u/AllHandsOnBex

Synopsis: A rare book dealer tracks down the owner of a book’s magical contents.

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Harry didn’t know what to expect when he entered her office. He didn’t know what to say either, only that a lot needed to be said.

And she looked like she didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I think I have something that belongs to you,” he said, thrusting the aged book toward her.

From behind her desk, she gave it a cursory look. “That doesn’t look familiar to me.”

“It’s about what’s inside.”

“Ok…”

Harry lost whatever nerve he might have had. Having this book was bad enough. The sheer amount he’d stared at it. Now he had to look her in the face and tell her. “I… hmmm… how can I put this…?”

Annoyance crept into her voice. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not–”

“I’m not selling anything–far from it–I’m trying to return something of yours that I am not sure you’re even aware exists.”

Her expression hardened. “I am too busy for this right now. Please leave,” she said, dropping her attention to the papers spread over her desk.

“Wait! One second. Please!”

She looks up, shaking her head in exasperation.

“Do I have permission to touch you?” he dares to ask.

“Touch me?! OUT!” she shouts back, standing up and slamming her hands on her desk.

He retreats a couple steps as he fidgets with the book, opening it and juggling it to face her.

“What the fuck?” she utters. Her eyes flick from the pages to his face and back.

“Tell me it looks, um, familiar.”

Her eyes narrow, watching him closely as she gestures for him to approach.

“If you… clench your thighs, or… shift on your heels…”

“Excuse me?” She cocked an eyebrow, but dropped her eyes to the book again. She shimmied in place. “Oh! Hm. Where did you get this?” Her tone turned sharp as her eyes pierced his.

“Touch it.”

Her face recoiled, her eyes still not knowing where to look. Her hand slowly raised, a finger tentatively extending toward the page, hovering over it while she tried to decide. It landed with a tap and her body jumped off the ground. “Ohhh. Well…” The blue skin of her cheeks turned purple with blush as she stared into the open pages.

“Are you interested now?”

She tried to recompose herself. It’s not every day that a strange man comes to her office with an old book that contains a portal to her genitals. How embarrassing that he’d seen them–that he’d possessed them–without her knowledge, before ever meeting her or knowing her name. Unsettled, she fell back in her chair.

“Yes. I’m sorry. Come in, sit down.”

He set the book on her desk, open, her blue vulva shining upward from the pages, moving with every shift in her seat.

Pulling up a chair, he let out a breath that sounded like it had been kept all day. “You have no idea how relieved I am to find you. It wasn’t easy, but you can understand why I thought this was important.”

“First off, this is yours,” his finger nudged the book closer to her. “As much as I’d love to keep the book. The rest of it. Without the– um, without the… you. I’m in the used book trade, sorry, I should have maybe led with that. Harry Anselman, Anselman & Sons Rare Books.”

“Ramie Rothbard, um, tax accountant.”

“You know Alice Pemberton? She’s ours.” He still seemed nervous, twitchy. “Nevermind, weird to ask like you all know each other. So I got this in a lot from an auction, a collector liquidating–you know, tough trade right now–and I didn’t know what to do with it. I thought about destroying it, but… I don’t understand it. I was concerned if I set fire to it, it might–well, you know–be rather unpleasant for you. I figured whatever needs to be done about it probably starts with finding you.”

“Ah. Yikes. Right. Thanks for the consideration.” As nervous as he seemed, Ramie felt the same. Having a conversation with a stranger while her bits sat on display was uncomfortable to say the least. “How did you manage to do that, by the way?”

“So… I, uh, well–ahem–tried to get a sense of your routine.”

“By what, sitting there watching it?”

“More or less.”

“Wow.”

“Sorry if that’s weird.”

“It is, but that’s general, not your fault. It’s probably what you had to do.”

“It’s all I could think to do, yeah. Now I’ll warn you, it gets weirder, so stop me if–”

Her lips curled to one side. “I have bourbon in my desk.”

“If I can say, you’re talking this all really well. That thing messed with my head for months. Not ‘that thing,’ sorry, I don’t mean–”

“Relax. I know what you mean. Continue.”

“There’s obviously no attire visible, so that was a hurdle, although really, I am not sure how it would have helped much either.“

“Damn a girl for going commando, right?”

“Oh, that’s… actually… “ Harry lost himself in thought for a second. “Hm.”

“Too much information?”

“I think we’re likely beyond that.”

“Fair. Hang on…” She reached for the book, tipping it up and ducking behind it. She shifts in her seat, reaching her hand into her lap, watching her actions unfold on the pages. “Oh wow. Ok. Yeah, definitely beyond that.”

The book thudded flat on the desk, a glossy trail visible in the image. Panic flashed across her face she she wiped the page instinctively, feeling her touch on herself. “Oh, that’s weeeiiird–”

“Tell me about it.”

“I don’t think I have to.” Ramie tried to dismiss the thought with a chuckle, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d seen, whether he’d done more than look. A shiver rattled her spine.

Eager to tell his tale, Harry prattled on. “So I was pretty sure you worked a 9 to 5 and lived on this continent. Also you get waxed every third Monday–”

“Ok, bourbon time!” Reaching for her desk drawer, she looked up at him. “You want one?”

“Please, and sorry, there… wasn’t much for me to track, and that was an easy one.”

Pouring two glasses, her thin composure breaks. “Now I’m even more glad that elves don’t menstruate.”

“I… didn’t… even… think…”

“Would you see that? I can’t believe I’m going to ask, but can you, uh, see…”

Harry shrugged, looking like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Thank the gods,” she said, taking a deep breath as she tipped her glass back and quickly refilled it.

Harry worked on his drink at a much slower pace, mostly swirling it as he talked. “Well, when your hours got longer in April, I naturally thought of someone in finance or accounting, so I cross-checked offices with salons open early on Monday. Started with the handful in predominantly-elven neighborhoods.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Yeah, I thought that was my big break.”

“It wasn’t?” She leaned over the desk, suddenly swept up in his detective work. “I go right around the corner for mine.”

“I know that now but you try hanging around the outside of a salon, watching that”–he pointed to the book–”as a middle-aged white guy–especially in a blue elf neighborhood–and not getting a stern lecture.”

She laughed, tipping her head down, brushing her thumb over her brow. “Sorry. I had to picture that.”

Nodding, he finally let himself appreciate the humor too. He took a careful sip of his drink as the moment faded.

“The real break came three weeks ago, on a Tuesday. As close as I had gotten, it didn’t feel like I had anywhere to go. I still had probably hundreds of possibilities in this city alone, and no obvious way to narrow it down and stay on the right side of the law and my own ethics. So I wandered across the street to the pub–”

“Wait. Don’t tell me.” Her hands landed on her desk, sliding toward him. Her face brimmed with excitement. “Harrold’s?! I was there!”

“Harrold’s. You were there with Troy, who runs–”

“A gym!”

“–and who just so happens to be purple.”

“They prefer lilac–not to be pushy–”

“Sorry. Lilac and I promise I wouldn’t mention it were it not relevant, but let’s put a pin in that.”

“By the gods, you saw his cock! In the book! Later that night!” She was practically out of her chair, hanging on his every word, not realizing how close she was to falling out of her low neckline.

Harry tried his best to keep his eyes on his drink, but that’s tough work when presented with curves like hers. He’d wondered about the rest of her since he first laid eyes on the contents of the book and resisted its temptations, but seeing her shapely body hanging over the pages made his blood rush back to all the same places with a fresh intensity.

“Yeah, not like I recognized him by it or anything, but, the color obviously narrowed things down a lot. It was enough that I asked him about you the next day. I told him you looked very familiar and he said you were an accountant named Ramie.”

“Wow.”

“Turns out, I even had your office and salon on my big dumb list. I couldn’t believe it.”

“That’s so lucky. I guess he was worth bringing home, in retrospect.” Her grin disappeared in a blink, her face turning skeptical again. “But that was weeks ago. What have you been doing since?”

“Trying to figure out what to tell you. Two years of searching, not a single thought about what I’d say.”

“Huh. And then I almost kick you out when you’re on the brink.”

“It’s… yeah.”

She tried to hide her smirk behind another sip. “Sorry about that.”

“I had it coming.” His posture stiffened and his eyes danced around. “This morning, when you stumbled on the way from your appointment, um, that was me. Forgive my touch. I was trying to make it as unsexual as I could with limited options and I may have flicked a bit harder than I intended.”

“Gods. That’s actually hilarious.” Sitting back in her chair, watching him finish his drink, she wrangled her mix of feelings with a satisfied grin. As complicated as the situation was, Harry seemed like a decent man, if a little awkward. “You want another?”

“No. I should probably go. Today’s been weird enough for you, I am sure.”

As he started to get up, she bolted to her feet, hands on her desk. “You haven’t told me anything about how you found it though. What you know about it!”

“Oh, no. I told you all I know.” He gave a timid shrug, standing before her.

Her voice low and melodic, she tried to reel him back. “You’re not even a little interested in the entire rest of the mystery?”

“Interested, sure, but also just very fucking relieved. Tired. I think this might be it for me.”

“Would some elf cooking change your mind?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had elf.”

“Oh, you must. I insist.” The double meaning was too perfect an opportunity, but she worried she revealed too much. Her trickle of little white lies could end soon, now that the hard work of assessing this man was done. His charm was already growing on her, and it was time for hers to return the favor once she had the right setting.

Slamming the book closed, she tucked it under her arm and strode toward the door.

“Come on.”

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On the short walk to her condo, she got him talking about his quiet life running the family business, driven by his love of old books and the stories they contained in their souls as much as in their pages. He lit up talking about how finding her book revived his adoration for the detective novels of his youth.

By the time they sat down to eat, there was a flutter in her belly. It was time to tell her story. He had more than earned it, and if there was any hope for her, it started with the truth.

As his fork picked through a bouquet of sauteed mushrooms, sweet berries, and crisp greens drizzled in vinaigrette, she confessed, “That book isn’t a total surprise.“

“You looked pretty surprised.”

“I’ve never seen it. I didn’t think it could still exist, if it ever did…”

“I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“Yes, of course, sorry. I am getting ahead of myself. Seventy-some years ago, my matriculation impending, I sought a witch to aid with a certain… situation. I had a sweetheart, I guess you could call him, a human of similar maturity, and he unfortunately wasn’t able to come with me. I thought if we had a way to… maintain connection, despite the distance, that would be what we needed to get through it.”

“Mm, long-distance can be tough.”

“I wouldn’t know– We never got the– Anyway, the witch said she had just the thing. A, sort of… binding potion, that would– I don’t know, actually. It was so long ago and I don’t know that I even understood it at the time. But the idea was that it would open a sort of portal for us.”

“I see,” he said, crunching on another bite.

“I gave it to him when I left. It had instructions. It made it easier for me to leave, knowing we would have this thing and it would be like I never left, but I’d still get my education. The best of all worlds, right? I got more excited by the day, wondering when he’d finally pop it open and–I don’t know–jump out at me or something.

“I waited, I sent letters, I waited more but… I never got a reply. And there was no magic portal. The witch had my money and I had nothing. Just my studies, the few friends I made. And after a year or two, I gave up hope of ever seeing him again. I don’t think I’ve thought once about that damn potion until… today, I guess.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. That’s really disappointing. At that age, that’s… really a blow.”

“It is. And it isn’t. I probably should have seen it coming with him. And knowing I didn’t get scammed is something too, right?” She cocked her eyebrow as she savored a tiny bite and washed it down with a sip of sweet wine. “Even if the evidence sat collecting dust on some shelf for the better part of a century. I don’t think I need to tell you how appropriate that feels.”

“I–” Harry paused. “You might. Actually.”

“How many other times did you see, uh, whatever you saw, that night, with Troy?”

“Oh. Right.” He pricked another hearty mouthful with his fork and hoped his chewing would keep him from having to comment further.

She crossed her arms, leaning on her elbows, knowing the view she was giving him. “In all your watching, you never got curious? Tempted to touch or feel?”

A flush caught him mid-chew. “Um, respectfully, uh, of course. Curiosity, sure. When I first got it, I poked the–your– thigh. I pinched it and saw you react. But… once I realized it was attached to someone, no, I couldn’t. I felt bad even looking at it. It felt invasive. But… I felt like I had to. Same with the flick I gave you this morning. ”

“But you thought about it.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“I admire your restraint. Says a lot about your character.”

Harry shrugged. “Thanks.”

“I can’t help think it’s a bit of a shame though–the witch’s hard work going to waste like that.”

“I suppose. But you have it now. You could… um, do, whatever… with it… I guess.”

Ramie sat back, pulling the book into her lap, flipping it open, nodding pensively. “I could.” She tipped it onto the table and slid it between them, toward the side of the table. “Or… you could. Finally.”

“Me?” he asked with a mouth full of greens. He licked his lips and hurriedly finished chewing. “Why me?”

“Why not you? You bought it. You passed its tests. You solved its mystery.”

“Wait. Tests?”

“The portal has some protections. That’s probably why it went unnoticed for so long.”

Harry set his fork down. His eyes narrowed, inspecting her expression for clues, but a grin threatened the corner of his lips. “Why do I feel like there’s more you still haven’t told me?”

“Not much. And it’s nothing sinister, I promise.” Her fingers nudged the book closer to him, her eyes doing their best to convince him. “Right now, let’s just say I would like to get my money’s worth out of that potion. What do you say?”

“Here? Now?”

Nestling her chest on her arms, she unleashed a coy grin. She would normally be embarrassed to be so bold, but for the first time, she could see the larger picture. This time would be worth being so transparent.

“Call me curious.”

Harry collected himself then tugged the book closer by its corner. His hand hovered over the pages, falling slowly until his palm met her skin where paper should have been. She watched intently as his hand moved over her thigh and she felt it underneath her. It was uncanny but pleasant and her arousal was on a hair trigger.

His fingers arced over the backs of her thighs ever-nearer to where she wanted them. Tantalizingly close. The portal so locked to her center that no amount of shifting or wriggling in her chair could bring him there. Together they watched her bits turn new shades, swelling and dampening and silently begging.

He couldn’t help but smirk as her hips jolted, skidding her chair. Her eyelids twitching like her breath. Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. A moan perched on her lips, ready to break at first contact.

Try as she might, she couldn’t tear herself away from the view of him, of his fingers grazing the crease of her thigh, of her wetness pouring out on the page. It felt voyeuristic from this angle, disconnected despite the synchronicity of sight and sensation.

His fingertips touched her lips only hard enough to draw slick down them and subsequently off the page. Her breath double-hitched. They both looked in wonder as glassy strands met the air, stretching, thinning until they snapped.

“Harry…” her voice sang soulfully, “Please?”

Along her seam, his fingers went, barely parting her lips. Breath rolled slow and hot over her lip, her hips tensing out of sight, trying to chase his touch. The sensation was past the point of fairness. Too little and far too late.

Her crossed arms slid closer. Her body even farther, her tits escaping her neckline to spill lewdly onto the inches of cold table between her arm and the book. Her hardened nipples teased from over the edge of the pages, holding his gaze until her mouth reached his lower lip.

A peck. A nibble. A wet slide of her tongue from corner to corner, before darting between his lips. Then a whisper, “You know… I’ve always adored the sight of a man with his nose in a book…”

Her fingers released the table only to find their way behind her upturned backside, taking hold of her upper thigh.

On the page, her flesh unfolded before him. From so close, she could feel the heat of herself radiating through the portal, carrying a scent that never felt as fresh, as pure of desire.

As Harry licked his lips, dipped his chin, and extended his tongue, she held her breath.

Her eyes threatened to roll as his tongue landed with perfect pressure, flat across her lips, dragging a slow, wet line to her peak. When it hit, the breath rushed out of her in a moan. She inhaled sharply as his tongue left her again, holding it for his stroke, only for her body to shake it loose as he again reached her clit.

Watching from up close, hearing the texture of his wet tongue on her slick skin, feeling his breath from her face to her chest to her most sensitive parts made every sensation more visceral.

Without the leverage of her hips, the rest of her had more to do. Her arm slid from under her, her body flattening on the table, her face even closer to his work, the scent of her arousal thick in her nose. Placing it on his head, she guided his face higher on the page, adding more pressure as his lips found their place.

His tongue rocked back and forth over her. Her fist clenched his short hair. The table teetered in time with him as her hips fruitlessly rolled in the air behind her. For all times she’d cursed that witch, now finally she blessed her. Melodiously, in eager pants and heavy moans, in the rhythmic rattle of empty plates, her thanks poured out.

Catching her breath, she took his head in her hands, showing the same thankfulness in her eyes, and kissed him deeply. Her mouth hummed against his lips with the force of her entire body.

“Should we take this to my bedroom?”

Harry stiffened in his chair, blushing, feeling every speck of her cooling wetness on his cheeks and chin. “That feels a bit quick. For me. No offense, but we just met, and this was already quite a day and not how I expected it would turn out…” The fluster showed on his face.

“I am sure it felt like a whirlwind, and I am sorry for being so forward. It’s just…” Her fingertips scrubbed the mess on his face and she sat back in her chair. “It’s been a long time coming, is all.”

“No need to apologize. It’s been fun, really, and your cooking was really a treat. Things like this–” He thought for a second as he rose to his feet. “They don’t happen to me. You know?”

Ramie smiled, cleaning her fingers in her mouth. “Another time, then?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“You know where to find me,” she said with a chuckle.

