Down and Dirty

by Alison Tyler

  “It’s been a long time since I had this on.”

  “A fancy dress?” I asked, coming over to her, standing behind her with my hands around her waist, then sliding one up to rest it on her cheek.

  “This dress...”

  She tilted her head and stared at my reflection in the wardrobe. My hand was still on her skin, her noticeably cold skin. A tremor ran through me. “We got that piece in yesterday,” I told her. “From an auction house. It was supposed to have belonged to...”

  “Sapphire Sam,” she said, “I know.” She undid her hair and let her mane loose over her shoulders. Everything about her gleamed—her skin, her eyes, her teeth when she smiled at me.

  EXPLORING PSYCHES

  Sage Vivant

  Denebria, while I don’t doubt that your powers of seduction are formidable, I think it’s unlikely that a grown man can ejaculate just from your touch through his clothes,” Rick pointed out.

  “Why would I make it up? Wouldn’t it be silly for me to lie to my shrink?”

  He stared at her as he often did when he wanted her to continue. She decided to volley back some silence of her own, wondering who would break first.

  “Show me how you pleased that man,” he said finally. His voice was darker, deeper than normal.

  At first, she remained in her seat, uncertain and disbelieving. To imagine that this man, the object of her forbidden fantasies, now seemed to be asking her to touch him, immobilized her. He stared more intensely at her until his gaze willed her to walk to him.

  “Well, I was kissing him first,” she explained in a tremulous whisper.

  He tilted his face upward as he put his clipboard on the nearby table. She bent to kiss him and as their mouths yielded to one another, his palm caressed her breast. Her own hand moved quickly to his bulging crotch.

  As she palpated his balls, he squirmed slightly and moaned into her mouth. He spread his knees further apart, and with his free hand, he buried his fingers in her hair.

  What were previously loose pants were now tight. He was enormous under her skillful strokes, and the more she touched him, the more obsessed she became with seeing what she had so successfully aroused.

  He pulled away from her lips gently so he could speak to her. “Strip for me, Denebria. I need to see you.” She had never heard such urgency from him before.

  “But what about our, uh, test?” She looked down at his swollen lap, continuing to work what she hoped was magic.

  “Please. Just take your clothes off.”

  She removed her hand and stepped away to stand before him. He replaced her hand with his own, a sight she found erotic in the extreme. As he sat there, expectant and wide-eyed, thighs parted like a wishbone, she pulled her jersey over her head.

  “Oh, Denebria. Those big, beautiful tits. You have no idea how often I think about them,” he told her, breathless as he rubbed himself.

  She unhooked her bra to unleash its contents. As her breasts bounced free, he bit his lip. He cried out softly as she stepped out of her pants to reveal her belly ring, and she realized he was filling his crotch with the hot come she’d inspired. She now stood before him in only sandals and panties. Soaking wet panties.

  “But that doesn’t count,” she teased. “You did that yourself.”

  “No.” He grinned, still panting. “You can take full credit for that one.”

  She took his hand to pull him to his feet. Once he stood, she stripped him, revealing the smooth, hard chest and the thick, come-covered cock. She knelt to clean him with her tongue before he joined her on the floor. When he ate her, she creamed his face with months of pent-up pleasure, and when he slid deep into her pussy, she thought of nothing except the fire beneath his skin.

  ASHLEY’S SECRET

  Diane Chalk

  Ashley had dated Peter for two months before coming to terms with the fact that there was no chemistry between them. There’d been no spark with her and Robert, either. Or the man she’d met on vacation in Paris. Or the boys who had thronged around her in high school, dying to take her out on a date, to the movies, or to the prom.

  But Peter had seemed different from the rest. At least, at first. He didn’t pressure her, didn’t call too often, didn’t act demanding about sex or kissing or anything. When they were out, Ashley enjoyed herself, but in the way she enjoyed hanging out with friends. Nothing more...until she met Peter’s sister.

