Down and Dirty

by Alison Tyler

  Here, she felt truly at home for the first time. The other women at the ’zine didn’t comment on her clothes or appearance. In fact, many of them dressed in similarly unconventional ways. And it was here, at the ’zine, that Janina met Audrey, Soiree’s editor in chief.

  Audrey had hair that was black on one side and pure white on the other. Audrey’s eyes were like two sapphire balls. Even in dim light, they shined. When Janina and Audrey shook hands for the first time, an energy crackled between them, strong enough to send tiny bursts of light flickering from the tips of Janina’s midnight hair. That made Audrey laugh and lead Janina to the safe sanctity of her mammoth, cave-like office.

  “You’re new,” Audrey said, once both women were seated in her plush, zebra-lined chairs. Janina nodded. She could feel the heat and power radiating from her new boss, and she could also feel something else, an undercurrent of sexual desire. She’d always been able to cast love spells for her friends, but now she wondered if she could cast one for herself. She stared long and hard into Audrey’s eyes.

  Audrey laughed again, this time so loudly that the black marble walls of her office shook and their white veins shifted in designs. “You’re trying to cast a spell on me?” Audrey asked, still laughing. “You...?” While Janina searched for an answer, Audrey winked and Janina was suddenly naked. Audrey spread her arms wide apart, and Janina found herself standing, pirouetting before her boss, under no power of her own. Her pussy lips were spread apart by invisible hands, her insides were probed and prodded, then filled, as if with a thick, living cock, but no lover could be seen.

  Audrey enjoyed the spectacle without moving from her chair. Through her commands, Janina was stretched out in mid-air, arms and legs apart, head back, long hair undone and floating like a dark halo around her.

  Janina didn’t dare speak, could not compete with a power as strong as Audrey’s. Instead, she let herself enjoy the sensations...now her asscheeks were parted and a new member inserted into her asshole. These probing cocks felt almost snakelike, wiggling into her, touching all of her secret places. The invisible dildos throbbed and pulsed, changing temperature as if responding to her inner desires, glowing warm in her cunt and cool in her ass, then changing. Janina closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of being so well-filled. She opened her mouth, obeying a command in her head, and a third probing, pulsing toy filled this orifice.

  Audrey clapped her hands at the spectacle, then rotated her fingers and the members inside Janina began to spin, their vibrations welling up inside her until she began to come. She opened her eyes and could see her cunt juices dropping to the floor below her. Each droplet created a rainbow of lights when it hit the floor. The effect was too powerful, and she felt herself swoon, and woke, dressed again, being rocked against Audrey’s breast.

  “Never try to outspell a more powerful witch,” Audrey whispered.

  Janina nodded and lowered her mouth onto the smooth, cool skin of Audrey’s nipple, suckling, gently, until she was rewarded with a honey-sweet nectar. Audrey stroked Janina’s hair softly and sighed with the pleasure of finding a like-minded black-magic woman to play with.

  OBSCENE PHONE CALL

  Scott Wallace

  Hello,” I say, not knowing what I’m getting into.

  “Hi, who’s this?” you say. I recognize your voice, which is why it takes me a minute to answer.

  “The name’s Carl.”

  “That’s a sexy name. I’m Lexie. How old are you, Carl?”

  “You know how old I am,” I say.

  You giggle, a giggle that tells me I’m not getting off that easy. Or, maybe, that I’m not getting off that hard. “No, Carl, I don’t know how old you are. But I don’t really care, either. What do you look like?”

  “Six-one,” I say as I adjust the portable headset, take the phone into the living room, and stretch out on the couch. “Long dark hair,” I continue, running my fingers through my strawberry-blond crew cut. “Kind of a tall, dark, Fabio look.”

  “Wow,” you say. “What are you wearing?”

  I slip my hands down past the stretched-out waistband of my sweats and adjust my cock, which is getting hard. As silly as this game is, the fact that you’ve just called me up to play it with no preliminaries has started to turn me on. I clear my throat.

  “I’m not wearing much of anything,” I say. “Um, Lexie.”

  “Mmmmm,” you sigh. “I’m not wearing much either. Just this little tank top. You can totally see my tits through it. My nipples are all hard. I’m not wearing any underwear, either. I’m real wet. That’s why I called you.”

