommates too. Two of them are inside me right now. And I wasn’t lying to him earlier when I said they were all special to me. I can be happy for him, a handful of brown titty in his hand, thrusting away inside her confines, her sculpted thighs around his waist. Plush lips. Warm eyes. Luxurious curly hair. The sweetest of hearts.

I’m happy for her too, of course, for having gotten outside herself to experience something new and exciting like this. If this is what she needs, I am happy to share.

Plus, the sight and sound of her petite body getting fucked is one of the sexier things I’ve seen in a while. Far better than I could have imagined.

Evan, who wanted to stay in my mouth until he finished, is the first to go. Sree’s hand strokes him empty as my lips seal around his tip to catch everything he spills. I turn to Sree and kiss her. She licks the slop from my chin, my cheeks. From my lips. Then she probes my mouth for whatever remains unswallowed.

At the sight of it, Serge groans like a mortal wound has been struck–which I am certain is heard by every guest in the next room. His hips slow, but he stays inside Sree, sucking her tits and trying to keep her going until he exhausts his coordination.

Evan’s hands continue to toy with my tits while he kisses Sree. My view is blocked, but I feel Carlo tense between my thighs. His heat floods into me now, having outlasted the others. My legs hold him in place, keep his pressure on me while I slowly gyrate beneath him.

For a moment, we’re all silent and breathless, sticky, sweaty bodies slumped in a loose pile on the two twin beds pushed together.

Sree smirks and breaks the silence, looking me in the eyes. “It seems we’re tied. 2-2.”

Considering how things had escalated, I let her in on my secret. “I’m at three. I was here before work.”

“Oh, in that case…” Her eyes shoot to Evan, who is stuffed between us, his head on her chest. “Three for me too.”

“Wow, Evan. Wow. Before I came over? Or after?”

“Before,” he admits, refusing to look at me. “I showered though!”

“And then you fucked her while I was hiding in the closet,” Sree’s voice trails off with a shrug. “Not that I minded–he already told me about the two of you, and it was really hot to watch.”

“Just Evan?” I ask, wary of the answer.

“Uh huh,” she replied. “We met a few weeks ago in the laundry room. Got to talking. Got to… well…”

I have many questions that I promise myself I’ll ask her about later. Laundry room hook-ups weren’t unfamiliar to me, but I had to know those details and all the ones that followed.

Serge prods with indignation, “This is why we wanted you all here tonight!”

I match him with an accusatory look. “So… Kayden too?”

“Not until tonight. We didn’t know her.”

I know how quickly she works, that slut. I swear I can hear her through the wall–still? again? with Tal or Gabriel, or a random party-goer? Who knows with her.

I look at Sree. “We can’t let her win, right?”

With a grin, she shakes her head.

“And we still have our tie to settle.”

She shrugs, trying to reclaim the innocence I’d always presumed of her.

Casually, I ask, “You guys mind if we crash here?”

Confusion flashes across the boys’ faces as they catch up in their dazed states. Then an eager acceptance once they realize what I mean.

Sree holds up her hand, inviting mine. “It’s on then.”

Image 5

---

It’s Thursday night and I am settling into my bedtime routine, clearing my head so I can sleep. The window is closed. The room is stifling. But I don’t need the world to hear what I’m up to. The buzzing between my legs. My whimpers. My pleas. My imminent release.

A notification from my yoga class groupchat interrupts my reading.

I click it and see Danny, shirtless, grabbing the obscene bulge in a pair of slutty grey sweats.

What have you done, dear, sweet, dumb-as-a-rock Danny?

I’m not hating it, but I feel bad as his no-pology rolls in:
“Shit. Ignore that.”
“That was meant to be for Haley.”

Haley. I didn’t know that was a thing. It makes sense–she’s also painfully hot and probably the only one in class who can keep up with his golden retriever energy. But she must have better options than someone like him.

Reactions swarm the chat, pushing his picture off the top of my screen.

I scroll up and look again at the picture.

If anyone else had sent it and not deleted it, it would have read as intentional. But with Danny, it may well have been an accident that he can’t figure out how to undo.

Suspicions are flying in the other groupchat–”Yoga GIRLIES”–which notably does not include Haley as a member. Despite all of their semi-public hand-wringing, I am certain at least half these girls are already acting thirsty in Danny’s DMs.

I think about doing the same–I think I could have a lot of fun with Danny–but I have always liked Haley. I can’t jump into the fray without knowing what is going on with them.

I message her. “GIRL 👀”

“I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

“Why? You’re literally the envy of everyone right now.”

“For sexting Danny? I don’t think that’s an exclusive club. And he went silent at the WORST time. 😩”

Interesting. I have to be careful. While Danny is dumb and hot, Haley is the kind of hot that makes you dumb. And knowing she is potentially still on the brink of ecstasy makes my head swim.

I message her back, trying to commiserate. “If it makes you feel any better, his message interrupted me too.”

“It didn’t help?”

“Not as much as you’d think”

I watch. I wait. A trio of dots come, then go.

“This was the last thing I sent him.” Her words arrive with a picture–her in a tight blue tank with lace trim that ends just above her enviably-shallow navel. Her tits are massive. Nipples on full alert.

My fingers subconsciously sweep over my clit as I ponder sending one back. I don’t even know if Haley is into girls. Plus, while her and Danny both are engineered like sleek sports cars, I’m built more like a reliable work truck.

“Did that help?” she asks.

“In the best/worst of ways.” I admit.

“😘”

My dilemma is whether to lie back, be a taker and keep going, or…

One hand types while the other does just that–fingers darting in and out of my hole, palm holding my trustiest bullet vibe in place against my clit. A wave hits me and in the shuffle, my phone’s screen claps against my belly.

I turn it face up and see my incomplete message staring back at me–Sent–and dots. Those dreaded dots.

Shit!

“Can I”
“...show my appreciation? Sorry. Thumb slipped.”

The dots disappear. Silence.

Her picture haunts me. Taunts me. Inflames me.

Those parted, pillowy lips blowing a kiss. Those nipples–not fat and puffy like mine, but tiny points. That graceful dip down the midline of her lean torso. A cute little bush of blondish hair over the faintest shadow of a cleft whose detail eludes my persistent zooming.

A new reply. “Knowing it worked for you worked for me. 🥵”

Hottttttttt. The stupid is sinking into my brain. I type back, “Worked as in, you’re done? 🫣”

“Done is relative.”

God save me. From her. From myself. “Relative like… the space between my place and yours… the time it would take me to get dressed and cross it?”

I hold my breath watching those cursed dots. Do I finish or get dressed? Finish or get dressed?! FINISH OR–

“How close are you to the brownstones off the corner of the park?”

Oh, oh my. So. This is happening. “Literally behind them.”

“5th from the corner. Let yourself in the back. Don’t waste time getting dressed.”

I rush out of my place–and I mean rush. I grab my coat on the way and barely get it closed around me by the time I reach the stairwell. The echo of my flip-fops smacking penny tile is deafening.

Outside, the spring air steals heat from my sopping cunt, but I can’t be bothered to notice. I’m already counting the backs of the brownstones through the wrought iron fence as I dash across the courtyard.

The gate squeaks faintly under my hurried breath.

I count them again as I pass.

Three. Four.

Five.

The door is unlocked. I follow the faint glow through the kitchen and around the corner. Down the hall to its source. My coat is off my shoulders before I reach her room.

“Glad to see you took my advice,” Haley says, naked and reclined on a pile of pillows on her bed.

I recognize the tank top on the floor as I bound over it and pounce on her.

My palms land across the perfect hard nipples that I had studied and that had so emboldened me. My lips press against hers, finding them plush, eager, and tasting like brown sugar and vanilla.

I grind on the firmness of her thigh while our tongues dance between our mouths. Mine slides over her teeth and she sucks it a little. She nibbles on my lower lip, pulling a desperate moan from my throat. I worry my untrimmed bush is prickling her thigh, but her hand pulls my grinding tighter. I can feel my slickness on her skin. I can hear the wet crackle of my slide.

My mouth finds her perfect little nipples and they grow stiffer against the flicks of my tongue. They’re so intoxicatingly cute that I have to stop myself from biting them while I mindlessly, relentlessly, unapologetically grind myself on the bone of her hip.

Everything about her looks amazing and feels even better.

As her fingers trace the margins of my puffy nipples, I draw my knuckles down my hip, between my thigh and the hot cleft I feel against it. I map the precious details of her want with my fingertips. My thigh adds to their pressure.

“Oh, fuck, Trish…” she moans, throwing her head back. “I want them. Finger me.”

“Fingering is something you do under the dinner table. You need to get fucked.”

“Please,” she whimpers back.

“Tell me, doll.”

“I need you to fuck me.”

With my hips between her legs, I perch my knuckles on my mound for leverage. My hips sink my fingers into her. Two feels right for her–snug, cozy–and her hips come off the bed to a burst of anxious gasps. I curl them back, brushing the ridges of her.

She speaks in aching moans and I answer in hard thrusts.

Her fingers cage what they can of my ass to pace me. Faster, harder, she turns herself feral on my fingers. My palm claps wet against her, fingers swirling over the spot inside her as it swells for me.

Again and again, she peaks with the sound of frustration and an iron clench, then screams in release.

She comes apart more and more, a wilder intensity at each peak and a messier babble at each dip.

My hand is soaked. Her wetness turned my fingers to prunes. Her body won’t stop shaking. I pull back, kissing her while she catches her breath.

“Will you sit on my face?” she asks with a demure sort of greed.

In the moment, I regret not taking a quick rinse before coming over. I was so horny, having edged myself to smut, then Danny’s picture (a little), then hers (a lot)–I didn’t even think about it. And I certainly didn’t expect she’d ask for the one thing that never failed to spark my drive–dominating a pretty girl from the mouth down.

“I love a girl who knows what she wants.”

Climbing up her body, I grab her silky blonde hair as I bring myself to her mouth. Her breath on my bits makes them tingle. Her anticipation makes them drip. Her lips saying “Oh my god” against my flesh makes me forget for a moment about her view. My belly rolls from below, clammy at best, are a poor one, but she seems unfazed. It doesn’t stop her from taking a mouth full of me, letting my bush envelope her nose and tickle her cheeks. She assures me with a deep breath moaned out against me.

“You like what you’ve done to me? How wet I am for you?”

Her response of “MmHmm!” vibrates through my lips as her tongue laps me from hole to clit.

She sounds just like she did when she came around my fingers. Her tongue lacks any mercy. It’s motions are brutal like I only expect from unrefined or pussy-starved men, but the fact that she’s hanging by a thread makes it work for me. She feels fragile, made so by my hand. Desperate for me–all of me–starting here.

I press harder against her mouth, showing my need with each drag. “You like drowning in my cunt.”

“Mmmmmmmmm.”

Her nails dig into my cheeks, spread them wide, and I feel the room’s coolness on stretched skin. My hole pulses at the possibility of her tongue dipping lower, gracing it with the tiniest affection.

“Keep going,” I plead. “Make me cum all over that pretty face.”

She growls, burying her tongue into me. I’m immediately over the edge. My thighs go taut. My hips flex into her face. I can feel the air rush out from her flattened nostrils. I let out the most uncouth of noises, surprised by how unrecognizable it is when it bounces back to me. It sounds crass, even by my standards, but it's just the sort of noise I wish for from my partners. Animalistic. Definitive.

I have no choice but to give in to her, ride this out until I’m only a whisper. Her mouth makes it easy, pleasant.

My fingers slip from her hair. My thighs relax and let me fall to her chest. I can feel the poke of her nipples under each cheek. Her face wears rosy cheeks and wide eyes, glistening skin and a gasping mouth.

“Now I,” she says, recovering her breath, “understand, why men, always, ask for that.”

I answer with a chuckle, the rhythmic tensing sending warm waves through me.

“I thought I’d die. I could feel the panic. And I didn’t care. I’m still throbbing from it.”

“First time?” I joke.

“Yeah… for any of it.”

My head tips to the side. She can’t mean–

“I’ve always… you know, wondered. About women. About you in particular, more recently. I never knew how to do a damn thing about it. How it happened, I’m still not exactly sure, but… thank you.”

A different part of me warms at the idea, somewhere higher than before. I know this feeling, but it’s been a while since I felt it. “That explains why I never clocked you. If I knew you were so inclined, I think I would have been here about a minute after you sent me that picture.”

“So is that why I didn’t get one back?” she asks with a pointed look.

“That, yeah–I didn’t want to make anything awkward–and… well… I’ve always said my test drive is a lot better than my brochure. Especially for someone coming directly from the Danny dealership.”

Haley pauses. She flashes a side-eye. Then she breaks into a full-throated cackle before hiding in her hands. “Sorry. That is a hilarious way to put it.”

“I try.”

“I’m very glad you did,” she says. Her lips keep shifting to hold a smile at bay. “I’ll give you that the test drive was better than the brochure, but I think the brochure is pretty sexy too.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope I was– The features are an adjustment, but, I think I can get the hang of them.”

“If you want to, yeah.”

She bites her lip as a last resort. “I think I do.”

“Once more around the block then? Perhaps?”

Finally, she relents. Her smile flashes wide, a soft hook at one corner. “I’m more of a ‘drive until the tank is empty’ sort of girl…”

Image 16

---

I am on the couch with my notepad, my research spread across my lap and the cushions next to me in the form of loose papers, when she asks me, “Too much for a first date?”

She is on the stairs that lead to our lofted bedrooms, wearing a set of skimpy black underwear that have a sheen to them that demands notice, as if her body doesn’t do that plenty on its own.

“It depends,” I reply. “Are you going to fuck him?”

“Probably.”

The words hit me hard. The pang of jealousy reached deep inside me–all the way back to my boyhood when she was my first real crush. I am happy for her. Really. She is getting out, living her life. I just wish it was me she was dolling herself up for, rather than… whoever the new guy was.

I return to my work and she returns to hers.

She leaves a while later, offering me a consolation prize. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

I give her one back, trying not to sound bitter. “Bye, Vix.”

This is going to be a long night. I have too much work, but I know it’s not enough to distract me.

My mind insists on drifting to her and her date.
What is he like?
Where did he take her?
What are they doing now?

Given her enthusiasm and attire–not to mention everything else I know about her, which is a lot–I won’t be surprised if she blows him on their way to the restaurant. Or maybe they skip dinner to fuck in the car. Or back at his place.

I wonder if he will appreciate her underwear. Whether he will even notice it like I did, like I tried not to. Is it soft and inviting to the touch or stiff and all for show? Will it matter to him? To her? It does to me.

All that to say, time passes slowly and my work barely passes at all. Their date is all I can think about, but mostly just her. Though she has only been gone a couple of hours, I grow more certain I won’t see her until morning and I’ll have to hear about her night over coffee.

These are the thoughts I am lost in when I hear her keys in the door.

So soon.

It must not have gone well.

So much for the underwear. For all that work.

And then I hear his voice. See him in my doorway.

He’s older, softer-built than myself. More average looking. She could do better than him.

Of course I think so. I know she could have me instead.

I can’t ignore how good she looks in that dress. Those stockings, those heels. The way her hair is done carefully, now slightly mussed in the back. I catch the rumpled texture of her dress too, and try not to think about how it got that way. I already know.

They move through the living room, but it feels like she’s parading him past me. She even tells him, “Don’t worry about him.”

She casts off her dress on her way up the stairs. She knows I am watching. She knows we are both thinking about how perfect and firm her ass looks in that skimpy thong. How we watch it jiggle on each step.

Only he got to grab it. Squeeze it. Smack it as they head to her bedroom.

In my heart, it is intentional the way she leaves the door half open. Twenty feet and the balcony railing’s thin cables are all that separate us. Too much, but not enough. I state into the dark void of her room, hearing her giggle. Such a pleasant sound to make my belly ache like that, but the silence that follows is worse.

The television makes me feel slightly less alone. It stops me from inspecting the silence for hints, for clues. For a hushed voice or–god-forbid–a moan. I know what they are doing. I don’t need to hear it. I turn the volume up.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at the way my ears reach for their noises through the drone of unserious people saying unserious things. I turn the volume down. Down further. The programming is barely a whisper, the voices are quickly lost under the rhythm coming from up the stairs.

A moan, maybe hers. A second that definitely is. A thump that gains speed and resonance. An accompaniment of skin, slapping. Moans. Groans that carry aggressive lust. Then begging, clear from its tone though I can’t distinguish the words.

Turning off the television, I retreat to the main bathroom, knowing it’s more of an advance. It’s right below her. Some things I hear better, others are worse. Low tones attack through the floor, high ones through the open air, capable of reaching wherever I go.

I have heard her sex noises before, but never so clearly. Much like the way she did herself up, this feels like a performance for an audience of one, optimized for my visceral reaction. Leaning back against the sink, I rub my erection through my pants, trying to soothe away what her metronomic high-pitched yelps are doing to me.

Punching through the air, clear as if she were standing right next to me, comes an exclamation, “OH! FUCK!”

It isn’t one of concern like when a glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor, or when you walk into a room and see water gushing from the ceiling.

The lull allows me a peaceful return to the couch, ostensibly to my work, as if there’s any chance of my focus returning.

Her date hasn’t left yet, for one reason or another, and I fear that other–them keeping me up all night, forcing my ears to continue inspecting and deciphering, my mind to picture and imagine, only for me to bump into him in the kitchen when we are each getting a glass of water.

Her voice returns, from inside her room, indistinct, then from the stairs, aimed at me. “We’re not being too loud, are we? Distracting you from your work?”

I grit my teeth to answer, “No.”

My whole body contorts. Face scrunched. Knuckles white on my fists. I couldn’t look at her right now if I tried. I tell myself to be happy for her, that at least one of us is getting laid. She makes it seem easy, but, well… it is for her. She could have me anytime she wants, after all, and meanwhile I’m here waiting.

She crosses behind me, toward the stairs. The papers do little to hide the fact that I’m hard–really hard. I hear the pitter-patter of her feet on the steps. “You look like you could use a drink. Join us for one.”

My heart jumps, then sinks. A cold sweat breaks out. I look at her quizzically, halfway up the stairs with a bottle of wine, smiling in the new underwear she showed off earlier.

My hair stands on end. Every sense blurs. Time slows to a crawl.

I sense myself standing up and walking to her.

Her ass shakes up the stairs and I’m right behind.

I see my hand reach out to touch, to grab, to smack her ass.

I feel my chest stretch and fill at the doorway, then I enter.

The smell of sex hits me hard. Her perfume and his aftershave. Their sweat. That sour zing of spent semen and the musk of her exerted cunt.

I’m reeling and it’s his voice that pulls me back to the moment.

“Your wife is incredible. Shelby,” he says with his hand out.

She steps between us to cut him off, “That’s Devin. This is his first time being invited to watch me with another man.”

Setting the wine on the nightstand, she curls up to him, kissing him and letting her fingers wander his chest. She wriggles out of her underwear and tosses them at me. They’re sticky and wet, but as soft to the touch as I’d imagined.

The 3 glasses next to the bottle tell me this was always the plan. She knew I was open to it, and waiting for her to be too. I guess this is her way of telling me that she finally is.

Settling into the chair she set up for me, I grab the wine and try to steady my pour.

Their bodies take up the full width of my vision at this distance. She moves to the far side of the bed, making eye contact with me while she kisses down her date’s body and massages his cock with her hand. Her eyes twinkling, she grins wide and bites her lip as he kneads her tits.

He tugs her nipple and tells her, “You are so fucking sexy.”

Holding my gaze, she lifts his cock upright and brushes it over her chin. Her head tips down as she takes him in her mouth. My stomach drops.

“You’re a lucky man,” he says.

I know I am but I barely hear the words. My ears are packed with her breath, the noises of her wet mouth, the whimper as he twists her nipple in his fingers.