  Then, suddenly, Ashley’s emotions, usually so controlled, so easily kept under wraps, began to play nasty tricks on her. At dinner, with Peter’s sister across the way, winking at her, bumping her feet beneath the table, Ashley felt herself blush. Her heart raced. Her mouth was unable to formulate words of pleasant conversation when Peter’s mother spoke to her.

  Ashley’s discomfort was not lost on Gemma. Peter’s sister had a sense about things, about people, and she knew Ashley was interested in her from their first glance. Now, Gemma was simply making the connection clear, paving the way to Ashley’s introduction in the ways of Sapphic love. After dinner, when the family moved to the living room for glasses of brandy, Gemma seated herself next to Ashley, and, on the pretext of showing Ashley their family photo album, Gemma moved closer until they were hip to hip.

  Ashley saw none of the photos, none of the sweet family ski pictures, happy images captured forever by Kodak. Ashley let Gemma turn the pages, telling stories about the different locations, their vacation to Mammoth, the time in Hawaii when the rain never stopped, and Ashley nodded, wondering if the room was overly hot, or if her inner temperature had gone haywire. Gemma understood the way Ashley was feeling, and she kept up her steady monologue of relatives and faraway places, until, sensing that Ashley was on the verge of passing out or freaking out, she suggested they go up to her old bedroom, where the rest of the albums were kept.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Peter?” Ashley asked, her voice wavering. He was watching the game with his father, and he didn’t mind at all. Gemma and Ashley walked the stairs in silence, and, in silence, undressed the second the door closed behind them. Ashley wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she knew she needed to be in Gemma’s arms, and she wasn’t going to let herself, her calm rational self, keep this need from being fulfilled.

  She tried to speak, to ask Gemma questions, but the other girl shook her head, placed her finger on Ashley’s lips, then covered those pretty pink lips with her own mouth, silencing her.

  Ashley closed her eyes and let Gemma take over, let Gemma lead her to the bed, covered with a blue flannel blanket. Let herself be spread out on the bed, her legs splayed, her hair falling around her shoulders, but not hiding her breasts. Her nipples were hard. Gemma licked them, kissed them, suckled from them. Ashley cradled Gemma’s head in her hands, losing herself in the sensation of being treated warmly, softly, as she’d always fantasized about.

  Gemma covered Ashley’s body with her own, letting Ashley become used to the feline feeling of another’s woman’s body. It was right to be doing what they were doing. It was perfect, Ashley assured herself. Nothing, not holding hands with a man, not being kissed by a man, not being fucked by a man, nothing had ever come close to giving her the amount of pleasure that Gemma was with the pressure of her body alone.

  Ashley was courageous and began to stroke Gemma’s back, curving her hands into cups over Gemma’s hips, then moving lower to stroke the woman’s ass. It was divine, exploring the dips and curves of her new lover’s body. She wanted to explore her forever, lose herself in Gemma’s warmth.

  They were in a sixty-nine, dripping juices into each other’s mouths, when they heard footsteps in the hall. There was a knock, and Gemma called out, “Hold on! One sec!” and the women scrambled into their clothes, looking disheveled, but dressed, when Peter opened the door and walked in. He leaned against the wall, a smile on his handsome face.

  “I knew it,” he said to Ashley. “I knew you’d like Gemma...”

  Ashley stared at him, her eyes wide.

  “I’ve got
a secret of my own that you two can help me with... I need to introduce mom and dad to my lover...Kirk.”

  BIRTHDAY SPANKING

  Mark Williams

  Harriet was known as one of the biggest bitches in our company, yet I found her charming, sexy, perhaps even lonely or confused. Certainly, she had an erratic personality. She could be sweet as all hell to me one week, then not even look at me or talk to me the next. Still, when she got really dressed up for work, which was about half the time, she looked damned hot.

  The thing was, I could never tell how she was going to act toward me. Maybe that added to my interest in her. And I knew her birthday was approaching, meaning her behavior might be even more unpredictable. On the day of, I took a chance and left a red rose on her desk—anonymously. This threw her into a tizzy, as she couldn’t imagine who could have done such a thing.

