by Alison Tyler
Her breath came fast as she heard the bedroom door opening and closing.
She heard soft footsteps approaching the bed, took a deep breath and smelled a body, unfamiliar—a stranger. Perfume, just a hint of it, mingled with the scent of sex, her own and the stranger’s. She felt the weight on the bed and her body tensed as smooth fingers ran up her body, touching first her thighs, then her wet pussy, making her gasp and squirm as she felt herself penetrated, invaded, as she felt her clit teased. Then the hand, now moist with Veronica’s juices, trailed its way up Veronica’s belly and over her breasts, pinching her nipples, squeezing her breasts—then, quite unexpectedly, traveling to Veronica’s face so the fingers, slick with pussy, could be forced between Veronica’s parted lips.
She licked, savoring her own juices. She felt a hot mouth on one nipple, suckling it, making it stiffen more as her pussy responded with pulses that matched the strokes of the stranger’s tongue.
When the hand and mouth left her, Veronica longed for them back. A mouth pressed to hers, tasting different than her lover’s, different than any mouth she’d ever tasted. She felt a tongue, long and lithe, pressing its way into her mouth, opening her up, preparing her. Then Veronica felt the weight shifting atop her, the stranger changing position, her knees tucked alongside Veronica’s upper torso, calves underneath Veronica’s upper arms. Smooth thighs surrounded Veronica’s face, caressing her cheeks as the stranger’s crotch made its way down onto Veronica’s face.
She smelled it, sharp and tangy. Sex. Female sex. She felt it, against her mouth, wriggling, descending as the thighs pressed tighter against her, forcing this stranger’s pussy against Veronica’s open mouth, stifling her panting moans with the inexorable press of moist folds of flesh.
Veronica felt a surge of arousal go through her nude body as her tongue found the strange woman’s entrance. The taste was so unfamiliar to her, so new and exotic. Hungrily, she began to feed, her tongue licking from the woman’s smooth, slick opening to the firm bud of her clit, listening to the faint moans of ecstasy as she began to work the woman’s clit. She had mounted the bed with her ass toward Veronica, and as Veronica lapped at the woman’s pussy she felt an unfamiliar mouth on her own cunt, so helpless and vulnerable between her open thighs. Veronica’s moans were muffled by the strange woman’s pussy as she felt a tongue working its way between her lips, as she felt the tip of that tongue pressing her clit.
Veronica felt the electric charge exploding through her, her arousal mounting as her ass lifted off the bed. The woman was larger than her, and her weight bore Veronica into the bed. Veronica ate her pussy hungrily as the woman ground her hips rhythmically in time with Veronica’s ministrations. Meanwhile, the woman found the perfect rhythm on Veronica’s cunt, and Veronica sank desperately into pleasure, giving herself over to it.
Was Veronica’s lover watching her? Standing in the doorway savoring Veronica’s surrender? Had her lover trained a video camera on her, to capture this moment for later enjoyment? Or was this moment Veronica’s alone—Veronica’s, and the stranger’s?
Slender fingers worked their way into Veronica’s pussy; she gasped as their soft pads hit her G-spot firmly and began to massage it. Veronica squirmed against the bonds, each movement of her body accenting both the suckling hunger of her mouth and the press of the strange woman’s tongue on her clit—not to mention the rush of unexpected pleasure deep in her pussy. Veronica was going to come. She knew it. But she wanted this woman to come, too; she wanted to pleasure the stranger as much as the stranger was pleasuring her.
To her surprise, as Veronica licked harder, suckling on the woman’s clit, the fingers left her and the pussy-slick hands gripped her thighs, as the strange woman’s hips began to buck and pump. Veronica licked faster, not letting up until the woman had shuddered and climaxed on top of her, moaning uncontrollably with each stroke of Veronica’s tongue.
Then, with a gasp, she lifted her pussy off of Veronica’s face, as if unable to bear any more stimulation. Veronica’s mouth still worked involuntarily, her tongue lolling out to lick after the pussy denied her. Then, her mouth went slack as she felt the fingers pushing into her again, as she felt the mouth descending on her pussy again. As she felt the tongue on her clit and her entire body exploded in sensation.
It took moments this time; the feel and sound and smell and taste of the woman climaxing on top of her had driven Veronica over the edge. In the moments before her orgasm, she wondered again if her lover was watching, if her lover had arranged to savor this moment later—or if this orgasm, this intense climax that was about to explode through her, was hers alone—hers and the stranger’s.
Veronica felt her muscles spasming, the first hint that she was coming. Then, a split second later, the pleasure burst through her naked, bound body and she let out an unrestrained wail of ecstasy, her whole body shaking as she released herself into the stranger’s touch. She felt the room spinning, unseen, as she lost herself in the sensations and bright lights exploded in her eyes behind the blindfold.
Still whimpering, Veronica felt the strange woman licking her pussy clean, devouring the juices that had leaked onto her thighs. When she felt the woman rising, Veronica took a great sobbing breath and felt the cold of the room hit her; the woman’s body heat vanished in an instant. She wanted to lift her head and look—to see if her lover was there—but she could see only blackness, the smooth inky blackness of the leather blindfold.