Harry chortled back, shaking his head. “And that has been my pleasure.”

As he stepped toward the door, she got up to follow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I… don’t… think–”

Her head tipped toward his side of the table, where the book sat open.

“Oh! Oh no. That’s yours. If I wasn’t clear–”

“You were,” Ramie said, flipping it closed and scooping it in her arm. She thrust it toward him with a smirk. “And I think you should hang onto it.”

“Me?”

“For now, yeah. Bring it back sometime.” She leaned in to kiss him again, sandwiching the hefty book between their chests. “Anytime you like.”

Synopsis: One might think we’re a bunch of sex-addled degenerates but it works well for us.

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I feel rough when I wake up. It’s late morning, not that it really matters.

I finish the room-temperature bottle of yellow Gatorade on the nightstand, taking a couple of ibuprofen with the last swig. There’s no sign of the boy I brought home, which is honestly fine.

I give my body a good stretch and grab a black tee on my way out.

Passing Tess’s room, I hear her put-on moans blend with the music filtering through the door. She’s already working, every incoming tip sounding the distinct chime.

The sink in the bathroom is running, and I pop my head in, noticing in the mirror that my shirt is riding my hips, leaving me slightly exposed. That too doesn’t really matter. We’re all nearly as comfortable with each other as we are with ourselves.

“Morning. You see a guy around?” I ask.

Jer spits out a mouthful of toothpaste foam. “Uh uh. Sorry.” He’s in khakis and a button-down, ready for another day of research at the university.

“It’s cool. Have a good day.” I wander down the stairs, watching Greg scroll through videos on the television from his middle spot on the couch.

“You missed Morning Porning,” he says. It sounds absolutely degenerate, I know, but watching porn together while eating breakfast is somewhat of a tradition in this house. After all, sex is what brought us all together. It pays most of the bills too, in one way or another. “I’ve got time for a double feature though.”

“Let me grab something. Hey, you see a guy?”

“Briefly, yeah, few hours ago. I think we scared him off.”

“Wouldn’t be the first,” I snicker under my breath as I head into the kitchen. “Morning, Kit.”

Kit turns with a crooked grin, holding out the coffee pot. She’s wearing a loose, off the shoulder top and yoga shorts. Her dark curls are wet and pinned in a pile on her head, highlighting the buzzed section on one side.

“Good night?” she asks, her head dipping toward my legs.

I notice the half-dried streak on my thigh as she reaches for a dish rag and hands it to me. I wipe it up and pour coffee into my prized “I ❤️ SLUTS” mug. I scratch the back of my head and blow across the steam. “Show was good. Met a guy. It was–you know–fine. I think he was too tired. You?”

“My workshop at Bliss went really well. We had 40 people!” Kit is a sex educator, mostly working through blogs and workshops and podcast appearances. She’s been much busier since her book got published this summer. “I was supposed to have a date after, and, I kinda did, I guess…”

“Didn’t go well?”

She makes a show of rolling her eyes and giving a lengthy shrug.

“Yeah, I–” I pause as Jer strides past me, putting his hands on Kit’s hip and leaning in to kiss her. I guess that is a thing, again. With them, it was always a matter of time. They always drifted to and from each other with no rhyme of reason, never really breaking up, but never really getting together formally. While I understood it, it seemed exhausting.

He fills his travel mug with coffee and waves, “I’m out.”

“See ya, Jer,” Kit and I say in unison.

I pour a bowl of cereal, glaring at her with a raised eyebrow the entire time, and she grins back.”

“Jer, uh… consoled me.”

“I bet he did,” I say, walking away.

Cereal and coffee in hand, I plop down next to Greg on the couch, recognizing the thumbnail of what he’s chosen. “You have exceptional taste.”

He jokes as he starts the video, “One of many reasons you keep me around.”

“What was the feature this morning?” I ask with my mouth full.

“New Kiera and Benny. He cooks her dinner. Licks her pussy while she eats a really good looking chocolate cake. Bunch of positions. Doggystyle creampie.”

“Nice! Sad I missed it. They’re always fun.”

Greg is our porn connoisseur, among–as he said–many other things. In many ways, he’s the stereotype of a middle-aged gooner, filling most of his idle time curating an enviable selection of movies. His knowledge is encyclopedic.

He’s a really great, really fun dude who has more domestic skills than the rest of us combined. Boyishly handsome too–if that’s your thing–despite being the oldest of us, and in good physical shape too. He also really likes porn.

The one on TV starts with two couples on a picnic, but before I’m out of cereal, they’re already hooking up on the table–one on the bench, one on top. Their noises–which were mic-ed and mixed extremely well, per Greg–fill the room, drowning out me slurping the milk from my bowl.

Next to me, he’s knuckling his bulge through his shorts.

One might think we’re a bunch of sex-addled degenerates for watching porn on a big screen and surround-sound speakers on a weekday morning. A hedonistic pariah to our quaint subdivision deep in the uptight suburbs. But we found something that works for us, with people who agree.

We all have jobs. We pay our bills. Our lawn is the best on the block thanks to Greg. And we’re trouble- and drama-free, at least with respect to the outside world. We’re harmless.

The action on-screen builds from slow and sensual to spirited, with one girl (a favorite of mine) riding her partner’s lap, while the other man slams his hips against his partner on the edge of the table.

“Damn, Greg, right back to it!” Tess teases as she comes down the stairs, her hair and make-up still pristine.

“Late sleeper over here insisted,” he hooks a thumb in my direction. “Slow morning upstairs?”

Tess flops on the couch, to Greg’s left. “I needed a break. Already sore, which doesn’t bode well for my evening agenda.” She tips back her oversized insulated tumbler of water then tucks it between her crossed legs.

“You too? I’ve needed a good pounding since yesterday,” I say, spreading out in my corner of the couch.

“Ladies,” Greg begins melodramatically. “I am right here.”

“You’re too big for what I need.” I shoot him a playful glare. “I need a small-dick pounding. Not small, really, but– you know, small-er-ish.”

“If you get it, can you try not to yelp like a seagull? That’s not the soundtrack I want for my date tonight.”

“It’s more like a sea lion–arf arf arf,” Greg interjects, enjoying recreating the sound a little too much.

I lean further away from him, crossing my arms on my chest. “You just put yourself out of contention for at least a day.” Greg being on sex-timeout was a running joke with all of us. We’d all been with him, but it wasn’t a regular enough occurrence for the joke to mean a whole lot.

Turning back to Tess, I can’t help but pry. “So what’s this big agenda? Who’s the date?”

She slumps toward the far end of the couch. “It’s… Caleb, from Sweet Buns.”

“The hot guy from the bakery?!” I shout, nearly jumping out of my seat. “Bold move bringing such a sittable face here…”

“Hands off! And more than just your hands–the rest of you too!”

I feign innocence, but feel suddenly flushed. I have to give her credit–I think all the girls have shot that particular shot multiple times to no avail. “How much is there, so far?”

“We, uh, jogged in the park a couple of times. Friendly, but not, uh… yeah, nothing yet. Tonight we’re doing dinner.”

“Does he know what you do?” On top of being generally isolating, dating is one of the harder aspects of her work. Opinions are polarized and the way you’re viewed in society can turn on a dime once people know.

“No. Tonight… if it is going well… we’ll see.”

“More importantly,” Greg says with his usual flair. “Does he know about us?”

Tess laughs. “I’ll warn him before I bring him inside.”

“If he’s not cool with it, you could always send him my way. Unless he’s got a thing against froyo, or like…” My fingers dance in the air in front of me, my awkward way of referencing my own messy existence that would take several doctoral theses to unpack.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been trying to find my place in the world since I became emancipated at 16, both aided and frustrated by my special blend of neurospicy that I lack the health insurance to assign a label to. But at least this house is mine and it’s filled with the best people I could imagine.

“How about you? Divorcee again?”

Aside from Kit and Jer’s reliably-unreliable thing, Greg was the only one who had an ongoing relationship, if you can call it that. From the outside, it seems like more of a sugar momma arrangement, but none of us are interested in judging.

His eyes break from the scene unfolding on the television. “Yeah, I’m going to her place after work. I’ll be back by early morning. She’s gotta pick up her kids for the weekend.”

I’m happy for my roommates, but knowing I’m the only one without a plan to get laid tonight doesn’t feel great. The last time that happened, I got carried away at a bar down the road and went home with a couple to help them unlock a degree of jealousy they didn’t know they had. Lesson learned.

“I should get ready for work,” Greg says, before turning to us each in turn. “Last call? Anyone?”

I consider it, then get distracted by what I think that says about me. It’s nothing about Greg. It’s the desperation in taking him up on what’s ostensibly a joke. I might be harder-up than I thought.

The tiny gray pills my doctor gave me for anxiety would take it away in a flash. On the other hand, the yellow ones would make what I already want feel even better. They’re supposed to counter the libido-killing side effects of the gray ones, but there’s a reason I go through them faster. They’re more fun. And one might just give me the kick in the ass I need to make something happen.

Half a yellow now, the other half–hopefully–when I get home.

I shower and throw on a cute outfit, one suitable for the August heat and won’t leave me needing another shower before work, then I head into town with my work clothes in my back seat, parking near the froyo shop where I’m due a couple of hours from now. The outdoor mall is the closest thing to a social scene one can find on a Saturday afternoon.

It’s a long-shot, but it’s better than sitting around at home. I’m able to scoop up a carton of fresh strawberries from the waning farmers’ market next door. Half price. From a strapping man with a prominent tanline where a wedding band would otherwise be. I think about him as I sit on a bench in the commons, enjoying the berries and a boba while scanning the crowd, my ruffled linen mini skirt bouncing on my leg.

I’m content to soak up the sun, enjoying the fresh air and my basket of perfectly-sweet, juicy strawberries. Time ticks away until I resign myself to wrestling into my change of clothes in the backseat of my car.

I start to notice the yellow pill’s effects. The warm flush. The quickened pulse. The soft swell in my underwear, brushed by the seam of my workpants on my walk to the store. The dry mouth too.

The froyo place is adequate for most of my needs, offering a flexible schedule and enough hours to keep my bills paid, but it’s the worst place for the task at hand, unless I suppose if I were still in high-school. Further, it’s about the worst place to have a raging clit boner and I spend my whole shift feeling like it might burst out of my pants hulk-style.

I realize the faults in my plan when I slip into the back room and tug at the front of my underwear to pull it tight, sending a tingle through me that nearly sends me to the floor. A full-on front wedgie is a small price to pay for such a sweet (and inappropriate) burst of dopamine.

The direness of my situation becomes clearer as my shift wears on. It’s only getting later and I’m no closer to what I want. I find myself filling idle minutes by scrolling through the section of my contacts where every name begins with “DO NOT CALL”. The bevy of apps redownload themselves and reactivate my accounts by the time I’m walking up to my front door.

God. 10pm with no plan. How did it come to this?

I can feel that I’m about to get into some mess. It’s clear from the notifications filling my screen. The mess is coming for me, harkened by Nudges, Likes, Hearts, Messages.. My only hope is to be struck down where I stand.

I open the door to see Jer and Kit on the loveseat. Then Tess and hot guy on the couch, along with another guy. Tess smirks when she sees me, and her eyes flick toward the stranger. “Hey! This is the roommate I was telling you guys about.”

The guy stands up, shooting his hand toward me. “Lionel.”

It takes me a minute for my brain to catch up, and by then, I’m between Lionel and the end of the couch, and wishing it was a different piece of furniture he was squishing me against.

It isn’t only my hormones, though they have a way of shading everything favorably, but he is cute. His tight jeans suit his slim build and his aftershave is a welcome change from the ExcitaBerry that has dominated the shop ever since its introduction to our menu.

The usual sort of chit-chat is lost on me. He plays rec league something with Hot Guy–Caleb–and they went to school together somewhere. None of it really matters. How much of a set-up this was doesn’t matter either. I’m not sure what Tess told him, but I’m thankful she did.

By this point, she’s practically on Caleb’s lap and his hands have meticulously mapped her from ribs to hips, now moving on to her thigh. I can’t help a bit of envy at the attention, watching every move from the chaste half of the couch.

“We can, uh, make some room,” Kit says, standing up and pulling Jer behind her. “Nice meeting you all.”

Their footsteps toward the stairs are all the signal Tess needs to turn toward Caleb and begin kissing him. Lionel and I search for things to say, but it’s clear that particular well is drying up fast.

“I need to get out of these work clothes. I don’t know if you can smell it, but if I get another whiff of ExcitaBerry, I’m going to lose it,” I tell Lionel as I get up. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I glance back and see him still watching me. Nonchalantly, I offer, “You can come.”

I’m at the top of the stairs by the time I hear him following.

I begin stripping at the threshold of my room, burying my ugly purple tee in a basket of laundry just inside, hoping it contains the cloying scent. My pants are halfway down my ass when I realize he stopped in my doorway. I laugh quietly and continue until the pants are buried as well.

Turning back to him in my underwear–a pretty, but ultimately non-exciting lime-and-creme cotton combo–I finally ask him, “Are you still deciding whether to come in?”

I shed the remaining pieces before he answers.

“I wasn’t sure, if we were, going back… out…” He loses his motivation to continue speaking, then bursts forward, his voice frantic. “Oh, I’m sorry, the door, I was–”

As he begins to shut it, I interrupt, “I don’t care. Nothing they haven’t seen. I’m sure they’re all too busy to notice anyway.”

Just then, I see Tess and Caleb coming down the hall, turning into her room. Sounds from Kit’s room start to break out. Muffled voices. Rhythmic movement. A gasp here and there.

“Reminds me of the dorms,” Lionel says, looking sheepish. “Seems like you’re all pretty… comfortable.”

“You have no idea, but it’s nothing, like, weird. If you were worried.” I realize he’s trying to avoid looking too long at me standing naked in the middle of my room. “Cool if I just stay like this?”

“Yeah. Of course. Sure. No problem.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. Whatever Tess might have told him, he wasn’t ready for this.

“I can throw something on, if you want, but I just sort of figure it’s a matter of time, right?”

“Am I that obvious?” He steps slowly to my bed and sits on the edge like he’s afraid it’ll eat him.

I wonder how he could feel obvious while still being fully clothed. His whole vibe is cute, but it’s going to get old fast. I put my hands on my hips and make a scene of looking him up and down. “I’m just that confident.”

The rest of the yellow pill from earlier sits on the edge of my desk. I think he’s too distracted by my body to notice me grab it and toss it back. I’m happy to let him look for a minute longer if that’s what it takes for him to settle in.

A heavy groan sounds from Tess’s room. Hot Guy is getting the Tess treatment without delay. Lionel’s attention snaps to the shared wall, his expression going blank.

“Jealous?” I ask.

“Sorry?”

“Of that,” I gesture toward the wall, only for the sound of wet claps and sharp moans to break through the opposite wall–Kit’s room. “Or that.” The stereo effect is strong, the rhythms almost matching. “I am.”

“Oh, ok, I see.”

I’m not sure that he does.

“What are you waiting for then, Miss That Confident?”

Maybe I was wrong. He looks smug about his little jab.

“You’re still dressed. You’re wearing shoes. Like you don’t even want it.”

He unties them and kicks them off, then stands to finish the job while Kit demonstrates her vocal range through thin drywall. “Is it like this all the time, or–”

“Not all the time.” I decide he doesn’t need to know any more than that.

As his boxers come off, I see what I am working with. He catches me smiling, thinking he knows why. The truth isn’t exactly what he thinks, but the result should be the same.

Holding up a condom, he asks, “Will I be needing this?”

“I have my own that I prefer, if that’s alright, but we won’t need them for a while. Lie down.” I watch from afar as he does, making a slight correction. “Scoot lower so I can ride your face.”

“No kissing?”

“After.” I push his shoulders flat and straddle above his face. “My clit’s been begging for a mouth all day.”

“Would you be more comfortable–”

“First one is to teach you how I like it.”

“Ok.”

I grip the top of my headboard with one hand, the top of his head with the other, and sink down until I find his lips. His tongue juts out against my hole. “Flat. Over your lower lip. Yessss, like that. Perfect.”

Pressing myself hard against his tongue, I feel exactly what I’d been craving, what that front-wedgie at work only provided the barest facsimile of.

His tongue starts to wiggle.

“No, no, leave it there. Right…” I take a heavy breath, my body melting with the exhale. “...there.”

Already on the brink, I could let him take over. Anything he’d do would get the job done, I am sure, but I am giving a lesson I hope to cash in again, by morning at the latest, and the details will matter more then. I pull my hips back until the tip of his tongue is at my peak, then slowly push them back until I’m on his upper lip. Back and forth, steady pressure, my slick taking over for his drying saliva until his tongue is coated in me.

“You can curl your tongue a little,” I tell him as I speed up, longing for that little bump at the end of each stroke that honestly makes it hard not to cum and only grows more tempting with repetition.

It hits me just right. Dead center. I’m reeling, knuckles as white on the headboard as they are in his hair. My words come out frantic, more air than voice. “Now suck it. Yes. Harder. Fuck. Harder.”

My body tenses and, for the first time I’m happy he goes off script. His tongue flicks me mercilessly, held between his lips. My sweet, precious, adorable little clit treated like a speed bag in the corner of a gym. He keeps going like a pro–focused, never losing his timing–as I break.

I moan from low in my gut, but it’s breathy and frayed around the edges. It’s the kind of orgasm that appears everywhere in my body at once, rather than starting in a singular bundle of nerves. The kind you think about for days after and tell your friends about to make them jealous.