  Finally, she glided over to my desk, looking spectacular. “Mikey, did you see anyone over by my desk earlier?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. “But the rose is from me.”

  She was startled and actually blushed. “Well, that was sweet of you. I never expected...”

  “And I’d be happy to throw in a little birthday spanking with it, if you like,” I whispered in my lowest possible voice.

  “Excuse me?” she said, making me suddenly nervous. “Did I hear you correctly?”

  “I hope so.”

  “The only thing you’re going to spank is your monkey, pal,” she said in her bitchiest tone, before adding almost coyly, “and I’m going to watch.”

  My cock hardened at once. I’m sure she knew it even though my lap was concealed by my desk. “Anything you say, Harriet...just let me know when and where.”

  “How about right here, right now?”

  My stomach tightened and my cock grew harder. “This is a little too public don’t you think?” My desk was in an open area, making her suggestion far too risky to consider.

  She thought a second. “I suppose so. Follow me to the ‘person’s room.’”

  I did as ordered. Our unisex bathroom had a locking door. Perfect.

  She went in first, and after looking around, I followed her in. Without a word, she leaned forward on the bathroom sink, offering her skirt-covered ass to me.

  “Do you still want to spank me?” she asked. I was too embarrassed to reply or move. I never thought my joking remark would go this far, this fast. I was frozen, until she said, “Go ahead, baby. It’s okay.” I moved behind her and raised her skirt as much as I could. Her slip moved easily with it. Her pantyhose-covered ass beckoned me. I raised my hand and gave her a playful but gentle slap.

  “A little harder, Mike,” she moaned. I obeyed. She squirmed from the slap, but I couldn’t help but suspect we were both enjoying ourselves. I hit her seven more times, each time a bit harder, then said, “Ummm...I don’t honestly know how old you are.”

  “That’s none of your fucking business. Give me one more hard one, and we’ll call it even.” I did just that, and she exhaled a loud groan. “Now it’s your turn. I want you to spank yourself for me. Drop trou and do it, now!”

  Given our location, there was urgency to the situation. I unbelted and unzipped my pants and let them fall to my ankles. I also pulled down my underwear. My throbbing cock sprang to full attention once released.

  “Oh, yeah,” Harriet said with a smile. “I never knew you were so big. Good for you, Mike. Now work your hand, like a good boy. This is gonna be my present.”

  I began to jerk off, needing no further incentive. Harriet sat back on the sink and pulled up her skirt, exposing her silky legs to me to help me further. I stood facing her, feeling foolish in my nakedness, but determined to come for her.

  “Come on, Mike—”

  I picked up my pace, feeling a tightening in my testicles.

  “Are you close, baby?” She could see it in my face.

  “Yes,” I grimaced.

  “Then start singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me,” she cooed.

  I gave her a look of disbelief, yet again, somehow did as told. “Happy Birthday to you...” My balls tightened a bit more.

  “Keep going, baby...”

  “Happy Birthday to you...Happy Birthday, dear Harriet...” My body was in spasm. “Happy Birthday to you!” I croaked. I was in full orgasm right now. Warm, white come was everywhere. Harriet slid off the sink and moved her mouth to my cock, licking and sucking up as much ejaculate as she could.

  “Now I’ve blown out my candle,” she laughed.

  I was weak everywhere. “God, Harriet, you’re so sexy...”

  “I know. And for being such a good boy, maybe I’ll plan a bigger surprise for your birthday.”

  I squirted a few last drops in her mouth. It had been a birthday surprise—for me as well as for her.