She looks up at him and says, “You’re the one about to fuck me. Again.”

“Only if your hot mouth doesn’t get me first.”

“I can’t promise I’ll make it easy on you,” she says, taking a long lick up and down. Her eyes no longer come my way. “I tend to get carried away on cock this good.”

I look closer at his cock, then his body. Both are smaller than mine, hairier and grayed, but look decent enough. I realize I don’t know my wife’s hook-up tastes as well as I thought.

“Show me what that slutty mouth can do.”

I recoil a little at his wording but she responds by burying him in her mouth, her throat, holding herself there with only a minor gag.

“That’s fucking talent,” he says, breathy, with his eyes rolled back.

Her head bounces in long, rapid strokes. Spit collects at the corners of her mouth and her lips drag bubbles up and down his length for her hand to froth. She slurps, but the mess is already drowning her chin.

She whimpers and a moan breaks out around his cock.

I realize he’s fingering her and I can hear how wet she is.

“How are you still so tight?”

Her mouth pauses around his tip. “Call me blessed. She never gets tired.”

“Never?” he asks, turning to me.

His eye contact makes me queasy, but it doesn’t last. His head rolls back as she takes him deep again, pressing her lips to his base, coming up with hollow cheeks and a lewd slurp.

“You’re about to find out.”

I catch the curl of her lips and the flash of excitement on her face just before she turns to me, saying “Enjoy the show.”

Her cocky look stays fixed on me while she straddles him, and I watch it melt away as she sinks onto him with a moan.

There’s no pretending like there was the first time, when I had to piece together the proceedings based on precious little information. When I could imagine only what I wanted and tell myself the things I feared weren’t happening. His cock is inside my wife–bare–and most likely will remain there until he finishes.

“Your cock feels so good. I’ll be cumming on it again in no time.”

It took me years to get her to cum from penetration. And even now, with so much practice, it was no guarantee. And she sounds convinced it’ll make her cum. Again.

My belly sours a little, but as she starts working her hips, I become enthralled watching her ride. I have never seen it from this angle, her body rippling from shoulders to hips, the curve of her ass tightening on every stroke.

She tosses her hair and looks at me, her hands anchored on his chest. She bites her lip, trying to contain her smile but her fiery eyes tell me everything. She is loving this and I’m surprised how much I do too.

Her hips move faster and her moans keep up. He’s absolutely abusing her tits–squeezing them white, pinching, twisting, tugging on her nipples, slapping them so hard they jiggle and swing. They’re bright red already and she keeps telling him “harder”, “be rough”.

Her lips part for a moan, then a quivering sigh, “Ohhhhh, I’m close.”

His face looks entranced. His eyes focused.

I can’t blame him. I remember how excited I was our first time, a night that left me exhausted then a weekend where all I could think about was having more. The sex has only gotten better with time, with practice, with kink. With the experience of having other partners.

Her breath, her noises turn ragged, her expression feral. Her hips slam down on him with command, ensuring she gets the last bit she needs.

I wonder if he had any idea what he was in for tonight with this whole dynamic–with her. I know how hard she can give it, and I know how hard she can take it. I only hope he can too, because as strange as it sounds, I’m not ready for this to be over.

“Your turn to fuck me,” she says, coming to rest. “How do you want me?”

“Doggy.”

“Mmmm… my favorite.”

“I wanna see that tight ass in the air.”

She gets on her hands and knees, arching her back dramatically. He lets himself get captured by the view of her from behind–it’s one of my favorites too–and she it a wiggle.

“You’re so sexy it’s unfair,” he says, sliding himself in with a raspy groan.

Her eyes catch mine as she looks back at him over her shoulder, pushing her hips back to take the rest of him. “Then you had better take full advantage of this opportunity. Grab my hips, this is what they’re there for.”

The anticipation of another man taking my wife stifles my breath. My pulse seems to hang in waiting. I see her face, closed eyes, lip curled. Her soft breaths. She’s his, if only for right now.

His hands hold tight like he’s claiming them for himself. Lust brims in his eyes. His jaw is tight. His eyes flash toward me again like he’s just remembered I’m here and is suddenly unsure that I won’t stop him.

I won’t. I can’t. It’s not my ride to stop and I wouldn’t want to.

The smack of his hips against her ass confirms my decision. Her roar at him bottoming out hooks me deep. Her smile is so big it looks like it’ll burst.

She purrs. “Mmmm. You’ve got such a nice cock. Juuuuust the right length to fill me, stretch me. I could take it all day, every day.”

The pleasure on her face is undeniable. This isn’t purely a performance.

I lean in, elbows on knees, as if those few inches were too much distance. Watching her with another man is sexier than I imagined it would be.

With each clap, her body rocks back and forth, elegant, resolute. I hear her every detail, the sway of her tits under her, nipples grazing cotton sheets, panting like her lips are pressed to my ear, the flutter of her eyelids as her eyes roll behind them, the texture of her skin in his hands, her wetness wrapped tight around him.

“Yes, yes, right there, don’t stop.” She rubs her clit, groaning. The cracks begin forming. I imagine her starting to clench around him, her tightness tugging his cock as his hips pull back, resisting it when it presses forward.

Her back has the sheen of sweat.
Her sleek bob is thoroughly tossed.
Her toes curled and white at each knuckle.
Her pants grow sharp, tinged with grunts and whines.
She bellows and pushes her hips back hard. Legs shaking.

“Keep going,” she pleads, hips bucking. “More.”

His fingers sink in, pulling her hips against him, her knees coming off the bed. Her arms cross under her head and she buries her moans in them.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says with stifled breath.

“Where do you want him to cum, baby?” Her voice is tense and desperate, but most of all, it’s for me.

I’m overcome with too many disparate feelings. The lust of the moment, the love of my wife, the sensory cascade of their peaks blurs the room and slows time again for me. My body is on autopilot and I’m watching from outside it.

I hear myself say, “on your back” and it happens. I know it does, but I don’t see it. I see only motion, feel only the hot fizz inside me. This is my own peak and it is like nothing I’d ever experienced. I don’t know if they notice. I don’t care. I feel incredible.

I’m sure we all exchange words after they finish, but I didn’t process anything else until he is gone and I am inside my wife, spooning her in our bed.

Our hips worked together, colliding in lazy, slow waves that put the last of our energies to good use.

“Have fun tonight?” she purrs over her shoulder.

“Yeah. You?”

“I did, I really did. Want to know the best part?”

“Uh, of course.”

“Your face. First the shock, then the lust, the fixation. I feel like I saw everything on it tonight, your whole journey.”

“Yeah?”

“So steamy. I kept thinking how lucky I am to be able to do that for you. How much I appreciate you trusting me to give that to you.”

“I might have a better answer tomorrow, well-rested, but, it was really hot. You were really hot.”

Her body twists so she could kiss me. “Do it again sometime?”

“Absolutely.”

Image 11

---

Drae and Syl sat across from each other in their favorite coffee shop.

“While I’m glad that you’re back from your trip–”

“Quest. It was a quest,” he corrected, his voice more of a subsonic growl than usual.

“Right. Quest. Sorry. We need to talk about… that.”

“What? My Cursed Armor?”

“It’s a bit much. The smoke, the smell. People find the skulls a tiny little bit…” Her face scrunched and her voice shrunk. “Creepy.”

His fiery eyes scanned the room. Everyone was indeed staring, with expressions of mild horror.

“It’s impractical.”

He shot back, trying to manage his volume. “So are your heels and the make-up and the”– his helmet garbles his words, but it’s something like heffaya runda wejraw thegissou before it regains clarity–”wedgies.”

“I like my wedges! They’re perfectly practical!”

“WEDGIES! THE UNDERWEAR THAT GIVES YOU WEDG-IIIEEESSS!!!” His voice rattled the fixtures.

“See?! This is why I can’t go anywhere with you! Do you have to wear the Cursed Armor all the time?” Her voice dropped again, her eyes glaring, “And by the way, those underwear are for. you.”

“You liked the Armor when I first brought it home!”

“I liked you being back home.”

“Then why did you ask me to put it back on after I showered?”

“Ok..” she began, “I liked it a little bit. In a way not suitable for pub-lic. The same way you like those underwear and that one outfit of mine. The boots. Short skirt. Leather halter with the deep neckline.”

“Hmph.” His grunt sent an extra-thick blossom of black smoke from his shoulders. “I do like that one. But you never wear it!”

“To be honest, I don’t even know why I still own them. The one time I wore them out, I got way too much attention.”

“Did you feel good when you put them on?”

“Yeah.”

“Like maybe they aligned with… some part of you?”

“Probably.”

“And maybe not all the attention was bad?”

Syl blushed. “They did get me your number.”

“So in a way… they feel right?”

“Yeah, I guess s– ohhh… oh, I see,” she said, her lips twisting to the side.

His body chuffed and his helmet rocked forward. Pensive smoke curled around him.

“I know what to do.” He stood, towered over the room, turning around only to drop to one knee. “Hop on. We’re going to your place.”

While riding on his back is a distinct perk of having such a sturdy boyfriend, his Armor provided little comfort. It was hard and jagged and every bounce was unforgiving to the body. Not to mention the scrapes and clangs that pulled eyes around corners.

The trip was too short for her to figure out what he was planning, and she grew increasingly confused as she picked through her closet at his direction. He had declared a bold vision, but refused to tell her what for. Probably sex. It was usually sex and she wasn’t one to mind.

“This?” she said, promenading from her bedroom in an attempt to meet his criteria.

“Yes. More. Keep going.”

“I don’t know. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. Very. Trust me.”

Her eyebrows knitted, hands on her hips, she asked carefully, “Are you sure that’s not the curse talking?”

“It’s not that kind of curse–it doesn’t work that way–now trust me and keep going.”

As she disappeared into her bedroom again, he flicked through the periodicals laid out on her coffee table, trying not to leave any soot or scorch marks behind.

“Well?” she asked again.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

“Go?! Go where?” she asked with concern.

“You’ll see.”

“I’m not riding you again. I’m still sore. And don’t laugh–I know how that sounded.”

“It’s not far. We can walk it together.”

The duo hit the sidewalk with a clatter–the noise was entirely him, but she was there too–looking like they arrived straight from some kind of unhinged fanart mash-up. While his look was classic fantasy that bordered on horror, hers leaned sexy steampunk, head to toe in leather and buckles and studs and rings, with no shortage of bared skin. Deep purple wings adorned her eyes, and her lips were stained to match.

Leering eyes were split between them, unsure of who was the bigger spectacle. Boots quaked. Pants tightened. But no one said a thing. The pair greeted confused faces with a wave and a bright smile. And a puff or two of acrid smoke.

As they passed a comic and game store, they slowed down, lingering in the window long enough for everyone inside to notice, but carrying on down the street before anyone could clamor out to ogle and inspect.

Drae pulled her into an alley, the shadows consuming them as they pressed deeper and stopped at an unmarked door. Four knocks. A slot opened to reveal two eyes, chest-high to Drae. The slot slammed shut and the door opened slowly.

Inside was a dark pub decorated in a blend of medieval authenticity and modern convenience. Revelers clad in a range of historical and fantastical attire dotted the tables surrounding the bar. Their attention came with smiles and nods, and then they resumed whatever they were doing.

Syl followed closely behind him as he made his way toward the bar. “How did you–”

“I heard about it on my Quest. There’s one in every major city–if you know where to look.”

The bartender, a pretty blonde in a tight red cut-off top and a leather harness, smiled at Drae. “That’s some kind of Armor. Cursed?”

“Indeed.”

“You have the stature for it,” she purred before turning her attention to Syl. “Super cute. I dig it.”

“Th-Thank you,” Syl managed back.

“First time here?”

“Um. Yeah. Sorry?”

“Don’t be. Any gal with a man in Cursed Armor is a force of her own. Not that it matters. We welcome all spirits.” Her eyes shifted back to Drae, looking like she could barely contain her want. “Not going to cause any trouble in that, right?”

“Never.” Drae rested his elbow on the bartop. “Two of whatever’s good and strong.”

“You got it. Grab a seat. I’ll bring it out.”

Eyes followed as they passed the other patrons, looking them up and down. While in other places it was clear what people were checking out, Syl felt it was more holistic here, more respectful. They weren’t gawking so much as appreciating and Drae by far attracted the bulk of it.

They took a bench near the corner, a good vantage of the room, and the bartender approached shortly with two sturdy tankards.

“On the house, for a man of your… skill. And a lady, of her own.” Her eyes lingered on them each in turn, hanging on Syl as she bit her lip and turned back to the bar.

“I think she likes you,” he said with a smokey chuckle.

“Well, the rest of them seem quite interested in you, and it’s kinda hot.” Syl leaned in, her lips brushing the side of his helmet. “You are getting soooooooo laid when we get back to my place.”

His helmet cocked as his eyes burned at her.

“No rush,” she offered as she hoisted her tankard. “Small rush.”

“You know they have a dungeon here.”

“Ok? And?” She cleared her mouth with the back of her leather cuff, a holdover for her teenage goth era.

“All manner of things are permitted in the dungeon. And I mean all. manner.”

Syl’s eyes narrowed, trying to read an iron expression that would never move, fiery eyes that never blinked.

“There’s no need to wait until we’re at your place.”

“Do I want to know how you know all this? Something you didn’t tell me? About your tri– Quest?”

“A little bard told me. I’ve never actually seen one.”

“Do you… want to?”

“Now?”

Syl’s eyes scanned the table and her head nodded faintly.

“Ok, so you do. And… I’ll admit I am curious.”

A feeble man with kind eyes and a brown flatcap shuffled across the floor, directly toward their table. “You say ‘dungeon’? Sorry, wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Your voice… uh… carries. If you’re interested, I can give you a tour.”

“If you’re up for it,” Drae said. “We don’t want to interrupt.”

“Hogwash! I cherish every minute I get to spend there!” He turned and waved for them to follow him. Across the floor at a snail’s pace, through a creaky wooden door all the way in the back they went, their guide muttering his history the whole way.

A damp chill greeted them as they descended the stone steps. The smell of burnt pitch and well-worn leather. A hint of stale sweat and sex. Torches lined the walls, casting dancing shadows across the rough texture of the fieldstone walls and slate floor. Between them sat hefty metal anchors–some carrying chains, others hooks or rings; and an assortment of–

“Interesting furniture,” Syl said, careful to avoid judgment. She had only ever seen such things in medieval depictions of torture, though she had a vague awareness that some also served modern sexual purposes.

“Ah yes. We are very proud of our collection,” the guide said with a beaming smile. “I have spent many nights lashed to that particular apparatus.”

Her eyes followed his gesture to a wooden X angled against the wall, muttering back, “Lashed… to… it…”

“Yes, and gleefully so!”

Her eyes shot sideways, catching the smokey chuckle emanating from Drae. “I think… maybe you should… try it.”

“Me?” His heels clacked on several steps back.

“Yes. You. Silly.” Her slight fingers hooked his wrist, leading him toward the fixture, pressing his chestpiece until his back thudded against the wood. She laced the leather straps across his braces, his greaves, cinching his armor tightly to the piece.

“Oh! Such eagerness,” the guide lauded. “I’ll leave you to it. Just, do be careful. The dungeon doesn’t have an active monitor until 8, but you can pull any of the yellow cords for urgent matters. Enjoy yourselves and clean up when you’re done!”

As the guide departed, she inspected her work, torchlight sparkling in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Standing between his legs, a shimmy in her hips, she held his eyes and drew her finger through every seam of his Armor.

“That’s not much help now, is it? Locked in place. At my mercy,” she cooed. “You can’t even touch me. All you can do is look.”

Her fingers slowly untied the front of her leather halter top, her breasts pulling the slack of the laces tight. With her whole cleavage on display, but nothing more, she sighed in relief. “Much better, don’t you think?”

He tried to shift, an effort only apparent in the sound of creaking wood.

She cackled at the futility of it.

Leaning close, she whispered against his helmet, “Now… what should I do with you?”

“You could loosen my codpiece. Its design is not forgiving in these, uh, circumstances.”

“Of course, love.” Her hands slid behind him, finding the appropriate buckle to let out some slack.

“Ohhhhhh,” he groaned. “Yes. Much better now. Thank you.”

She looked down, seeing the codpiece levitate over his groin, sticking out farther than the Armor on his chest. Her eyes met his as she licked her lips subconsciously.

“Are you… going to… do… something?”

“I’m already thinking about it,” she moaned, her weight against his chest. He couldn’t see that she’d unbuttoned the front of her shorts and that her hand was inside them, but he felt her gyrations against his armor. Heard her quiet moans through his helm. Felt her wet fingers as they found his mouth from underneath.

“Ungh,” he groaned around her fingers, sucking them harder as she pulled them free.

“Only a taste.”

With a growl, he pleaded for additional relief, “The codpiece. It’s still too tight.”

“I think you’ve earned a token of benevolence… seeing as you brought me here…”

The buckles slipped loose and his codpiece sprung off, clattering across the floor. No longer constrained, his cock spilled out of his linen undergarment, its arcing mass casting heavy shadows across the dungeon.

Syl gasped. “I forgot the effect your Armor has on certain parts. It’s… It’s… It’s…”

Her eyes traced his wavy contours from root to tip, every sculpted feature highlighted by the dramatic lighting. Her mouth watered as she fell to her knees.

Her lips dragged the same path her eyes already did, planting firm, wet kisses around the thickness of his base. Down to the first bulge. Lower, across a lengthwise valley. Ridge by ridge. Her tongue captured a glittering droplet oozing from the slit of his tip.

“The Curse… is… a blessing,” she said and her mouth hummed loud as her lips stretched around his head. It burned against her tongue, filled her nose with brimstone and ash, and his groans rattled the chains hanging from the walls. They rattled her very core. Made it want things she knew she couldn’t have, things her body could never accommodate–his length down her throat, pushing her jaw to its limit, stretching her cheeks as it gagged her.

Even her more accommodating orifice had failed to take him as fully as she desired, though it had been fun to try. She hobbled for days to follow, but it was worth it.

His weight felt satisfying, tantalizing in her hands as they twisted and stroked, trying to reach every spot on his entire indecent length. Fatigue reached through her wrists and elbows, into her shoulders, but her mouth didn’t dare stop. His head throbbed on her tongue while her lips strained to reach its margins.

Another groan shook her. Catalized the desire within her. Unleashed a flood in her shorts.

His cock sagged as one of her hands left him for herself. Her fingers sunk into her sopping heat. Her mouth vibrated moans around him and he replied in groans that echoed through her body. Back and forth their noises went, back and forth her tongue along him, back and forth her fingers over herself.

“Don’t stop,” he huffed, heavy smoke joining his voice in the air.

The wood creaked beneath him. His eyes flickered, only to burn brighter, hotter. His smoke billowed over the floor. She sucked harder. Stroked faster. Clutched him tighter.

Coming up gasping, strings of her spit and his glittery thick precum dangling from her lip, she ripped her top free, letting the slop drip down her chest, telling him, “Can’t. Won’t.”

She plunged her mouth onto him again, her tits swinging underneath as her neck drove him into her throat again, again, and again.

The room filled with loud glucks and loader groans. The rattle of chains and the frantic wet swish of her fingers.

He throbbed harder, his member fuller. Hotter. His smoke encircled them.

The wood sounded its limit.

“AAAAAAaaaaaaaagggghhhhh!” he roared.

Her mouth released him, his first heavy spurt flowing down her chin, down her body. The next one hit her across the face. Its excess splattered the floor behind her.

“AH! AH! AH!” he continued with each powerful shot.

She watched it happen with wide eyes and a wild hand. Needy parts. Hips chasing. Knees grinding on slate. The whole of her covered. Sticky with his glowing, pearlescent murk.