“Ok, ok, ok…” I say as I come off the peak, myself unsure of whether I mean for him to let me down easy or keep going. He decides on the latter, pushing me to another peak that catches me unprepared and announces itself to the house as a shout.

“Ooookayyyy.” This time, my palm sits on his forehead, holding him there as my hips retreat. His tongue tries to lick his wide grin clean, but can’t quite reach it all. “Um, you wanna just fuck me now?” I ask with breath trembling in my chest.

“Uh, yeah! I’d– Yeah!”

“Everything else, that can come later. I wanna get fucked.” My hand shakes as it reaches for the ceramic trinket box on my nightstand. The lid chatters as I open it to retrieve a condom and again as I try to set it back in place.

“Are you ok?”

“Mmm, never better.” I grin, my ass thumping to the bed next to him while he works the package open.

“Is there a position–”

“On my back, legs up. All the way up. Knees on sheets.”

Exactly what I’d told Tess and Greg earlier. Exactly what I spent the rest of the day imagining. I knew I’d yelp like a sea bird or mammal–whichever it was this iteration of teasing–and I really didn’t care. I was in position, and from the look on his face, he enjoyed the view.

Setting into position, he looks up at me like he’s waiting for something.

“You seem to, um, very much know what you want, so I thought I’d save myself the embarrassment of doing the wrong thing.”

I’m charmed by it, though I know I shouldn’t be. Something like this should be the standard, shouldn’t it? “Fast. Hard. Aim riiiiiiiight here,” I say, tapping two fingers low on my mound, “If you get it right, you’ll know.”

He nods, trying not to laugh as he lines himself up.

“Fair warning, it’s going to absolutely piss off my roommate.”

“Which one?”

“Tess.”

He cranes his neck for a second. “From the sound of it, I think she’ll be fine.”

“Come here,” I say, realizing how skewed my rigid agenda had been–my scarcity mindset at work.

My fingers hook his neck and pull him onto me. His hands follow, landing on my tits as we kiss. Thankfully, he’s a good kisser, and his fingers seem enamored with my nipple piercings. I moan into his mouth as he gives one a gentle pull and rolls my flesh over the bar.

His lips drop to my chin and peck along my jaw, all the while his boner is taunting me, sliding between my lips as he shifts atop me. Down my neck he goes, and my fingers slide down his chest, feeling every bump of his ribs. I twist one of his nipples as his mouth reaches mine, his tongue swirling wide around my peak.

He sucks it into his mouth, his lips tugging the barbell when he withdraws. His grin beams down at me.

“Happy now?”

“Uh huh,” he says smugly.

“Now you’re gonna fuck me. Exactly… like… I–” I feel him start to enter before my sentence finishes. I’m silly already. That stupidness that washes away your thoughts and brings your entire attention to that sweet breach of sticky wet skin. The firm pressure against the very spot you pointed to.

I fight through it, never to be made a starfish, wrapping my arms around my own legs and his torso, drawing light scratches down his sides.

“Mmm,” he says, eyes rolling back but still sparkling, biting his lip like a good boy enjoying a treat that’s better than he expected.

“You feel good too,” I purr into his ear, making his breath hitch.

“Thank you,” he replies. I’m certain he’d be blushing if his face weren’t already rosy. Concentration floods his face as his hips work. My hips roll to add pressure, to land his strokes right where I want them. “Like that?”

“Mmmmyes. That’s– Oh!, uh huh…” My breath gets away from me, my hips taking over for his, but his join me, hopping in like we’re playing double dutch–only its a slow, brutal grind. “Uh huh, uh huuuuuh!”

“God, you’re sexy.”

My tongue flicks out, falling to the corner of my lips, where my teeth take hold of it. My toes tap the sheets on either side of my head with each stroke, my knees trying to make it over the curve of my shoulders. Not quite. Almost.

If I roll my hips a little, and he snaps into me, I’ll be there.

Not that I mind. The brink is already teasing me. I can have it if I want.

“How is that feeling?” he asks, grinning over me.

A quiet little yelp sneaks out. “Good. Oh! Really good.” My fingers tense, pulling his skin tight, sinking harder into his back. I try to relax into it but my body wants to curl up off the bed and wrap itself entirely around him. If his hands weren’t holding me down by the tits, it probably would.

My hands slide down to his hips and push them back, using the leverage to raise my hips further. Bullseye.

My hands slap to the bed, my eyes rolling all the way back with a punchy moan. What I want isn’t every girl’s desire–it’s not even mine, most of the time–but it’s all I could think about today and his cock is too perfectly-proportioned for me to let the opportunity sneak away.

Breathless, I try to get my point across, only the direct pressure on my spot is sabotaging my brain and body at once. “Now… hammer…”

His hips snap forward and I let out a yelp. I know it’s the one they tease me about and I really fucking don’t care. I’m not thinking about them or anything else right now. Just that spot. This angle. The satisfying slap of his body on the bottom of my ass and the back of my thighs.

My toes curl, gripping the sheets, pulling them taunt to my knees as they bounce deeper and deeper into the mattress, straining its springs like they haven’t felt in too fucking long. My palms flat on his chest, using his weight to roll me back further, up harder into his pummeling.

Springs and the bed’s frame squeak and groan, tested by his vigor, by my insistence. The sopping wet clap of flesh echoes obscenely, unapologetically down the hall and back at me. My body clenches when I think of how delightfully sore I’ll be in the morning, how completely fucked-out my brain will be.

Yelps pour out of me as fast and hard as he slams into me. As obnoxious as they are, they only seem to spur him on, and his gritty, tight grunts are doing the same to me. With each stroke, comes a sharp gasp for air, just enough to land the next one.

All my tension moves to one spot, leaving my body loose and relaxed except for my grip around him.

“Oh-my-god… how-are-you… so-fucking-tight?”

A big, stupid, lazy grin forms around my useless little breaths, my outbursts taking more than their share of my dwindling capacity. The scene is chaotic but I rarely feel so peaceful, riding the high of getting everything I wanted.

“I don’t… think… I-can-last… much…”

Wordlessly, I respond. A soft, easy moan that says all he needs to hear.

I let my hips drop, taking his strokes deeper. His balls drum against me. A hitch catches his breath and doesn’t let go. He shudders and sinks himself as deep as he can, letting out a groan that makes me glow from my chest.

Slumping to the bed next to me, his hand traces mindless shapes on my belly as my body goes flat. The house is silent, save for the AC running. The rush of every labored breath rushes in my ears.

He managed a low drawl, “That was not what I expected to happen tonight.”

“Hope that’s ok. Because it’s exactly what I needed.” The afterglow giggles rise in my chest, adding to the shakes and tremors shooting through my nerves.

“I should hope so. You were pretty clear.” His glare feels pointed, but light.

“Sorry…”

“No need. It was refreshing to know, actually. Takes some of the pressure off.”

“It tends to be the only way I actually get what I want, so… yeah.”

“I had fun! I mean… I’m having fun.”

“Oh, so you’re still got something more?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“For the morning, at least.” He chortles only to catch himself. “If that’s–”

“I very much like it in the morning.”

“So that’s… the plan?”

“Can be. If you wanna stay. You’re welcome to.” I roll over, draping my arm on his chest, watching the flush fade from his face. “Mornings here… can be–I don’t want to say weird– They can be a lot. We’re all very comfortable, so you’re going to see everyone fresh out of bed, super casual, having breakfast.”

“That’s cool.”

“Don’t be surprised if there’s porn on the tv. It’s just for like, background. While we have breakfast and coffee.”

“Porn?”

“Yeah, but something chill. Nothing crazy. And we only have one shower, so be warned, that will be a whole thing. It usually doesn’t take too long to work through the roster though.”

“Alright,” he says with a huff, clearly trying to process it all on top of everything else this evening. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nah. We’re a friendly bunch. You’ll be taken care of, but we also won’t judge if it’s… not for you.”

“Gotcha.”

“Still up for it?”

With a laugh, he says, “I’m honestly super curious now. Add it to the list.”

“There’s a list?”

“Have you already forgotten all of the things you ‘after’-ed?”

A giggle escapes and I turn red. “Ah… sorry. I promise I don’t always have such a one-track mind. But, um…” My fingers stand up on his chest, nails lightly scratching. “It’s after now. If you still want.”

Synopsis: An elf princess runs away to find an orc who can help solve her problem.

Image 16

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The village was exactly as Aeona had heard it described–modest in scale and appearance, a place where all folk were welcome. Humans, fae, goblins, dwarves, elves like herself, and most importantly to her–the orc whose services she sought.

His blacksmith shop was near the end of the main stretch, past a few dozen storefronts and vendors with carts. It was less impressive than what she had imagined. A patchwork metal roof hung over a workbench. An oven sat on one side, flanked by a raised bed of coals and a rack of iron tools.

She watched its sole craftsman, a large-bodied male orc, from a comfortable distance. The oven’s orange glow danced over his green skin as the sun’s rays faded in the distance. Her whole life, she had been told in no uncertain terms that meeting an orc would mean a gruesome, torturous end, but the growth of villages like this offered another story.

“Good day, sir,” she said, stopping short of the overhang.

The orc glanced over his shoulder at her, grunted, and returned to his task of shaping something on the bench. “What Elf want?”

“A gold ring.”

“Teg no gold.”

Aeona stepped closer, her voice going softer. “I have the gold.”

“Elf work gold. Teg not.”

She had expected this to be easier. Being an elf came with certain advantages, attributes that other folk desired, a reputation that they respected. Only her own Elders ever refused her, though they did it enough to make up for a lifetime of the world acquiescing to her will.

“I need it made captive in my flesh. No elf will do that. But orcs–”

“Teg not do. Find human.”

“Can I ask why not? I’ve come a long way for your skill.”

Whether it was her innate charm or simply her persistence, Teg put aside his work, placing his palms flat on the table, and looked her in the face. “Pierce sacred to orc. Must earn. Pierce tell story.”

“I have stories,” Aeona said, her petulance beginning to show.

Teg’s expression was stoic, his delivery gruff. “Not orc story.”

“How do you know if you haven’t heard them?”

“Why Elf want pierce?”

“To free me from what binds me. A purposeful desecration of my body.”

Teg shook his head. “Escape duty, bad story.”

“If you let me tell it, I promise it would make sense–”

“Teg not do,” he said, turning toward the oven.

“Who are you to judge an elf princess?!” Aeona’s tone and volume reached a level only the most antagonistic of her siblings were familiar with. “Where are all your piercings, your stories?!”

Teg’s arm thumped onto the table, rattling his tools, as he leaned in and cocked his head, exposing an ear lined with holes. He rumbled quietly, “Gone.”

Such a thing could only mean personal regret or some manner of punishment. Neither seemed appropriate to interrogate further. Aeona’s posture slipped, her voice falling with it. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Long time.”

Losing her temper while his remained steady was a worse humiliation than what orcs normally offered. Those involved death. Eventually. And perhaps this one would too, if her next word was anything but “farewell”.

Best to say nothing, Aeona thought.

The dirt crunched under her feet as she turned to slink away.

“Elf Princess sit, tell story. Teg work.”

She half-expected a heavy metal implement to greet her when she pivoted, but there was only his weighty hand, blackened with grime, gesturing to the chair beside his workbench.

“Ok. Where to start,” she said, meekly settling into the oversize wooden chair. Her voice wavered, timid in its own melody. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m old for an elf princess, and so far down the line of succession that I’m practically a commoner. By the time The Elders finally thought to marry me off, the list of suitable matches was basically blank.”

Teg grunted his acknowledgement as his hand worked a file back and forth across a large iron hook. Shavings built on the surface below, twinkling from the glow of the fire.

Aeona caught herself getting distracted by his precise motions, his careful inspection. It had always been craftsmen who caught her eye, and despite their differences, he was no exception.

“The Council had just settled a matter regarding a dubious claim of royal blood–an absolute twerp, even for an elf, an abject void of personality as frail in mind as he is in body. He was so desperate to marry into an established royal line that he accepted the most paltry match they thought they could get away with. Me. Two matters off their docket in one gilded signature.”

Another grunt came paired with a nod. His hand swept the filings into a small bowl, which he set on the table. He lifted the hook to his face, scrutinizing every flat and curve, then set it back down with a heavy thud.

“There are few things a princess can do to disqualify herself from marriage. A piercing from an orc would do it, considering… history. For my purposeful act, I’ll exile myself for a thousand years, which is a blessing in itself, and the whole ordeal will be forgotten in a week by anyone that matters.”

He spat on his thumb, dipped it in the bowl of filings, then worked it against a small blemish on the piece, so meditative that she wondered if he was even listening anymore.

“I’m sorry for being so persistent. And losing my temper. I’ve never met an orc before.”

Teg stood up from his bench to grab a long tool, hanging the hook from it, and holding it over the coals. With his back turned, she could see scars criss-crossing down his broad, muscled back. A patch of uneven flesh sat just below the triangle of thick hair on the nape of his neck.

“You’ve met elves before?” she asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Only elf in armor. Or chain.” Teg dropped the hook into a bucket of water, turning back toward her as it sizzled behind him. A thick finger gestured toward the holes in his ear. “Bad Teg then. Teg now only rude. Be back.”

As he disappeared around the back of the large oven, Aeona sat with his implication. Their kinds warred for millennia, but had found a tenuous peace as of late after the agreement that created villages like this one. If her plan worked, she could see herself in a place like this, eking out a modest life for herself.

Teg returned with a wooden bowl and a tankard. “Elf Princess skinny. Teg feed.”

Her arms crossed her chest. “One condition. Eat with me. I like your company.”

“Teg not good company. Elf Princess alone too long on journey.”

“And call me Aeona.”

“Two condition now. Teg see why not married.”

His tone caught her off-guard, leaving her questioning whether it was a joke or a jab. She accepted the bowl and brought it under her chin, feeling its steam climb her face. It smelled delicious, something she never expected from an orc. “Better sit down before I make it three.”

Teg’s lip curled as he dropped cross-legged to the floor. When she leaned forward to sip from the bowl, they were nearly at eye level with each other.

He quietly studied her every move as they traded the bowl and the tankard between them, taking polite little sips.

“You’re not going to do it for me, are you?” she finally asked.

“No.”

“Then why ask me to stay?”

“Ona voice like song while Teg work.” For the first time, he looked a little uncomfortable, holding the bowl only by its farthest edge as he handed it back. “Ona pretty.”

When she took it from him, her fingers wrapped around the edge to graze his knuckles. “If you feed me like this, you’ll never get rid of me. You could hear my voice all day. I could help around the shop.” Even she wasn’t sure whether it was a joke, but she tried her best to play it off like one.

He laughed at a different joke entirely. “Ona like twig. Shop is orc work. Not for Elf Princess.”

Her defiant nature got the best of her, responding with barely a consideration, “That broom doesn’t look too heavy. Or that bucket of water, or that polishing cloth. I could earn my keep.”

His reaction was unexpectedly downcast. “Best Ona leave after eat.”

Twisting in her seat, she tried to find his gaze. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Elf only bring loss to Teg.” His fingers grasped his ear, covering its holes as a kind of comfort.

Her hand wrapped his fingers, her thumb making soft sweeps across them. “I wouldn’t.”

His body heaved and shook, his head dipping low. Aeona set the meal aside, placing her hands on either side of his head, clasping his ears.

As he began to talk, he guided her fingers to the topmost hole of his ear. “Teg had wife Breont. Elf arrow miss Teg, kill Breont.”

“Teg hunt elf. Many year. Many elf.” His grasp pulled her fingers slowly down a row of holes. “Not bring back Breont. Not fix Teg. Only more loss.”

Her fingers sat on the lone ring that remained. “Teg only fix now. Make tool. Fix world.”

With tears in her eyes, Aeona’s arms slid over his shoulders, attempting a timid embrace, one quickly broken as Teg rose to his feet.

“Ona need fix. Teg do.”

“Wait! Are you sure? You didn’t–”

“Ona good elf.”

After such a story, his judgment landed hard. If his change of heart was a way to get rid of her, it didn’t feel like it. It almost felt like the opposite. And the accompanying rush of vulnerability fed her impulsiveness.

She bounced from her chair and launched herself into him, managing somehow to reach his lips with hers. His large hands closed around her shoulders, pushing her back, then holding her there while he inspected her face.

Melting in his grasp, in his gaze, she made her most convincing case. “Please?”

His eyes narrowed. “Two pierce?”

“Is that all?” she said, wrapping her entitlement in sass.

The way he stoically made his assessment was infuriating.

Her mind worried they weren’t reading from the same scroll, but her body didn’t care. “Princesses don’t like to be kept waiting.”

His eyes drifted sideways, toward the bed of coals rather than the fire in front him. They only returned to her in glimpses. “Teg only know orc way.”

“Then rut me like an orc.”

His eyes flashed wide, her only warning before his hands encircled her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. He stomped through the shop to fling open a makeshift door at the back, revealing the humble cavern where he lived. Light from the fire outside passed through a small louvred window.

He tossed her onto a large wood bunk covered in furs. His leather apron slapped as it hit the stone floor. His belt and chaps added to the pile. Then his wool trousers.

She only managed to get her skirts off before her attention was stolen by the look of him, the cozy space making him appear ever-bigger, ever-bulkier. Ever-sexier with his vibrant green skin and patches of midnight fur fully revealed.