  WEATHER WATCH

  Stefani Wheeler

  The stodgy male weather reporter, whose name was something ridiculous like Autumn Wind, was replaced midseason by a youthful, freckle-faced redhead named Azure Kelley. I caught her for the first time on a rainy night, and I was so taken by her appearance that after the weather report was over—a full five-day forecast—I realized I didn’t have a clue if the rainstorms would continue or if it would finally start to snow.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. It was simply the first time I saw her on TV. Azure and I had been lovers once, long ago, and had split when her career became more important than her connection to me. But I hadn’t forgotten her. Hadn’t stopped thinking about her after all those years. Now, she was back to haunt me...on my television set.

  I always like to know what the weather is going to be. My job, delivering flowers, takes me outside so often, it’s important to be dressed correctly. This is what I told myself when I stayed up to catch the late-late forecast. Again, Azure pointed knowingly to the various parts of the country map. Again, I found myself lost in daydreams in which she pranced naked through her forecast, snowflakes drifting down and melting on her pale, gold-freckled body.

  I had to wait until the newspaper came in the morning to get dressed. Showers were called for, and I wore my bright yellow boots and heavy-weather gear, still thinking of Azure as I drove to the shop.

  She was on again that night, and I caught the newscast early enough to hear her announced as the new weather forecaster. I paid attention to what she said this time, but I did it while imagining her in the nude, spread out on a million rose petals, the red floral carpet the perfect canvas on which to display her nubile body.

  In the morning, dressed in slacks and a cardigan (she’d predicted winds, but no rain), I added a special delivery to my route. I dropped a dozen red roses at the station, signing the card with my name and number and a one-line sentence that said I missed her.

  That night, watching her forecast, I was gratified to see one red bud in her lapel. And later that night, while I was curled up in bed reading a mystery, I was even happier to hear the phone ring.

  She said, “Thank you for the flowers. They were lovely.”

  “I’m glad you liked them,” I replied, my mind racing for something clever or cool to say. “Would you like to come over?” I asked, knowing it was neither clever nor cool, but what I wanted more than anything else. “I live very close to the station.”

  She hesitated only a second, then asked for my address. I prepared for her arrival as quickly as I could. Within minutes, there was a knock on my door and there was Azure, clad in a white, faux-fur jacket, standing on my step. I hurried her inside, and then, after a brief up-and-down glance on both our parts, herded her up the stairs to my loft. She was easy to undress—a simple tug on her zipper revealed a black, Lycra bodysuit, and that was off just as quickly. I removed my nightgown and climbed onto my bed with her, rediscovering her body with a pleasure that had no boundaries.

  In the dim sheen of my one light, her freckles appeared to be gold-flecked fairydust sprinkled all over her lithe form. I pressed my face to the flat of her belly and inhal
ed to find her deeper scent, the base scent of her gold-dripped skin. Her skin was warm beneath the palms of my hands, warmer still as I stroked her, running my palms along the full length of her body, massaging her muscles, rubbing the pads of my fingers against her ribs, between her thighs, under her hips.

  I described my fantasies to her as I continued my explorations. I sniffed behind her earlobes, smelled her amber hair, whispered to her of sweet love among snowflakes, rough love under bright, sunlit beaches. As I spoke, I sensed that she was growing wetter, and further explorations proved my forecast correct. Each story I spun for her made her a little more excited, until the dew began to form on her ginger-hued pussy lips. I left those for last, describing how I longed to spread her on a carpet of petals and have windswept, passionate sex with her until the petals crushed beneath us and released their fragrant blood around us.

  At that, she hoisted her hips upward, begging with her actions and then her words for me to relieve her. Not one to keep a damsel in distress, I moved between her legs and played my role impeccably. I teased the nub of her clit between my lips. I spanked her thighs lightly while I worked her pussy hard. I followed the rhythm she set with her hips bucking on my sheets, followed with my lips clasped around her pearl. I made her come while she grabbed onto my shoulders with both hands, and in my mind, her freckles fell from her skin to my own, dusting me with their magic, golden powers, alighting on my skin like fireflies and bestowing their secret glow to me.

  When I watched the newscast the next night, I knew the forecast for our future would be sunny, despite the most possible chances of snow.