by Unknown
He was doing the opposite of what I wanted. Damn him.
“It what, baby?”
“Spank me,” I said between gritted teeth. But my voice broke at the end. I was failing at my tough girl façade. “Do it again, please.”
That was all he wanted. For me to ask. For me to admit. A rain of blows came down on my bare skin. Fire licked at the edges of my perception as my skin tingled with heat and prickling pain. I was so tight, so wet, so…close. I kept my head down and when he started to move again, I felt the awful raw drag of the rug on sore flesh.
Rug burns.
Another blow came down and coupled with the sparkling bite of my raw elbows, I came. My body milked at him eagerly and I heard the rush of air out of him that said he was close too. He was playing it cool, but he was close.
My forehead pressed heavy to the carpet so I could feel and hear my thundering heartbeat as small sparkles of pleasure continued to work through my pussy. When I shut my eyes, I could see it. Little dancing magic lights in my darkened vision that matched my heartbeat.
“You’re pretty red, Mac,” he said, sounding almost awed. Now his touch on my bottom was gentle and humble. He stroked tender flesh that stung and I winced. “Some welts.” He traced them. “A bit of purple freckling of bruises. The way you like…” He touched what I presumed to be those tiny bruises and my cunt spasmed. Almost came again, but not quite.
The way he touched me spoke volumes. He knew when to be rough, when to be calm, when to be tender. It made my throat close up a little. I’m such a girl.
“Just the way you like,” he said again, almost to himself. I said nothing. Just moved back for each lazy thrust he gave. Hampton was trying to hold off.
“You do like that, don’t you, bad girl?”
I pressed my lips together, not answering.
He gave me one more blow and it was a hard stinging slap that made my head snap back and my cunt grip tight and my ears ring. It was perfect.
“You love it,” he said, answering for me.
He couldn’t see my smile, but he could feel my body’s response. His thrusts went from easy to frantic. His body a chaotic bounce and slide of aggressive motions designed to bring pleasure. If someone looked at us—were we to make a homemade girl-and-boy-next-door fuck tape for viewing—I was sure it would appear awkward and way too rough. When in fact, what it was, was the perfect dance of fucking and loving that worked for both of us. We’d been together so long, we found our natural rhythm. On any given day it could be wildly erotic to funny to rough or gentle. It was a constantly shifting tide of lust and love and need. Symbiosis.
My elbows, grated raw by carpet, stung the perfect amount as he slammed into me brutally. My trembling fingers found my clitoris. I worked myself with a practiced touch. After two much-needed orgasms, I needed a harsher hand. I alternated swirling circles and straight blunt strokes until I was panting and pushed almost flat to my belly. I barely managed to dig in with my elbows and knees as Hampton grunted and growled, his thumbs sweeping back and forth over the dimples he adored right at the small of my back. A rhythmic, metronome motion that turned me on and soothed me at the same time.
My orgasm arrived just before his, triggered by him pressing just a bit too hard as he thrust. His cock nailed my G-spot with the exact amount of pressure I needed. “Come on,” I growled and I heard him laugh.
“I can do that,” he said, pulling free of me at the last moment and painting my ass and back with warm jets of his come.
I squawked like some giant bird as the copious hot rain of semen splattered my back.
“You said come on,” he reminded me. Then he flipped me to my back before I could gain my balance. I hit the bunched up plastic and felt the come smear along my spank-reddened flesh.
“Oh, you are so bad,” I hissed, wiggling and feeling the stickiness spread even more.
Hampton pressed down on top of me, pinning me there with his weight. He kissed me—rough at first but then gentle and reverent. “You love it,” he said. His words were light but his face was serious. He put his thumbs to my raw elbows, making me tremble a little from the bite of pain.
Just the way I liked.
“Love. It.”
I turned my face away to try and hide my smile. But he caught me and laughed. I laughed too, because he knew me too fucking well. He’d known how badly I’d needed this afternoon tussle before the thought even entered my mind. Almost spooky—but in the most treasured way.
“We need to paint,” I growled.
“I know. Tacky paint! Weird patterns! Streaks!” he mimicked me.
“Shut up and help me.”
“Careful, girls who talk like that suffer consequences,” he said, pulling on his low-slung, beat-up jeans.