“Ona like twig,” he said.

Continuing to take account of his every feature, she purred back melodically, “The thing about twigs is they’re easy to bend, but much, muuuuuch harder to break.” Her body turned toward him, legs slightly spread.

“What that?”

“My chastity,” she replied, her fingers rolling the delicate, loosely-woven gold chains that sat across her hips and covered everything between her thighs.

“Shears,” he said, his body pivoting toward the door.

She caught his hand, pulled it to the chains on her hip. “It’s soft–no more enchantment. I’m certain you could simply tear it off me.” She smirked.

His pause was unbearable, but when she felt his digits slip between her skin and the gold they had borne for her entire life, her body tensed. The metal mesh went tight, tighter. With a yank, the gold and her body both succumbed.

Its links exploded into the air, sparkling in the fire’s light as they fell and pinged against the floor, but inside her was something she had never before felt. Something hotter than the orc’s coals, tighter than the way he had gripped her arm. A want for the person before her, even if his appendage looked like nothing she’d ever seen.

Unlike elven ones, which were refined and elegant, drawn skyward like arrows, his looked simply heavy, arcing forward like some kind of obscene bridge. The series of metal rings that encircled it were quite unexpected but made the largest demand of her attention. Rather than wonder what their stories were, Aeona was focused on the matter of how they worked, and more importantly, how they would feel.

“Still want? Orc way?”

She didn’t know what that entailed, but suspected she didn’t need to. With her eyes swimming in his, she replied earnestly. “More than ever.”

“Over,” he said, wrapping half her calf with his hand to guide her.

As his hand cradled her pelvis, his fingers nearly to her navel and his palm nearly covering half her bottom, she felt him graze the length of sex with his thumb. Tingles shot up her spine, blooming warmth in her belly and chest, sending sparks flying from her fingertips and toes. If his thumb felt so massive against her, how would that big, heavy thing feel inside her?

Her fear peaked when it reached her, touching the backs of both thighs at once, feeding her anticipation with each ebb and flow of pressure, each minuscule advance growing warmer, wetter, more welcome. When the coolness of the first ring met her skin, it sent a shock through her, but rather than recoiling, she drove herself back.

The feeling of it entering, of her capturing it, made her gasp.

“Ona take good. Feel even better.”

The compliment stirred in her, among the wealth of sensations. None of this was what she expected of her sexual debut. Not the time, nor the place, nor the partner. Yet, the serendipity of it was a comfort. It had to be right. One can’t plan such perfection. One can’t imagine the feeling of ring after ring entering only to leave again.

“You feel incredible. I don’t– I don’t– ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Her belly twitched. Whatever he was touching, which had to be all of her by now, was pushing her conscious from her head, her breath from her body. Why does he feel so good?

“Ona want orc way now?”

“Huh?” she asked absently. “This… isn’t… wha?”

“Orc way… rough.”

“Oh,” she said on a thread of breath. Her eyes rolled back as he bottomed out. “You can… do… any-thing…. you like…”

“Ona sure?”

“Ona… want… orc way…”

His hand enveloped her petite chest, lifting her from the bunk. Then his hips snapped, another ring entering her–it must have been the last, the one that sat near his base. She felt the warmth of his body against her bottom for a split second before the entirety of him was yanked away, out from her, only to return in a swift stroke that nearly propelled her out of his hands and into the wall of the cavern.

She tried to take a breath, only for it to be cut short by the next stroke. Faster and faster they came. Deeper they plunged. Unable to orient herself, to balance even, she let go of any attempt. Pleasure coursed through her like it owned her body, like she was here to serve it–or maybe to serve him–and either was just as good.

When he paused, asking, “How Ona?, her response was scattered, barely forming before it left her lips, “Ona great. Don’t stop. Orc way, great. Teg, godsssssss.”

His grunts and the lewd clap of their bodies punched through the languid moans echoing in her own head. Her pulse raced like she was running for her life rather than lying melted in his hands. She could swear he was getting bigger, stiffer inside her, his motion blurring.

His fingers tightened around her like he was trying to wring her out. His hands relaxed and the furs on his bunk met her body. It took her a minute to realize he’d set her down.

“Are you… done?”

“Usually much longer. Ona too good.”

“More like Teg too goo–OH!” When he withdrew, it felt like he was taking a piece of her, and maybe that was truer than she knew in the moment. She shook, lying on his bunk, her body still in need but uncertain what for.

“Teg get Ona water.”

“No, stay. Right here. Please,” she said softly, her lips heavy against the fur.

“Ona ok?” His voice came from next to her, the bunk creaking underneath him as he sat.

“Aeona… perfect.”

“Ona stay too,” he said, the words tugging at something unfamiliar inside her. “Pierce tomorrow. Ona help, strong enough for shop.”

“You didn’t tell me what changed your mind.”

“Elf help orc. Good story.”

A satisfied grin crossed her face. “We should make one for you too.”

“For Teg? What story?”

“Not killing a pesky little elf who invaded your peace.”

“Orc story never good end for elf.”

Aeona rolled onto her back, looking up at him. It had been ages since she’d seen someone look so peaceful. “This one could! There’s always room in the world for a new story.”

Teg looked at her with skepticism.

“Orc blacksmith meets elf princess.” Her fingers stroked his furry thigh. “Makes her his apprentice?”

“Apprentice?”

“I’ll need something to do in exile. I don’t have any useful skills–I might barely be royalty, but I'm still royalty.”

Teg’s eyes bulged toward the bunk.

“That’s not a skill! Maybe it is. But what I did… was not.” Trying to put the embarrassment of her ragdoll performance aside, she struck a conciliatory tone. “We can work on that too–I’d like that–but I want something more. I thought apprentice might be a good start.”

“Teg understand.” His head slowly bobbed and his hand covered hers. “Teg like story.”

“Good. Ona like story too.”

Synopsis: I caught my roommate staring at me so I taught him a lesson and learned something about myself.

Image 3

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It started innocently enough.

A late night craving for I-don’t-know-what hit me and I wandered down to the kitchen in search of satisfaction. Rummaging through the cabinets left me empty-handed. The fridge offered nothing better. As I extricated myself from the depths of its lowest shelf, my knees shivering on worn linoleum, I turned to see my new roommate standing there in a tight tee and silky boxers–aroused.

“What the fuck, dude?” I shouted. “Were you staring at me?”

“No. I came to see– I heard a noise– My eyes are still adjusting–”

The obscene bulge in his shorts disagreed, and now I was the one staring.

“Gross.”

“Sorry…?”

“You should be.”

It responded with a twitch. What did that mean?

“How can I– What do you want me to–”

“Kneel.”

I don’t know why I said it, why it even came to me. He seemed equally surprised. And yet…

“Yes, mistress,” he said curtly, dropping to his knees and directing his gaze to the floor.

I felt a twitch of my own, just as inexplicable. There was something alluring about a man of his size snapping to my whim, cowed at my feet. If the visual was a treat, calling me “mistress” fed me on a psychological level. I didn’t know what to do with it.

“You’re going to stay there and count to 30 while I walk out. Then the kitchen is all yours.”

“Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.”

I went back to my room and freaked out a little.
What was that?
Did he like it?

This didn’t feel like anything I was familiar with. It wasn’t lust, that was for sure, but my body responded like it was desire. Heart racing. Skin tacky and flushed. Tension beneath my belly.

I tried to take the edge off with my vibrator, but that only cemented the image of him in my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard. It was a struggle to stay quiet. Even still, I couldn’t sleep with my mind racing. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to face him again without my nerves standing on end. Luckily, our schedules and the distance between our rooms made contact rare.

When we crossed paths days later–him leaving for work and me getting home–nothing seemed off. We were the same cohabitating strangers we had been for our several months. But that night in the kitchen still weighed heavy inside me, peaking a few days later when we were both home.

I tip-toed from my room like I always do, only realizing once I got to the kitchen how silly that was.

It sounded like he was watching tv in his room.

Unlike the last time, everything about this was deliberate–from my shortest, tightest shorts to my thinnest, lowest-cut tank top to my playful bedheaded ‘do. A couple of minutes in front of the fridge, the middle door pouring out cold at chest-level, turned my nipples brutally hard.

I’d die before being seen like this. Yet, here I was, hoping for it while trying to make it seem accidental.

I swung my foot out, pulling a cabinet open with my toes only to kick it shut with a bang.

The dancing glow of his tv flashed in a reflection before being blocked by his large frame. I huffed, feigning dissatisfaction, and turning on my heels. My eyes crawled down his body while his gaze waited for my attention. His shorts hung loose, the front of them entirely smooth. It was a disappointment I wasn’t ready for.

“What did you come in here for?”

“Nothing. I heard– I don’t–”

“If we’re going to do this again, I think we need some rules.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Of course what?”

“Of course. Mistress.”

It gave me the same tickle as the last time, which was all the confirmation I needed. “That’s rule 1. You call me that and that’s what I’ll be. It ends when you call me Cara or I tell you I’m done with you.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Any rules to add?”

“No, mistress. I am yours.”

My mind was swirling with dark desires finally, gloriously released. Things I never knew I had, or maybe I feared to acknowledge in the past. We hung together in anticipation of what might rise to the surface first. I wonder if he had any notion that I had no idea what I was doing, no idea what I’d say.

“On your knees then, where you belong.”

As he dropped, then bowed, his hair brushed my knees. Exhilaration rushed through me and nearly made me cum. I had never felt anything quite like it, but I immediately wanted more. I raised my foot to bury my heel in his shoulder, pushing his body upright so I could see what this was doing to him.

His shorts were stretched tight across his lap, the thin fabric flattening the details of his erection. Knowing I’d caused this aroused me, but without any sexual desire for him. He wasn’t my type, which was optimal for a roommate and possibly even better for this new thing I’d discovered about myself. Even as I stood above him, staring down at his hard cock, feeling my body flush and wetness commence, I didn’t want to fuck him. I wanted to fuck with him.

“You may look at me.”

His head turned, following the foot that remained firm on his shoulder, slowly tracing my leg upward toward my painted-on cotton shorts. Their tightness around my thighs meant he couldn’t tell I was wearing nothing underneath, but I was certain my arousal was clear.

“Do you like the view? Is it better than what you stole the other night?”

“Yes, mistress, much better.” There was a strain in his voice, almost a longing, that was like honey in my ears and fire in my veins.

“If you’re good, maybe I will let you see more. Or maybe even touch.”

“If it pleases you, mistress, anything.”

“Not today,” I said, digging my toe against his neck for emphasis. His throat tried to stifle a groan, but his body insisted. There was a patch of wetness on his shorts that I didn’t notice before. “Look what you’ve done. Soiling your shorts in excitement.”

“Excitement for you, mistress.”

That felt like something to work with. “Strip.”

Without hesitation, he lifted his butt off his heels to tug down his boxers. His erection sprawled wide over his hip. A droplet swelled on its tip, then rolled over his thigh, out of sight but foremost in my mind.

“You’re desperate for attention. Aren’t you?”

“Yes!” His voice sounded like his entire body heaved the word from him. “Yes. Mistress.”

“Good. Can you keep it that way for me?”

He swallowed hard, but the words still caught in his throat. “Ye– Yes– Mistress.”

“Then, until we meet again…” My foot fell from its perch, taking the first step toward my room. “You can go about your business when I leave, but be good for me, like I know you can.”

As I shut the bedroom door behind myself, I fell against it, sliding down, my body shaking with adrenaline. I’m not ashamed to admit my hand was immediately in my shorts. In my head was the vision of him under me, looking up my leg. That longing on his face. In his voice. All while I gave in to myself with all the power I’d summoned.

My forehead found the corner of the wall as my body twisted under me, my fingers working at the speed of light, splashing everywhere inside my shorts. My orgasm short-circuited me entirely. I collapsed in a heap and barely dragged myself to bed sometime later, for another round aided by my trusty wand.

I can only say it was the thrill of commandeering a whole-ass man, or the novelty of having a man so entirely subject to my whims. It certainly wasn’t him doing all this to me. But at the same time, some sort of overtly sexual encounter with him wasn’t completely off the table.

Where those lines fell shifted by the day, and we still had only exchanged a handful of words outside our dynamic since our last session. We still seemed comfortably strangers. Whenever the next opportunity arose, I wasn’t sure where it might lead, but I did have some ideas about how it would start.

Clearly, he had other plans.

“Mistress,” he said, stiffening in place in the middle of the kitchen when I got home from a quick evening shop.

I walked past him, offering only a cursory look as acknowledgment, and put my bags on the counter. He remained silent as I packed boxes into cupboards, bottles into the fridge, and a few fruits into the basket by the sink.

“Yes?”

“I got this collar,” he said, his fingers tracing its edges on his neck. “I thought it would be helpful to show I’m at your disposal. I thought you’d like it.”

“Hmm. Leather?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“It suits you.”

“Thank you, mistress. Does it suit you as well?”

“As long as it’s on you and not me, it does.”

“That pleases me, mistress.”

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable. And I think you should be on your knees when I return.”

“As you wish, mistress.”

This part I had already planned. Now it was a matter of whether I could pull it off. The outfit was easy enough–a black faux-leather mini-dress with an assortment of zippers for configurable lines and reveals. With a handy bit of tape, my cleavage was awe-inspiring, framed perfectly in the zippered neckline.

I looked like mean business as I strode out with my hair pulled tight in a severe bun, my strappy black heels clacking down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Go ahead. Take a good look.”

My anticipation grew as he surveyed me from top to bottom, pausing at every zipper, every curve, every inch of skin that was on display. His breathing changed tones entirely, giving himself away.

“Have you been good, like I instructed?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Then as a reward, how about you go ahead and take those off.”

In a flash, his boxers were across the room, lost in the shadow below a cabinet. His member sagged between his thighs, pristine and barely halfway to its potential. I doubted it would take long for him to get there. My eagerness got the best of me and I quickly moved to what I planned as the main event.

I pulled up a chair, sitting with my legs crossed so my shiny black heel could sit menacingly in front of him. His eyes traced my leg like they had before, up until it disappeared into the shadow of my dress. The shadow was all that hid the fact that I wore nothing underneath my dress.

I pretended to inspect my nails, ignorant of his presence, while watching his cock slowly lengthen and dribble his first speck of precum on the floor.

“You’re cleaning that up after.” That was mostly the roommate talking–the same one who called his boner gross just last week and now couldn’t take her eyes off it.

He looked down, then snapped back up to my eyes. “Certainly, mistress.”

My new persona came back in a rush, desiring the palpable, undeniable measure of his desperate, sustained arousal. “First… I want to see how big I can make that puddle.”

I leaned forward ever so slightly and lowered my zipper until my cleavage threatened to break free despite the tape holding it in place. “Will that do it?”

“Yes, mistress,” he said, his voice tightening, his body tipping toward me.

My heel landed on his chest, stopping his advance. He groaned and another drip hung from him by a thread, falling in slow motion until the puddle consumed it.

“What I showed was generous, and you wanted to steal even more. Weak. Desperate.”

“For you, mistress. My thoughts lately, since our last time–they’ve consumed me.”

“Tell me.”

His eyes sliding shut, he braced himself, swallowing, taking a deep breath before he responded. “You in your short-shorts, mistress, and that thin shirt. I could see…” The words caught in his throat.

“My hard nipples?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Damp cotton?”

“Soaked, mistress.”

“You wanted to see more. You thought about it. You invaded my privacy within your own mind, didn’t you?”

Pink appeared on his cheeks. I swore, I could feel the heat coming off him. “Yes, mistress.”

The thought of it made my scalp buzz. I felt myself throbbing between tightly-pressed thighs. The harder I squeezed them, the harder I pulsed back, the more urgent the sensation grew.

“Stroke yourself. Slowly.”

His puddle had grown to the size of a respectable coin, glinting in the kitchen’s fluorescent lights, a contrast to the scuffed tan floor. His fingers curled around himself, hoisting it upright, stretching a glassy string until it snapped. As far as dicks go, it was actually rather attractive, but I was only concerned with what it represented. What he was feeling, and knowing it all came from me.

Letting out a faint, deep moan, he shallowly pumped his fist, his skin stretching back and forth over his tip. Another drop made its journey to the floor, narrowly missing his knuckles. I flicked the pull of my lowest zipper back and forth before dragging it an inch higher up my thigh, the dress’s shadow retreating with it.

I worried I revealed myself entirely, the way his face lit up. “Stop.”

His fist paused and he bit his lip, his eyes still fixed between my legs. A heavier drop formed and pulled a thick flow behind it.

“You might be a pervert, but apparently you’re good for something.”

“Anything you desire, mistress. Name it.”

There it was. The real desperation. And the steady stream of precum along with it, wiggling with every unconscious twitch of his parts.

“Keep going.”

My zipper climbed again. Barely a half inch, but enough that I was sure no shadows remained. No more hiding. He was doing his job and deserved a glimpse of what it was doing to me. My foot pivoted on its 3-inch heel, turning my knee slightly out so he could see it all.

He let out a tense, feral groan and my body responded. My hips rolled back. My breath caught. My hand slid between the zipper’s open teeth and brushed wet lips. I had debated whether to save this for my room like the times before, but now I knew I couldn’t.

Fingers spread slick. Circled heat. Pressed that spot that made my left leg tingle and sent a hot shiver rocketing up my spine.

