Down and Dirty

by Alison Tyler

  “Can’t you just train him, and let me pay you?” I asked.

  The dark-haired owner of the school shook his head. “You need to be able to give Rex commands. He will learn to obey you, but you must be present for his training.”

  I heaved a huge sigh, but then remembered my sister’s angry look. “Okay, fine,” I said, perhaps not using my most polite or accommodating tone. “Whatever.”

  I decided to take private lessons, which cost more but would be over sooner. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. The trainer, Johnny, was stunning, a tall, dominating man with a deep voice. When the lessons were finally over, Rex was a different dog. As I settled up, Johnny took Rex’s leash from me and set my dog free in the play area to roam.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, signing my check.

  Without speaking, Johnny took me by the hand and led me into his office. He closed and locked the door and said, “You’re rather spoiled, aren’t you?”

  I looked at him, shocked. Was this how he talked to all of his clients? Up until now, he’d been incredibly professional. While I stood there, mouth open, he continued, “You’re used to getting your own way. Always. It’s obvious from the way you behave—or misbehave.”

  I started to reply, angrily, and was stunned as he began to undo his leather belt and slip it free from the loops. “You’re the one in need of training,” he said, motioning for me to come closer. I hesitated, looking at his long legs, his strong body, the firm set of his lips as he waited. Then I walked to his side and said, in my most humble voice, “Maybe...”

  He didn’t let me finish. He bent me over his desk, yanked down my slacks, and, doubling his belt, gave me a hiding. I hadn’t been punished like that in a long, long time. Not since I’d broken up with my last beau...the one I was replacing with Rex. My ass stung with each blow and I whimpered, like a puppy, and squirmed. But I didn’t try to get away.

  Johnny said, “You don’t know how to treat your superiors, do you? You just pout and whine and demand things. You need a long, healthy training session.” He continued whipping me as he spoke, demanding I answer his questions with, “Yes, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir.”

  Finally, he was done, and he pushed me onto my hands and knees and said, “Look at you. Groveling. Now, do you agree with me? Do you need some training?”

  I nodded, saying, “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl. We’ll start tonight.” He wrote down his address and handed it to me. “Don’t be late.”

  I shook my head. “No, Sir, I won’t be late.” My heart was leaping in my chest. I’d finally found a man who understood me. What I wanted. Needed. Craved.

  As I got ready to leave, adjusting my clothes, fixing my hair, Johnny came toward me with a thin, leather collar. He lifted my hair and placed the thing around my neck, quickly buckling it.

  “Now,” he said, “be a good girl until tonight, and I’ll let you keep that.”

  Ducking my head and lowering my eyes, I said, “Yes, Sir. I promise.” Then I went to collect Rex and together we left the obedience school.

  In the car, on the drive home, I looked at Rex. He was panting, almost grinning, happy to be in the car. I stroked his dark red fur and ran my fingers over his leather collar. Then I turned the rearview mirror a little to look at my own leather collar. My smile was as wide as his, and I said aloud to myself, “Maybe, just maybe, you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  VOCATIONAL HAZARD

  Sage Vivant

  At six-feet-one-inch tall and two-hundred pounds, Karl was not a likely burglar. He couldn’t easily slip into unforgiving spaces or pass unseen behind parked cars. Nevertheless, he’d had modest success in his career, breaking and entering undetected into some of the neighborhood’s better homes.

  He’d been watching this particular house for about a month and knew that only the housekeeper was in residence—the owners were on some extended vacation. He never killed people who got in his way, but the housekeeper would certainly meet with unfortunate consequences if she decided to protect the place she was hired to clean.

  The window slid up smoothly, and he crawled into the bedroom with practiced stealth. Once both his feet were on the carpeted floor, he heard bedsheets rustling and jerked his head around to follow the sound. Illuminated by the stream of moonlight from the window, the housekeeper sat upright in her bed, her knees trembling at her chin.