His body sagged in its hold.

In an expanding pool of his simmering load, her body jerked and twisted as it grew more urgent. As she panted and whimpered and licked him off her lips. As her whole arm drove fingers where she needed them.

“UHHHH!” she cried out. “UUUuuuUUUuuuUUUhhh!”

Her body wobbled, head dipped, and her ass splashed into the pool.

“OOOOOooooohhhhh!”

She sat there until it grew tepid around her, taking thin, silent breaths with her hand shaking in her lap.

“I forgot… aaaall that.”

He chuckled back smokily. “You want to, uh, let me…”

His legs struggled to hold him up as she loosed the straps of the apparatus, and they balanced against each other as she guided him to a neighboring bench. She reached for a squeegee and began pushing his glistening pool into a nearby drain.

“I forgot what that suit does to your jizz.”

“And to you,” he fired back.

“To me?”

“It… awakens a certain fire. One not easily quenched. It smolders then reignites quickly, without notice, and with more and bigger demands. The True Curse. Of need. Of pleasure.”

“Huh,” she said, clearing the floor. “I guess I didn’t notice. I just felt… good.”

Pausing, turning in a circle, she looked for anything she had missed.

“You have fun?”

“Loads,” she chirped, trying to tuck away the corners of her grin. “Back upstairs for another drink?”

“Like that? You’re… a sight. It got everywhere on you. You wear it well–the whole ensemble–but–”

“It’ll attract attention?” Her expression feigned innocence. “I should probably wash my face on the way. But the rest? Let them stare.”

Image 13

---

I rub the sleep from my eyes and wander out of my room.

From the hallway, I hear the television in the living room–odd, since my roommate should have left for work hours ago. Rounding the corner, I see someone lying on the couch, the remote in hand, perched on their hip.

They’re wearing my roommate’s orange hoodie, hood cinched tight, but it’s not him inside. Pink painted nails. Shapely pale legs and a robust ass peeking out behind them. I try not to let my eyes pry any further.

It isn’t the first time I’ve met a girl like this. He brings her home late, gets up early. She sleeps in, finds her way out eventually, sometimes by way of my bed (which I’m not particularly proud of).

“Need some coffee?” I ask politely, unsure of whether she even noticed me.

“I’d love some.”

“Alright. Give me a minute.”

“Take your time, hun. I’ll be here.”

Hun, I think. Ok then.

As the coffee maker gurgles behind me, I peer out from the kitchen trying to assess who she might be and where Robbie might have met her. And yeah, ok, I wondered if she might have a little left in the tank, so to speak. I’m only human.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Only if the coffee is shit,” she says.

Returning with two full mugs, I reassure her, “Only the good stuff for me. Hopefully it’s to your taste.”

When she sits up to accept my offering, the hoodie bunches around her waist. I fight my instinct to look, trying to respect her “morning after” vulnerability, but I can’t help myself. A tuft of ginger bush catches my eye. She loosens her hood and shakes out a cascade of matching curls, and she’s smirking for having caught me glancing at her lap.

Without a word, she picks up her mug for a whiff and a tiny sip.

“Mmm, you’ll definitely do,” she says, I think to the cup.

“Long night?”

“Not as long as I’d hoped. Robbie sacked out early.”

“Apologies on his behalf. I’m sure he wanted to… uh… but… he’s–”

“He told me he had to be up early for work.”

Classic Robbie. “He’s very particular about being the first one in.”

Cradling the mug in both hands, she sits back. “He told me you’re good company though.”

I wonder what he meant by that. Then I wonder what she meant by telling me.

After a full sip, she smiles at me. “You’re right, this is good. Too good for cream and sugar.”

“Thank you.”

“So how do you like to spend your mornings?”

“Uh. Pot of coffee. Reading. Sometimes a little TV. It’s usually just me here, so… they’re quiet.”

She smirks as she sets her coffee on the table. “Shame.”

“Uh, it’s fine. What about you?”

“Me? I’m down for anything.” As she says it, she stretches, arms high, back arching off the couch, a cute pudge showing around her midsection. She holds the peak, her hips flexing forward, enough for a confirmation of a wild bush. Enough for a confirmation that I am looking at it.

“See something you like?”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be. I’m not one for shame.”

“A free spirit?”

“Maybe a bit too much, according to some people.”

“If it works for you, why not?”

“And if it works for you, don’t be sorry about it,” she says, reaching for her coffee and taking another sip.

Now, I’ve known my share of direct women, but few danced around it so elegantly.

I sit back, play it off with a laugh, and sip my coffee.

She turns toward me, unblinking, to ask, “Did you then?”

“Did I…”

“See something you liked. Did it work for you?”

“You don’t let things go, do you?”

“Not when I’m interested, no. I mean, that’s why I’m here. I hadn’t seen Robbie in years and I finally got tired of him ducking my calls.”

“So, you…”

“Showed up? Asked him what that was about? Yeah. He wasn’t much for conversation about it, but I tend to get what I want.”

She seems harmless, friendly, but her words send a chill down my spine. Did Robbie have a bitter ex I didn’t know about? A stalker? Why would he let her in? Why would he leave her here with me asleep in the next room?

“...and right now, that means your answer.”

Better play along, I tell myself. “And after that?”

Her shoulders bunch and her eyes narrow. “Depends on what the answer is.”

Suddenly, I’m doubting my own understanding of the situation. And she sees it.

“I can ask again.” She pulls her legs onto the couch, crossing her ankles with her knees wide and flat on the cushions. I catch her smile as my eyes return to the spot that started this whole thing.

It’s not a tuft like I thought, rather a large triangle that nearly reaches the crease of her thighs and stops just short of the cleft of her lips. Outside of that sharp margin is bare, but the inside is as full and natural as I’ve ever been lucky enough to witness.

I try not to think about what happened in that vicinity the night before. Or her confessed longstanding compulsion to see my roommate. I simply let myself get lost in that glorious brushfire.

“You want a formal introduction?”

“It… has… a name?”

“She is Rosie. Very friendly. Loves new people.”

A vulva, fully personified.

Wait…

“You know, I never got your name.”

“That can happen,” she says with a giggle. “I get carried away. Audra.”

“Tad.”

“Tad? Like… ‘a little’? I hope that’s not an aptronym.”

“A wha– It’s short for Theodore. Family name, but–”

“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue.”

“Not at all.”

“But Rosie does,” she says with a look that tells me exactly what she means. “Nicely.”

“Rosie,” I say, playing along, nodding my head in confirmation.

“Don’t be shy with her, come closer.”

I lean in, saying it softer this time. “Rosie.”

“Closer…”

I hesitate, shifting in my chair, but her look insists. I slide out of my chair, onto my knees, taking a third off the distance between us. “Rosie.”

“Much closer now.”

I shuffle on my knees. I bend toward the couch. My chin is nearly to her ankles. I can smell the dusky sweetness of Rosie now. “Rosie?”

Her ankles sink into the cushions and her hips rise toward me. Rosie’s pink-and-brown lips dangle inches away. Tantalized, my lips close the distance in a snap.

I know there’s no science to it–probably–but ginger snatch really does taste the best. Rosie is the proof.

The fact that Robbie’s cock was here mere hours ago doesn’t phase me in the slightest.

Her fingers find their way into my hair as my tongue finds its way over her clit, parting her generous lips, enjoying their texture and taste, but I am going to destroy my neck if I try to go any further.

“Hop up,” I say with a pat on the couch’s arm. “Now just… lie back.”

Moving beside the couch, Rosie is at the perfect height. Her hood is prominent, stuffed full of clit, and I can’t help but nibble it. The heft of her thighs settles on my shoulders. My tongue descends and pokes at her delicious wet hole. I hear a bang behind me that I’ll investigate later, sometime after I’ve licked her clean and watched tremors jiggle her perfect body.

“Auntie Audra?! TAD!”

I spin around to see Robbie.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts.

I’m frozen, caught for the tenth time today, but Audra is quick to disarm him. “Oh, Robbie, relax. He was being a good host ensuring I was— Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I came home to— THIS ISNT ABOUT ME! You always do this! YOU MAKE IT ABOUT YOU!”

She snips, “Who is it really about then…?”

“You know what? I’m going back to work. You two do whatever, I don’t care, I just don’t want to see it, don’t wanna know. Wrap it up by 6.”

Robbie leaves as abruptly as he entered, with the same slam of the door.

I turn back to Audra. She had sat up but made little effort toward modesty, understandable considering the frenzy of the moment. I hope my head–dumb expression, wet chin, and all–had blocked the most lewd aspect of it from Robbie’s view.

Trying to maintain a friendly tone, I ask, “Care to explain, Auntie?”

Her hand waves through the air as she talks. “By marriage—an unsatisfying one that ended years ago, mind you— do we really have to? Right now? Like this?”

“Sorry, yeah, I can—“ I shift my weight, intending to get up and hang my head in retreat to my room, but her legs close around me.

“Make me cum first? Then I’ll tell you everything.”

“Oh, we’re still—“

“I hope so. He said he didn’t care.”

“And you think he meant it?” I knew better than anyone that Robbie had a flair for the dramatic. He was probably having a huffy meltdown on his third commute of the day.

“I prefer to take people at their word. If he didn’t mean it, that’s on him.”

I weigh my ethical responsibilities. On one hand, my friendship and peaceful cohabitation with Robbie. On the other, well, it’s rude to not finish what you start, not to mention the importance of hospitality to a guest. And she had a point about what he told us.

She also had Rosie. And despite the fact that we’d barely met–as much as one can meet a part of anatomy–I thought we were getting along well and our future seemed promising. Immediately so.

“My room? Maybe? And maybe not in that.”

She smiles before stripping in one easy motion.

She’s on her feet and waiting for me to catch up and show her to my room. I lead, again trying not to overthink as she makes herself comfy on my bed, as she looks around and remarks “cute”.

“Thanks?”

My thoughts are dominated by her body. Her thick thighs and wide hips. The pudge of her belly. Her tits that sag with fullness, that carry gumdrop nipples on pale pink saucers. Fuck, she is perfect.

Her knees are up, legs spread to put Rosie on full display.

Her body is generous in all the right ways, much like her personality, and I want to be too. I can’t decide where I want to put my mouth first, but I suspect I’ll get to put it everywhere if I play this right.

She interrupts my swirling thoughts. “Not bad for someone my age?”

Planting myself on my knees, between her feet, I reassure her, “No, good. For any age.” I kiss her knees before leaning through them. “I know what I like. And you’re IT.”

I punctuate my statement with a kiss that lingers. My hands start to slide up her body.

“Don’t think that’s a cheat code to go straight to fucking.”

“And skip the good parts in between? I’d never dream of it.”

The expression on her face says one thing, loud and clear, “Now.”

Dropping to my elbows, I find Rosie as I left her, only wetter. She’s a shade of pink so bright, she’s nearly red in the center, and the tangy sort of sweet that you want to eat until your tongue cramps. My attention goes from lips to hole and back to her plump clit to give it the sucking it begs for.

She narrates in filthy detail as I go,
“You like Rosie, don’t you? Can’t get enough of that delicious cunt.”
“Stretch that hole open and swallow my juices.”
“Suck that jellybean. Harder. Harder.”

No woman has ever talked to me like that before. That bold. That direct. That visceral. But it drives me crazy. My pajama pants are losing the battle with my cock and it’s getting uncomfortable to the point of distraction. Only Rosie keeps me focused.

“Yes… like that… Don’t stop… Eat her until she gushes all over your adorable face.”

Normally, my fingers would have joined by now, but my tongue wants her all to itself and is clearly getting the job done.

“A little… a little… ohmyguh, ohmyguh, uhhhhhhhhhh,” she grunts as more wetness hits my chin. “Don’t… fuhhhhh… uhhh… keep… uhhhh.”

Her body bolts upright, but her head wobbles loosely, eyes white behind heavy lids.

“Fuck, ok, ok, ok,” she says, pushing my forehead with her palm.

I sit back on my feet and watch her gather herself. My erection flat-out hurts now, but if she asks me to go down for another round, I would. Gladly.

“Now… ok… I can tell you everything.” As she looks me up and down, she notices the tent in my pants that’s topped with a shiny dark patch. “Or, is my mouth better-suited for another purpose?”

I want to know the story of whatever happened between her and Robbie and exactly what she was here to sort out with him, but against my better judgment, I nod and am quickly rewarded for putting aside such petty, meager curiosities.

Her mouth is magic. Her tongue and lips and hands possess a masterful choreography that I can’t comprehend. I can only lie back and accept it. The wetness, the heat. The textures of her every oral surface. The balance of pressure, of friction, of speed. Whether I’m buried in her throat or clutched in her hand with her tongue lavishing my head, she has me vibrating inside my skin.

As the pressure builds against my spine, I warn her. And she chuckles around my cock, not missing a beat. It feels less like I’m shooting and more like I’m giving in to her suction. She draws my load out of my depths one hearty gulp at a time. Like her body needs it more than mine. Like she needs it.

And she doesn’t stop. Only slows. Grows more gentle. Her mouth cuddles my cock at its most sensitive, restoring it to usefulness. And then she sucks it harder. So much harder than she did before. Any harder and I fear I’d pop a vein.

She comes up for air with a devilish grin. My cock is a glossy shade of purple, bigger and harder than I’ve ever seen it. It was impressive. Like her.

I know what’s coming. I can feel it throbbing inside me, responding to the fierce intent written on her face, shown in her actions.

“Rosie needs it now.”

I have never heard it put quite that way.

“I bet you’re the type who wants me to throw it back on you.” Her eyes sparkle as she says it. “Aren’t you? Ass guy? You want me to clap it. You want to watch it jiggle from waist to knees. Then you want to paint it white. Don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” I sound like a complete dummy. I know it. I’m not sure I care though. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re lucky. That’s my favorite, my speci-al-it-y.” She turns around and backs up, my cock sandwiching itself between her cheeks. “You can sit back and enjoy. I’ll do all the work–bean included–but feel free to loosen up that back hole, and just push me off when you’re about to cum. Deal?”

“Uh huh.” Dummy. Don’t blame me, I was hypnotized at the sight, the premise, those filthy words.

Her hands around her thighs, she holds herself open as her hips move and Rosie captures me.

Rosie is tight. Rosie is divine. Rosie is relentless.

The line between Rosie and Audra was blurry to say the least.

Whoever it is in charge of throwing it back is doing so impressively. Fast. Hard. The jiggle is more than present. It is pervasive. Waves roll up her back and down her legs. Her fingertips graze my balls on every stroke as they work back and forth over her clit.

Audra has skills and her performance is loud. She grunts sharply with each throw and often growls in between. She sounds as feral as she looks, as she continues to act.

I perch a hand across the top of her ass, my fingers sinking in to maintain my grip. My thumb burrows between her cheeks until it finds her ring. Her broken moan confirms it’s where she wants it. It circles. It presses. It finds her welcoming. It’s me who wonders if she too has a name.

Tight gets tighter. Wet wetter. I swear I can feel every drop of cum welling up inside me. It takes all my focus to contain it without it killing me. I’m tense and loose in the wrong places. I’m still but sweating. My heart races. My lungs are inadequate. I wasn’t prepared for any of this, yet I’m blessed for it happening.

I tell myself, One more stroke, one more stroke.

Rosie and Audra are too much.

My hands on her ass, I push, but it’s me that moves, not her. Her body halts, but her fingers are working herself hard as ever. My thumb is still planted in her asshole. I grip myself in my other hand. All it takes is a squeeze.

Pulses shoot from me. Across her back and in her hair. Across her ass and down her thighs. Spurt after spurt sends thick ropes airborne, destined for some new place on her majestic figure.

“Fuck. I. Can’t. Stop.” I hear my words in my own head. Distant. The room goes black, but it’s just my eyes failing me. And somehow I’m still pulsing deep in my guts. “Oh fuck. I… what…”

I hear her own finish, but that too sounds like it’s coming from another room.

Finally it stops. I slump backward, legs askew.

“Be right back,” she says.

Fine. Whatever. Let me die here in my bed.

I don’t–of course–but I might as well have. It is the sort of thing they tout in sweat lodges and jungle retreats. I’m me. But. Not. And when I become me again, I’m still not.

The clock reads noon. Noon. Fuck. I am exhausted and fully drained.

And she prances back into the room like it’s nothing at all to her, a glass of water in one hand, a lighter and joint in the other. She sits next to me, smiling, and says, “While we have a quiet moment, let me tell you why your roommate hates me. It won’t take long. Then we can get back to it.”

I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. And respond.

“Deal.”

Inspired by Image 17

---

Georgina sat at her secretary’s desk, eyes fixed on the elevator doors, waiting for her cue to start the morning routine. Her fingertips played with the hem of her pencil skirt, knuckles mapping the texture of her lace-top stockings.

When the elevator dinged, she swallowed hard, reciting the playbook from the top.

Harold’s stern expression was the first thing she saw through the opening doors. It made her stomach drop. Tall, burly, and distinguished, he was dressed like any senior partner would be–tailored suit, silk tie, Italian oxfords, a watch that could pay a secretary’s mortgage for several years.

Barreling past her, he held out his newspaper for her to catch, a hint of aftershave in his wake.

She traded the paper for a cup and saucer then trailed him into the office. The ceramic clinked as she turned to shut the door, as she crossed to the desk where he sat casting a shadow that swallowed the room. His eyes narrowed, watching her closely.

Standing beside the desk, she waited patiently, silently, for him to give her another task or excuse her.

“My coffee is missing something,” he grumbled. His deep voice filled the room even at such low volume. There was judgment in his flat tone. “How am I supposed to drink this without a little sweet?”

“I got in early today. The patisserie wasn’t open yet.”

She shifted in her heels, rubbing her fingertips together, watching his scowl take shape.

“I could get you something from downstairs.”

His icy glare sent a chill down her neck. “I could go downstairs and get it myself.”

“You should.”

He responded with a near-imperceptible raise of his eyebrow, over the slits of his eyes, his lips pulled taut.

His chair rolled to close the distance to where she stood, unmoved, immovable, staring him down.

Brashness swelled in her chest. Her belly tingled.

“Better hurry. Your coffee’s already getting cold.”

As though her words pulled the trigger, his hands shot toward her, sliding up her stockings, up her skirt, coming back down with her lacy black thong. He was rough and unapologetic about it, like he was entitled to what she dared to hide beneath them.

When he pushed her skirt up, testing the strength of its seams, he didn’t pause to admire the view, much less thank her for her offering. His face dove in. His white whiskers prickled her thighs, her mound, as his lips dragged over her pussy, sucking her into his mouth.

His tongue was uncouth. Demanding. It parted her lips with no ceremony. It drove against her entrance for her first drops of wetness then battered her clit as if it were only there for his amusement. He moved between spots, awakening sensation only to deny it further attention, returning back only when he wanted to.

No one ever licked her like this. No one possessed such audacity, such greed and lack of shame to treat her so impersonally. Like pussy for hire. On demand whenever he desired and equally available when he didn’t.

Her knees quaked. Pressed lips stifled a moan. She had to keep it together. This was about his pleasure and she wouldn’t dare to make a scene.

She reached out, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

He looked up in judgment. “That’s what you get for wearing such tall heels.”

“If they were shorter, you’d have a permanent crick in your neck from reaching for your morning sweets. Now… finish.”

His hands cupped her ass, pulling her to his mouth, his fingertips digging into her flesh until he found their firmness. Gasping as his tongue circled her hole, flicking around it, darting inside, she clutched him by the hair. Her leg rose with the sound of strained threads popping in defeat, and buried her knee into the back of the chair.

Her fate balanced on one slender, elongated heel. The leather around it creaked in reluctant compliance. Frantic breaths filled the air over his muffled growls.