He’s a captive audience in every sense, his fist dutifully working in slow motion, willing the puddle under him to grow for me. His wrist wavered, his knuckles going white, the veins on his arm rising until I could trace them to his jaw.

“Watch, or stroke. One at a time.”

His eyebrows peaked, forming a satisfying crease on his forehead. His eyes refused to leave me, only following the motion of my hand in my lap, or the other drifting into the top of my dress. Then came a rush of action, his eyes slamming shut while his hand took fuller, faster trips down his length.

Each fed me in its own way, like the tick-tock of a pendulum pushing a timepiece to its midnight bell. A frantic moan slipped from me, a warning that caused his eyes to fly open and meet my gaze. Panic flooded his expression before they snapped down to the floor. Being seen was growing on me, sending a shock of tension to my core.

“Sorry… mistress…” he puffed.

“Hands off.”

Punishment for him, maybe, but I wanted to watch him throb and add to his pool.

His cock twitched wildly, persistently, and his hips searched for answers. Then his body gave me what I never knew I wanted. A whimper. Desperate and vulnerable. Paper thin but sharp like a razor. The final tick to set the minute hand upright.

My heel dug into his chest as I jerked in my seat. The pressure welled fast and hard, stifling my lungs, emptying them in the sort of lurid moan I hoped he’d never hear from me. My thighs clamped tight around my hand. All my body could do was squirm. Like him, I was at the whim of something powerful, something beyond my control.

Our eyes locked as I broke loose. His eyes fluttered as his body shook, then jolted. He held up his hands, innocent, defeated. The thick cream coating the belly of his cock told me why.

Seeing what I’d done to him nearly sent me to another peak, if only I had anything left in me. Instead all I could do was watch the last of his load pulse out and run down to the floor where this lengthy session of excitement remained obscenely evident.

When I stood on my jellied legs, I didn’t bother to correct my zippers. There was no point after that, and only one thing left to do.

“That’ll be all,” I said, pausing astride him to deliver his final command. “Now clean that up like a good boy.”

I walked out, hoping to make it to my bed before my posture gave out, only to remember something else as I turned the corner to my bedroom.

My voice rang through the hall, “A collar is not much use without a leash. Have one for next time.”

Synopsis: A fan of maritime erotica braves a storm to find the truth.

Image 12 - my punishment for playing Tom’s game is now yours as well

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The isthmus’ lone tavern was always lively in the evening, providing captains and crews a place to unwind after they unloaded their daily catches. They were a few rounds deep when their usual ribbing of the lone–and much younger–woman started.

“Always with her head in the fairy tales!”

“Blame my dad,” Thalassa snipped back, offering him a pointed glare over the line of empty brown bottles standing between them. “He’s the one who bought me all those books–pirates and gods, sea snakes and merfolk, supernatural storms and sirens. Gave me something to do while he was working.”

“Aye, he was a romantic too, bless his soul,” said the man next to her, who looked even older and more haggard than the other. He bowed his head for a moment before emptying his bottle in his mouth. “But those tales will rot yer brain and fill yer head with nonsense.”

“And all those nudie calendars on your boat, Deg? And that stack of magazines Santo keeps on his? They’re any better?”

“You leave my girlfriends out of it. Never done nothing to ya.”

“And they’ve done just as little to you,” she said with a smirk. She tossed a few bills on the bartop and flashed a warm smile to the old men lining the bar as she reached for her canvas rucksack. “With that, though, you’ve been a pleasure as always. See you boys out there tomorrow.”

“Can’t keep King Neptune waiting!”

She shot back a cocky look from over her shoulder. “Oh, him? Psh. Gods are old news, so many better mythical men to warm my bed.”

The men laughed and resumed telling their same old stories–ones just as fictional as anything she ever read. She didn’t mind their teasing, truthfully; it was an assurance of her membership in their little club, and they were harder on each other than they ever were on her.

Her walk home was a short gravel path up the hill, her modest house the fourth one from the end. She dropped her bag inside the door and shrugged off her waders, tossing her other clothes into the bin against the wall that separated the bathroom from the kitchen.

After a good hot scrub–double soap, oil cleanse, a hair mask–she curled up in the window nook next to her twin bed, nestled in a plush slouchy sweater with a glass of mid-shelf brandy in one hand and a book in the other. This was her favorite place, where she ended every day, surrounded by her precious books old and new.

Fishmen of the Cove was a modern take on the classical literature she was raised on. The central character had been taken to a pleasure palace far below the surface, where she met the cadre of gilled subservient men who would care for her every pleasure.

Thallie could still smell her day’s catch through the hair mask’s fruity bouquet. She wondered if a merman might not be as repulsed by the semi-permanent smell of fish as human men were. It was a prominent drawback of her inherited trade, but she didn’t mind her quiet little life out here alone. The books helped. The brandy did too.

Soon she was sleeping, dreaming about the world in her book, seeing their kind gathering in the water. Her mind’s eye struggled to fill in the physical details that the book had notably failed to describe. As she swam toward them, they surrounded her, a cyclone of swimmers’ builds.

They seemed ignorant of her until one emerged, approached. His hair matched the lightest shade of the water. A scar sat heavy across one of his cold eyes. His touch was assertive, but lacked any aggression. It felt cozy and protective the way his arms wrap her, the way he guides her through the water to–

The sound of her alarm.

She whined her disappointment as she rolled out her back and shoulders, her body stiff from a night propped in her nook. Dragging herself the ten steps to her kitchen, she flipped on the weather radio and started a pot of coffee, hearing it gurgle beside her as she surveyed the murky water, the drab sky.

It looked testy.

She tied up her sun-bleached hair. Traded her satin shorts for wool longjohns. Packed a lunch and filled her extra-large thermos with fresh brew. Donned her waders. Her slicker. A white cap. With her bag on her shoulder, she leaned in to kiss the picture of herself and her dad that hung next to the door.

“Bye pop. I’ll be home in time for supper,” she said as she left, something she started when he lost the strength to man their boat and didn’t think to stop doing once he passed.

The foot traffic on the gravel path was going the wrong way, away from the pier.

“There’s a frolic,” Deg said sternly. “Haven’ seen one this bad since before ya was born. I wouldn’a go out if ya don’ wanna meet the bottom.”

“Psh. Don’t the merfolk throw back the kind-hearted?” The lore said this sort of storm was caused by the merfolk so they could have the cove to themselves for the day, usually for a celebration. Any humans daring to intrude were dealt with according to the nature of their spirit. “You’re telling on yourself by being so afraid.”

“Kid…” Deg sighed loudly, taking on his most earnest, patriarchal tone and clapping his calloused hand on her shoulder. “Ain’t no fish out there this morning that won’ still be there when it’s over.”

“What if it’s not fish I’m interested in?”

“Bah! The stories… they’ll be the end of ya.”

“Maybe,” she nodded, watching the dreary clouds stir, and kept on her way. “But they’re all I’ve got now.”

The captains watched from the shore, grousing to each other, as if she were headed off to war, to her certain demise as she boarded her boat and headed into the swirling mist without looking back.

The cold air whipped around her–one direction, then the other, only to reverse itself again as she tempted fate. The skies went dark. Rain pelted the windows. Her vessel rose and fell, pitching back and forth. For nearly an hour her worry only grew, but her determination held strong.

Then sunlight came like a punch. The deck beneath her feet steadied. The helm no longer fought her.

Thallie killed the engine and ventured toward the bow, her eyes moving from one rainbow to another. They were the only breaks in the clear blue sky above. This was exactly what the books promised. The most gorgeous of days, sunny and calm.

She let her slicker fall and tossed her hat aside. It was too balmy for her waders, for her longjohns. With the entire cove to herself, she thought nothing of stripping bare to enjoy the fullness of the sun’s rays and the picturesque view from the cabin’s top.

A lazy current dragged the boat in a gentle loop while she sat cross-legged, a pile of fruit gummies between her legs, her fingers tapping the side of her binoculars as she surveyed her paradise.

She knew she wouldn’t see anything. The books might have been right about this particular meteorological trend, but she wasn’t silly enough to believe it was actually caused by merfolk. Still, in the moment, anything seemed possible. Excitement and whimsy stirred in her belly.

A loud splash turned her head and she was immediately disoriented. Cold. Soaked through her clothes by the time the clap of her body hitting the water reached her ears.

She spun in the inky blue-green void, eyes and hands searching for anything.

She was too deep to see the sun and unable to follow the air leaving her body, the bubbles going every which way in the wild swirl of the current.

Her lungs burned.

Muscles seized.

She realized this fate was sealed when she left the shore. Another cautionary tale to be repeated endlessly by the old men of the tavern. They were right to warn her and they’d be just as right to warn the next one who dared to dream about the hidden wonders of the sea.

A powerful jet captured her and she let go of any remaining hope.

Her consciousness dimmed as it dragged her limply along. It felt peaceful.

Until something hard thumped against her back.

Eyes fuzzy, she could see the sun again, swaying in the dark sky above.

She was wet, but warmer. She heard a rustle over her own sputtering breath..

A strange man poked with odd curiosity at her feedbag of gummies. The one she keeps below deck.

Wait.

That’s where she was. On the floor below deck. And he isn’t strange at all, though she can’t place him.

His movements are awkward. Maybe on account of his tail. His tail. Blue scales glistening in the dim light of a swinging lantern.

The old wisdom had it all wrong. Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes in your final moments, but your fantasy does, that dream you had so many nights before.

Either that or the merfolk frolic was real. The old tales talked of their celebrations and customs, but the newer ones were what she dreamed about, the ones with underwater palaces and handsome merfolk eager to pleasure humans in every way their combination of bodies allowed.

“I’m Thalassa,” she murmured up at him.

He turned and cocked his head, his eyes chilling her through the heavy blanket that covered her. A burble fell from his lips, unintelligible even were she at her most coherent.

He slid closer, balanced on his folded tail, and he studied her face. He was the one from her dream last night. Her hand reached up toward him, finding the side of his face. Human, but colder and smoother. Her eyes struggled to take the rest of him in, from his broad shoulders to the taper of his waist where his iridescent scales began.

The more her senses returned, the realer it felt, but it was still far too convenient for her to accept so easily. “Thank you for saving me?”

With another chromatic burble, he extended his hand toward her face, grazing her jaw and down her neck. His palm flattened on her collarbone and he took a sharp breath through his gills, letting his eyes slip shut as he savored her rising warmth.

Whatever this is, she told herself, make the most of it.

His eyes went wide as she pulled the blanket lower, inviting his hand to go with it, over her bare breasts. Cupping them, letting their heft wobble in his loose grip, his lips curled in an uncanny way, like he’d seen someone smile once but never had the need to do so himself until now.

She pulled the blanket to the side, extending one leg out from it, and his gaze darted lower, fascinated by her form. His head swayed, eyes jittered, trying to take it all in from her hip to her toes, which she wiggled playfully as he twisted his neck in amusement. His hand started down her, only to stop a half second later while his eyes locked with hers.

“Yes? Please?” she said, nodding in case the words were as inscrutable to him as his burbles were to her.

Both hands dragged down her front, meeting side by side over her exposed thigh before extending over and around her foot. He looked up at her again.

“Yes. That’s good. It’s nice.”

His head turned back, craning as if trying to see under the rest of the blanket.

“Go ahead then,” she offered, peeling the blanket further.

He shifted on his tail for a better view, his scales grazing the outside of her calf in the process. Something about his touch was sensual. She never imagined the feel of scales–wet, cool, smooth–would feel hot in that way, and she couldn’t help but want to feel it everywhere.

She lifted the blanket and waved him closer, toward the space between her legs. He shimmied in place, seeming uncertain, his hands frozen on her leg, his eyes still trying to take her body in. For a second, she wondered if merfolk had erotic tales like hers, if he might be just as stunned to be living out his own fantasy.

He flattened himself on the floor, a combination of crawling and slithering bringing him between her legs, his skin then his scales grazing their inside, his torso moving up hers. As his face neared hers, she didn’t hesitate to pull it in and bring their lips together. Salty, fishy to say the least, but no less satisfying a kiss.

Wrapping her legs around him, feeling the muscled mass beneath his scales, their sharpness catching her heels as she dug in, she grinded her body against him. Her fingers danced in his wet hair, her eyes staying lost in his, their lips mutually occupied.

She had all the juicy details her books never provided. The raw sensation of a merman between her thighs. The smooth motion of his body, as if swimming in her clutches. She could cum like this if she tried, if they kept going, her legs holding him tighter, his scaled pelvis pressing harder, and if it escalated, she imagined his ability to breathe underwater would be helpful.

Then came a sudden fullness, its cold a shock, and its wetness somehow eclipsing hers. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Her hips bucked as her mouth left his to spill the most fraught of whimpers. Then it burst. Inside her. Under her. Everywhere.

His gills fluttered with a wet hiss and his eyes slammed shut, but she only held him tighter. Needier, she grinded herself against him as the fullness disappeared. Frustration racked her, her body shaking for what it was promised and almost had.

His body shook back, as if to mimic her. Instead it triggered something unexpected, something far better.

Her mouth flew open in a silent scream as her body tensed. Her own burst came flooding against him, adding to his on the floor beneath, as desperate pants pulsed and peaked and built again until they became a whimper in her highest register. Another one hit her, taking the last of her strength with it, and she fell silent, motionless under his weight.

He burbled again. It had an urgency to it. He propped himself back on his tail and gestured with his arms.

Water. Swim. Him.

Aftercare seemed like a luxury not afforded to such couplings, sadly.

“Right, of course. Probably can’t stay out too long, right?” She rolled on her side and slowly got her feet under herself. “Let’s get you back in there–out there.”

He wriggled up the steps and onto the deck, and she followed, her eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight. Faces dotted the surface of the water and self-awareness struck her.

“Hang on, wait!”

She ducked back inside, pulling on her waders, a tank top, and her slicker. A bare minimum for public view, plus her white cap to keep the sun out of her squinting eyes. Pulling her phone from the pocket, she propped it on the window and it began counting from 30.

“Up?” she asked him, sticking her arms out. A further gesture made her meaning clear and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, lifting his tail off the deck and into her arms. With jelly legs, she fought to stay upright and composed, and he stared at her as she cheesed for the camera.

5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Click.

“Thank you,” she said. “For… everything. I’m out here every day. If you ever… wanna… hop on.”

He nodded as if he understood, then tilted his head toward the water.

“Bye for now,” she said, feeling a bit silly about the whole thing as she turned toward the edge of the boat.

Slipping free of her arms, he met the water with the smallest of splashes. And disappeared. One by one, the other faces disappeared too. She wondered what he’d tell them, if anything, before wondering the same for herself.

Telling anyone seemed fruitless. Even with the picture, they’d never believe her.

But knowing the truth felt good. Living the fantasy, even better.

And she could relive it any time she wanted, after all, she would always have her books.

Synopsis: A sex accident sent me to my judgment, where I made an offer they couldn't refuse (and got everything I wanted).

Image 9

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The doorbell woke me from the strangest dream.

I sat on a stone bench, hard but not cold like I’d expect. To my left were two angels in simple white robes–no wings in sight, but their golden halos felt like a big clue. One scanned me up and down while the other stared into the bright void in front of us. To my right, two more, whose nervous looks made me worry.

My life-long lack of belief in any of this didn’t make it any less real, nor did it stop me from recognizing what this was.

Judgment.

A man appeared in front of me, wise in appearance and clad in his own style of simple white garb. His voice rumbled, “Eustice Jaye Pritchard?”

“Uh, yup,” I answered, leaning forward to stand, trying not to cringe at hearing my full government name.

“You can stay seated. This is typically a casual affair. I see both teams sent representation. Let’s hear it.”

A growl proceeded from somewhere to my left where a swirl of dark smoke cast a scuffle in heavy shadows. “Judge, this is a simple case. She clearly belongs with us.”

Four cloven-hoofed demons emerged from the darkness with a hiss, their maroon skin glistening in the light that seemed to come from everywhere.

“On what basis?”

“Habitual Masturbation. Prolific Fornication. Lesbianism. Group sex in a church.”

Harsh…

The angel next to me spoke up, her voice like an exotic wind instrument, “While we stipulate to all of that, I’ll remind the opposition that the masturbation issue has been settled for quite some time, finding that, essentially, a button would only exist if it is intended to be pressed.

“Her fornication, while frequent, was predominantly ethical–only minor infractions–technicalities really. And lesbianism? What are you even doing here, if that’s all you have.”

The judge nodded. “A church?”

“De-consecrated a decade prior. Turned into an event space. Her behavior was commensurate with the goings-on that particular night.”

“She died slipping off a bench in a public park while getting boned-out by a homeless man,” a demon yelped. “Also, she smokes. She’s definitely one of ours.”

“That is a crude characterization of her death, intended to provoke a more salacious interpretation than the facts bear. He was a friend who at his time of death lacked a permanent address and they were enjoying each other’s company far from any witnesses. Harmless merriment, albeit of a carnal variety.”

The judge nodded along pensively. “You smoke?”

“Only cannabis,” I admittedly meekly.

“Oh, who cares?” he replied under his breath. His scowl turned to the demons. “I’m not seeing anything here. These are ordinary, permissible actions, if perhaps to some degree of excess.”

“As a whole, they speak to her lifestyle, which is our primary basis for requesting her assignment to us.”

Calling it assignment felt sneaky, considering my soul was at stake.