  “What do you look like?”

  “Five-one, long blonde hair, blue eyes, thirty-six double-D.”

  My head spins as I remember the last time I felt your body against mine, felt your five-eight, thirty-four-B body, ran my fingers through your close-cropped dark hair and looked into your green eyes. I smile.

  “You shave your pussy, Lexie?”

  “Yeah, I shave my pussy,” you say. “I like it all clean. Want to know a secret?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “When I’ve just shaved my pussy I can feel my cunt rubbing against my underwear.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “That is,” you add almost as an afterthought, “when I wear any. Which isn’t often. I like to go out without panties. You know, wear tight jeans or a short skirt with nothing underneath when I go dancing. All shaved and open. And wet. I’m always wet when I go without underwear.”

  “I like that,” I say. “You go dancing a lot?”

  “Yeah,” you say. “My boyfriend doesn’t know, but I go dancing and sometimes I get all nasty.”

  “Nasty how?” I ask.

  “Nasty with my girlfriends. We make out on the dance floor. That’s why I don’t wear any underwear when I go dancing. Makes it easier if my girlfriends and I get all worked up and have to, you know, go into the bathroom stall.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Does that make you hard, Carl?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

  “Yeah,” I say, putting my hand down my pants and finding that it has, which I already pretty much knew.

  “Mmmm. Just telling you about it is making my pussy wet,” you tell me. “Do you have a nice big cock, Carl?”

  “Yeah,” I say, stroking it slowly, feeling the head rub against my sweatpants.

  “Is it nice and long? How long is it, Carl?”

  “Ten and a half inches,” I say, wondering how many inches I’ve just added. I make a mental note to bring a ruler on our next date.

  “Fuck,” you say. “I love big cocks. Ten and a half is so fucking big, Carl. I would love to suck your cock. Is it nice and fat?”

  “Yeah,” I say, stroking it. “Ten and a half inches and real fat.”

  “Fuck,” you say. “I would so love to suck that. I wish you were here so I could slide my lips all up and down it. Slide it into my mouth and down my throat. Mmmmmm. Would you like that, Carl? Put your ten-and-a-half-inch cock all down my throat, Carl?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’d love that.”

  “Get all nasty with me,” you moan. “Tell me how you’d make me suck your cock.”

  I have to grope for the words, which I guess is appropriate. “I’d, uh, I’d grab your hair and force your face down on it.”

  You let out an explosive sigh. “Fuck yeah,” you groan. “Make me suck it, Carl, fuck my throat, oh, fuck. What else would you do?”

  “Um,” I say. “Slap your face with it.”

  “Oh fuck yeah,” you say. “Slap my face with your cock?”

  “Um.” I’m about to say, “I guess.” I stop myself just in time. “Fuck yeah. Slap your face with my cock,” I say.

  “Oh God, yeah,” you say. “So fucking hot. Make me suck it, Carl, you’re making me so fucking wet. I love sucking your cock. I always swallow, Carl, you want to make me swallow, or you want to fuck my pussy? I’m rubbing my pussy, Carl, are you rubbing your cock?”

/>   I am. “Yeah, I’m rubbing my cock.”

  “Fuck. That’s so hot. Are you close to shooting your load for me, Carl?”

  “Yeah,” I say, pumping my cock. “I’m close to cumming.” I can’t help but think in my mind that this kind of cumming is spelled with a “u,” something I always thought was stupid until now.

  “I always fucking swallow cum, Carl, when I suck cock. Do you want to make me swallow your cum or do you want to fuck this wet pussy? My wet, shaved fucking pussy is so fucking shaved and wet for you. Do you want to fuck it?”

  “Um,” I say. “Fuck no. I want to fuck you in the ass.”

  I hear your groan and know I’ve hit upon a nerve. “Oh fuck, Carl, fuck no, Carl, I’m so tight back there, Carl, your big fat fucking ten-and-a-half-inch cock is too big for me, Carl, you can’t possibly...”

  “Shut up,” I growl. “Bend over. Spread your fucking cheeks.”

  “But what if it’s too big?” you moan.