  This would normally be the point at which he’d physically restrain the person who posed a threat to his mission. Instead, he stood immobile, locked in a gaze with those enormous green eyes. Though she watched him expectantly, there were equal parts fear and invitation in her expression.

  “Maybe you should tie me up,” she whispered.

  He always had rope with him. As he moved to pull it from his pocket, she spoke again.

  “I have some rope in the nightstand.”

  His cock thought first. It told him to command her to strip. She obeyed. Never taking her big, round eyes off him, she spread out her alabaster body like a willing participant. Her breasts were small and her pussy hairless.

  He withdrew his own rope and tied her wrists to the formidable bedposts. When he spread her legs to secure her ankles, the deep fragrance of her cunt’s readiness made him stop. She was still staring at him when he bit the fabric of his glove to pull it off his hand. He immediately touched his uncovered hand to her steamy wet snatch. With no hair to catch her moisture, her juices coated his hand almost instantly.

  The efficiency expert in him decided time was at a premium. He threw her legs over her head and unzipped his fly. Out came his thick, steely cock, which now became the focus of the housekeeper ’s gaze—until he rammed it into her. The housekeeper’s soft whimpers made him harder, made him want to fuck her more furiously.

  Her beautiful eyes finally closed. His thrusts had pushed her up toward the headboard and her head now tapped it every time he pushed. He didn’t want to come yet, he decided.

  Untying her wrists, he maneuvered her onto all fours so that her perfect little white ass stuck up in the air, asking to be taken. He positioned himself behind her and pumped, breathlessly watching her asscheeks reverberate as he fucked her. He heard her panting and felt her asshole grip him before it spasmed into an orgasm.

  As his hot juices spewed into her, he made a mental note to come back the following night...to rob the house.

  FIRST-CLASS SERVICE

  Edward Van Houten

  I was flying Concierge Class on a red-eye to Paris for business. To my relief, I had most of the cabin to myself, aside from a heavy-set man who had fallen asleep even before takeoff. I envy people who have that sort of ability to relax. I’m not one who can sleep on planes. But as it were, on this plane, there was someone special to capture my attention: our flight attendant. She was a pixie blonde with an attitude. Her name tag read, “Oh, Miss!”

  I liked her. I liked her a lot.

  As the flight got underway, “Oh, Miss!” swished her hips up and down the aisle, acting as if the cabin were full when I tried to talk with her. “Just a minute,” she said. “I’ll be with you presently.”

  But as the flight continued, she began to talk with me. There wasn’t much else for her to do with her passenger list at two instead of twelve, and one of the two completely comatose. She perched on the arm of the chair across the aisle from mine, and absentmindedly twirled a strand of her hair around her finger as she spoke.

  “Will you have time to sightsee?”

  I didn’t catch her question. I was too busy sneaking a peek at her long legs in that short skirt, shorter still now that she was sitting. Sightsee? I already was. I saw London, I saw France... She continued, oblivious, listing the various “hot” places to visit until she caught my glazed look. It startled her. She dropped her hand from her hair to her throat. Her pale skin was so white there, almost translucent, and I could see the veins just under the surface. I leaned across the aisle and replaced her fluttering fingertips with my own hand, feeling the
beat of her heart, the pulse of it.

  “Can I—” she started, squinting, losing her attitude suddenly, “I mean, do you need something else?” She half-rose as she said it, and I took the opportunity to stand, too, to glance quickly at our sleeping companion, to herd “Oh, Miss!” into the lavatory and lock the door.

  “I need something...” I said, forcefully, turning her so that her face was to the mirror and her ass was to me. “Yes, I need something.” I lifted her skirt, yanked down her panties. She pressed back against me, and at the connection of her naked skin with my hard clothes-clad cock, she sighed with relief.

  “Not to worry,” I told her, “I’ve got what you need, too.”

  In a completely humble tone she asked, “Will you put it in me? Will you fuck me?”

  I didn’t answer her with words. Instead, I used my rod as my voice, sliding it between her thighs and going to work, moving it deep within the tight confines of her cunt. Her scent filled the small lavatory, that subtle tangy aroma of sex and wet and heat. Her thighs were dripping, lubricating my cock so that when I decided to put it in her ass, it was all wet and ready.