“I see this for what it is, Darziel. You always emerge for these sorts of matters.” The judge curled his finger at the demons until one stepped forward. In a tone meant to sound hushed, he continued, “You just want to fuck her. Don’t you?”

Darziel flashed a wide smile, offering his hands like he’d been caught.

For a demon, he was actually fairly handsome. His dark hair was well-maintained and almost stylish. His body was thick with muscle and a perfect cushion of fat. His eyes glinted as they shifted between me and the judge.

“Not only me, but… yes, there’s been some push for this one in particular. Can you blame us? This is our nature. Our assertion is that it’s hers too.”

The judge turned to me, his eyes searing cold through my body. “What say you to that?”

The stern angel reacted before I could. “It’s fiendish to seek the debasement of every such woman who enters this place. The fact that we’re consistently finding ourselves here to defend them against becoming misfortunate sex toys for deviants is appalling. She can just as easily find fulfillment of her pleasures in our realms.”

“Wait,” I spoke up. “If it gets me out of here, I’ll get down with the freaks.”

“SEE?!” the demons cried.

The angel pulled me aside. “Stop talking. You don’t know what you’re saying. Infernal creatures aren’t to be trusted. There’s a reason we kicked them out.”

“Will they kill me?”

“Again? No, they can not.”

“Hurt me?”

“Not permanently. Their, uh, proclivities can be very uncomfortable though, so I hear.”

“They’re not all bad,” one quietly admitted. “They can be… uh… fun… sometimes… is what I heard.”

Side-eyeing her colleague, the lead angel said, “What outcome do you seek?”

“I want to return to my life. Exactly how it was.”

She frowned at me before turning to the judge. “We propose a return to her old life with a suspended assignment.”

The demons hissed their disapproval loudly.

“No mortal return without our satisfaction,” Darziel said, his fiery eyes making a formal event of looking me up and down while he licked his lips. I’ll admit it stirred something feral in me.

“What does he mean?” I whispered to the angel.

“Carnal knowledge, at a minimum.”

“He can have it.”

She sighed. “We’d allow a certain level of supervised access in the mortal realm. On a temporary basis, revocable on breach of the terms.”

And that’s when the doorbell woke me up.

Whoever it was would be on my shitlist for interrupting me before the demon sex.

I dragged myself out of bed, realizing to my surprise that I’d worn shorts to bed. Come to think of it, I was not sure how I got to bed in the first place. Memories of last night were fuzzy to say the least.

I remembered seeing an old friend, Gerald. And a taco truck. Did they also serve tequila? That would explain the fog. The dream too.

Sunlight streamed into my apartment as I opened the door. Only, it was still nighttime. And it wasn’t the sun, it was her, the stern angel from my dream.

She was my mind staging an intervention. Had to be.

“Eustice,” she said. “You remember me, right? Byala, your lead apologist. Now also your temporary guardian in the mortal realm.”

“Not that. Never that. Ick. ‘Jaye’ is fine.”

“Anything you’d like. Perhaps we could sit. We have a few things to go over and I’m sure you have questions for me.”

“Wait,” I said, rubbing my face. This was insane, but the handful of times I dabbled in hallucinogens told me to go with it rather than fight it. The visions are always stronger than your projection of yourself and they react unpredictably when you upset them. “Yeah, uh, come in, I guess. I’ll make some coffee.”

What followed was surreal. The more she told me, the more I remembered. My last moments bent over that park bench rather precariously. The brink of what promised to be a decent orgasm. My untimely demise on the pavement below. The angels and demons gathering to negotiate my fate.

“Six months weekly is the best deal I could get you. I still think you’ll regret agreeing to mingle with the unholy, but it was a lucrative bargaining chip. Fortunately for you, I’ll be here to watch over you.”

“Watch over me?”

“Yes. That was a condition. Supervised demonic visitation for purposes of carnal gratification. I’ll be here with you until the agreement is satisfied.”

“For six months? All the time?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, you’re going to need new clothes, because all that is not going to work.”

“You’re the only mortal who can see me.”

“Like I said. It’s not going to work.”

It took a few days for me to internalize that this was all really, actually happening. I’d been sent to the afterlife by a loose bolt on a park bench and somehow lived to tell the tale. Not that I would. I know where I’d end up.

Despite all her resistance, Byala finally almost looked like someone I could hang out with, her hair half-up, dressed in a pair of Chucks, thick yoga pants, and a loose sweater that did wonders to hide her chest. But our relationship remained tenuous. Neither of us was comfortable with the arrangement, but at least I’d gotten her to “sleep” on the couch, where she could maintain her nocturnal vantage over me without being so fucking present.

She tried to tell me what to expect on my first encounter with a demon, but it was little help to either of us. She would recoil visibly at every little thing expected of me, and I’d get lost in her arcane “sky is falling” diatribe.

But the night was here and soon Darziel would be too.

Like her, just days ago, the doorbell announced him.

Byala answered it with a scowl on her face, her arms tight around her chest. “Dar.”

“B. Good to see you’ve retained your friendliest nature on this coil,” he said, smirking as he strode around her.

He stopped when he saw me.

“You’re a sight, human,” he said, his thin forked tongue making work of his lips. “Oh, the things we’ll do.”

I was fresher than when we met, but it’s not like I did anything special for the occasion. Ok, I did my fingers and toes, but that was mostly to occupy my mind and keep myself from fidgeting. It wasn’t for him. The fishnets. The pleated leather skirt. The tight halter clipped to a studded choker. That was just what I was wearing that day to get in the mood.

“You watch yourself, because I certainly will be,” she said, to no reaction.

He circled slowly. When he glimpsed my backside, he let out a raspy growl. “How did I not notice that sooner?”

“Think you can handle it?” I snipped.

“Think you can?”

“How about we go see who can and can’t?” I pressed my palm to his chest, feeling his unquenchable heat, the bristle of his fur enveloping my fingers.

“Eager,” he purred.

“Why waste time?”

“You do belong with us. Think of all the fun we could have already been having if she hadn’t interfered.”

“Show me then. Bedroom’s right there.”

On his entry, he snapped his fingers, instantly lighting all of the candles in the room. While it was a neat trick, it sent me scrambling to pull a few of them to safety.

I turned back to him and was immediately in his burly arms.

His presence was already at work in me, enticing my basest instincts.

Bouncing on my toes, I swung my arms around his neck and pulled my mouth to his. He tasted like salted licorice that had been smoked into leather. My tongue slid into his mouth and then his coiled around it to probe me back. I reached down his loin cloth to assess what awaited me but found only confusion.

There wasn’t– No, that– Wait…

My eyes went wide as my fingers attempted to circle his base and came up laughably, imposingly short. Going upward, they found a taper that only allowed my fingers to close after a lengthy journey to his very tip, past the demonically spade-shaped head.

He threw back his head and the proudest of evil laughs filled the room.

I tore his loincloth from him. My arms tensed and I sprung from the balls of my feet, closing my thighs around his waist and hooking my ankles behind him.

“Go on then,” I dared him.

Smugly, he untangled my legs from his waist, pulling them to his front and straightening them up his chest. My body sat folded in half inside his coarse arms, tits searching for space to occupy. He bounced me lower and lower, the heat of him under me getting closer, closer, until the burn of it reached me.

When it entered, it felt like being claimed. My hole, my body, my soul. Everything opened for him, easier than it should have, but that’s not to say it was easy. Or comfortable. His bounces dipped slowly down, each one testing my resilience, my submission.

When I swore I was all the way, fully stuffed, he always had more to give.

And my body found ways to take it. Proudly, greedily, gluttonously.

The rest came in flashes. Wailing. Gnashing of teeth. An unquenchable fire within me that he’d started. Stretching–god, the stretching. The limp bounce of my head, the only part of me not locked to his body, as his hips pounded me from underneath. It went on for hours.

When he finished, I thought I was numb to sensation, exhausted from the steady stream of orgasms that racked me. But the heat of his release matched the shock of the very first moments, pouring into me with force, filling every corner not already containing him. Suddenly overcome by the sensation of being cooked from the inside, I broke into an unseemly sweat. The pressure welled and welled, until my seal around him was no longer enough to contain it.

The gush was as audible as the heavy splatter hitting the floor.

Then he laid me in bed. Good as dead, but whimpering for a little longer, a little more. I didn’t have to move. I didn’t have to fight to keep my eyes open. He could simply keep going. I had more to be taken, as long as it was by him.

Byala warbled by my bedside, shooing him from the premises.

When morning came, she was still at my side. She tried to hide the look of scandal from her face. I attempted no such thing with the joy on mine.

“Sorry you had to, uh, see all that,” I told her as I sipped the tea she made for me.

“It was far worse for you.”

“For me? Worse? Girl…”

“There was nothing left of you!”

“Uh huh,” I said with a wide grin breaking. “It was– I’d normally say ‘divine’ but, that’s probably offensive to you, right?”

“It would be high praise. Inappropriate for what happened though.”

The morning-after was unmatched in my experience. Better yet, she did the work of kicking him out before he overstayed his welcome. “You think you could let him hang around a bit more next time?”

“You’re the one who hopped right to it. Quite literally.”

“No, I mean… after. You know, that can be comforting.”

“Comfort? You expect that from him, from his kind?”

“You could at least give him the chance. I wasn’t, uh, fully, totally, completely… done. Either.”

Byala’s face contorted in horror. “Oh. My sincerest apologies. I didn’t– I didn’t think–”

“It’s fine,” I said with a happy sigh. “Next time.”

I’d be lying if I denied I was looking forward to it. I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t think Byala was too. Neither of us admitted it outwardly, but there was a sense that we were in this together.

After the doorbell came an unexpected–and unnecessary–apology.

“I let myself get carried away. You came on strong and I reacted like you were challenging me,” he said, stepping into my living room. “My urges got the best of me and I regret that.”

Polite for a demon.

“No need. I got what I asked for. You got what was owed. No harm, right? I, uh, wore this, to remind myself to slow down a little.” I gestured to the skintight denim and the heavy, lace-up boots. “I even wore a bra and underwear this time.”

“I’ll be sure to notice.”

What followed was a pleasant chat, in which I realized how much I’d missed the brimstone smell of him that faded days ago, and after which I took the time to soak him in, not just in body and action, but in sheer presence.

The walk to my room was slow. The undressing, slower. His mouth covering my body in kisses was slowest of all. Their heat sunk into me, stewing deep in ways I never knew could feel so good.

When I returned the favor, my lips sizzled on contact. The texture of his pebbled hide fascinated my nerves. The smokey brine coating it did the same for my tongue. My mouth was ill-proportioned to take him how I wanted but what I could manage nonetheless earned my mouth a trickle of savory magma.

Outercourse was a treat for us both. He laid on his back and busied himself with my tits as I ground myself against him. His heat was tempered, his shape providing a generous variety of sensations, while the studs that lined the underside of his garish genitals felt better and more distinct than they had inside me.

When I needed a break, he was happy to take over and I found out just how versatile a demon’s tongue can be, or his at least. His forks coiled around my nipples, snaked the length of my slit and buzzed wildly until clit gave out, then brought me down by gently filling me and writhing until my clenching gave out too.

I wanted him to fuck me so bad that I ached. But, well, I ached there most of all.

I’d joyfully found my max, something I’d postulated about for years but never reached.

“I can do it. Just give me a sec. A glass of water. A pack of ice,” I mumbled insistently.

“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out.

I offered my hand, confused. He placed it on himself. Then the other one. Then both of my feet. Combined, they covered worryingly little of him. He clapped his hands over my extremities to hold them steady as his hips worked himself through the array.

From my angle, his cock looked like a fearsome dragon emerging from its cave only to retreat again. And when he orgasmed, the similarity only grew more uncanny. His clenched jaw did little to muffle his raspy groan as a red glow ejected from his tip, dousing my entire front in his surprisingly pleasant, soothing fire.

We exchanged a knowing glance at his good-faith gesture. And Byala, watching silently from the side as it all played out, seemed content to let him keep my bed warm for a while after.

On subsequent visits, he arrived earlier and stayed later, without any fuss from Byala. She even chimed in from time to time in our chatter. I would say this was what most surprised me about her, but there’s another thing I have noticed happening more with each visit.

She watched a little closer. With a little more focus. With more intent. While I rode him like a steed possessed and kept grinding past his finish. While her hips made their own tempered gyrations in her chair.

I watched her thighs tense. Her toes curled until the knuckles remained white. The soft glow rose on her cheeks. She thought I didn’t notice, but my own pleasure wasn’t the only reason I continued with Dar. Nor was it the reason she didn’t stop us.

Straddling him, I licked up his neck, then his ear. “You’re not done yet. I want you to fuck me. Doggy. Facing her. And you’re going to look her in the eyes.”

He swelled inside me at my words, his tapered girth nearly pushing me back off him. With a snarl, he tossed me to the bed, in Byala’s direction, then took his place behind me and pulled my hips to him. His previous load dangled from me, dripping down my thighs and onto the sheets, and soon an extensive fucking dislodged the rest of it.

I watched her face with half-lidded eyes, no longer aghast at seeing me drunk on my own pleasure. If the agony on my face ever broke, I was certain whatever remained looked positively vapid, as if he was hollowing out my very being thrust by thrust.

I wasn’t showing off, only succumbing to the sensation, to the vibe, and to his desires. For hours.

For her. I poured out my body weight in fluids. My moans turned my throat raw. My chest ached and my limbs were fucking useless. The sun was breaking, but I couldn’t sleep until I knew whether the extra round had been worth more than my physical pleasure.

“Do you ever… enjoy watching?”

She scoffed audibly. “Protecting you is my duty. I watch in order to fulfill that. That’s where I find my joy.”

“If your joy was about more than the work, it would be ok though, right?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Does watching ever make you feel anything? Left out of the fun, jealous of us, curious… maybe it even feels a little good in a strange way? I would say those are all human responses, but I suspect spirits are similar. Just look at Darziel. I know your kinds differ…”

Byala laughed quietly. “Pure in spirit does not mean empty in mind. My body isn’t like yours, but it feels the same things. I know of what you speak.”

“You could join us sometime, you know.”

“I could not. I face Darziel frequently on the other side. He’s a scourge.”

“My old manager Jake was a prick too. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to fuck him.”

“You did. Several times.”

“Exactly. And he was a lot easier to work with after that, let me tell you.”

“Dar is a different sort of beast.”

“You’ve seen how he is with me though. He’s not so bad.”

“Only because I am watchful, I assure you.”

“And you still could. Just… closer.”

“Copulation with a mortal is a banishable offense. I’d be sent over to his side and that’s no place for me.”

“He isn’t a mortal though.”

“You are.”

“That wouldn’t really be copulation though. Would it?”

“I suppose not. Technically.”

“And you would be the expert on that, having been a–what is it?–for how long?”

“Mortal Soul Advocate. A thousand years, with distinction. Yes, I believe your interpretation is valid.”

“Hm.” I was content to have planted the seed. For now, at least.

I rolled over, taking a pile of covers with me to block out the early glimmers of daylight.

“Well, time for sleep.”

Synopsis: Helena finds evidence of her husband cheating and shows up to his office to demand the truth. And an act of contrition.

Image 18

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Helena is in her closet getting ready for work when a corner of shiny purple satin catches her attention. She pokes at the pile of clothes with the pointed toe of her pump before squatting down to pull it free with her manicured fingers.

The thong doesn’t look familiar. Worse yet, it has clearly been worn. A pungent waft of dried cum hits her. Her expression sours with her gut.

Her features sharpen. Lips purse. She tucks it in her blazer pocket and storms from the closet.

They’re all she can think about on the train. The stink of infidelity lingers in her nose.

Two stops early, she exits the train. This is the one her husband takes. His office is a short block away.

She doesn’t hear the din of the bustling city over the clack of her heels, the hum of the elevator over her rocketing pulse. Her watch beeps warnings unheeded, unnoticed.

“My husband forgot something,” she tells the young man at the office’s front desk.

“I can take it to him.”

“I’d rather do it,” she says with a forced smile.

The rows of desks blur together in her peripheral vision as she passes them. Conference rooms, offices too. People flow back and forth, going about their work as if this is any other day. Business as usual. It’s anything but and she’s the only one who already knows it.

“Sienna?” she asks her husband’s secretary, who snaps to attention. Her hips are made for the panties in Helena’s pocket. Slim enough to fit. Slim enough to look good. On her olive skin, they must be a sight. Helena wonders if purple is her favorite color or if that’s just for Tuesdays or if the universe is cruel enough for it to be entirely random. Locking eyes with her is hard but necessary. She needs to feel this too. “We’re not to be disturbed.”

She doesn’t wait for acknowledgement before she bursts through her husband’s office door.

“Forget something at home?” she asks, barely swallowing her vitriol.

“I don’t… think… so…”

Helene curls her finger in her pocket, pulling the unmentionable free, letting it dangle in the still air between them. “Recognize them? Because I don’t.”

He remains silent, a right that does not exist in this context.

“Maybe your secretary would though. Should I call her in and ask her?”

“It’s not what you think,” he says in that voice that says ‘calm down’.

“We’re not talking like this. Like we’re partners, or even peers.”

“How–”

“On your knees. Like you’re pleading. Because you most certainly are.”

“Hel. I’m at work. Someone could walk in.”

“Then you’d better hurry up. The longer you drag this out, the worse it’s going to be.”

“Ok. Ok.”

His eyes dart around the office and he slides off his chair. From his knees, he holds his hand out flat, gesturing for emphasis as he begins, “She gave them to me–yes–only to get a rise out of me. That’s all. It was dumb but that’s it.”