  “You better lick it and get it all slick,” I growl.

  “Oh God, Carl, it’s too big, oh, baby, I’m parting my cheeks, I’m spreading them open, oh, I’m so tight back there, baby, are you going to put it in? Shove it in my ass?”

  “Yeah,” I moan. “I’m grabbing your fucking cheeks and pulling them open and I’m fucking shoving, fucking shoving it, bitch, shoving my cock in your ass.”

  “Oh, fuck, Carl, it hurts so bad, but I’m cumming. Oh, I’m fucking cumming Carl with your cock in my ass—”

  And then you do, the uncontrolled sounds of your moans matching the ones I heard just last night when I did exactly what we’re talking about—minus the “bitch,” plus the lube. “Fuck my ass!” you moan in the middle of your orgasm.

  “Yeah,” I whimper. “I’m fucking your fucking ass, fuck, fuck fucking your ass—” And then I come, hard, staining the front of my sweatpants as I listen to you finishing your orgasm on the other side of the phone. I pump my cock until it’s empty and the front of my sweatpants is soaked. I let out a sigh.

  “Oh, God, Carl,” you moan. “You fucked my ass so good. So good, Carl...”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “It’s a simple fact,” you coo. “No need to thank me.”

  “When are you coming over?” I ask.

  “I was too horny to make the drive,” you tell me. “Thanks for taking care of that. See you in half an hour?”

  “I saved you some Chinese food,” I say.

  “Lemon chicken?”

  “Kung Pao tofu. And potstickers.”

  “Oh, fuck, Carl,” you croon. “You know what I want. You know what I need.”

  “Don’t forget to get gas,” I say.

  “Don’t forget to get hard again,” you tell me.

  “Oh, I won’t.”

  You hang up.

  WHO’S THERE?

  Sage Vivant

  Though she was center stage, Clarise received no introduction. Nor could she see her audience. As she awaited the sound of Master Don’s voice, she tried to determine the number of bodies present based on the feel of the air on her body. Master Don never revealed what he had in mind for her before an evening began.

  She sensed more people than she could count. No light snuck in through her blindfold, so her only gauge was instinct. Sometimes she could feel someone’s breath or pick up a subtle scent. Tonight, too many sensory signals assaulted her—heat from unidentified sources, breathing from all sides, disenfranchised odors that wafted past unexpectedly. Master Don’s voice interrupted her silent observations.

  “This beautiful, trusting soul is called Clarise. In touching her, you express not only your appreciation of her but mine, as well. Show her what you desire about her by laying hands on it, stroking it, even squeezing it gently. Let every contact you make be a meaningful expression of respect and reverence but do not restrict yourself from any part of her.”

  One large, warm hand immediately found its way to her left asscheek. It paused, as if unsure of itself, then began slow, sensual circular motions on the expanse of skin it had chosen. The touch was soothing but provocative in its tenacity.

  No sooner had Clarise begun to synchronize some part of herself with the movements of the hand than another, smaller hand lifted one of her breasts as if to suckle it. Clarise caught her breath with the thought of having a breast sucked by an unknown mouth. Would Master Don allow it? She remained silent but hoped desperately for a wet tongue on her nipple.

  The hand at her breast kneaded what it held, sending Clarise into dizzying waves of excitement. It caressed from the meaty underside down to eager, waiting nipple, over and over. Clarise suspected that the person (a woman?) alternated hands to achieve this effect, which resembled an eerie kind of milking. She wanted to deposit something in these affectionate hands.

  Meanwhile the hand at her ass continued to circle its way around. Both her cheek and the hand grew warmer with each pass and Clarise had to restrain herself from pushing her flesh into the large, welcoming palm.

  Suck my tit! Clarise wanted to call out, but knew better than to second-guess Master Don’s plan for her. Three new hands were suddenly upon her: one massaging the tops of her feet, another tickling her pubic hair, and the third tweaking her other nipple.

  “You may use your mouth to show your appreciation of Clarise’s body,” Master Don announced.