Veronica heard footsteps. Two sets of them. One, getting further away.
One set of footsteps, coming closer.
She heard the door open, pause in silence, and close.
She took a deep breath, smelled the familiar scent. She felt her lips parting in a rapturous smile, heard herself whispering her lover’s name.
Heard the greeting returned, “Veronica,” whispered, soft and close. Tasted the familiar kiss on her lips.
Veronica felt the weight as her lover mounted the bed, heard the bed creak as she strained upward against the bonds, wanting to savor the weight atop her. That weight bore her into the bed, and Veronica surrendered to it.
BATTERY POWER
Thomas S. Roche
Oh, fuck,” she said. “How am I going to get this report done?”
“How about your laptop?” I asked.
“It’s not charged.” I watched Quinn pout, illuminated in pizzicato by the apocalyptic flashes of lightning coming through the rain-dappled window.
I shrugged in the dark, a strange feeling. “I’ll get the candles,” I said.
I went into the kitchen to get a flashlight and the battery-powered radio. I also nabbed a half-drunk bottle of Merlot. I went into the bedroom for the candles...and picked up something else, just in case. When I returned, Quinn had moved her pouting to the sofa. The lightning flashed and my heart went out to her—she looked really miserable. She was so miserable she didn’t even notice the wine.
“I just hope the power’s not out long,” she said. “I have to finish this fucking report.”
I set the radio down and turned it on.
“...knocked out power lines, leaving more than 20,000 residents without power. The storm also...”
“That was quick,” she said.
I went around the room lighting candles. She leaned over and flipped the dial.
“...knocked down power lines, stranding...”
“...major power outages...”
I sat on the sofa next to her, close.
“...for all you lovers stranded in candlelight out there, this is a little tune that should put you in the mood.”
The strains of “Let’s Get It On” floated through the lightning-strobed darkness. Quinn’s hand paused on the dial. She looked at me suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.
I uncorked the wine and took a sip straight from the bottle.
“We’re out of clean glasses,” I said. “I’ll run the dishwasher as soon as the power comes back on. Are you finished complaining or do you still need to be
pissed off for a while?”
She looked at me with her lips pursed. I smiled, offering her the bottle.
She took her hand off the dial of the radio.
She needed a drink even more than I did. When her lips came off the bottle, I pressed mine to them, tasting the spicy red wine and putting my arms around her. I expected her to protest, but she melted right into me. Marvin Gaye was telling us to fuck, and who’s going to argue with a sexual icon?
Her tongue was warm and sharp from the wine. I took the bottle from her and had another sip, then set the bottle on the end table, which provided me a convenient excuse to lean over, pushing Quinn into a prone position. She didn’t protest; on the contrary, she hugged me tight and murmured softly.
I pulled up her T-shirt and began to kiss my way across her breasts. When I reached one nipple I suckled it gently into my mouth and Quinn’s legs spread smoothly around my hips, drawing me deeper into her embrace. She felt the lump in my back pocket and nudged it with her toe.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” I said. “It’s battery powered.”
Quinn sighed faintly, kissing the top of my head.
I moved to her other nipple and she arched her back, moaning tenderly, running her fingers through my hair. I ground my body against hers, and when she felt the firmness of my cock pushing through my jeans, she lifted her ass slightly, pushing back against me. As I suckled her tits, I slipped her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor. I slipped my hands under the waistband of her sweats and eased them down her body. She slid one leg out of them and I eased down, spreading her legs further, lifting her thighs up into the air as I knelt in front of the sofa.
Lightning flashed all over us, mingling with the flickering candlelight to illuminate Quinn’s pretty face. Her lips parted wide and she moaned as my tongue teased her clit. I slid two fingers into her and she gripped the sofa, shuddering. I licked faster, harder, my free hand traveling up to tease her nipples, my palms opening to stroke the firm buds. Quinn grasped my hand and pushed it hard against her breast, then drew it up to suckle on my fingers as I felt her clit swelling still more under my tongue.
Marvin Gaye had stopped telling us to fuck, but now that chick from the Divinyls was crooning about touching herself, and Quinn saw no reason to stop taking the radio’s advice. Her hand slid down to her clit and she started rubbing it as I licked down around her lips, teasing them open so I could slide my hand in more firmly. When I returned to her clit, my tongue pressed harder against it and Quinn uttered a choking gasp of pleasure, both hands now grasping mine. She lost interest in my fingers and shoved the heel of my hand into her mouth, biting hard as I drove her closer. I reached into the back of my sweats and took out my secret weapon—a slim, battery-powered vibrator. When I pressed it to her clit, Quinn went crazy.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she moaned. Quinn squeezed the muscles of her pussy around my fingers as I pushed up and stroked her G-spot. Her moans rose in intensity. I could tell she was right on the edge, and it was that critical moment when I decided whether to get her off with my tongue and my hands, or fuck the living daylights out of her.
Quinn solved that dilemma: “Fuck me,” she moaned. “I want to come with you inside me.”