  She kept her eyes locked on mine in the mirror. But her pale skin took on a healthy glow and she unbuttoned her uniform top to show me a beautiful set of breasts, captured in black lace.

  I ran my fingers over her nipples, pinched them one at a time, in order with the rhythm I was fucking her. She took it in stride, bucking against me, as if she had her back door filled every day. She knew how to go for a naughty fucking ride.

  As she began the steady rise to climax, there was a knock at the door, followed by the voice of the once-snoring passenger, “Oh, Miss! Excuse me!”

  But my miss was too busy to answer with anything other than an “Ohhhhh” of her own.

  DRESSING ROOM

  Elle McCaul

  I wandered through the Designer Clothing section, looking for a three-way mirror. When I found one, I realized another woman was checking out my reflection, her eyes focused on the curves of my ass. Always the exhibitionist, I turned around and around, admiring my slender thighs, the haughty curve of my bum, shown to perfection in the CK jeans.

  But the woman was staring at me in a way that suggested she might be more than a casual admirer, staring for much longer than is polite. I walked over, finally, and asked, “Do I know you?”

  She shook her head, blushing as dark as her sleek red hair, and said, “You’ve got the last pair of size two Calvins. The saleslady says they won’t get any more in that style. I was wondering if you were going to buy them. Or, if not, if I could try them on.”

  I looked at myself in the mirror. I liked the way the jeans fit. Classy, body-hugging jeans are difficult to find.

  “They look great on you,” she said next, reading my mind, blushing even harder. “I’m not trying to influence your purchase. I was just waiting for your decision.”

  I wanted the jeans. But I started to want this woman, too. Which was more important? I shrugged and said, “I’ve got a million pairs of jeans at home. You can have them if they fit you.”

  Then I motioned for her to follow me to the dressing room. Gratefully, her green eyes shining at me, she did. It was obvious she was planning on waiting outside my dressing room, but, on a whim, I grabbed her hand and pulled her in with me.

  Without giving her time to avert her eyes, I slid out of the jeans and kicked them over to her. “Try them on here,” I said. “If they fit, we’ll decide who looks better.”

  She swallowed hard, undid the buckle of her slacks and slid them off. Then, not meeting my eyes, she pulled on the CKs, still warm from my body. They looked divine on her. We both knew it. She primped for a moment in front of the mirror, then shyly met my eyes.

  “You’ll owe me, you know,” I said, taunting, wondering what her response would be.

  She surprised me, went down on her knees on the dressing-room carpet and pressed her face against my panty-clad pussy, kissing me along the seam, wetting me there with her tongue. She was like an animal, sweet and shy, yet totally natural, taking what she wanted, giving what I needed.

  I moved her aside and pulled off my panties, then let her continue, watching in the mirrors as she lapped and licked at my dripping cunt. I was making a puddle of glistening nectar on the seat of the dressing room, but I didn’t stop her. I let her bathe my clit, instructed her to use her fingers.

  “Inside me,” I said.

  “Oh, yes...” her pointer and middle finger rocketed deep in my cunt, and her tongue played magic tricks with my clit, tickling, teasing. I was close to coming, but I needed something more...something... The beyond-snotty saleslady knocked at the door, asking, “Is everything all right?”

  And, exhibitionist that I confessed to being, I moaned, “Yesss...oh, yesss...” as I hit the peak and crested downward. The saleslady left us alone after that. I looked down at my new, nameless friend and grinned.

  She stood and took off the jeans, sliding back into her own outfit.

  “You know,” she said, “they fit us both. Maybe we could share them. Split the cost, then take turns wearing them.”

  I looked at her for a moment. “When it’s my turn, I guess I’ll owe you,” I said, and my brand-new friend nodded as she tossed me the jeans.