“I don’t think it is. And I’m going to keep going until I’m convinced I’ve heard it all. Until I’m convinced you have nothing held back, nothing left to give me.”

She steps closer and fists his hair, tugging his head back to look her in the eyes as she looms over him. “And if you think this is bad–see what happens if you lie to me again.”

Releasing him, she takes a step back, just beyond his reach. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“She came in. They were balled in her hand, still warm from her body. And damp. She put them in my palm then walked out.”

“Keep going,” she says, her fingers working the knot of his tie until it comes undone and its ends hang limp from his neck.

His knees shift on the carpet, the crinkles of his expensive suit pants readjusting. “I sniffed them. I couldn’t help it. I assumed she wanted me to. And… I wanted to.”

“Like a dog.”

“Yes.”

Helena swipes at his chest, her fingers catching the placket, tearing his shirt open. Crouching, leaning in, she asks softly, “Did they smell like everything you dreamed?”

“Yes.”

“But that wasn’t enough for you. Was it?”

“No. I held them to my nose. Started touching myself. Through my pants. Then… out of them.”

“Right here in your office. Where anyone could walk in and find you like that.”

“Yes. And she did.”

A marker on his desk catches her eye, like the purple satin that started this merely an hour ago. She takes it. Uncaps it. Presses its wet felt to the skin of his chest. Dog, she writes on one side; Pig on the other.

“You let her catch you. You wanted her to see you stroking yourself while you thought about her.”

“Yes.”

“You hoped she’d offer to help you.”

“Yes.”

“And she did.”

“Yes.”

“And you let her, because you’re–” Helena says, drawing another word, larger, across his chest.

“Weak,” he admits, already knowing what the letters will become.

She smirks at her work and turns to the bag she set on one of his chairs. “Tell me about it.”

“She said I looked sexy like that–in my chair, with my cock in my hand. She came closer. Told me to keep going. Told me what a nice cock I have. Told me it would look even better in her hand.”

When she turns back to him, she’s holding a rope with a knot at its center. Placing the lengths over his shoulders, her fingers work to assemble a knot over his chest as she listens.

“She licked her palm and dragged it flat over me. Pressed me against my belly. It felt so good but I wanted more. I pushed my hips up. Tried to grind against her hand. Slowly, her fingers wrapped around me. Just held me. But I started thrusting. She stared in my eyes the whole time.”

A series of knots hang down his torso and Helena sweeps the free ends between his legs to attach them to the knot dangling behind his neck.

“She said I looked delicious. Her hand held my hips back and she leaned in to kiss me. Her fingers squeezed me tighter. I thought I was going to explode, but she let go. She pressed her tits against my chest, then slid them down. Over my lap. And started licking me. Making all kinds of noises.”

Her hands sweep the rope around his ribs then sink its ends through the knot high on his chest.

“Then she said a big dick like mine deserves something tighter.”

Helena tugs hard. “Tight like that?”

“She was so much tighter.”

Another tug. He gasps in shock.

“She felt incredible. She sat right in my lap. Ground her ass against me. Put my hands on her tits. Kissed my neck. Moaned in my ear. Told me how good it felt to have me inside her stretching her out.”

Helena grips the rope, giving it a firmer tug to cinch a diamond across his belly.

“She rode me with her whole body, but her hips…” He sighed. Swallowed. “They worked me so well. She told me to cum for her. Inside her. Fill her up. And I did. She kept going until I was soft and fell out. Then she reached for her underwear, wiped us up with it, dropped it on my desk, and left.”

With the final knots locked around his pelvis, she sits back to look him up and down.

“You’re hard all over again thinking about it. Aren’t you?”

That much is obvious. Any coverage his pants might have provided is made futile by the rope holding them snug over his groin.

“Yes.”

“Go ahead. Call her in. Tell her to take care of it for you.”

“I won’t. I can’t.”

“That removes your biggest excuse, right? That you couldn’t help yourself? You’re just a weak man, a servant to your lust with any glimpse or whiff you get.”

His head falls. “Yes.”

Helena’s pump comes to rest firmly on his swollen cock, pressing it like the gas pedal. “You’re a fucking pig. A dog. A cheater.” Each invective is punctuated by her foot.

“I’m sorry, Helena.”

“You think that gets you off the hook? That I’ll just untie you and hug you and leave and all is forgiven and forgotten?”

“What then? Tell me.”

“Penance,” she says, walking to a leather chair in the far corner of his office. She sits back, calmly settling in, checking that the rope hadn’t marred her nails. “Come here.”

“I’m… indisposed…”

“You’re weak and full of excuses.”

He leans to his side and his shoulder thuds against the carpet. Rolling onto his face, he inches toward her like a caterpillar.

“You look undignified.” Her lips curl, pleased at the display. “But at least you look like you want it.”

“Yes. I do,” he says into the carpet, knees pushing himself closer, his shoulders and neck rocking to keep his face from being rubbed raw.

Reaching her feet, he rocks himself upright. “And now?”

“Grovel.”

An act unfamiliar to him. Intimidating. Humbling.

“I’m sorry for my weakness. For my mistakes. I never meant to hurt you. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. You know you’re the love of my life. You have been since the day we met. You’ve been a wonderful partner. Companion. Wife. Lover. You’re just as gorgeous as you ever were. You’re irresistible to me. I love you from head to toe. Please forgive me.”

Helena holds his gaze as she lifts her foot, plants her heel on his bare collarbone.

He turns his head to kiss it. His lips hold flat against the black leather in an act of contrition.

For a second, she almost lets him get away with it, but she savors it instead.

Her man. On his knees. Defaced and debased. Bound. Begging.

He winces as her foot presses, as it sends him toppling backward.

She stands over him. Looming. Scowling.

A step closer. A crouch that pulls her skirt up and taut between her thighs. A strip of white silk that shows her excitement. All a taunt she hasn’t decided what to do with yet.

She presses the silk to his face. Feels the heat of him through it. His breath shakes against her but he doesn’t dare act. Any reaction would be too much. It would be weakness.

Shedding her blazer, her fingers work her buttons from the top down. Pull her blouse open, untucked, and her bra down, white lace straining under the weight of her chest. Her right arm lends support, her hand coming to rest on the left, fingers grazing in slow orbit before closing on her hardening nipple.

A gentle roll of it between her fingers, a gentle roll of her hips against his face.

She hums pleasure into a bitten lip, still undecided but closer.

She can feel his motionless lips through the silk, a drag that’s wetter with each pass.

Fingers pinch. Hips flex. Pressure builds. The rhythm forms more slowly.

Her hand moves to the scalloped lace where the silk ends. Pulls it aside.

His breath on wet skin.

Then his lips. Firm. Unmoving.

Her hips sink. Firmer, with a slow grind that drags her contours over his. Stubble and skin slicked smooth. The cold of the office battles the warm of his face.

Nipples twist in her fingers. Eyes close to make room for the subtlest sensations, letting them build deep and find rhythm. Texture. Pressure. Speed.

Her head rolls back, mouth open, pouring quiet air into the room.

Fingers in his hair, tip his head back, hold it in place. Hips chase with urgency. A pinch turned twist becomes a steady tug.

Her body goes stiff. Her face falls forward with a look of agony. Her hips shake.

She rolls back, sitting on his chest, and looks down at him.

A once-fine man. Ruined. And thoroughly so.

“Good boy,” she says, giving his cheek and affirming tap-tap.

His body bucks under her. “Please.”

“Please what?” Helena stands up, seeming unfazed as she begins putting herself back together.

“Let me fuck you.”

“You’re at work! Someone could walk in!” she mocks his earlier words. “You got all you’re getting. And your penance isn’t over. I’m going to leave and you’re going to sit here with a throbbing cock and aching balls and my slick on your face, and you’re going to think about how badly you want to be inside me again and what you’re going to do to get me to let you.”

“You’re really going to leave me like this? How will I–”

“Oh, the ropes? Yeah. I think so. Your secretary can help you out. Untie you. Clean you up. Right?” Helena double-checked her buttons and reached for her blazer and her bag. “Should I send her in? No, I think I’ll make you ask her. And you can tell her as much or as little of what happened as you want.”

She’s through the door before he can compose a response.

It clicks shut behind her as she pauses at his secretary’s desk.

Sienna meets her gaze with nervous anticipation.

“He’s going to need a few minutes to think. But you might want to check on him in a while–half an hour or so.”

“Can do.”

Helena smiles. “We’re still on for tonight, right? I hope so after that,” she says, gesturing to the office.

“Yep. 8 o’clock at your place. Can’t wait to hear what you did to him.”

“The underwear was genius, by the way. Worked perfectly. I left them on his desk for you.”

“Thanks. Wasn’t the easiest thing to do without him noticing. I’m really looking forward to tonight. I won’t say a thing.”

Helena smirked. “He’ll have an appetite. That’s for sure. Cya then, love.”

Synopsis: Dale and Kevin used to do “totally not gay stuff” together as college roommates. When a class reunion brings them back together, with Dale’s supportive and curious wife in tow, there’s no telling where the night will end.

Image 11

---

Dale and his wife Joanna were headed down the interstate. He steered with white knuckles and sweaty palms. He knew he had to tell her. He’d been putting it off since RSVPing to his 30th college reunion.

The pit in his stomach tightened. This conversation could upend his whole life, most particularly a happy marriage of nearly 20 years. His wife might lose all respect, all attraction for him. And then what would he have, other than the hollow victory of finally telling someone the truth?

“I know you’re excited to meet my old friends, my old roommate. There’s something you need to know.”

Joanna braced herself in the passenger seat, a pinch of trailmix paused on the way to her mouth.

“Kevin and I…” His mouth went dry. His nerves felt electric, unsure whether to grip the wheel harder, or throw the door open to jump out. “We…”

Her hand moved to his leg and gave a comforting squeeze.

“Ok.” Dale’s hands wrung the leather of the wheel. “Sophomore year, I skipped class because I, well, I have no idea why, actually. You know school was a struggle for me. I was probably going through something. Always was.”

“Uh huh.”

“I opened the door to our room and saw him there, sitting on our couch, pants off. Dick in hand. It was the biggest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ok…”

“Look at this, he told me. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I was in a sort of shock and all I saw was his dick. Don’t be weird, he said, Come look! He was holding this magazine–Bustle. There was a–I don’t know–a feature or whatever, something about which conference had the hottest sorority girls I think.

“And right there on the pages was Kappa Kelly. One of the hottest girls on campus. Totally naked. You could see everything. He told me if I whipped mine out, we could jerk off and it would be like we were both doing her. At the same time, you know? Not gay or anything, because we’re looking at her, thinking about her, right?”

Dale held his breath in his lungs. Swallowed hard.

“Except I just keep staring at his dick, watching him squeeze and stroke. Watching it turn red and swell up more and more. And I popped. It wasn’t from her. It was from watching him.”

Joanna muttered a neutral confirmation.

“It happened again the next week. Same thing.
I caught him with the magazine.
Joined him.
Watched him.
Pop.”

Dale paused. His eyes stared far down the road ahead, unblinking.

“After a few times, I said he could use my hand–you know, and pretend it was her, right? Not gay, you just know your grip and someone else’s always feels better, right? It’s not hard to imagine it was her doing it. He held the magazine and I held his dick. It felt nothing like mine. That’s probably how my hand felt to him too. Different.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Except while he got to imagine my hand was hers, I was holding a dick. And, I guess I kinda liked it, especially when he came. The noise he made. His load rolling down my knuckles. The way he reached for a tissue and cleaned it up. It became a regular thing. We’d break out a nudie mag and jerk each other off–he’d pick out a girl and I’d do him, I’d pick one out and he’d do me. It was a good way to relax. To bond, I guess.”

Lips pressed tight, she nodded.

“One day, he was watching a tape–real hardcore porn–and the girl was just going to town on this guy, like the craziest, sloppiest, hardest blowjob ever. And I just… offered.”

Dale stared ahead.

“I repeated all of the reasons it was totally not gay, probably as much to convince myself as it was to convince him. The first few times, I sucked him for a bit and then finished him with my hand, but then I started letting him finish in my mouth. I’d spit it out in a tissue because it felt less gay, somehow, but that stopped mattering as much to me. I didn’t mind it and swallowing was easier. He didn’t seem to mind either way.”

His wife sat silent.

“And it kinda ended up being a thing. Just like the magazines. For like… a whole semester. Then he got busy with… whatever her name was–Adriana?–and his internship at his dad’s business. I saw him less and less, and we, uh, stopped. It felt less like a decision than something that happened to us.”

Dale took a long breath. It felt good to tell someone, far better than the fear still swirling his guts.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“You were worried about that?” A laugh slipped from Joanna. “Do you know how many dicks I sucked in college?”

“That’s not the same.”

“I ate pussy too.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Maybe not a lot, but… enough? It was part of figuring out who I was–who I still am–and what I wanted. Honestly, I had no idea what that was until I met you.”

“Hm.”

“Maybe you, with Kevin– Maybe that was the same thing–you figuring stuff out.”

“I guess. But. Does that make me…”

“Gay? Eating pussy didn’t make me a lesbian, even if I enjoyed doing it. I don’t think same-sex experimentation makes you anything. Labels are about communicating your own perception to others, not policing your behavior.”

“You don’t see me differently?”

“Of course not. More fully, maybe. And I’m glad you told me, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you, or what we have together.”

“That’s… huh.”

Joanna’s understanding settled his nerves, but her perspective gave him a lot to think about. And she was happy to give him that space, that quiet time for reflection, while her own mind filled with thoughts of a younger version of her dear husband cramming his mouth full of his roommate’s cock.

---

Hours deep in the reunion, after too many introductions and an excess of the inane catch-up smalltalk that pervades such gatherings, Joanna excused herself while Dale and Kevin chatted. The bar offered a spot where she could watch them without looming, and the bartender kept her glass of white wine topped off.

Joanna went back and forth between her phone and the room. The people-watching was subpar, but it seemed to be going well for Dale and Kevin as they laughed and rolled their heads and punched each other’s shoulder. It looked like they hadn’t missed a step and Joanna was pleased at how relaxed her husband seemed since his confession.

When he approached the bar for another round, Joanna asked, “Going well?”

“Yeah. Good to hear what he’s been up to, how his life has been.”

“Hmm,” she said with a snicker. “I don’t know how to say this, but… you’re glowing.”

“Oh, I’ve maybe had a whiskey too many.”

“It’s not the alcohol, love. It’s Kevin.”

Dale’s expression shrank. “You think so?”

“Yeah, and you know what else I think? You should go with it.”

“Go with it?”

“If you’re curious, or need closure, you have more than permission to explore that.”

Skeptical, Dale leaned in and whispered, “Oh, like… hey, remember how I used to suck your dick–maybe we could go out back and I can do it again because this is all apparently some kind of unresolved thing, oh, and my wife says its totally cool, by the way?”

Joanna laughed, shaking her head. She clutched his shirt and whispered back, slower, quieter, “More like my hot-ass wife has been soaking herself to the idea of me sucking your dick ever since I told her about it on the way here, and she’d gladly be there to keep it from feeling too gay as long as she gets to watch.”

Dale pulled back, eyes wide with shock at his wife’s admission. His voice went low. “Wait. Really?”

Sitting back, smirking, she teased her leg against the outside of his. “Which part?”

“All of it?”

“Is it so hard to believe? I get what you see in him. He’s objectively hot. I’d do a lot more than just watch. You know, in general.”

“Really?”

Joanna feigned an innocent shrug. “Maybe I have a few things left to try, that I didn’t get out of my system in my youth.”

“Huh.”

“Would you want that though? Any of that?”

“I…” Dale’s mouth went dry. He took a sip of her wine and licked his lips before resetting himself. “Yeah. If you’re sure. I just have no idea how to–”

“Leave that to me?”

“Ok.”

With her wine and Kevin’s whiskey in hand, she made her way over while Dale took her place at the bar to watch.

Joanna smiled and handed him his drink.

“I wanted to say again how nice it is to meet you. Now I know the handsome face to picture in all those stories I’ve heard.”

“Lovely to meet you too. He, uh… did quite well, if I can say so.” Kevin’s steely eyes had a surprising warmth in them.

“Oh, please do. The compliments get rarer by the year.” She smiled and gave him a playful pat on the chest. “But I don’t think you’d know about that.”

“I feel it in my own ways. Like the two of us struggling to remember names together. Who was that coach, the one with the crazy eyes? But it’s fun to relive all those old times. Makes them feel like yesterday.”

“Mmhmm. There’s one in particular that has my interest,” Joanna said. Her voice dropped, pulling him closer. She could smell the citrus notes of his aftershave and see the white stubble down his jaw. “You two found a classmate in a dirty magazine.”

“Kappa Kelly,” he replied with an earnest smile and a faraway look in his eyes. “Bustle Magazine. September of… 1997.”

“That’s the one.”

Kevin’s expression turned scrupulous. “What about it?”

“Call me out if I’m overstepping–I’ve maybe lost a few too many inhibitions in my wine–but he said something once… about you two sharing her.”

Relief found Kevin’s face and left his body in a chuckle. “Oh, we talked about it plenty, but it was all big talk. To say she was inaccessible to guys like us would be a massive understatement. Much less both of us. I can’t imagine. It was a fun fantasy though.”

Joanna sipped her wine, nodding.