His lips tightened around her clit. Rapid pulses as he sucked. His tongue swept back and forth, dragging harder with each pass. The waves built inside her, approaching quickly. Her palm clapped over her mouth to catch the inevitable ways her body would betray her.

A tremble rocked her hips. Her knee swayed. Her nails dug into his scalp. He didn’t change a thing until he heard a weighty exhale.

His tongue smothered her clit, hood and all, with flat, heavy pressure. It barely had to move–she would do the rest. The grindiest of grinds, like she was trying to suffocate him in her flesh, drown him in her slick, crush his skull between her thighs, or at the very least, shatter his nose. A groan vibrated against her.

Her throat caught a yelp. She bit her lip, throwing her head back.

Her heel thumped back to the carpet. She drew a lengthy breath, smoothing her skirt back down her legs. Her face was bright red and her neckline hid how much farther the color went. A heavy swallow of embarrassment at her own lust.

“That will be all, Harold,” she said, turning stoic. “Back to your desk. There’s a flood of emails to sift through and the call list is long today.”

With his eyes to the floor, he licked his lips and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Gone were his stern look, his brash advances. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Take those.”

He got up, stooping to pluck her discarded thong from the floor, the wet gusset tight in his fingers as he rounded the desk. Taking a greedy look as he passed behind her, he let himself wonder how much of her morning it took for her anticipation to soak the fabric so thoroughly.

The thought of it made him hard as a rock. He was thankful to be facing away.

Sinking into her chair, she picked at the frayed threads on her hip. “Shame,” she muttered.

He paused at the doorway to ask, “Anything else?”

“Not for now. Don’t forget we have that 4 o’clock in Conference Room B.” She lifted her cup from the saucer and took a sip. “You can bring those with you.”

“Of course, ma’am. Door closed?”

“Please and–Thank. You.” Her lips curled as another wave of blushing hit her.

A good secretary brings sweets.
A better one devours them.

Inspired by Image 14

---

“I’m going out,” Yuna said, shouldering her bag.

“Out? To where? Where do you have to be?”

Her dad’s word stopped her in her tracks.

With a sigh, she turned around, “Dad…”

“Family vacation.”

“Mom’s asleep. You’re reading. Dimi and Ola are with their cousins—“

“They’re your cousins too.”

“Dad…”

“Be back in an hour.”

“Daaaaaad,” she whined, shoulders slumping, hips twisting.

He looked over the top of his book at her. “An hour.”

She held her grumble until she was out the door, setting an alarm on her phone for 45 minutes so she’d had enough time to get back.

“Be right there,” she texted, skipping down the stairs and onto the beach. Her flip-flops were the wrong choice for a speedy escape. They caught sand with every step but their angry slap against her heels felt like a statement.

She was 25. She shouldn’t still be on her dad’s regimented schedule, even if it was only for the summer. He couldn’t seem to grasp that she’d been on her own for all of college and grad school. She was an adult!

When she turned onto the patio of the beachside smoothie bar, a hand caught the strap of her bag, spinning her around and snapping her out of her bluster.

“So eager to see me you almost walked right by!” Max smiled and dragged her closer by the strap.

She melted into him like she always did, but raised the bad news. “We don’t have much time. Sorry… my dad…” She sighed.

Max brushed the hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

“He’s been getting better at home. I thought maybe this would be the year he finally loosened up. I thought we actually might get to spend the day together, but that’s a bust.”

“It’s fine. We can just sneak out at night like we always do,” Max said as he cupped her shoulder.

Collapsing against him, she nestled her face against his neck and clasped her hands around his waist.

“But I wanna fuck you nowww, while your family is out. A year is a long enough wait.”

Max rocked her in his arms. “How long do we have?”

“40 minutes.”

“That’s… enough.”

“To get to your place? And back?”

“No, that would give us no time.” Max gave her a challenging look, “Doesn’t have to stop us, if you’re feeling bold.”

“I don’t know. How bold?”

“We’ve been coming here for how long? I’m sure we could find a spot.”

“In the middle of the day?!”

His fingers brushed her jaw and continued down her neck. “Or we can wait…”

“Nooooooooo,” she whined. “We can try. We have to!”

Max snickered and slipped his hand around hers, darting down the shortest path around the corner of the bar, headed inland. Their usual parks and parking lots and patios would be jammed with other tourists. They passed shops and houses, moving further away from the thoroughfares connecting the town’s attractions.

“Maybe…” he said, drifting into a narrow alley behind a row of businesses. There were no cameras like he’d come to expect in the city where he lived. It didn’t stink like trash either, just ocean salt and kitchen exhaust.

Pulling her to himself, he slumped against a knobless backdoor, inspecting her face as he said softly, “Almost as good as our usual spots.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but… it could work.” Her face scrunched, flipping from side to side, her wide eyes searching for a reason to call it off but hoping they wouldn’t find one.

When she saw his smile, she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers shot into his hair and she pounced, smothering him with kisses. Any restraint she had faded once their lips met.

Max had been her favorite part of summer vacation for more than a decade now. It was convenient that their families, traveling from opposite coasts, always ended up here for the same week. Year after year, they’d find every way they could to meet up, and with the years came many firsts–kisses, touches, sensations. Feelings.

The anticipation of seeing him was the hardest one, made worse this year by her presumption–hope, maybe–that they’d finally get to have a day together. An uninterrupted, undeniable date after their decade of covert hookups. But kissing him in the alley, with the same old quickie script, felt nonetheless like the best of their times.

When she came up for air, she checked her watch. 25 minutes until her alarm–not enough to make up for all the year’s deficits, but an adequate start to the week at least.

She stepped back to grab a large cardboard box from the pile next to them. Setting it in front of the door, she told him, “Sit down. Got something for you to… uh… enjoy.”

With her foot on the pile, she lifted the front of her sundress to reveal her lack of underwear. His eyes went wide and he gulped.

“You’re– Uh…”

“Shaved, yeah. No bush to get in your way this year. What do you say?”

“Thank you? It looks– Wow.”

“I’ve been wet all morning looking forward to this. Thinking about it. You have no idea.”

“Some idea,” he said. His fingers reached out to brush over her slit and her knees nearly buckled. A bitten lip held back a moan as his fingers teased and his eyes moved back and forth between her knees.

“Still have these too, of course,” she said, pulling her neckline down to show off her braless tits.

He smiled wide. “Spectacular.”

“But… time’s wasted if you’re only looking…”

She sunk her fingers into his hair, using his head to steady herself, pressing her hips forward until she felt his lips on her. His tongue slid out and began to stroke her clit. The feeling was almost worth the wait. No one licked it like him. No one knew her body like he did. No one else took the time to learn it.

He was the only one who had ever made her cum.

His tongue flicked. His fingers teased, then entered. Squirming, she grinded herself against his mouth, trying not to squeal or moan, trying to focus on the pleasure and let the world fall away around her.

Location be damned. Her father’s curfew be damned. She was going to enjoy this and get what she flew here for.

She cooed, “Awww, babe…”

That magic spot inside her lit up as his fingers pushed back and forth over it.

“Just a– yes– oh, oh, oh.”

Her hips bucked and her toes twisted in her flip-flops. Warmth rushed over her skin. Her head bobbled with her body’s every jolt.

Her wrist vibrated a warning. 15 minutes.

“Take your shorts off.”

“Here?” he said, looking concerned for the first time.

“Oh yeah. Right here. I’ll keep watch.” She winked before turning around, trying to look casual as she looked down each end of the alley.

“How– um…”

“Lean back. I got this.”

Yuna stepped back between his legs and reached behind for his shoulder. Her flip-flop-clad foot came to rest above his knee. The other lost its footwear as it tried to do the same on the other side.

Perched precariously on him, she hovered in his lap, peering down the alley as she lowered herself onto him. The cardboard box sagged under their combined weight. Her balance wavered. His tip brushed her lips.

This had to work. She wanted it too badly.

His breath was thin on her neck, arriving in excited little puffs. Hers were held tight, her whole body focused on not toppling facefirst into the cigarette butts and dirty puddles scattered across the concrete.

Slowly, she let her hips down, steadied by his hand under her ass. She hissed as the stretch hit, the fullness built, her longstanding itch finally getting scratched. A year without meaningful penetration was enough to make her forget how right he always felt. Having it again flipped a switch inside her. Hearing him groan against her neck sent hot tingles down her body.

“Oh, Max… Oh, I’ve missed this so much.”

“I told you I’d fly you out. Anytime.”

Yuna’s words wove between her careful strokes, stealing breath she was sure she had a better use for. “We can… talk about… that… later…”

“You always feel so good. I swear it’s better every time.”

His words were nice, but the way he held her, supporting her body atop his, guiding but never restricting, never forcing, made her melt. If he blew inside her right now and held her until her time expired, she’d be just as happy–she’d walk away just as satisfied–but she was never afraid of having to earn it.

Her strokes turned to bounces. Turned shorter. Faster.

Her breaths too turned louder, dotted with grunts that echoed back off dirty brick walls.

It was less about the time pressure than it was about a deep, driving need to share the pleasure already coursing through her.

“Yune, you’re–ungh–you’re the–hnf!–you’re, you’re–”

“You love your sweet vacation pussy. Don’t you?”

“Oh, that’s–ohfuck!–that’s, that’s–”

An alarm sounded from her wrist.

“I’m not stopping until you give me what I came for.”

If anything, the alarm encouraged her.

Her bounces doubling its tempo, her grunts trying to drown its melody, her body chasing another peak.

A few more minutes would be worth needing to run back to the house. A few more bounces for him. A few finishing strokes for her. A few more sneaky kisses. Whispered words. The peak that was breaking through like the sun’s rays in a drab sky.

“EEP!” she squealed as she sank down hard and began to grind with all her weight. She spasmed around him, feet slipping off his knees and onto cold, dirty concrete.

Her head fell back and she whispered, “Your turn.”

“Uh huh,” he replied, voice strained.

His arms tightened around her, his hips rising off their cardboard platform. His heat poured out of him, into her and back out.

He felt it drip down his balls as he tried to take a deep breath, fighting the waves of tension in his chest. Yuna silenced her alarm to savor a quiet moment.

When she stood, she was glowing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so happy. So satisfied.

“Sorry, I … I gotta run … like, literally …” she said, lifting her skirt to investigate the cool sensation running down her thigh.

His fingers swiped, relieving her of the bulk of the inconvenience, the evidence she dared not wear home.

“All good. I get it.” Max pulled himself off the box that had molded itself to his seat and pulled his shorts back onto both legs. “Tonight though?”

“Hopefully!” she replied with a cheery smile and a kiss. “I will do literally everything I can.”

“The shorter waits wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t thinking about how you’re just down the beach…”

“Tell me about it. I’ll text you the whole time though.” Holding his wrist, she pecked him. She let him go and started down the alley before turning back. Her smile tried its best to look sardonic, but her glee was too strong. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Hard not to.” His voice echoed after her. “You’re the best part of vacation.”

Image 17

---

Jack, true to his name, was hammering away on Irene.

Holding her hips off the bed, her body on its side with one leg pointed to the ceiling, he thrust in and out of her ass at full speed, as hard as he could.

“You like that don’t you?” he growled. “Don’t you? You need that cock and all my cum in your tight asshole. Don’t you?”

“Huh?” she asked, her eyes stuck to her phone as she tapped away under the chaotic din of plapping flesh and Jack’s frenzied grunting. She replied in her flattest, most uninterested tone, “Oh, yeah. I do, baby.”

“Greedy–ungh–little–ungh–hole. Auuuughhhhhhhh!”

He collapsed onto the bed in the space behind her. Closing her legs, she continued tapping her phone. With a sigh, she told him, “You should go.”

“What?”

“Now and for good. It’s not working and I’m done trying, pretending. It’s exhausting. I just can’t anymore.”

The decision had arrived in stages over the past few weeks:
Enlightenment. A conversation with a friend highlighted the fact that, despite liking sex and liking men, the combination often resulted in boredom and disappointment for her in the most acute way–not “future plans” stuff, the very moment-to-moment feeling.
Acceptance. Meeting her friend’s man. Seeing the way she was with him. The way he was with her. That’s what Irene wanted, and they were proof that it was possible.
Confirmation. This weekend, all of it. From Jack’s lazy attempt at a date night after she voiced her concerns. To Jack’s several orgasms to her none. To the fact that the only time she didn’t feel zoned-out was when she felt irritated by him.
Resolution. This. Now. The end.

“The fuck? After all that?”

“What?

“THAT!” He pointed to the bed, exasperated, as if his statement was self-evident.

“Hmph,” she huffed with derision. “Yeah.”

She ignored his grumbling as he got dressed. Her discomfort had never been a problem for him; why should she be concerned for his?

“Well, that is finally done,” she typed to her friend.

“You should treat yourself, after all that. Someone who can help you make up for so much bad sex.”

“Ha. Because that’s so easy.”

“Try a professional.”

Irene couldn’t believe what she was reading. What her friend was suggesting. “A sex worker?!”

“That’s reductive for what I had in mind.”

She pondered as she listened to Jack shuffle out of her apartment. The sound of her front door slamming rang pleasantly in her ears. It sounded like freedom. Change. The fresh start she wanted.

“But yes, sex is included. And probably the best you’ll ever have,” her friend added.

“Tempting.”

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘no’.”

“It’s equally not a ‘yes’.”

While she didn’t have anything against sex work, she never saw herself ever being a customer. It felt cold and impersonal, as dehumanizing on one side of the transaction as the other, but Gloria was a worldly woman with decades more experience. And her judgment was usually dead-on.

“I’ll make the call. Take your time to think. I won’t need to know what you decide.”

For two days, Irene wondered about that call. About which of Gloria’s many connections offered such a thing. An invitation hit my inbox but offered no clues. It was so non-descript that I almost marked it as spam.

”You can have received a gift of ONE (1) PLATINUM EXPERIENCE. Click here to begin.”

The site was as uninformative as the email. It looked professional, but it seemed to exist for the singular purpose of displaying the big “Start Your Experience” button. Behind that was only a lengthy survey that took hours to make measurable progress through.

Personality. Preferences of all kinds. Limits. Kinks.
A set of sliders to describe her “desired experience” in 64 dimensions.

Over a video chat, she vented to Gloria. “You did all of this? The sign-up is a nightmare.”

“No survey for me, just a party with a bunch of gals. Signed a bunch of stuff when I got there. There were a lot of men–all kinds, all of them wonderful–and like a kid in a candy shop, I ate until I was sick.”

“Really?” she said, enthralled by the notion.

“I think the lawyers will find me if I say much more. But trust me, it was incredible.” Pleasure washed over Gloria’s face, her eyes rolling back and her teeth grabbing hold of her lip. Her cheeks flushed at the memory.

Irene only grew more curious as she waited for her friend to return to the conversation.

“So… you’re doing it…?”

“If this process doesn’t kill me. Probably,” Irene replied. “Maybe. We’ll see. Anyway… back to it, I guess.”

Finishing the survey only got her to 50% on the progress bar. There were no more buttons to click or questions to answer. No indication of what would happen next. Until she got a new email the next day, with a plan “curated to her desires”. It wasn’t bad either. It also included a link to a gallery of “recommended ExperienceMates” that was jaw-dropping.

Pictures. Video introductions. Bios. Their own very detailed survey answers.

Irene was impressed, to say the very least. Any remaining skepticism she had was shattered by the company’s big promises and the hype brewing in her head.

She made her choice quickly and spent the next few days bursting with anticipation.

---

When her Experience Day arrived, she thought she was ready. The harsh sound of the door buzzer having set her on edge, she paced across her living room in her elegant black dress, stopping every few steps when she mistook the clack of her heels for his knock.

He was barely here and she could already feel him doing all manner of things to her.

She chided herself for building up this fantasy in her head. A perfect date with a knock-out stud as skilled in conversation as he was in bed. A man who was certain to push all her right buttons in ways none before him could imagine. A man far too perfect who was inexplicably here for her, even if it was for pay.

When he knocked, she bolted to the door, pausing to flatten her dress over her miniscule curves and reset her expectations. He’d be fine. She’d be fine. They’d do their thing and it also would be fine. Then he’d leave with much less fuss than any man she’d ever known, and that was the real gift according to urban lore.

Steeling herself, she swung the door open for him.

“Irene?” he asked in a honeyed, husky tone. His teeth flashed. His eyes pierced. His presence loomed larger than his above-average height. Her hand practically disappeared in his handshake. “I’m Luther and it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

She was not ready for such a man. Her mouth went dry. Her eyes remained wide, unblinking. She felt outmatched and giddy, as if he’d sent her straight back to her schoolgirl days. Lust overwhelmed her judgment, her senses. She couldn’t process anything he was saying, much less form a coherent response. All she could hear was the gleeful chirp in her head that kept repeating “oh my god, oh my god.”

He was an intense, charming smokeshow of a man.

“You have a case of the pre-date jitters?”

“Something like that,” she croaked back.

“Is there something I can do to soothe them? We could sit and chat for a bit. I could tell you a story of some kind, read you one if you have a favorite.”

Maybe just fuck me, Irene’s voice told her. Right here. On the floor.

“Fix you a snack. Sometimes a backrub can help.”

Fuck me hard and make me moan so loud that my neighbors complain don’t stop until I’m a drooling, limp mess and can’t remember my own name except to recognize it when you say it.

“Some women find a burst of activity diffuses their nerves. For example, a quickie.”

Now he’s talking.

Luther seemed to speak from experience. He must get this all the time. Everywhere. On the bus, at the cafe, the grocery store, museums. Her apartment was no different to him. Irene was just the latest victim of his overwhelming magnetism.

“Would you like that?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

Her knees wobbled as he pressed it to his lips, his eyes penetrating deeply into hers.

“Doesn’t… Doesn’t… have to be quick…”

To her, it felt like she went weightless and he merely plucked her from the air. She didn’t even feel her body hit the bed. She was focused on the meaty paws wrapped entirely around her waist and the pillowy lips pressed firmly to her mouth.

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” he suggested.

Until now, his cock only existed in her imagination, but her dress and his slacks were incapable of obscuring the distinct feeling of it pressed against her. She gyrated against it as if pleading wordlessly, shamelessly for it. Years had passed since she felt so hot or so wet, but she had never felt an emptiness like the one he had created inside her. The feeling pushed her nearly to the point of hyperventilation, eyebrows scrunched high in abject desperation.

Her behavior would have been embarrassing if she were able to notice, much less care.

“No!” she exclaimed. “Like this. Now.”

Unphased but for the spark in his eyes and the sly curl to his lips, he reached for his belt, his button, his zipper. The sight of what was underneath made Irene’s toes spread wide and her hips come off the bed.

It was huge. It looked fucking decadent. It was hers.

“Condom?” he asked.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

The company had provided assurances of extensive testing and male contraception, but those were irrelevant to her decision. Her mind existed only to give her body what it demanded. Put simply, to feel everything he had to offer.

Pushing her dress to her hips, he hooked her soaked underwear to the side and dragged the tip of his cock up and down her slit.

“And if you need me to stop, tell me.”

“I would. But I won’t.”

Irene felt his pressure on her entrance, hotter than the rest of him, its presence just as imposing. Anticipation rattled her body. A whimper came loose.

His slow entry frustrated her though she told herself it was for the best. His girth had her on the brink to begin with, every throb menacing her ability to accommodate, her emptiness soothed away by its steady glide.

When he bottomed-out, she felt as if he’d tripped the pulsing red reset button that no one before had ever reached. She had her words available to her again, if only tenuously.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” she bellowed in what felt like a whole new type of orgasm. “I can literally feel your heartbeat inside me. It’s insane.”

“You are tight, even for that petite figure of yours.”

“Then you’ve got work to do. I can take it.”

His hips bounced closer, teasing briefly only to relent quickly.