  THE FORM AND THE FUNCTION

  Tyler Morgan

  They were both watching me. Joe, who owns the gym, and who’s been my best male buddy since freshman year in college, and this girl. This hot, young, redheaded, athletic chicklet riding the stationary bike on her journey to nowhere. She was wearing a turquoise leotard and slim grey sweatpants, and her corkscrew-curly hair was pulled off her face with a lilac headband.

  I hadn’t seen her there before, but from the way she was staring at me—well, it looked as if she liked what she saw. The mirrored wall of the gym is intended for clients to watch themselves while they pump iron. It helps you make sure that each rep is smooth, fluid, and that you don’t lose your pace or your concentration. I know the drill. The rest of the world can fade away when you’re in the middle of a good workout. But this evening, eyes were focused on parts of the body that didn’t belong to the owner. Joe was watching her, and she was watching me, and I was watching both of them. In a game to glance when nobody could catch you, we were all both losing and winning.

  There were only the three of us that night. Saturdays at ten p.m. are generally slow. That’s why I like to work out at off-hours. This Saturday was the weekend before Christmas, and nobody was around. Nobody but us. But that was perfectly fine. The three of us made the perfect team, even if nobody was ready to admit it yet. Not with our voices, anyway.

  Only with our eyes.

  That girl was intense. That hot, hot girl. She was clocking me like a hungry feline. And, oh, did I ever want to feel her full, pretty lips devour me. So what did Joe have to do with this? Well...let me tell you about Joe.

  He and I go way back, like I said. And although I know that he puts on a straight act, he really doesn’t care much about the sex of the people he sleeps with. As a fitness expert, he is all about the body. The form. The function. He competes in contests, the type intended for no-steroid-use athletes. He is pure within his body and within his mind. Or, at least, he is when it comes to working out. When the subject turns to fucking, he is as dirty as they come.

  Or as he comes—

  Or she comes—

  My mind was a jumble of these sorts of thoughts, so much so that when the pretty jock girl made her way to my side, she caught me off guard.

  “Hey—” she said. “Joe tells me you’re good.”

  I couldn’t answer at first. Good at what? Good at making some lithe little athlete such as herself have multiple orgasms on my tongue? Good at holding a lover down to my bed, my hands on her wrists, our bodies pumping together? Good at pushing a pretty minx up against the shower and going at her? Yes, I was very good at all those things. Tonight, I knew precisely how I’d like to start, pulling her Lycra leggi
ngs off and using them as bindings to capture her slender wrists to the rack at the far wall—

  “Good at spotting,” she said, indicating the free weights in the far corner.

  “Oh, yeah,” I told her. “Sure—”

  I followed behind her, checking out her fine ass in those sleek-fitting slacks. And then I spotted for her as she pressed iron. She was impressive for a girl her size. She knew what she was doing. As did Joe, who came up behind me as the girl did her last rep, and said, “I’ve locked up.”

  We both turned to look at him, the girl gazing at us from her upside-down viewpoint, me staring over my shoulder. “Nobody’s around,” he said next. And that was it. Not even an invitation. Just a statement. The girl squirmed around into a sitting position and gently raked her fingers along my chest. When she reached the bottom of my red cotton T-shirt, she started to pull it up. I immediately helped her, tossing the shirt in the corner and nodding for her to strip as well. Joe was ahead of both of us, out of his workout gear in seconds. He had a bottle of something in his hand, an oily product used for making athletes gleam in competition. When she was naked, Joe began to oil her up.

  “He says you’re good,” she said, grinning over her shoulder at me. I stared only in the mirror, watching her skin take on a warm golden glow.

  “Yeah,” I said again. “I’m good—”

  The three of us moved tight together on a cobalt blue mat in front of the mirrors. Joe in front of her, facing her, me in back. I could look over her shoulder and stare into my friend’s grey-green eyes, or I could glance in the mirror and see the three of us moving together like a well-oiled machine, which really is what we were.

  A fucking machine. One that might not make any of us stronger, but would definitely take us to the point of no resistance, to a place where all of us desperately wanted to go.