  Clarise nearly wept with gratitude as humidity surrounded her erect nipples, a prelude to what she knew would become hungry mouths tonguing and licking. When the first tongue encircled her aureole, the other flicked rapidly at her swollen nipple. Her knees wobbled as the mouths worked, wet and hot, distracting her from the burrowing fingers between her legs.

  THE STRANGER

  Thomas S. Roche

  Casey wandered through the gyrating crowd getting progressively more irritated. This wasn’t what she had in mind when she’d agreed to go dancing with Austin for the evening. He’d recently come out—no surprise to anyone except maybe him—and was in full-on queer social butterfly mode; he’d managed to talk Casey into going to a gay bar with him. It had been fun for a while, dancing anonymously among seething hordes of gay men packed into skimpy, skintight clothes, sheened in sweat and feeling each other up.

  Austin was having a great time, too, bouncing from guy to guy, flirting all over the place. But Casey had started to get annoyed when Austin’s flirting had gone totally out of control—last she’d seen him, a half-hour ago, he was off in the corner making out with some dark-haired hunk she wouldn’t have minded getting close to herself. In fact, she’d been flirting with him not long ago, half-wondering if he might be straight. The guy’s interest in Austin had answered that question.

  Now, Casey was tired of dancing. She was a little drunk and would have gone home except that she’d forgotten to save money for a cab ride, so she was stuck until she could locate Austin among the swarm of dancing men. She hoped he had enough cash for a taxi.

  Casey stumbled toward the bathroom, noting that while the men’s room was packed with flesh, the girl’s room looked like a graveyard. She went in, more to get away from the crowd and noise and the smell of liquor than because she had to go. Once she was inside, though, she realized she did have to go, and headed for the single stall. She gasped when she pulled open the door—two guys were in there, one seated on the toilet seat, the other straddling him. Casey started to back away, but then the guy on top turned his head and she saw that it was Austin. The guy underneath him was the gorgeous hunk she’d spotted him with earlier.

  “Casey, darling!” Austin was drunk, and his London accent always came out when he drank. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  Casey scoffed, pissed off for a moment. “Yeah, but you’ve been looking in the wrong place. I’m not in the habit of hanging out in a guy’s tonsils.”

  Austin was drunk enough that he didn’t get the joke. The guy underneath him got it, though; he looked at Casey and smiled, his blue eyes lighting up. God, he was gorgeous. Aus
tin reached out to Casey and grabbed her hand, dragging her into the stall with them. “I’m sorry, love, don’t be mad. I’ve only recently become gay, and I can’t help myself.” Casey let Austin put his arm around her and pull her close, kissing her on the forehead like a protective older brother. “This is Colin, by the way, his name starts with a C just like yours. And he’s also straight. Or at least, so he says. Just here with a friend who wanted to enlighten him to the scene. Isn’t that right, Colin?”

  “That’s right. What was your name again?”

  “Casey,” she said.

  “Casey. That’s a pretty name. But I actually meant your friend.”

  Austin guffawed and made a show of pretending to slap Colin on the face.

  “You fucking slut. I just told you my name fifteen minutes ago, didn’t I?” Casey rolled her eyes, unable to decide if she should laugh or scream at Austin. He was so charming when he got drunk; she just let him pull her close into the stall, which meant that she was pressed against Colin’s body, too. She decided to giggle—mostly out of nervousness.

  “If you’re straight, what are you doing making out with Austin?”

  Colin looked up at Casey, smiling, his eyes more gorgeous than ever. He put his arm around her, his hand resting against her inner thigh. “Austin! Now I remember. I was waiting to see if his gorgeous girlfriend would come along.”

  “Nice line,” said Casey as her skin tingled where Colin gently gripped her thigh.

  “I don’t think it’s a line, honey,” said Austin. “Colin’s been jabbering on about you. I suspect he’s only been making out with me to get your phone number. Can’t say I blame him.”

  Austin leaned into Casey and kissed her full on the lips, surprising her. She felt his tongue laze along her upper lip. It had been years since Austin and she kissed. Feeling his mouth against hers sent a surge through her, making her stiffen from the sense of taboo—she’d had a hopeless crush on Austin forever, since long before he knew he was gay. And Colin, the gorgeous Colin with the dark hair and the blue eyes, chose that moment to slip his hand up her skirt.