“Did I say you could stop? If you do, I’ll hunt you down and you won’t like what happens after.”

He shot her a challenged look. “You’re spunky.”

“No, that’s what I’ll be when you’re done with me.” Irene dug her heels into the bed and flexed her hips upward, taunting him back with her lower lip between her teeth. The angle she found made her eyes roll back and her butt thumped to the bed.

Encouraged by her playfulness, he began to move. His eyes locked her gaze and his hands gripped her torso. They were large enough to cinch her like a corset, locking her in place against his building thrusts. Secretly, she wasn’t sure she’d mind if he squeezed harder. Being crushed would be worth it, so long as he didn’t stop and pull out.

“You feel amazing,” he said, and she didn’t care if it was a standard line from a hired dick. The growl in his voice sold it as genuine. At last, her pussy was being praised for the immaculate wonder she always believed it to be. It even made him hum audibly over the sound of him pushing and pulling her wetness in practiced strokes.

He fucked like a calibrated machine, each cycle traveling an optimal distance, hitting the perfect spot, and doing so efficiently. Though it was clear he could go faster and so much harder, it never felt like he was holding back. Rather, he was enjoying the work and ensuring she was too.

Her eyes sparkled as she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. Like the rest of him, they were exquisite–big, but not cartoonish or disproportionate like a bodybuilder, just thick and meaty with juicy veins down his forearms that she wanted to nibble and bite.

The only thing that looked out of place were her hands, her body beneath him that were dwarfed as much by his frame as his palpable attention. Despite her dress still covering her hips and bust and everything between, his eyes never left her, inspecting her every slender shape and elegant feature.

“How is this for your jitters? Are they getting better?” he whispered, leaning toward her ear.

“Yes, god yes. You might need to work a little harder on the stubborn ones though.”

“Maybe a toss or two would help shake them loose?”

“If its firm.”

Luther effortlessly flipped her, wasting no time straddling her thighs and pulling her to his cock by her hips. One hand held her up by her waist while the other pressed between her shoulder blades, anchoring her to his desired angle.

His thrusts picked up. The stout little cheeks of her ass made the faintest claps as they bounced.

“That’s it,” she said into the pillow. “Right. There.”

She unloaded her moans in a fit of subconscious thrashing.

When she was down to whimpers, he turned her on her side and lifted one leg while he straddled the other.

“So… deep…” she huffed. Her tone turned matter-of-fact, lacking the energy to properly express herself, “OH! I’m cumming again.”

“Was that the last of your jitters, or do you want me to cum too?”

“Yes. Both. Are you, are you close?”

“I could be.”

“Could?” Irene lazily turned to face his ever-present eyes. “You have that kind of control?”

“You haven’t made it easy.”

“Good. You deserve it then. However you want.”

Irene sounded languid, wrecked by his ability and stamina. She had lost track of how many times she had cum, but it was more than she had in her months with Jack. He never asked when he could cum. Never asked if she did. Gloria was right. A professional was exactly what she needed, and Luther was worth every dollar her generous benefactor had paid.

She was on her back again, him looming over her with a grin. Only now her legs were vertical. Her heels sat on his collarbones. He tugged the neckline of her dress with a single finger, exposing her small tits.

“Oh wow. They’re perfect!” He thrust back inside her, his words not missing a beat. “Why have you been hiding them?”

“Maybe you should cum on them then. Show me how perfect you think they are.”

His fingers pinched her nipples, giving them a tug before slipping off. “If you’d like.”

“Uhhhhhhhh,” she moaned as he bottomed out, the deepest he’d been, the most of him she’d taken. It was too much, but she knew it still wasn’t everything. She tried to will herself to relax, to stretch just a little more. She could do it. She could have it all if he’d give it.

His eyes flashed between her face and her tits, but lingered on the latter as he bit his lip. His hips went loose, almost care-free. His precision vanished. A warning flashed across his face and then he pulled out.

Her thighs pinned to his body, his cock jutted between them, casting a shadow across her belly. She watched it throb as white pushed open its slit. Hot ropes splashed across her chest, practically drowning her tits. Irene’s eyes rolled back and her whole body clenched from the feeling of it.

With a sigh that broke into a giggle, she let him onto his side and let her legs fall to the bed.

The space between her thighs was on fire. Her chest swelled, tingly. Her dress, damp with sweat, remained bunched around her torso as she tried to catch her breath. She felt like a delightful, invigorated mess and wondered how he could possibly look so calm and put-together lying next to her.

“I have never been fucked like that.”

His lips curled sharply. “We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight. Aren’t we?”

“Oh my god, yes.”

“Think we’ll make it to dinner? To that fancy lounge for drinks?”

“Hope not. Means one of us failed.”

He interjected, “If you need to stop though, that’s not failure.”

“Me, stop? Psh. Don’t count on it. I am getting my fill of tonight. Of you,” Irene said, her lip already curling.

“Oh, you absolutely should.”

“And you should clean up your mess so I can pull my dress back up.”

“Are you going to stay in that dress all night, even though we’re not going out?” His tongue slid out, making a performance of grazing the pool of cum on her chest before scooping on its second pass.

“Not all night, no, but maybe a bit longer. It feels sexy.”

“I think that’s your body more than the dress. And your tits are way too nice to be hidden away,” he said as his tongue licked them clean.

She pulled his face up to inspect how he’d done, noting how much his chin and lips had acquired in the process. Then she kissed him, savoring the taste of him on his own lips. On hers.

“Good enough,” she said, looking down and tucking her tits away. “Seeing them will hardly matter in a minute when I’m sitting on your face. I need to find out if you eat as good as you fuck.”

Image 14

---

I walked into the gallery not knowing what to expect. I had never been to one with such a heavy content warning on the advertisement. And a lengthy set of rules, provided in advance with my ticket, which I also had to sign at the door. But maybe that is the norm for a touring collective of performance artists. No one else in the packed entryway seemed bothered.

The printed guide repeated the rules in block letters with a bolded red notice that additional rules and instructions may be posted at the installations. While most of the crowd drifted toward the section marked “less explicit”, I started on the other end to avoid them. Also, I was curious.

This side was nearly empty, except a young woman standing blank-faced in the center of a large room. She was striking. In her bright yellow shirt and floor-length pleated navy skirt. In her long black hair. In her sharp-featured face. In her stillness. In her ignorance of the handful of attendees filtering past her.

I neared the opening of the room, finally able to read the sign beside her from just outside.

”CUM ON ME.”
”Do not talk or touch or otherwise engage.”

I recoiled at the demand, but assured myself that must be the point. The statement is in the posing of a moral dilemma. My thoughts stopped in their tracks when I noticed the dark spots on her skirt, on the bottom of her shirt.

Wet spots.

With bated breath, doing my best to non-chalantly remain behind the cover of the wall, I watched as a man stepped up to her. His attention moved from her to the sign and back again. He looked around the room, his hands fidgeting in front of himself.

He was masturbating. Right in front of her, just inches away.

Though otherwise discreet, the motion of his shoulder gave him away. When he threw his head back, it was undeniable. Her expression remained unchanged, her posture unflinching, as he finished on her skirt.

As he walked away, my eyes followed. It felt less rude than continuing to stare at her. His gait was slightly hurried, but not obviously so, and his eyes darted away from any contact with others.

My need to understand brought my attention back to her. The man’s participation remained evident in a white streak and several drops already losing their sheen and turning dark as the fabric soaked them up. The pure lewdness of the scene had its hooks in me. I pulsed with titillation beyond the intellectual.

I stepped closer, now just inside the room’s opening, but at least a dozen steps from her. At most, my movement was visible in her periphery, but I was confident my presence would fade into the surroundings and I’d soon be forgotten.

Another man arrived at her station. He was younger and less contemplative. Less apologetic in his progression, in his gawking while he pleasured himself. Less restrained in his aggressive technique. I judged him as he left, but his derisive chuckle at her sent my pulse racing.

Dopamine flooded me as the meaning finally clicked.

Her statement was about the male gaze–the way men see women as objects to be lusted over, to elicit their own pleasure. I didn’t love the fact that I was part of that, despite the distance and lack of actual gratification. At least it got me thinking, which was the point, right?

Minutes passed without any new participants to distract me from my self-judgment. As if to prompt more attention, she shed her skirt and laid it flat on the floor beside her, stain-side up.

The cycle continued, with men more eagerly approaching–presumably drawn in by her bare legs. They’d come and go like before, leaving pearlescent streaks on her yellow shirt or aqua underwear or dripping down her skin. Whenever the crowd surged, I took the opportunity to slink closer. When attention ebbed, she lowered her underwear an inch at a time.

Once her underwear reached mid-thigh, there were more men lurking, seemingly waiting to see just a bit more before they can no longer hold back and must indulge. They craned their necks for a glimpse of what they wanted to see, the last inches of the sweetness between her legs that remained unseen.

I scolded them as savages. Leches. Takers. All while conveniently excluding myself from the class. I told myself I was different for grasping the message, but to her, I was indistinguishable from them. Deservedly so. Maybe I was worse for enjoying the sight of it from a comfortable distance, still, I was close enough to hear the last man’s breath stutter and witness his emission arc across her belly.

The facade of my detachment had crumbled. I was part of this. Though I clung to the virtue of restraint, it was a hollow sort of superiority, an intellectual excuse for my own lust.

Lower, her underwear went. Soaked. Heavy. Dangling between her knees.

I wonder where her smile came from and when it arrived. The fact that I had missed it landed like yet another indictment.

An older man, well-dressed and distinguished-looking, crossed the room toward her and promptly unzipped. He got to work on himself quickly. Eagerly. I watched him grit his teeth. I watched his eyes crawl up and down her so many times, I could rank her every part by his affinity.

I listened to the thwap of skin gripped tightly and pulled to its extents. The noises in his throat.

I knew when he was about to finish and tried to guess whether he was a shooter, a dribbler, or something in between. I even wondered how much there would be. Its consistency. Texture.

I wondered how it all felt for her–beyond the looming greedy gaze, the man’s lust-fueled exertion, the anticipation of his seed landing on cloth or skin. Maybe she was wondering all the same things I was, though nothing about her appearance showed it.

His throat rattled. A sizable white streak shot across the narrow space between them, landing with a wet plop across her belly. Another, then another followed, splashing against her mound, mingling with their innumerable predecessors and dragging them further down her body. Toward the glassy strings lined her thighs. Toward the pool collecting in the gusset of her underwear. Toward the tops of her feet, dotted in dribbles and drops.

My eyes remained fixed on her. Together, we listened to the footfalls of his overpriced shoes on the tile as he walked away like nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just jerked himself off on a woman in public. As if she wasn’t covered in the evidence that he had been the hundredth to do so tonight.

The shock is visceral. I hear my pulse pounding in my ear. And I feel it throbbing in my pants.

Lust. Guilt. Shame. I’m awash in complicated feelings. I’m awash in her message.

“You can say hi, you know. I’m done–well, almost–I guess–if you make it quick.”

It takes me a full minute to register that she’s talking to me and we’re alone.

The lights have dimmed.

It’s so quiet that I can hear her feet adjusting on the tile.

A bead of sweat rolls slowly between my shoulder blades.

“You looked like you were waiting for your turn for hours. Last chance…”

My eyes look everywhere but where they’d spent those hours. I can’t bear the sight of so much semen. Worse yet, her exposed body, coated in it. Her face–all bright smile and big blue eyes I mumble vigorously under my breath, “Oh, no, no, I’m not… no.”

“It would be fine, you know, that’s the whole point.”

“I don’t think I could, well… I could. I know I could, which actually makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I think that was the point though. Right?” I summon the strength to look at her, though only in momentary glances from the corner of my eye.

“Was it?” she says with a direct glare.

“Given the statement. Of your piece.”

“Which is?”

My chest tightens. My stomach turns. Performance anxiety. “The… male… gaze…?”

“Say more.”

I stumble into my breakdown–both meanings fully intended–unspooling a wild stream of words into the air, barely stopping to take half a breath so I can continue for a few more and get my racked thoughts out of my own head, no matter how clumsy the delivery.

It’s an act of absolution for me, but it must sound like pure madness to her, no matter how close it was to her true intent.

She doesn’t say a word. Not a sound. Not a nod. It’s my turn for the reactionless treatment she had given all her participants, only now she is re-dressing herself in her soiled clothes, barely bothering to wipe her skin down first.

I’m aghast, exhausted from my rambling, that my words fail entirely. It’s been a long time since I was this uncomfortable with a woman. Her art succeeds.

“Counterpoint…” she says, turning toward the exit. Her words dance from over her shoulder, and she immediately walks away, “Maybe I just found an excuse to get naked and spunked-on in public.”

Image 3

---

“Ok, yeah, I can get you that update by, mid-day tomorrow?”

“End of day today would be better,” my vice president’s voice crackles in my headset. Why do they always have the worst work-from-home setups?

“Uhhh, let me see.” I glance at my calendar, ensuring my laptop camera catches me squinting and feigning consideration. My phone vibrates on my desk and I see a notification from Tia; I don’t have to open it to know what she wants. “I can probably do that, yeah.”

The video call turns black and I toss my headset onto my desk.

I take a lap around my condo to do the usual. With an hour before my next meeting, I know I should get started on that update, but the notification sitting on my phone screen makes me restless.

She knows what it will do to me; in fact, she’s depending on it, sitting in the sublet upstairs that she splits with a couple of friends.

I met her one afternoon a few months ago, when I was in the lobby to pick up a package and she was waiting there for her morning coffee to arrive. She keyed on the fact that I was around during the day and finagled my phone number from me “just in case she has a coffee emergency and needs my machine”.

Let’s be honest though. She didn’t need to try.

She is exactly my type–tall, thick, and comfortable being seen in very little. Her tank top made no secret of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra–I probably could have picked her nipples out of a police line-up, if such a thing existed–and her 80s-style gym shorts couldn’t dream of ever reaching the underside of her butt. Even straight from her bed, she looked hot and she knew it.

The first message I got from her was a day or two later–a Saturday, I think. It was a picture of her with a hint of a pout on her lips, her cleavage conveniently filling the bottom of the frame. I tried not to look too eager when I showed up at her door step with a fresh, hot cup of coffee 15 minutes later. When I left, the cup was lukewarm, full, and hadn’t moved from where she told me to set it.

The afternoon “just woke up” messages continued every few days–never before 1 pm and never after 3–and the pictures and accompanying text grew more direct every week. Soon, the “coffee emergency” ruse was abandoned altogether. I still brought her a cup, but I knew what she really wanted.

Today’s message was the clearest yet.

She looks like she slid face-first off the side of her bed wearing the same outfit she had on when I met her. Her tits spilling out of her tank top onto the floor. Ass high in the air, barely covered. “Just woke up… you wanna fuck??” the text asks.

Propositioning me was her bad habit.
Showing up at her door minutes later was mine.

The door to her place opens and her roommate is already retreating back to the kitchen. Her name is Cass, if I recall correctly. We never really talk, but we’re familiar enough in passing that I don’t flinch at her barely-dressed morning state. “Tia’s in her room. We should just get you a key. You’re here often enough.”

“Ha. Right. Yeah…” I say awkwardly, trying not to stare at the pierced nipples poking behind her shirt. Though she isn’t quite my type–a fit blonde with an assortment of visible ink–I’m still human and I definitely would.

Habit.

“Any chance I could bum a bowl of cereal? I have to go shopping, but I’d rather not go on an empty stomach.”

“Uh, sure?” I fish my keys out and toss them on the counter. “603. Help yourself.”

“Mind if I eat it there? Leave you two to do your thing?”

I can’t help but chuckle at the social conventions these two share. How unafraid they are of asking for any little thing from me makes me wonder if I’m just a sucker, but coffee and cereal would be such a pitiful hustle if that were the case. “Go ahead. You can hang out until I get back.”

“Appreciate it,” she replies with a happy bounce toward me and an abrupt peck on my cheek.

Tia’s bedroom is in the back, the 3rd of 4 total if I remember correctly. Her mismatched furniture, spray-painted in bright colors to hide that it’s vintage in the worst sense, clashes with the cold gray walls. Clothes sit strewn across the floor in little puddles that nearly connect. It smells like musky incense, which suits the overall vibe of the room. The whole space is practically a euphemism for the ongoing thing we have.

“Finally,” she says in her growly morning voice. She’s naked on her bed, a pillow under her hips, hands clasped behind her head. Her hair is its usual mess and her eyes are slivers over bags.

“Tough morning?” I tease.

“Tough night. Tough week. Tonight’ll be no better and if I don’t get fucked before I go, I am going to lose, my, shit.”

“I get you,” I say, my shoes and shirt already added to the mess on her floor. While I do understand the feeling, I frankly don’t know enough about her life to understand where it’s coming from. I can only offer the most superficial acknowledgement as I make my way to her. “It’s rough out there.”

Her hand finds mine and pulls me closer. “Pump me good and make me forget about it for a bit.”

“That I can do,” I say, leaning in to kiss her, my hand already attempting to palm one big tit. “Just pump and go?”

“I’m way too tired for anything else.”

Half on top of her, my leg sitting between her thighs, I plant a row of kisses down her neck. “Because having your pussy eaten is soooo taxing.”

Tia flashes a lazy smirk. “Keep it quick. And go easy–a hard cum would put me out for the afternoon, I think, and I’ve got shit to do before work. I haven’t even showered yet.”

My mouth is halfway down her torso by the time she finishes her sentence. Her skin is salty. Smokey. There’s a hint of too-sweet lotion. The implication that she hasn’t showered since yesterday “morning” goes to work inside my body. There’s a lurid rawness in it that turns me on for reasons I don’t understand, and the lower I go, the more of it I find.

The triangle of bush that sits above her mound is where her scent grows more complex. The skin below it is tacky. Musty. More profound in the response it elicits from my body. This is what I crave when I ask to go down on her. I imbibe it in deep breaths and long, slow licks until she starts making pleasant little mewls and I grow convinced that this time, she’ll finally let me sate myself.

Then she taps my shoulder. Slides a condom into my hand. Says those hot words that slightly disappoint.

“I just really need to get fucked. Sorry.”

I have no reason to complain that she wants it so badly, so expediently. I’m afraid to question why she places more priority on my orgasm than hers, for fear of the answer. So I don’t ask.

I dutifully put the condom on, sitting back on my heels so I can enjoy the full view of her body and thank my lucky stars for such providence. As I move between her legs and my chest squishes her tits flatter than gravity alone can, she wraps me tight in arms and legs. As lazy as she often claims to be, she’s never a passive lover.

The pillow under her ass puts her in the perfect spot for me to slide in. She’s plenty wet–as always–though she feels exceptionally tight today. Breath rasps in her throat as I push deeper to fill her.

My hands move to the backs of her thighs and squeeze them tight, enjoying their thickness. They feel like luxury, like comfort as they tighten around my hips in pleasant reply.

My hips push hard and hers grind back. On every thrust, she looses a sharp breath, her tits ebb and flow like tidal waves in the space between us. More and more, the faster and harder I go. She begins to purr, a throaty sort of hum rather than anything overtly feline. My body smacks against hers, sending unambiguous echoes off the walls and ripples through her.

The way she tastes and smells, the way she feels and sounds, the way she moves, is why she’s a habit I’m not inclined to break, even if I probably should. This sort of thing can’t be healthy for either of us, but this is no time to think about it. Not with my balls slapping her underside and her hot breath on my ear, one set of fingernails clawing my shoulder while the other digs into my left butt cheek.

Groaning, she rocks her hips to my rhythm, lengthening my strokes. I can feel my tip stretching her at every apex. The chubbiness of her bits is all that saves us from bruising our pelvises with our vigor. My teeth graze her neck then sink in, but stop short of anything that could leave a mark.