“That was your question, right? If we did?”

“Not exactly. I’m certainly no Kappa Kelly, but,” She leaned closer, tilting her mouth toward his ear, her chest barely grazing his, her voice a velvety purr, “If that fantasy is still present, I think you’d both find me accessible.”

His hand on her hip was confirmation.

“And I only need to be as involved as the two of you want.”

Kevin nodded, understanding her subtext. “Like old times.”

“I promise I’m better than a magazine,” she said, the back of her hand flattening his invisible lapel.

“I have no doubt that you are. Dale always had good taste.”

Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “He says mine is intoxicating.”

“I’d love to find out. If he’s… interested.” Kevin’s hand slid to her lower back, a tasteful pressure, lacking presumption.

“Drive me to our hotel and we’ll find out.”

---

Dale got a text as he lost sight of Joanna and Kevin.

“Go to the store. Wine, beer, whatever. And condoms! Meet us at the hotel. I’ve got the rest.”

That last statement begged a lot of trust.

His wife of two decades was headed to a hotel room with another man with sex was the explicit goal. And he was off running errands for them, giving them time for who-knows-what. His heart raced but his mind was faster.

Things had come so far since his confession.

By the time he got to the door, he had no idea what he’d walk in on. He didn’t know what she’d promised Kevin to get him there. How much she had told him about what he said on the trip up here.

All he could do was trust Joanna.

Pushing the door open, subconsciously holding his breath, the scene washed over him. Kevin, pants off, boxers on, sitting on the edge of the bed. Joanna, across from him on a chair, fully dressed, with one ankle propped on her other knee.

“Perfect timing. We’re still on page 1 of the spread,” she chirped with a smile.

“The part with the bio, you know–name, school, major, hobbies,” Kevin added quickly. Though he was still clothed, the outline of his bulge was apparent, and his fingers massaged it as he locked eyes with Dale. “Join me.”

As Dale set down the bags, he reckoned with the uncanny familiarness of it all. Bits were different–it was his own wife, after all–but the rest started to come back to him. He stepped closer and Kevin pulled himself from his boxers. It looked as good as ever. No worse for wear, or age.

Dale undressed from the waist down and took the spot next to his old roommate.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? I can’t wait to see more of her,” Kevin said, motioning an exaggerated page turn in mid-air.

Joanna hushed a giggle and brought her fingers to her mouth. Her eyes went to their far corner of the ceiling and her hips tilted in place. The shadow of her dress shifted, moving higher up her thigh, while Dale’s gaze did double duty between her and Kevin’s lap.

Slowly, he was catching up to Kevin, growing more comfortable–more aroused–with every page turn, every change of positions and new inches of flesh bared by his wife.

“Oh my god. Fucking perfect,” Kevin cooed as her bra came off, as Dale’s fingers crawled over his thigh and curled around his erection. Unlike the past, Kevin matched his movements, taking Dale in his own hand with an affirming squeeze.

Their crossed strokes built as Joanna’s clothes fell to the floor. From one classic pin-up pose to the next, she moved with purpose, watched with fascination, and tried her best not to upset the careful balance of the men’s good time.

When Kevin said, “I can’t believe it. This is incredible,” she didn’t know specifically what he meant, but no less agreed with him.

She stepped toward the bed, one hand stroking each man’s jaw and lifting it by the chin. Leaning down, she kissed Dale. Slowly, soft enough to feel the slightest of trembles in him. Then she turned to Kevin. She moved his hand from Dale’s lap to the outside of her thigh before leaning down to give him his own kiss. It was more cautious, more probing, but soon both his hands were on her and Dale’s head was in his lap.

Dale moaned low as his lips slid around Kevin’s once-familiar crown, the taste of him stirring fondness deep in his belly. He was the same overstuffed mouthful. The length that Dale couldn’t quite manage. Balls in his hand, Dale did his best, but for the first time, really let himself enjoy it.

Joanna kissed Kevin to the sound of her husband sucking his cock, Kevin’s neck in one hand while her other grazed the back of Dale’s. Kevin’s tongue slid into her mouth and hers repaid the favor. The exhilaration of kissing someone new after all these years sent a hot shiver down her spine.

His lips broke from hers, landing on her neck, her collarbone. She straightened up and pressed her tits together, level with his face, her hard nipples making demands of his mouth that he was pleased to grant them. Kisses, licks, sucks, swirls of the tongue. She let out a moan, gripping Kevin’s hair as her own enjoyment took shape.

When Dale came up for air, he turned toward his wife, planting a kiss on her bush-topped mound. He could smell her arousal, feel the dampness of her on his chin, intoxicating as ever. Any other time, he would have plans for her, but tonight, he suspected she had differing ideas.

Joanna arched her back, pushing her hips toward Kevin’s descending kisses, and Dale backed up to watch. As Kevin’s lips passed her navel, she pushed him back.

“Later,” she said with a cocky grin. Sinking to her knees, she looked up at Kevin, then down at his package. Her fingers closed around the base, still sloppy from Dale’s mouth, giving a few pumps as she admired it. “Oh, very nice. He wasn’t exaggerating at all.”

To his side, there was a shuffle from Dale, but she closed her eyes and brought her lips to the tip of Kevin’s cock. She hummed as they parted, as they conformed around his shape, as she took him deeper. Deeper still. Until he was completely engulfed.

Kevin’s affirming groan was muffled by Dale’s cock. Kevin gesturing for him to stand on the bed beside him was a surprise. He didn’t expect his mouth would feel so good either. The sounds of two blowjobs, different in tone and technique and pace, sang in his ears, but to him, all that mattered was the warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest, caused by Kevin finally returning the favor after three decades.

He wondered how long Kevin might have wanted this too. And whether it was just as worth the wait for him.

Dale sighed, finally relaxed, at peace, and Joanna clocked it. She smiled wide and pulled Kevin back into her throat for another muffled groan. As much as she wanted to go for it, to make Kevin cum while her husband was in his mouth, she thought better than denying Dale the honor.

Later, she told herself.

She rose with a pop and smiled up at Dale with pride. However much or however little she had to do with this, she was happy she could. He was a good man. A good husband. He deserved this.

“I think I need a break,” she told them, stepping back–a little white lie that served only to free them. “By all means, continue to enjoy yourselves.”

As she retreated around the corner, Dale pushed Kevin flat.

“Think you can cum without her to look at?” he asked.

Kevin smirked. “For you? I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“I think I can– It’s all coming back to me.”

“Like riding a bike?”

“Like old times,” Dale said, dropping his head and pulling the heaviest groan from Kevin.

Aggressively, he worked his shaft as his tongue flicked that magic spot below the head. Dale’s cheeks hollowed. From the bathroom, Joanna could hear the sound of wet fingers and pliable skin, of slurps and moans and grunts. Of whispered encouragement and pleas. Of release.

Kevin’s load arced over Dale’s tongue, splashed deep in his throat. He coughed and sputtered, but maintained his work through the finish. Through emptying every last drop of Kevin that he could. And swallowing it with a beaming smile.

Quietly, Joanna slipped back out. Poured herself a drink. Settled naked into the chair where the adventure began. And let her finger dance over her clit while she watched.

Dale’s body danced like it always did for her. The way he rocked his hips. The tension in his jaw. The quiet mewls a good, hard blowjob always earned. The fingers woven in Kevin’s white hair being a welcome exception.

The call of “I’m gonna cum, ohmygod”–music to her ears–tripped her own modest orgasm. It broke in soft waves, her fingers merely pressing against herself, feeling the warmth spread and come out in a heavy exhale.

More than enough, she told herself as Kevin slurped her husband clean. Pecked him with messy lips. Whispered something too faint to hear.

“Is it ‘later’?” Kevin asked, propping himself on his elbows.

“Huh?” she replied.

“You’ve patiently waited for us. We think it’s your turn now.”

“Perhaps,” she said, approaching the bed with a grin and rosy cheeks. “You don’t need a break?”

“Not with these,” Dale said, holding three little blue pills in his hand.

Kevin didn’t hesitate to take one.

Joanna sat cross-legged in front of them, opening her mouth to extend her tongue, and Dale placed a pill on it.

Kevin asked, “That works?”

“The effect isn’t as physically obvious, but… oh yeah, it does.” She clapped her hands on her knees. “I take it you boys still want your fantasy then?”

“Ours. Yours,” Kevin started, “I suspect they’re all about the same by now.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

Synopsis: Short and sweet. That’s the story. That’s Rachel. She gets down while on the clock.

Image 15

---

Rachel was where she spent all her breaks–two every shift, 5 when she pulled a double–under the front counter. On her knees. With her mouth around the dick of whoever was manning the register.

Today–as it usually was–it was Josh.

Whether she had 15 minutes or 30, she would bring her man to the brink as quickly as she could, only to keep him there until her break was about to end. Currently, her timer had two minutes left.

Josh was sweating. His hips swayed into the counter, trying to cheat his way deeper in her mouth without being obvious to customers. He suspected she took a particular satisfaction in trying to break his composure mid-transaction, and the timing was perfect.

He greeted a new customer. “Welcome to Tight Bundts, how can I help sweeten your day?”

Rachel’s lips tightened around his base and dragged slowly toward his tip. Her fingertips lightly massaged his balls.

“Ah, those… are… my favorite. That’ll be 22.25.”

She slid him deeper, pressing his tip to her throat and swallowing. His strain was obvious. The twitches deep in his thigh muscles. The pulse of that particular vein against the corner of her mouth. He was close.

“You can tap right. there,” he said, swallowing a groan.

Her lips curled, knowing she could nudge him over the edge with the customer still watching. Pulling back, she sent a cool breeze over his wet cock and felt a shiver run through him. A heavy drop of precum formed quickly at his slit, hanging, forming a glassy strand as it dipped and fell to her thigh-high sock.

She smiled wide, watching his cock bob and pulse, before lapping up the broken string.

“That’ll be up in, one minute,” Josh said with a thready voice.

A groan jumbled in his throat, covered by a cough, covering the gluck of her throat finding him again. His knuckles turned white on the edge of the counter. His knees sank for a split second. If she could hear his breath from down here, she could only imagine what the customer must have thought.

“Have a nice day!” he said, his strain apparent.

The door chime barely beat his restrained bellow as her mouth turned aggressive. His hand moved behind her head, pulling her lips tight to his groin, his tip buried in her throat. Her eyes watered, body began to heave.

Josh pulsed fast but her throat worked faster, clearing her mouth as he attempted to fill it. Between gulps, she hums, continuing to stroke his balls.

She looked up at him with a big smile, licking her lips then wiping them with the back of her hand.

Her break timer dinged.

“Back to work,” he teased.

“Yes, sir,” she replied with satisfaction as she strutted away.

Inside the kitchen, she washed her hands and reapplied her lipstick in her reflection on stainless steel.

“If you’re done sucking up to the front of the house,” a kitchen worker, TJ, snarked, “the lemon bundts need glazing.”

“She’s just trying to get moved out of the kitchen,” her other kitchen-mate, Ollie, added.

“Oh, psh! I’d take you two over customers any day.”

“Then why is it always Jooooooshhhhh?”

“Yeah, if you love us so much, why no kitchen blowjobs?”

“We’ve got dicks too!”

The guys laughed, continuing to work unfazed.

“You’ve never asked. He did.” Rachel blotted her lipstick and gave herself a final once-over check. “And so did the other counter boys.”

TJ’s pan clanged to the table, sending speckles of batter flying. He turned with a skeptical look. “They… just asked?”

“Yeah?” she replied, as if it was totally obvious.

“And we could too?”

“Yeah.”

Ollie turned to her. “What can we ask for?”

“Anything you’d like, I guess, just no cream fillings. Glaze only!”

The guys froze with wide eyes. They looked at each other. Back at her. Back to each other.

Rachel saw an opportunity for a small caveat. “And you’d have to get us caught up first.”

Without a word, TJ nudged her aside and took over glazing the lemon bundts. Across the kitchen, Ollie shuffled pans onto trays and loaded them into the oven before whipping up another batch of glaze.

Rachel sat on the prep table in the middle and watched them, swinging her feet, amazed at the efficiency of young men who’d been promised sex afterward.

Ollie stopped, scanning the kitchen, running the checklist of duties. The half-sink of dirty dishes could wait. He approached the prep table cautiously, full of nerves. “I think I’m ready.”

“For?”

“A… blow… job…?”

Rachel bit her smile and slid off the table, her knees finding a welcome squish in the anti-fatigue mat. “Gladly!”

She pulled at the elastic waist of Ollie’s standard-issue kitchen pants. Her hand closed around his sweat-socked halfy and began to stroke him. Kissing his balls, curling her tongue over them, she hummed with joy as the din of TJ’s work continued behind her.

Content to take her time, without the pressure of a break, her lips caressed his head, coaxing it to swell. Her mouth slid around him, cheeks hollowing to pull him in, to rouse his hardness. His hips started to pump against her. Ollie couldn’t believe how good she felt and kicked himself for not realizing he could have had this the whole time he’d been working here.

“Can I join?” TJ asked, rounding the prep table.

Rachel lifted her ass from her heels, cocking her hip toward him suggestively.

His hand slid over the back of her short skirt. His fingertips slid between her thighs, moving until they reached the thin strip of soggy fabric between them. She moaned as his fingers pressed and probed. Her hips pushed back, rolling.

“You wanna fuck me?” she asked, turning half-around.

“Shit… uh… Yeah!”

“Grab my hips,” she said, getting her feet under her. Her hands rested on Ollie’s hip bones and her mouth fixed itself back around Ollie’s cock as TJ gave her a lift and pivoted the duo to make room for himself behind her.

TJ flipped the back of her skirt up, taking a second to admire her ass while he hooked her thong aside. His tip rode between her cheeks, down to prod her wet hole. His eagerness to feel her, the sexy, flirty coworker he had long fantasized about, took over. She groaned heavy around Ollie’s cock as he sunk himself into her, bottoming himself out with a quivering sigh.

Rachel tried to bounce between them, alternating her strokes, but TJ had other plans.

His hips pushed her farther onto Ollie and he began thrusting like she could disappear at any second. The harder he clapped behind her, the harder she gagged on Ollie. Her thick drool flowed down his balls until heavy strings dangled and made wet spots on the pants bunched around his ankles. Her throat pressed against his tip and he pressed back, testing her ability to take it, sending mascara in lines down her cheeks.

Pulling herself free, breathing heavy, slobber coating her chin, she worked his length aggressively with her hand as she tried to recompose herself.

Her hips shot back hard, throwing TJ against the prep table with a thud and rattle of loose tools, his cock sharply testing her depths on the other end in a way that nearly dropped her to the floor.

She shook it off and spun. Holding her cheeks apart, she backed onto Ollie and let herself down in staggered strokes until she bottomed out. Her hands pinned TJ’s thighs to the table, asserting her control over his eventual release. She preferred it that way–giving pleasure rather than allowing it to be taken. That’s what kept her chipper through a long shift.

And here, she could do her bounce. Slow, long drags of herself around Ollie’s cock, while her hand worked her juices up and down TJ and her tongue swirled around his head. Then a burst of focused bobs on TJ, landing him against her throat, enjoying the way his length dragged on her tongue as she grinded for Ollie at half-depth.

“Your mouth, oh god,” TJ slurred as she gave him an extra flourish.

He was close. She spat a thick gob on his head and worked it in with her fingers. Twisting. Squeezing. Taking advantage of the full surface area of her fingers and palm. One last deep bob. One last suckle. One last flick of her tongue.

Rachel tugged her apron aside and her shirt down, exposing so much cleavage but nothing more.

“Glaze me,” she commanded from her throat, her hand stroking hard.

His first spurt shot up, laying across her nose, before successive shots covered her cheeks. She took him deep one more time, hollow cheeks and firm lips leaving him clean.

“Lemon bundt,” Josh called from the front.

“That can wait,” she said, turning to Ollie, returning to her knees. “Your turn to glaze!”

He groans as she takes him in her mouth, her hand working from lips to base. A long slurp ends in a wet pop. The sound of furious wet friction, his balls clapping lightly against himself, then going silent as they tighten. She lapped his leaky, swollen slit. Flat tongue, then flicks. Flat again. Circles pressing, her tongue contorting to his shape.

“Oh, oh, oh!” his voice came, desperate.

Thick pulses of cum poured out. Her hand using his cock like a paintbrush, smearing his load over her lips and chin, her cheeks. She planted a firm kiss on his tip, then stood up, her face fully glazed, lines of mascara swept into chaotic swirls.

“RACHEL! LEMON BUNDT!!”

Defiantly, she strutted across the kitchen to retrieve one of the freshly-baked, freshly-glazed lemon bundts and slam it into a plastic clamshell.

She stormed through the door with a cloying smile and satisfied air, past Josh, who looked like he’d just seen a ghost, and slid the package over the counter.

Her sweetest, most customer-friendly–if a bit lascivious–tone followed. “Sorry about the wait. It’s been crazy back there today.”

The customer’s eyes grew as they scanned her face. His mouth opened but his words arrived seconds later. “It… uh… it… looks like it.”

He caught himself staring and hurriedly scooped the container in his hands.

As he turned to leave, Rachel shouted after him, sounding chipper, “Have the sweetest day!”

Josh stood frozen in place with the dumbest look on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing. I… nothing.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re all caught up back there. The guys are in good spirits. And I know just how to spend my next break.”

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.

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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.

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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.”