I turned off the vibrator, shucked my sweats and pushed Quinn back onto the sofa. She spread her legs and closed them around me, grabbing my hair and pushing my mouth against hers. I entered her in an easy stroke, her pussy warm around my cock. I started fucking her slowly, and then it happened. The lights went on all around us, and the stereo, which had been playing the modern rock-industrial-metal station, blazed into surging noise, mingling with the sexy strains of love songs from the battery-powered radio. White Zombie drowned out Barry White and the blaze of lights washed over our trysting bodies as Quinn’s computer made that musical sound that meant it was time to start work. But she wasn’t listening. Her body pumped against mine, naked and spread on the couch, her fingernails digging into me as she clawed and moaned. I slid the vibrator down between us and touched it to Quinn’s clit as I fucked her—and in an instant, she came, her eyes going wide in unexpected ecstasy and release, her arms and legs seizing me and pulling me hard onto her so I lost hold of the vibrator. The tight press of our bodies wedged it even harder against Quinn’s clit, and she writhed as her orgasm intensified.
The pumping of my hips drove my cock into her rhythmically, and when I came, Quinn whispered “Come inside me,” and nuzzled my ear as I did. The noisy strains of two kinds of music were all drowned out as Quinn’s computer surged into AutoPlay, its tinny speakers blasting the Ramones CD in her DVD-ROM drive. Everything pulsed over us—lights, music, orgasms. The lightning and thunder were all lost in the melee. I sank down on top of her and sighed against her flesh. Quinn reached down and turned off the vibrator, tossing it onto the coffee table.
“Want to get back to work?” I asked her. “I mean, the power’s back on.” I had to talk loud for her to hear me over the blaring strains of music.
She curled her arms tighter and wrapped herself around me.
“Maybe that report can wait until tomorrow, after all,” she said.
WHOLE
Kinde Moore
He fucked my ass last night. It’s not the first time we’ve done it, but it’s the first time I liked it. More than that. It’s the first time I asked him to do it, begged him to do it.
“Please, Hunter, please....”
We fuck raw. We fuck like animals. Hard, heavy, the sweat-sheen gleaming on our bodies. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle, two strikingly similar bodies, long, lean, muscular. When I look at our reflection in the mirror, sometimes it’s like seeing double. Often when we’re out, people ask if we’re related.
Now there’s a twisted thought.
When we fuck, Hunter puts the mirror right next to the bed so that we can watch. He likes to watch. It’s one of his favorite things. He says, “See, that’s you. That’s the way you look when I’m inside you.”
I stare at my reflection, seeing but not seeing. Falling into myself, into the hot gold glow of my brown eyes, the parted-helpless look of my lips. I look hungry when we fuck. I look overwhelmed.
Last night, though, was different.
He said, “Touch yourself. Find that clit of yours and stroke it.”
Fingers wet, clumsy, finding the hard nub of tingling flesh and rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.
He said, “Watch while you come. Watch your face change.”
I wasn’t close to coming. I was on fire. My skin burned. I wanted something more. I tugged at my clit, rubbed it hard with my third finger, knowing I’d be sore the next day, but not caring. I looked into my eyes, as he wanted me to do. Then I looked into his eyes and I said, “Please, Hunter, please...”
“Please what?” His cock was stroking me inside, pushing against the walls of my cunt, touching me in all the places that usually work to get me off but weren’t working last night. “Please what?”
“Put it in my ass.” It was difficult for me to say, and I looked down at the bed when the words were out of my mouth. He reached forward, cupped my chin in his hand and forced my head up.
“Look at yourself,” he demanded.
I did.
“Now, say it again.”
I bit my bottom lip, not wanting to obey. I kept my fingers going, making those endless rotations that only I know how to make. I said, “Please, Hunt. Please...” My voice got hoarse and lowered in pitch. “Please put it in my ass.”
“Put what in your ass?”
My head wanted to go down again. My eyes wanted to focus on the bed, on the pillows, on anything but my reflection. He wouldn’t let me.
“Put your cock in my ass,” I said, in a rush, all at once to get it out.
“Why?”
He pulled it from my cunt and moved away as he asked, and being emptied of him was a horrifying sensation. I needed his touch. I needed his body against mine.
> “I want...” I started, unsure, “I want to feel it.”
“You want to feel it deep inside you—” His cock was already wet with my cunt juices and he parted the cheeks of my ass and pressed the head of it against my hole.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on his in the mirror as he bucked his hips forward and drove the thing home.
And I liked it. I liked the fullness of it. The weight of it inside me. It was different than the other times, when he’s taken me. It was a partnership, and I moved back on him and used my body with his and relaxed against him.
Sometimes when I stare at my reflection, I look overwhelmed. Last night was different. Last night, I looked satiated. I looked complete.
I looked whole.
TOPLESS
Peter Lieberman
Bridget lets me choose her clothes. I look at her in everything she wears, making sure it’s sexy enough to satisfy me. And sexy enough to satisfy her.
This outfit, however, I’ve never seen on her before, not really. At least, not the way it’s intended to be worn. Even though I picked it out. Even though she tried it on for me. Even though I’d paid for it with my credit card when she’d balked at the price.