My release wells up quickly, the pressure building as her tongue flicks over my ear.
She clenches–three short bursts followed by a long one that holds for several strokes.
It’s so tight, so fucking tight.
So tight, I can feel every ridge and bump of her texture around me.
More than coaxing my finish.
Demanding it.

I bury myself in her. My cock in her pussy. My hips in her thighs. My head in her neck. My body is fully in her grasp.

And I let go.

“Good boy,” she says, sounding as satisfied as I feel.

I pull out, but linger on top of her while the sensation settles. Looking in her eyes, I tell her, “You’re so fucking sexy and you feel unfairly good.”

She lets herself smile, but she rolls her eyes away from mine. “Thank you. And you’re welcome.”

It doesn’t take me long to catch my breath, and without any pleasantries, I’m off the bed and getting dressed. “Anything else you need?”

“Start the shower for me on your way out?” Rolling onto her side to face me, she already looks more awake.

“Can do,” I offer from the doorway. “Have a wonderful rest of your day.”

I hear her snort as I’m leaving.

When I turn the corner, her other roommate–nameless to me–is there in a zip-up hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. “You seen Cass?”

I don’t feel like explaining that she was enjoying a quiet breakfast at my place while I was banging her roommate. “Oh, she popped out for a few. She’ll be back soon.”

She moves on toward her room with a nod and I start the shower on my way out.

I knock on my own door, which feels abundantly strange. I hear water running inside, a clink, then it stops. The door cracks open shortly after, and once again, I see Cass retreating to a kitchen as the door swings wider.

“Your keys are on the table. I need a minute.” Standing at the sink, she restarts the tap and scrubs a pot. Her small butt jiggles in her underwear with the motion of her arm. Did she really come down here in just that and her clingy tee? These girls are a wonder. “Your place is super nice, by the way.”

I approach the kitchen, but remain at a comfortable distance. The fact that I stop where I have a full view of her, bed-head to bare feet, is entirely coincidental. “Thank you. You don’t have to–”

“I felt bad dirtying your dishes, and figured why not do the rest.” Her voice has a happy chirp to it. “I can let myself out when I’m done, if you have stuff to do.”

“Yeah. I should, I have work. To do.” I shift in place, starting to feel like a creep for watching a barely-dressed near-stranger doing my dishes, regardless of how unbothered she seems. “Thanks for doing those. You didn’t have to. But thanks.”

“I don’t mind dishes. It’s stupid how bummed I was about us being out of cereal, but,” she says, turning toward me with a big smile, her hands flaring out from her shoulders, “all better now!”

I know her gesture was intended like a flourish in a magic show, but my eyes fixate on the tits nicely framed by her arms and the way they bounced when she turned. Her backside rests against the counter, wet spots adorning her tee, a bright smile on her face. Eyes locked on me.

I want things that I shouldn’t. Tia is already too much of a good thing. Too much of a bad thing.

“I’m going to go get back to work, but, uh, glad I could help, and, um, thanks again.”

“No, thank you.” She bounces toward me like she did at her place, her fingers land on my waist and she leans in to kiss my cheek. It’s a little wetter, a little firmer, a little longer than it should be. Then just as quickly as she bounded toward me, she heads for the door. “I’ll bring you your new box later when I get home from the store. Anything else you want me to pick up? A treat as a token of my appreciation?”

“You’ve done plenty.”

“You’re still getting a new box,” she asserts with a glare as she slips out the door.

It shuts before I can argue.

I make it to my desk with a minute to spare. Headset on. Meeting joined.
It's a bore, but it gives me a chance to start that update I owe.
Tia’s scent is still delightfully in my head.
My body is pleasantly relaxed from our rendezvous.
Peaceful, my mind loses itself in the work and the rest of the afternoon flies by.
I’m vaguely aware of a new notification on my phone, but it can wait. I’m almost done.

When I send off my update, it’s nearly 7 and I grumble to myself a little.

I click the notification without really looking.

Habit.

Image 8

---

Gina’s evening started with a luxurious bath.

Her husband and his friends were settled in the basement for a game night. She didn’t typically mind these nights–they were an important social outlet and one of the few opportunities for him to cut loose–but their house was kid-free tonight, a rare treat that she had been looking forward to for weeks. He promised he’d keep the game short to ensure they’d have their enjoyment of it. And each other–another rarity these days.

Curled up in bed, she kept herself on-edge for hours anticipating his arrival. She waited until she couldn’t anymore. Every outburst from the basement pushed her closer to action. If she wanted satisfaction, she had to demand it before it got any later.

Stepping out of bed in her sheer robe, she rehearsed what she’d say, trying to find the words and tone that would telegraph her feelings without sounding too harsh. Something that implied her plans without revealing them to a room full of people she barely knew. She wanted to rouse her husband, not make him feel bad.

“–you stumble upon a mysterious orb, glowing from beneath the underbrush. What do–”

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Come to bed already” she announced to the room. She hated to embarrass him in front of his friends like this, calling him out, her robe and the shadows at the bottom of the stairs doing little to hide her body.

“Oh, shit… sorry… we’re still not quite done. We… ran into some hiccups in our quest.”

She rolled her eyes and was halfway up the stairs when she heard one of his friends.

“Good god, bro, go up there. We can pack up and get out of here.”

Her husband sounded insistent. “No, it’s fine. She’ll be fine. We’re almost done.”

“If you don’t do it, I will. Seriously.”

The whole table laughed before a voice she recognized took a sharper jab.

“No kidding. You’re my guy and all, but… I mean… your wife. Wow. I would f–”

“You would what?” Gina asked, her voice echoing down the stairs and through the basement.

The guys fell silent.

They heard every creak as she came down again and appeared from around the corner.

She repeated herself in a more provocative tone. “You would what?”

Around the table, there was a chorus of nervous swallowing and shuffling of feet. Their eyes all remained transfixed on the game pieces in front of them, while seeing none of their detail.

“Hun… we were just wrapping up.”

“No need. Keep going,” she said dismissively.

Her head turned slightly, her tone changing. “Except you, Brett. You’re coming with me and we’ll see just what you would.”

The men exchanged looks ranging from confusion to terror. Brett looked embarrassed as he scooted his chair back, hanging his head as if he’d just been pulled from class for a trip to the principal.

Gina put her arm around him and led him up the stairs, her voice echoing back, “Have fun with your boys. I know I will.”

When they reached the top of the stairs and turned into the kitchen, she decided to come clean. “I’m sorry if that was awkward for you. I promised him something special after game night. I hoped making him wait for it, knowing what I was doing upstairs, would drive him crazy. Only I broke first.”

Gina sighed as she leaned back on the counter, watching the stairs for any sign of life.

“It’s fine. I get it,” Brett said with a laugh.

“And when you spoke up, it gave me another opportunity. A better one. Something for him to really think about. Maybe we can talk about it? On the patio?”

“Ok. Sure.”

“Right out there. Go make yourself at home.”

Brett followed her gesture and the screen door rattled shut behind him. As she reached into the fridge for a couple of beers, she tipped her head toward the stairs to listen in on the rest of the crew.

It sounded like they were playing again, as if her outburst of horny rage and absconding with one of their crew was no big deal.

If so, she was happy to play along.

---

Beers in hand, she joined Brett on the patio, sitting a little too close and making no effort toward modesty.

“I’m not bothered by what you said, for the record. Whether you really meant it or not, it was very nice to hear. It gave me a much-needed spark after feeling neglected all evening.” Gina’s expression and sultry tone made her subtext clear. “Left to my own devices with real satisfaction nowhere in sight.”

“You’re welcome then.”

“You realize they’re going to think you’re all talk if you don’t come back with a story. You had better think of something to tell them. Then we can decide how much of it will be true.”

Brett shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

With an unconcerned shrug, she shrugged, taking a sip of her beer.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable telling your husband I fucked you,” he said with some trepidation. “If that’s what you’re implying.”

“So don’t.”

“Making out? Is that too little?”

Gina laughed. “Probably.”

“Ok, so, a handjob then?”

“If that’s what you want.”

He paused. “You think he’ll buy it?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about? Him buying it?” Gina couldn’t miss the bulge in his pants. “I’m more interested in what the truth will be.”

---

Gina smirked, staring at the row of half-empty beers left abandoned on the coffee table. One for every guest who visited her on the patio and returned to game night with a story; each sending back the next lucky man when they finished telling their tale.

First Brett. Then Ty. Pavel. Jason. Dez.

The last set of footsteps approached from behind her.

“I thought we were keeping those worlds separate,” he said, taking the still-warm spot next to her on the couch.

“And I thought you were coming to bed hours ago. You got your game night. I got mine.”

“And my friends.”

“You don’t think they had fun?” She turned, stretching her legs over his lap and reclining against the arm. “I think they’ll be back every week whether there’s a game night or not. They’ll clear their schedules for your invitations.”

“You think they won’t tell anyone?”

“What? The same stories they shared with their boys over the table? Who would believe them? Other than you.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t do all those things? I know you too well to believe that.”

“If you want to know,” she said with a sultry glare, “you’ll have to be more specific. I have no idea what they told you.”

“Hrmph,” he grumbled roughly.

Propping her knee against the back of the couch, her foot pressed flat on his lap, feeling the growing heat through layers of cotton.

“Your lips look especially pink. Too pink to be just excitement.”

“Wait until you see what’s inside them,” Gina purred, sliding one leg off his lap to put a foot on the floor. The other went to his shoulder on the opposite side, giving him a better view between her thighs. The position parted her enough to feel the night air on her wetness, and her fingers spread her rosy lips the rest of the way. A glob of white, glinting in the moonlight, sat perched in her entrance. “Guess who.”

His eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, and his lips pressed together. “I don’t want to know.”

“And I won’t tell you. I just want you to guess.”

His eyes blew wide as gravity stretched the blob, revealing how much of it there was, now making a slow descent down her skin. “Jesus…”

“He had nothing to do with it, trust me.” Her finger swiped at the trailing edge and brought it to her mouth. She smacked her lips with a devilish look in her eyes. “That’s what you get for keeping me waiting. Now what are you going to do about the fact that you still owe me a long night of sex? Going to add yours to the mix or did it all get a little too real for you?”

“They didn’t satisfy?”

“The point of the appetizer was to hold me over and it did, but only just barely. I’m growling for my main dish.”

He kissed her ankle, still resting on his shoulder, and slid his hand down her thigh. “Don’t think that I’m over what you did.”

“I’m not asking you to be.”

Shifting toward her, kissing her calf, then her knee, he glanced over to catch her eyes. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“Don’t pretend you hate the idea of me being a slut for your friends.”

His lips reached her inside of her thigh. “These friends are different.”

“They sure were. Don’t you want to know how?”

Pushing her sheer robe out of the way, he leaned closer to kiss her hip, her belly. “Not really.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be that way. Not wanting to hear details doesn’t stop you from thinking about them. Wondering.”

He raised an eyebrow as he reached her tits and closed his mouth around one nipple. As he swirled his tongue, his gaze remained steady on her eyes.

“You don’t want to know if any of them are packing heat?”

His teeth closed around her nipple and she hissed.

“Who did what to me. What I did to them. Who made me cum. How hard.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling their hips tight. He sucked harder in response, pinching her other nipple between his fingers.

“How they felt. How they tasted. Who knows what I taste like. The sounds I make.”

Taking his head in her hands, her thumbs hooked under his jaw, she lifted his face and held it inches from hers so she could watch it react.

“Where they came. On me. In me.”

His face closed the distance quickly, kissing her if only to shut her up. Her hands slid between them to undo his pants and pull them off his hips, then moved quickly to grab his cock and pull it to her wet slit. Her heels pulled him the rest of the way into her.

“Bet you’re wondering who it was that got me warmed up for you. Which of your friends has enough cock to stretch me like that?”

He growled against her neck as his hips snapped against her.

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

The couch skittered on the wood floor under a frenzy of rapid, brutal pumps. Again, she pulled his face up, this time by his hair.

“Now you’re wondering just how many loads you’re fucking out of me and where the others went.”

“AHH!” he growled, wrapping one hand over her shoulder, his thumb pressing her collarbone, his other hand sending three fingers into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back and moans sent spittle over his knuckles and the back of his hand.

Hands clasping the back of his head, she bucked her hips to his rhythm, their breathing turning heavy.

“Unnnnhhhh, uh I ah. Ehhhhhhh! Uh!” she exclaimed around his fingers.

His thrusting stopped on a dime. His hips clapped hard, slow punctuations, matched with a sharp breath and a spurt of heat inside her. When his fingers withdrew from her mouth, she was smiling wide, eyes half-lidded.

Disheveled, he slumped back in his seat, licking his lips. “You definitely had too much fun tonight.”

“I did, yeah. I love how worked up you get. Like you’re angry that you can’t contain yourself. And then you take it out on me. Mmmmm.” She couldn’t help but chuckle in satisfaction. “How about you? Have fun tonight?”

“It was really good to see them. Quest was fun, but they kept doing the dumbest things, like they were trying to drag it out. I told them I was expecting it to be short, that it would be an early night. I didn’t tell them why, of course. I got so tense thinking about you upstairs waiting. I kept wanting to tell them to stop being so fucking stupid and finish… so I could… come up and… fuck… you…”

He shot her a glare so sharp, it was unmistakable in its accusation.

“You! You put them up to it, didn’t you?”

She held her hands in the air. “I told you I played my own game.”

Looking bewildered, he stumbled trying to give voice to his thoughts. “I– You– But– That would have– And– But– How?”

With a smug pat on her own back, she flashed an eyebrow. “It was easy enough. I just told them to give you a hard time and slow everything down. I don’t think they even realized what I was doing, to be honest. And definitely not why. None of them knew I’d come down and drag them off. For sure none of them expected what came after that.”

“Oh, I’m sure none of them expected that.”

“So when are we doing this again?”

“We? Game night?”

“Yeah. I figure, after that I’m as much a host as you are.”

“Three weeks,” he said, voice tinged with dread.

“Hm. Plenty of time to prepare.”

“Care to include me in your planning this time?”

“I was thinking I might not bother taking them out to the patio. What do you think about that?”

Image 1

---

He said it just before he snapped his wrist, “Last one. For luck!”

I’d gotten better at catching the ensuing foil-wrapped projectile in my short time living with Stephen.

“Thanks?” I said, as I always did when closing my palms around the condom he had so-casually flicked at me. I leaned across my bed and added it to the pile in my nightstand drawer, once again wondering the purpose of this ritual. I couldn’t help but think it came as some kind of judgment of my chastity.

Everyone was chaste compared to Stephen, of course. The bathroom that sat between our rooms had a way of acting like an echo chamber for every noise the thin walls let through, so I was as familiar as anyone with his–errr–vibrant lifestyle.

Every week, I found myself bumping into some new girl he’d brought home, with plenty of repeat guests in between. I never particularly minded, and I had gotten pretty used to it by now. The same can be said for happening upon those same girls around town. Most of them are friendly and I’ve rarely heard a complaint about Stephen, so whatever he’s doing must be alright.

Next in the chastity rankings were our other roommates, Donna and Andy. Admittedly, their placement in the middle was an educated guess on my part. Both had stable relationships and spent a lot of their nights at their respective partners’ places. Whatever they did at our house was discrete enough that I rarely noticed it, though I assumed it happened with some regularity.

And then there was little old me, all the way at the far end of the chastity spectrum (and somewhere near the middle of a different spectrum, though I’m unsure how relevant that is–it would explain a few things, but the reasoning is as thin as it is unsatisfying).

I had never had sex.

That’s not to say I didn’t have a thriving sex life with myself, or wasn’t curious about extending it to others. I simply never had the option. I wasn’t sure how I even could create the option.

Wait.

Was that what Stephen was doing when he tossed condoms at me?

I scrambled across my bed and reached into my nightstand, pulling handful after handful of condoms out, spreading them over my comforter. I don’t know what I was looking for–some kind of clue or maybe an outright message that I’d missed–but I got distracted by the variety.

Ribbed. Lubricated. Studded. Ultra-thin. Sensitive. Performance. Real skin.

And the colors! The sizes!

I must have had several boxes worth of each of the common ones, which felt like a whole lot for someone who had no means of using them, but I was no less fascinated at the collection of latex I’d amassed.

Just as I started sorting them into neat lines for easier counting, Stephen paused outside my door. He stared at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Big night planned?”

“No?”

“I’m just teasing. The way you have them all… laid out.”

“Oh!” I laughed, embarrassed at the sight of it as much as my own silliness. “I was curious. I didn’t realize I had so many. Maybe you should have them back. There are so many and they’d get more use in your hands than sitting here in my nightstand.”

“They’re single-use. And never for my hand.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course. I’m just wondering why I have them.”

“What do you mean?” Stephen leaned against the doorframe, holding a bowl of something he’d grabbed from the kitchen.

“When you give them to me, are you– is that– are you… asking…? If so, I have to apologize because I was not understanding that, and I’ve just been rude about never giving you an answer.”

“No, they were just the last one in each box. The lucky one.”

“What makes it lucky?”

Stephen set his bowl on the edge of my tiny desk and stepped closer. “You have to make the last one count. Once you use it, all you have is luck–maybe they have another one, or maybe you don’t use one and you both cross your fingers, hoping the luck from the last one saves you.”

“You don’t buy more before you run out?”

“Usually, yes.”

“So it’s not really your last one. And you don’t even use it anyway because you give them all to me?”

“Not all, but yeah, most of them. I wanted you to have a lucky one if– or, when– you decided you might need it.”

The ritual still made no sense to me. But his explanation showed a certain care that warmed my heart. It was a more loving gesture than I expected from someone I had only known for a year.

I bounced off my bed and sprung toward Stephen to wrap him in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you for that.” As I let him go before it got too awkward, and slinked back toward my bed, I added, “If it’s ok, I think I’ll keep them.”

“Of course,” he said, taking his bowl in his hands before turning toward his room. “Just check the expiration before you use them.”

Expiration. Like fruit. Having fruit is a commitment. There exists an obligation to consume them before their expiration.

My eyes scoured the wrappers, finding the dates so my fingers could sort them within each neat column. Ascending made sense for storage. Closest deadlines sitting on the top of each stack, like products in a store.

I had 28 months to use the first one, which felt reassuring, and only 37 months to get to the luckiest of luckies. It sounded like such a long time but there were so many condoms. And that’s after figuring out how to do the impossible task of getting someone into my bedroom. Or me into theirs.

It would be nothing for Stephen, of course. He was obviously good at getting people into his–each of my surplus of luckies resulted from him using a whole box. At best, assuming he only bought the smallest boxes, that number was staggering. I couldn’t imagine what it would be if he was smart enough to buy in bulk.

Damn, Stephen. You go.

I knew it was silly to think about my stash this way, but maybe the subtle nudge of a ticking clock was what I needed at that point in my life. And the gesture of support from Stephen made me feel like I could actually do this–if I wanted, which was the aspect I continued to grapple with.

I realized I did want it when one night before bed, my fingers were dangling over the edge of my barely-opened nightstand drawer, feeling the shape of the top-most condom through its wrapper. I snatched it from the drawer and put it on top of my nightstand so I could watch my fingers trace its shape.

Index finger making slow loops, my mind did the same. I imagined it unfurling on a man’s erection–any man’s–feeling latex on my skin, and how he would feel to my touch. The thoughts grew hotter, spiraling out of control, and so did my body. Fortunately, my trusty vibrator satisfied. It always does.

In the morning, I left the condom on my nightstand and doubled-down, selecting a second one to carry in my bag. Its presence allowed my newfound excitement to follow me around town, errand after errand, store by store. Fantasies and hope. Anything was possible.

It took further weeks of thought before I was ready to make something happen for myself. I weighed my options, considered the outcomes. And I made my choice.

Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, nervously fidgeting with my chosen lucky. The fact that I’d stared at it so many times didn’t take my eyes off its shiny chrome wrapper and red letters: MAXX Luxury Ultra-Thin with REAL-FEEL. This was the one.

“How’s it going in there?” Stephen asked from the hall, craning his neck toward my room.

Seeing my downcast look and closed posture, he approached the doorway. “You alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, trying to swallow my nerves with a too-dry mouth. “You can come in.”

“Oh, whatcha got there?”

“It’s the one that expires soonest. One of them, but I liked this one best.”

He stepped closer, catching a glance of it as it moved in my fingers. “Those are good.”

“Yeah, I figured you liked them because I had a bunch.”

“So…” he prompted, but my hand shot out toward him before he could elaborate. “What for?”

My cheeks burned as my eyes shifted to meet his. I wagged my hand for emphasis. “Um… Want to?”

I felt like I left my body as I waited for his response. His eyes carefully analyzed me. My eyes, my expression, every bit of body language possible, to avoid any possible misreading. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm!” I chirped.

Stephen sat beside me, his face closer than it had ever been. His eyes sunk deep into mine. His hand lighted on my thigh just above my knee. “With me?”

“Stephen–”

I let my thoughts stream out.

“I know you better than I’ve known any other guy. I trust you. You’re so nice to me. So supportive and understanding. The girls who have been here have only great things to say about you. They keep coming back, which means you are probably good at it too, I mean, you do have a lot of experience. You seem like the right one for this.”

“But that’s just sex.”

“That’s all this is too. I want to have sex. Just sex. With you.”

“If we do, then won’t it be weird? Living together? Me bringing around other girls?”

“No weirder than it is now. I don’t really mind it.”

He paused, his face twisting slightly. “I feel like–I don’t know–I should at least take you out first. Buy you dinner.”

“Why? I don’t think I’d want a full belly.”

“Your first time should be special though.”

I turned toward him, insistence on my face. “It being my first time should be special enough, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” His head wobbled in acceptance and he huffed in disbelief. “You’ve obviously thought this through.”

“I have. Only a little, but, enough. So? What do you think?”

“Right now?”

“I’m ready, that’s all.” I smiled up at him, cheeks blushed and hands locked together in my lap.

“Ok, so, make out for a bit? Then we could try some hands? And then when you’re ready, if you’re still up for it, we could do it?”

“Oh no, no need, not for me. I’m ready.”

Stephen chuckled and shook his head. “Prepared and eager. I don’t know why I expected anything different. Should we just get naked then?”

“Sure!”

I don’t think I could have stripped any faster if my clothes were on fire. So fast that I doubt he even saw the sexy underwear I put on for him. Oops.

“Jesus! Your tits, girl!”

A pit formed in my belly. I always thought they were nice, although it’s hard to expect them to be perky at their size. “What about them?”

“I knew they were big, but wow, they’re something.”

He stared at them for a while before realizing how ambiguous his statement was. “They’re really sexy. I just never thought– You always keep them covered.”

“Maybe I won’t anymore. At least around you. If you like them that much.”

“I’d, yeah, I would not complain at all. I just–” He huffed. ”Who knew?”

He was still working his way out of his clothes–and still staring at my body–as I settled onto the bed, lying the “short” way across the middle of it with my feet toward him.

“You’re way sexier than I gave you credit for, you know. I always thought you were cute, adorable, or whatever, but no, you’re–” He paused as his eyes drifted. “Oh, you’re shaved.”

“Yeah.”

“For this?”

“No. Always. For me. It just feels better.”

At last, he joined me on the bed, sitting beside me with his legs folded. “It works for you. Really sexy. Can I?”

I bit my lip, trying to contain my eagerness, but it was apparent in my nodding. An exhale rushed out of me as his fingers slid over my mound and down my lips, one finger splitting them.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were ready.”

“Uh uh. I, um, had my, vibrator. Over my shorts. For a while.” The gentle strokes of his hand made forming cohesive thoughts a challenge. Then a new distraction arose. “May, may… I?”

“Please!”

I reached out my hand to touch him back. It wasn’t like I had never seen a dick–I’ve seen plenty of porn–but feeling one was new. I don’t know why I assumed that the first feel I’d get would be inside me. It had a pleasant, soft texture and felt like foam around steel–nothing like I’d expected–and its size was remarkably close to my trusty vibrator, only with rearranged proportions.

All I could think about was having it inside of me, wrapped in that lucky bit of latex I’d stroked through its package for weeks. “We can, uh, start.”

“Any preferences? Position, how you like to be touched, what not to say. Speed. Style…”

“You ask like I have anything to base it on.” I felt something inside me twinge, a much stronger version of a feeling I knew. “How about you just fuck me like you fuck those other girls? That seems to work out well for them.”

With a laugh, he pulled my leg toward him then moved his body into the empty space between my thighs. I caught him staring at his destination as he opened the condom’s wrapper, and I was rapt watching him unroll it down himself. I adored the way the latex made him shine and highlighted his shape, but before I had my fill of looking, he was on top of me, checking in to make sure I was comfortable.

That I still wanted this.

That I was ready for it.

Aside from having his body on top of me, and all my nerves firing in response to so much touch, the heat of him inside me was what I noticed most. I shouldn’t have been so surprised by it. The fullness felt more familiar, though it was different than my vibrator. The way it squished as the fullness ebbed and flowed. Where his angle put pressure. The points of sweet friction and the tickle of his pubes against my mound.

He was unexpectedly sweet about being slow and gentle. It didn’t match what I so-often heard through the walls of our place. But I let him continue to lead, and I began to understand what all the fuss was about.

It felt good.

By comparison, my vibrator–the much-vaunted champion of so many ladies’ bedrooms–should have been ashamed of itself.

I didn’t want to lie there and do nothing, but I also didn’t want to get too romance-y, so I mapped a safe region of his chest and shoulder for my lips to busy themselves. Similarly, my hands looked for a comfortable spot on his body and settled on his waist, where they could feel his core flexing through each thrust.

As he was a considerable bit taller than me, he mostly kissed the side of my head and nibbled the top of my ear a bit. The feeling of his breath made me shiver with warmth.

This was so much better than anything I ever did alone. The heat of another body, the unpredictability of what they’ll do, the ripple through your body and moment of weightlessness at the apex of each push. The sounds. The musky, heady smell that permeated the room. Yet, the newness of it all was so distracting that I struggled to find that familiar rise of tension and heat inside me.

And that was ok. This wasn’t about an orgasm. I didn’t ask for one–didn’t need one–I could have as many as I wanted later, on my own like I had been doing for years. I was good at that. Probably better than he could ever be.

His voice rasped against my hair, “I’m so close, so close, so close.”

I didn’t know what to say. I tipped my face toward his and tried to be affirming. “Good, yes. Please.” Kissing the corner of his jaw, I watched his cheeks scrunch and felt his jaw go slack. His hips tensed and pushed harder against mine.

He let out the most vulnerable noise I think I’ve ever witnessed. A groan that came out like a whimper sweetened with pleasure.

When he left my body, he didn’t go far. He curled himself against my side, his head on my chest, and his fingers returned to stroking my mound.

“You don’t have to,” I told him and meant it.

“Maybe I want to.”

“I suppose you can then,” I said just before his fingertip lit a fire in me. I tried to continue my thought regardless, a futile effort, “It’s just, I can, do that, mysel– Ohhhhhh, oh that’s– Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.”

My arms clutched around him, my hips frantic, following his touch. Up, down. A little harder. I could still see the agonized face he had when he made that hot little whimper. It was my turn now. To scrunch. To tense. To pant and squeal.

And then to apologize.

“Sorry for grabbing you like that. I don’t– normally, it’s my pillow or my comforter–”

“That’s what sex is. Doing what feels right. And sometimes your body does it for you.”

I exhaled hard, still catching my breath as I tried not to be awkward. “It felt very right. Not just at the end. All of it was really good.”

We shared a knowing little smile. A reassurance for the rainbow swirl of emotions flooding through me. Notably, regret wasn’t among them. Nor was doubt. It was all happy colors in my head. Warm ones inside my body.

“Thank you, Stephen.”

“Anytime.”

“You mean it? Any… time…?”

His gaze narrowed, inspecting me, maybe wondering what he had gotten himself into.

“I did offer to return that stash of luckies. Maybe you’d accept them one at a time?”

“That could work,” he said with the makings of a grin.

I felt my whole face light up. My body left the bed on a cloud of air. “Really?!”

“Yeah, silly.”

“They’re in my nightstand!” I said, already on my knees and halfway there.

“Oh, now?!”

I froze, filled with the dread of making such an assumption. “Or… whenever.”

“No, no, we totally can. I need a few minutes before that–again–but, you know, there’s plenty more we can do until then.”

I turned back toward him, my butt thumping on the comforter, the glow returning to my face. “Tell me where to start!”

Image 9

---

The handsome guy in my Yoga class was eyeing me up again today.

He’s usually a few mats away, though no less keenly aware of how my body moves for the distance. Today he was next to me, destined to be my partner–no accident, surely.

Nervous and excited as I was, he was much worse off. His form lacked his usual confidence. His eyes stole glances rather than his usual glares. His hands hovered before making contact with me, then trembled slightly when they finally did.

Our exercises felt like foreplay. I nearly convinced myself he’d tug my tight pants down and bury himself inside me. Maybe his fingers, or maybe his cock.

I’m not particular when it comes to aesthetics or size, but I have spent an inordinate amount of time wondering what his looks like, and not just today. Thick, thin; long, short. Maybe a bulbous, meaty head and a foreskin that goes from flopping loose over the end to being stretched tight as he–

“You, um, want to, like, grab a smoothie after?” he rudely interrupted my thoughts at the peak of my fantasy amid our final position.

As a gal of robust stature, I’m always prepared for the worst. The inevitable relegation to the deadzone of either “fat friend” or “secret fling”. The truth is, while most men would fuck a girl of my size–and many would do so quite happily, frequently, and for years on end–the chance of them dating one is smaller.

They’ll call you sexy and grab your soft belly while they fuck you. They’ll sandwich their cock between your juicy thighs or huge tits and hump away until they explode. They’ll be mesmerized by the way your ass jiggles in doggy; they’ll spank it crimson and spray their load across it with glee.

They love everything about your body, except that you always have it–not just in the bedroom, but in public, around their friends, their family.

I’ll leave it to others to debate how much is their preference and how much is social pressure–an academic exercise, the answer to which contains no practical advice beyond the most obvious. Fucking a fetishist for a temporary thrill is fine, having reliably good sex with a runner is too. You just have to spot them early and manage your emotional investment carefully.

“Sure.”

When class wrapped, I didn’t change out of my tight-fitting clothes like I usually do. My belly might be a little big, a little floppy, but I think it’s cute and nothing beats the feeling of the spring breeze on it after sweating in class all morning. If he can’t handle it, we are never going to work.

In the lobby, I sipped my water and tucked loose ginger strands behind my ears, hoping my cheeks maintain their rosy glow until he’s had a good long look. Wearing a fresh polo, shorts, and a smile, he joined me, closing the distance quickly.

“Thanks for waiting.”

“Happy to,” I replied.

His hand boldly found a place on my lower back where my sweat had dried to a tack, contact that held fast the whole way to the cafe, through the line and collecting our smoothies, and toward the seating area.

“Inside or patio?”

“How about the park across the street? I’d enjoy stretching my legs a bit,” I replied.

“Oh, that sounds great!”

We made our way through the park with the usual sort of light conversation that strangers tend toward, passing joggers and dog-walkers, and the occasional parent trying to tire their rambunctious kids. If his hand’s comfort on my body was one positive sign, his eyes were another, bigger one. While they held my gaze, they weren’t afraid to look me up and down, neither lingering too long nor avoiding any particular part of me.

The conversation took a different tone as we settled on a bench, facing each other from opposite ends.

“How long have you been doing yoga?” he asked.

“Ten years, off and on. Started as a stress relief thing, but the activity is good–keeps me limber–always a battle when you have a desk job.”

“My doctor suggested it not-so-gently last year. Took me a while to finally do it. I’ve been enjoying it though.”

“Anything in particular about it?” I asked pointedly.

“My back has never felt better,” he said, hoping I wouldn’t press.

The smirk grew on my face and shyness found his eyes, sending them rolling over the grassy landscape.

“I… may have spent the last few classes trying to work up to finally saying hi.”

“I’m glad you did. And today was the perfect day for it,” I said, turning my cheeks to the sun, smiling as I took a deep breath of the crisp spring air. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

“Is it? Hmph,” he replied with a cheeky look.

Sucking noises echoed in his empty cup.

“If the outdoors isn’t your thing,” I said, pausing to soften the weight of what was coming, “My place isn’t far. If you’re in the mood for… tea or a snack…”

“I could go for a snack. Just a snack though, I, um, don’t have a whole meal on first dates.”

His indirectness came off as charming and I was struck by how forthright he was about this being a date. “I’ll happily wait for a meal if the snacks are good.”

I tossed my empty cup over his head and it landed in the trashcan on a friendly bounce. I took it as a sign of my luck on this particular day. Taking a fistfull of his polo, I pulled him toward me and kissed him.

My eyes gestured toward the can behind him. “Your turn.”

“Can I turn around?”

“It’s worth more if you don’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder, rattling his cup in his hand, then locked eyes with me and tossed it backward. I heard it bounce on pavement.

“Shame. I’m already rethinking my invitation.”

He stood up and took a step forward, lifted my chin, and planted a lengthy, defiant kiss on my lips.

“Saved by being such a good kisser.”

“Thank you,” he said, laughing as he took my hand and guided me off the bench. His hand took its place again low on my back, but it carried new intent, holding me closer to his side as we walked through the park. My place wasn’t nearly as close as I implied, but I felt like I floated the whole way.

Every pause–for passing pedestrians, for crosswalks, for me to open the door to my building–was another kiss. Him lifting my chin and leaning down. Or me looking up expectantly. In the elevator, I pulled his face to mine with both hands, only relenting when the doors threatened to close again after we’d reached my floor and hadn’t yet stepped out.

Apparently for him the hard part was that first hello in class. Only a hint of shyness tempered his attraction, though I had no idea how far it would lead. How many snacks can you have before it counts as a meal? How serious was he about holding that line? Was there still a chance he’d see what I had to offer and decline it all?

As my keys skidded across my dining table, the thuds of our duffel bags on the floor, I turned to face him. “Mind if I take a quick shower?”

“I’d rather you wait, if that’s ok.”

“Afraid to let me go? You could join me, if you wanted.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Just eager then?” I said, grinning.

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Alright, well… this way then…”

To say I dragged him by the hand would be a mischaracterization. I held his hand and led the way, but at times I felt like I was actually slowing him down.

I backed up to my bed and slid my hands under his fresh polo. He took his glasses off, letting me pull off his shirt. I bit my lip as my hands cascaded down his body, from shoulders to firm chest, down his almost-perceptible abs, and to the waist of his pants.

He shook his head slowly as he captured my wrists and placed them in the air above my head.

I stood there frozen, breath held. His hands landed flat on my belly. Slid upward. Caught the sopping band of my overworked sports bra under my loose cropped shirt. Drew it out and over my incorrigible tits. His palms grazed their peaks, traced them to their base, to my collar.

I heard him swallow a gasp when he saw them come loose and sag heavy on my chest. I dared to open my eyes, flashing a smile as delighted as his. I let myself relax and caught up on missed breaths, their replacements ragged in my throat.

“They are so much nicer than I imagined.”

Of course, I have heard that plenty. Plenty of titty-crazed men have lavished mine with attention while trying to ignore the more inconvenient parts of me. I try not to blame them–mine are a lot of fun and love to be played with–but the rest wants love too. And he knew it.

A long kiss on the lips led to one on my neck. On my collarbones. The tops of my tits, then open-mouthed ones over my nipples that ended with a drag of his tongue. My body was becoming his, hot with want, but when he kissed lower, he might have taken my soul too. Slow, wet kisses trailed down my belly, wandering toward my sides before circling my belly button.

Fuck.

As his lips reached the band of my yoga pants, his hands tugged it ever-lower. To the peak of my hips, down the taper of my thighs. His nose pressed just above his lips. Against my belly. Against my underwear. I could feel his breaths, deep, lengthy. The kind you take when you’re trying to immerse yourself in a scent, and I was all too sure I had plenty after such an active morning.

I ran my fingers through his hair, for kiss after kiss, inhale and exhale. My undressing abandoned for now, his hands crested my hips and took hold of my ass, pulling me tighter to his face.

He looked up at me with stars in his eyes. “I have something to confess…”

“Yes?” My body filled with trepidation.

“My first time in class. We were partners–just one position, a forward fold–I was behind you and you bumped my face. I caught the, um, faintest–and I mean it was barely there–scent of you, and it just… sent me.”

“Uh…” I felt my cheeks burn, then my whole chest.

“It. Was. Heavenly. I’ve been wanting to bury my face between your thighs ever since.”

The unexpected compliment, the detail of the story itself–the fact that he knew my scent before my name–got lost in the feelings. The ones on my skin and the ones churning deeper inside.

“Is that the snack you had in mind?”

“Kinda. If that’s ok.”

“It’s so much more than ok.”

Scooting backward on the bed, I pulled my legs out of my pants, then lifted my hips to peel off my underwear. From his spot on the floor, he had a perfect view as I parted my knees and my fingertips danced on my ginger-flecked mound. I could feel my lips parting, sticky, the cool air reaching deeper, hotter places.

His tongue found those same places, though not as quickly. His mouth was diligent and gentle in its exploration, in its teasing worship of my entire vulva. Every crease and fold and crevice. Every inch of skin. He lapped at the hair on my mound until it lost its memory of everything that transpired since my last shower.

He made a point of avoiding my clit, yet the pleasure was already a top ten experience. I wasn’t even sure I needed to cum for it to claim a higher spot. My body lacked the usual urgency. If he wasn’t racing to the finish, neither should I.

When his tongue chased the trail of wetness into the unreachable space below, I pulled my legs up, my toes clutched in my hands, rolling my hips to grant him fuller access. His tongue dazzled my holes with figure-8s that avoided any inkling or taunt of penetration.

At last, the urgency quaked in my belly. I felt myself clenching at emptiness and I was certain I was wetter than he could keep up with. His mouth moved higher, my legs resettling on the bed. His tongue pressed flat over my suddenly-needy clit, then his lips closed around it. I have no idea what he did next, only that it felt wonderful.

I exploded.

Covered in a hot rush. White filled my eyes. My body unleashed the most indecorous noises. Every fiber of me simply felt and I gained a new empathy for the men who can barely get it in before their ecstasy demands release.

But just as quickly as it hit me, the next one built in its wake. Hotter. Stronger. With a wild energy that defies words. An experience that can only be lived, even witnessing would do it no justice. It didn’t crest so much as it rolled. Coursed through me in violent pulses.

It made me question everything I thought I knew about my own pleasure, my own climax.
And. It. Just. Kept. Coming.
I just kept cumming.

I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried and it was so strong, I almost wanted to.
Wordless babble spilled from my mouth on hollow breaths and languorous moans.

He must have felt me go limp in surrender. In exhaustion.

Whatever his mouth was doing, it dwindled into the slowest of nibbles and kisses, letting me gradually rejoin the mortal realm to find my body peaceful and warm.

“Ok, I can let you shower now, if you want.”

“Wait…” I blinked to clear my eyes, to refocus them on him. “I can, just give me a sec and I can, uh…” My mind was struggling at the simplest task of offering a blowjob, assuming sex remained off the table.

“At most, one person gets to lose their pants on a first date. And only if it’s going really well.”

“Really well, huh?” I grinned at his admission. “If you stay, does that count as a second date? We could watch some TV. Order dinner. Maybe it’s your pants that get lost? That sounds like a second date to me.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“What if I kick you out first? Only long enough for the door to shut behind you. You knock. I let you in…”

“Maybe. If–I don’t know–I left while you took a shower, and I came back in… two hours? with whatever it is you want for dinner. And you picked out a movie or something. Then, that–I think–probably would count as a new date.”

“Throw in a reasonably-priced bottle of wine?”

“Sure, yeah, that couldn’t hurt. Are flowers too much for a second date?”

“That depends.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “On?”

“The possibility of sex.”

“Ah. Ok,” he said, wrangling a nervous chuckle. ”Noted.”

“Alright then. Get out. I’ve got a date and I need to get ready.”

Image 16 - A final one for the month (probably).

---

Audrey stood at the back of the yoga studio, arms crossed over her bare chest, watching perfect bodies stretch with grace and precision. She knew this was a mistake already.

Behind her, Sam, her husband, was blushing and appeared perplexed by the spectacle.

“Are you new?” came the voice from the front of the room.

“Yeah, sorry” Audrey replied, trying to maintain a neutral tone despite her nerves.

“So happy you all made it to our special session tonight. No need to feel shy or rush. We’re just gently starting to warm up, breathing, turning into ourselves.”

”Turning into ourselves,” Audrey thought, Who else would we be?

“When you’re comfortable, grab any spot you’d like and follow along to your comfort,” the instructor finished.

“See? Not weird,” Trisha said.

“Kinda weird, but, we’ll give it a shot,” Sam replied.

Trisha had been his best friend since high school, long before he met Audrey, and coming here was her idea. She swore by what these special sessions offered her–embodiment, empowerment, relaxation, a oneness with herself and a connection with others.

“Right?” Sam insisted, turning to Audrey.

While Sam embraced the idea–eagerly–she was skeptical. Trisha was always doing stuff like this, quests for enlightenment full of nebulous verbiage and specious claims. Audrey considered herself more traditional. Sam would tease her about being uptight or even puritanical, which she suspected was why they were really here; he’d get to gawk at hot naked bodies with his friend, leaving her to sit in her own discomfort and feeling “not good enough”. Frigid.

“Right. I told you I’d try, and, well, I’m here,” Audrey grumbled.

“By the end, you won’t even notice.” Trisha took a spot just off to the side, leaving them to adjust at their own pace.

Audrey muttered, “I doubt that.”

“Come on,” Sam plied. “We can stay in the back row, right next to Trisha. You’ll be fine.”

Audrey side-eyed her husband and reluctantly followed him. She was the last to follow the instructor’s movements and breathing cues, finally letting her arms fall to her sides.

There was a wide variety of bodies and body types in the room–the skinny brunette in front of her, Trisha’s plump curves off to her right, the instructor’s lithe brown figure with visible abs and a perky round butt–that she couldn’t help comparing herself to. She didn’t dislike her body, but that’s not to say she ever really liked it either. It was fine, but that counted for even less in a room like this.

She tried not to envy her husband, who was easily the most fit–and probably most attractive–man in the room. There was much less competition, with only 4 guys to the 6 ladies, and Audrey was sure he didn’t mind having so much to look at. The fairer thing to envy was how easily he adapted to the activity. He seemed confident in his stretching, in himself.

As the class started, the first meditation was simple. A butterfly pose with a focus on breathing, on feeling every tiny little nerve. Cool air blew across her skin and ambient music flowed in her ears, but Audrey told herself she didn’t really feel anything except maybe the soft tack of the mat when she shifted. At least Sam looked to be at peace. Good for him.

The second meditation was a celebration of self–whatever that meant.

“Lie back. Eyes closed. Explore sensation across your body. Feel the way your energy moves and grows.”

Audrey rolled her eyes behind their lids.

“It’s natural if you get excited. That means you’re feeling the connection to yourself.”

She didn’t understand how such a thing would even be possible.

“Good, good,” the instructor said, walking around to provide feedback. Her shadow fell across Audrey, but her voice came from her right, by Sam, “Excellent! You’ve got it.”

Of course he did. And Audrey could picture her fawning all over him.

“Try starting at your waist.” Her voice was much closer, probably right over Audrey’s head. “Small strokes extending upward, extending downward. Growing as you feel your body respond.”

All Audrey felt was stupid. Embarrassed. Jealous of Sam. Irritated at Trisha for her well-meaning but tone-deaf suggestion. Touching herself in public wasn’t going to solve the concerns in their bedroom–if there really even were any–and so far, this was only making her feel worse.

“May I?” the instructor asked.

Audrey opened her eyes to see the instructor’s warm face beaming down at her.

“I’ll just hold your wrists. Let your hands go limp and just breathe with me. Ok?”

With a nervous nod, her cheeks blushing, she accepted. The instructor cradled her wrists, lifting them so only her fingertips dragged on her skin, circling aimlessly over her belly.

“It can take some work your first few times. Totally normal. This is a brand new experience for you.”

Down to her hip bones, up to her ribs, across her navel and nearly to the edge of her bush. Her fingers dragged over the tops of her thighs, spread wider by the curve, narrowing again as they reached her hips. The line continued up her center, her breath catching as they reached her chest.

“There you go. Perfect start. Now continue to explore wherever feels nice.”

The instructor’s hands left, her shadow no longer loomed, but Audrey continued to imagine her guiding her fingers up and down, adjusting her pressure from faint to firm, from tips to knuckles to whole fingers, from the slowest of crawls to a more spirited roam.

This still didn’t feel like a solution to Audrey, but it also wasn’t bad.

“All right. Now we’re going to find a partner–whoever is close, doesn’t matter, they won’t be your only one. Introduce yourself and sit knee-to-knee in butterfly pose as best you can.”

Relief washed through Audrey as Sam moved between her and the rest of the room. Not only did he block their view of her naked body, his own connection to his body (if that’s what it's called in this place) was only visible to her. He looked impossibly comfortable, too relaxed considering their surroundings.

“I want you to look into their eyes, while opening yours for them. Breathe together. Relax your gaze and let theirs enter yours. Let their gaze pull yours deeper.”

Audrey could feel herself relaxing under Sam’s influence. She always loved the warmth and care his eyes displayed. They were one of the first things she noticed about him, aside from his booming voice and gregarious presence. In them, she saw their years together–the dates, their wedding, all of the late nights and early mornings.

She could see the old joy behind the recent tears, the excitement behind the exhaustion.

“Now we’re going to introduce touch,” the instructor said, facing the participants from the front of the room.

“I want you to have an on-going dialog about consent and limits–if you want to touch or be touched, how you like to be touched, and where that touch is desired–knowing it can change at any time and trusting your partner to respect it.”

The instructor paused in the center of the room, observing as the pairs engaged with each other. “I am hearing a lot of great engagement. Very specific, very detailed. Don’t be afraid to ask for clarification.”

Audrey was thankful that she didn’t have to think about how to describe her boundaries or preferences; Sam knew what she liked and she trusted him to stay appropriate to their environment.

“If you’re both comfortable, place your hands on each others’ knees; otherwise, you can rest your hands on your own knees. You are free to explore from there, within the limits you and your partner establish. Remember, this is all about your own comfort. Your safety. Respect for yourself and your partner.”

Sam and Audrey traded smirks as their hands settled on each other’s knees. While hers moved up to his thighs, his trailed down her calves. Any other time or place, this would have been unremarkable, but in her own small way, Audrey was starting to understand the purpose of the program.

“This is about truly feeling yourself and your partner. Exploring the sensation of touching and being touched. Notice how your energies flow in and out…”

As her hands reached his ribs, Sam hummed affirmation.

“Yes!” the instructor exclaimed. “Be vocal with your partner! Voice is energy too.”

Audrey felt herself slowing down, enjoying the small details. The way his chest hair felt on her fingers, the steadiness of his breath beneath them. The thickness of the skin on the pads of his fingers. The breadth of his palms around the taper of her ankles, their flatness when they reached her thighs.

“If you feel comfortable, invite your partner to your energy center. You might call it your yoni or lingam, or something else. It might exist somewhere else on your body, guide them to it.”

The suggestion froze Audrey.

“Here,” Sam said, taking her hands, positioning them on his thighs so her thumbs could stroke the crease below his hips. “Close enough.”

She was touched by the gesture. While she dared only to steal glimpses of the other pairs, she suspected they were bolder than she was. And that was ok. This wasn’t a competition. It was exploration, an act that she was finding meditative. The connection was as alive in his eyes as it was in his body under her hands.

“Arousal is a natural outcome of energy flow, and intense exchanges of energy may result in orgasm. Energetic connection is the goal, not sexual gratification, but don’t be embarrassed if it happens.”

The instructor's words passed through her head uncritically, her awareness lulled by the sweetness of her intimacy with Sam. The sounds of pleasing and pleasure soon filled the room, but those too were lost on Audrey. The others might have not even existed, until the next instruction caught in her ear, wrapping itself around her entire existence.

“Now turn. Find a new partner, whoever is close, doesn’t matter who. We’re going to replay this exercise. If you were primarily a giver last time, it is your turn to receive, to your level of comfort. Introduce yourself and sit knee-to-knee in butterfly pose as best you can.”

It took Audrey precious seconds to catch up, seconds in which seemingly everyone switched. Sam was half-turned, awash in the skinny brunette’s interest. Trisha was cozying up to a fit woman with an asymmetrical pixie cut. The brunette’s male partner had moved toward Audrey, but faced the shapely blonde at her left.

For a second, she panicked, fearing exclusion.

“You’ll be fine, right?” Sam asked, his hand lingering in her lap.

“Yeah, um, I’m good.”

Her words were reflexive, detached from the reality taking place.

A man’s voice came from behind her, “Would it be alright if I joined you?”

She spun to face him, finding him crouched at a comfortable distance, careful not to look imposing. Noticing first the sparkle in his eyes, the soft smile showing through a well-kept beard, her eyes drifting downward in shyness and were rewarded by his fit body and soft cock dangling in the open air.

Audrey wondered where he had been hiding.

“Sorry, it’s my first time here. I’m a little nervous. I’m Audrey.”

“Lovely name,” he said, sitting in the pose ever-so-slightly closer. “I’m Chance.”

“Start with the same deep gazing as before. Find your breathing.”

His gaze stirred a warm brand of nerves in Audrey as she scooted closer until their knees nearly touched. He saw into her with no effort, offering his depths to her with no resistance. She had never thought gazing was a skill before, but Chance was proof. Slowly, their breaths fell in sync as she chased the lights in his eyes, seeking their source through swirls of green and brown.

“And now you can begin your dialog about touch. If, how, and where. This is our final meditation, but we have plenty of time, so move at your own pace.”

Tension formed in Audrey’s belly at the thought of being touched by a stranger, though the more time their eyes spent together, the less Chance felt like one.

“Maybe just our knees for now?” he asked, nodding slightly.

Audrey shifted, feeling a hot tingle where their knees met. As bad as she felt for enjoying it, she felt worse for wanting more. Around her, she heard whispered permissions, invitations, requests. She had no doubt that the skinny brunette already knew the feel of Sam’s hands.

“Um, here.” With a deep breath, she placed his hands on the outside of her legs, drawing them up slowly from her knees to mid-thigh. Her nerves broke as tingles rippled through her, as he leaned closer to follow her pull. “Actually, um, wherever, is fine. I’m just overthinking.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you’re–” Too many words raced to mind, each with its own set of uncomfortable implications. “Comforting.” She kicked herself for that one, unsure what it even meant. He wasn’t a piece of furniture. A warm blanket, though… maybe.

“I’ll go slow. Please stop me if anything feels too much or too fast or just not right, ok?”

His hands moved slowly up and down the same path, a firm touch that gave rather than demanded. With every cycle, she held her breath when his eyes dipped close, as if one of these times he might continue forward until their lips met. Audrey felt guilty for thinking about it, for enjoying what his touch was doing to her.

She recoiled at the fact that she was trying to picture Sam and the brunette, pacing his moves as some kind of permission for the extent of her own desire. An excuse to be touched by Chance, even to touch him back.

Bit by bit, his hands were approaching her hips. Reaching them bought his face even closer. Inches away. Audrey swallowed her attempts to form words, but eventually they broke through.

“You can go higher.”

With the same pace that led him to her hips, he moved from her hips to her waist. Then higher. As his touch threatened the edge of the crease below her bust, anticipation rushed through her body, coming out in a pointed moan.

“Yes!” the instructor reacted. “I know you’re feeling it! Let’s all feel it!”

Audrey blushed at her outsized reaction, knowing Sam must have recognized it. If his hands weren’t already all over the brunette, she was sure they would be shortly. A poor trade for mere anticipation.

“Touch them,” she said.

His palms settled softly under her breasts, cupping with spread fingers, his thumbs settling between them. Her eyes threatened to slide shut with a sigh, but his gaze was insistent, stopping them halfway.

“Like that? Feel good?”

“Yeahhh…”

Her satisfied drawl wasn’t alone in the room. Others hummed or cooed. The space filled with soft moans heavy breaths, as if the room itself was experiencing pleasure. And the instructor stood ready to shepherd it further.

“Great job, everyone, great connections. I can feel all of your energy flowing. Feel free to have the dialog with your partner about your energy centers. Invite them to yours if you desire.”

The suggestion made Audrey’s hips jolt forward. Her thighs shook as she tried to sink back into the mat.

“Is that, something you want?”

Her face showed her frustration, eyebrows knitted in agony. She bit her lip, trying to distract herself, but nodded anyway.

Chance let one hand drop to her knee while the other moved slowly down her belly. His hand slipped gently over her yoni and just held it. His deep gaze made her breaths tense, her mouth dry, and she didn’t dare blink. His touch was one of comfort, of affirmation, but she could ignore all of the other things it was doing to her body, her mind.

He knew it too. He could feel the energy building across their eyes and underneath his hand. The top of his palm was placed perfectly to deliver pressure across her clit while the base of it pressed just above her pelvis. Every increase pushed breath from her lungs, punctuated by the slightest quaver from her throat.

“Keep going,” she mouthed.

His hands move to the front of her hips and his thumbs take turns rolling down the creases of her thighs, their tips gently prodding the outside of her lips. As her growing wetness reaches the cool air, the sound of it between her lips becomes clearer with every slow stroke and she wonders if it will put him off.

“More,” she mouths again.

The energy is too strong to resist. It’s thick in the room. A bellow breaks loose from someone. Too deep for the brunette. It’s probably Trisha, and Audrey was beginning to embrace why Trisha liked it here, why she recommended this session. The novel touch of a stranger felt invigorating. Like a giant reset button for your desire.

Chance's thumb tumbled from the apex of her lips, barely grazing her clit in passing. It felt like a firecracker.

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok,” Audrey whispered, reassuring herself as much as him. Reeling, her eyes drift from his and notice his cock lying flaccid on the mat. “Oh, I’m sorry, I… I can…”

“It’s not about that right now. It’s about you.” His eyes mirrored hers. “She’s glowing. Like the rest of you, but brighter. She must be celebrated.”

Though she felt a bit too seen, the sentiment was sweet. “Thank you.”

His face dodged in space, reeling her eyes back to his. His thumb pressed high on her lip, nudging it against her clit in unhurried circles.

“Ohhhhh…”

“There?”

“Everywhere,” she begged.

The circling continued in double–his thumb on the side of her clit, a finger barely present on her entrance. His finger dipped every few rounds, her hips rocking in response, trying to catch it.

She hated how badly wanted his fingers inside her. His fingers.

The tension in her belly was too much. Desperation fluttered in her chest more with each pass, each teasing press. The softness, the slowness of his touch is frustrating. Enticing. She wants more. Maybe all of it. And now.

“Yes! In me. Please.”

The solitary finger felt enormous as it entered. It teased every nerve ending at once. Pressed all her spots. It didn’t move at all. It didn’t have to. It was already doing everything.

His thumb closed over her mound, pressing against his finger from the outside.

Audrey felt the swell of orgasm inside her, at the precipice of release.

Instead it grew.

Its warmth cascaded through her body.

A promise. Buzzing but not bursting. Steady in its place.

The slightest clench or flex of her hips to rub against him would have set it free.

Stillness was better.

Tension. Fullness. Heat.

Its proximity was overwhelming enough. It even broke time.

Audrey didn’t hear the instructor talking, wrapping up the exercise. She didn’t even feel Chance’s body leaving hers. His energy was still there. It felt incredible.

Her orgasm remained where it was, her body locked in place while the instructor thanked everyone and dismissed them. She had barely found herself when Sam and Trisha approached.

“So?” Trisha asked, her face rosy and glowing.

Sam eagerly answered, “That was a lot of fun.”

“Ok, you were right,” Audrey admitted, eyelids half-drooped. “It was… informative.”

“Such an Audrey answer,” Trisha jabbed.

“I see why you like it.”

As Sam retrieved their clothes, Trisha mouthed, “With Chance? Oh. My. God.”

Audrey’s eyes slid shut as she reflexively licked her lips.

Sam and Trisha were dressed when she reopened them. Shaking her head, she hurried to catch up.

“I’ll see you two later, I’ve got a couple batteries to drain,” Trisha said as she offered a fist-bump to each of them.

Audrey pulled Sam in to whisper in his ear, “I need you to fuck me like crazy.”

“Now?”

“I can wait as long as it takes, but not a second longer.”

Their walk home was quick, but not hurried. Every look between them had a perceptible charge. They didn’t talk, but they held hands for the first time in ages. They only let go to strip each other once they reached their bedroom, but the silence held.

Audrey pressed her lips to Sam’s with a fire she didn’t know she had anymore. Their lips moved so slow, they were practically motionless. Their fingers held each other’s bodies with newfound grace, an appreciation for the touch itself. Every contact felt like warm honey and moved so much slower.

The orgasm she possessed but never had remained exactly where it had been, no weaker for waiting.

Audrey stepped backward, falling onto the bed, and pulling his weight onto her body.

“I want you inside me like never before.”

He entered her quickly, but her hands caught his hips in their first stroke.

“Just deep. Stay there. Look at me.”

Staring up at him, losing herself in the eyes she loved, she could feel him all over. Outside, inside, all her nerves still standing on end to absorb him. Her orgasm burned red hot, pulsing, threatening to break free. Her body tensed, shaking, trying to hold it back. One more second, then another.

She pressed her lips to his and let her body relax. Her every nerve exploded at once. A ferocious moan ripped through her throat. Her back arched violently against the bed. Her body clenched hard around him, tighter and tighter, squeezing him until his face practically melted.

His body pulsed back. Hips quivering. Weak. Heat filling her. A delayed groan that sounded like exhaustion.

“Aud, my god,” he said when he finally came to his senses. “I guess I was a little excited still. Ha.”

“That brunette fill your head with dirty thoughts?”

“Oh, she gave me lots of ideas, for you,” he said in defense.

“Did you at least give her an orgasm as a thank you?”

“I was trying not to, which, felt harder than trying to. It was weird.” Sam’s eyes widened in a pointed glare. “I heard yours though. I was proud.”

“Ha.” Audrey shook her head. “That was just all the stress leaving my body.”

“So, an orgasm. I’m not judging. Not complaining. Whatever you did, he did, I can’t argue with the result. What even was that?”

“It was a long time coming and you just felt so good.”

“You always do, my god, but that– You just pulled it right out of me.”

Audrey turned away, blushing, giving him a teasing push on the shoulder.

“Would you… do it again…?”

“Probably.”

“Really? Miss I-Don’t-Know-About-This-It-Sounds-Weird…”

“I’m as surprised as you are, but, I feel like it, unlocked, something, in me. Maybe there’s more?”

“I can talk to Trisha, see when they meet.”

“Mmm, later. Please. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”