I turned away presumably to find my shorts. It was really to hide yet another smile, because that’s what I was counting on. Consequences. And as I pulled up my shorts, I could feel his intense gaze on my hot red ass. I loved it.
In the Line of Duty
By Sommer Marsden
“Mitchell called me but told me not to come,” Ro said, barreling at me.
I let the front door drift shut and opened my arms to her. I prepped for the impact and when it came I tried not to wince. My breasts were sore, my solar plexus, a line of bruised fire burned down the center of my belly, an invisible zipper of pain. She crushed herself to me and feeling her heartbeat calmed me. I dropped my gun belt by the front door and it felt like dropping the weight of a piano.
“You would have just had a lot of boring waiting and by the time you got there they’d have been letting me go.”
“You’re bruised,” she said, pulling back to look at me.
“I’m fine.” I gently disengaged and locked the door. “But I am beat. Beyond beat. I’m fucking whipped.” I took her hand and slowly walked down the hall.
“Wine?”
I shook my head. “Nah. They checked me over for a concussion because I took that tumble down the fire escape after…”
“After you were shot!”
I winced again but this time from the fear in her voice.
“After I got hit,” I amended.
“By a bullet!” Ro reminded me. Loudly.
I tried not to sigh. She was scared. Of course she was. “It’s all in the line of duty,” I said.
Sometimes that line calmed folks. They recognized it. I grabbed a cold soda on the way to the bedroom. My bullet proof vest had been taken to the station by my captain. My shirt had been cut off of me. I wore a scrub top from the ER and my uniform pants. I felt like I’d been hit by a train.
“People also get killed in the line of duty,” she said, the anger gone from her voice. Now she sounded softly terrified.
“They do. But I didn’t.” I pushed into our room. A warm cocoon of big fat white bedding that Rowena had chosen and very pale lavender walls that were nearly silver in hue.
“But you could, Harley,” she said.
I turned to face her, giving her a big kiss. It was a quiet lazy kiss, nothing passionate. “You knew that going in and so did I.”
“I know. I did…I do. But it still scares the fuck out of me,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She sighed mightily but then smiled. With trembling fingers she helped me take off the scrubs and then she skated her long delicate fingers over the already black and blue bruises on my torso. Where the bullets had hit the vest I had actual welts, one of the bullets puncturing deep enough in the Kevlar to raise a pretty nifty egg on my skin between my small breasts.
Ro bent her head, her jet black bob swinging forward to hide her face for a heartbeat. Her lips touched the colorful skin, pressing just hard enough to feel good and hurt at the same time. “Take off your pants,” she said. Her lips brushed my shoulder and then she was working the big belt buckle at my hips.
Together we got the pants off, me flinching with every pain-tinged movement. Finally I stood in boy shorts, ugly da
rk blue socks and my work boots.
“Nice,” Ro snorted. “Sexy look.”
“Oh hush,” I chuckled. A glance in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door gave proof that it was certainly a giggle-worthy look.
Ro dropped to her knees and something in me broke and something in me stirred. She looked so concerned and yet, so god damn beautiful. Her sheer black tee showed the white tank decorated with tiny skulls underneath. Her black skinny jeans hugged her ass and her Docs made her legs look somehow more delicate instead of clunky. We were quite a pair—no one every pictured us together. The cop and the Goth artist—like some bad romance novel.
“Lift your foot so I can get this clodhopper off,” Ro said. There were tears in her voice, still, so I laughed to lighten the mood.
“Look who’s talking. The girl who wears Herman Munster boots.”
“Please,” she whispered, “Herman Munster would be thrilled to own my shoes.”
I sighed and let my head fall back. The girl was a mess. Funny. Perfect.
She stole my socks and then my underwear, her pale pink lips kissing a tender trail from one hipbone to the other. When she stood she started to strip her clothing as quickly as I’d seen her shred sketches that made her unhappy.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“I’m getting in the shower with you. You wince when you blink, you’re going to need help. And you’re…” She brushed debris out of my hair.
“It was a long fall down that fire escape. I took out several flower pots along the way.” I meant it to be funny but her eyes filled with tears. “I’m fine,” I reminded her.
She nodded. “Yep. I know. Now shut up and come on.” She took my hand, tucking her tiny hand in my bigger one and leading me to the shower.
I felt like I had been dipped in concrete. My body heavy and exhausted. My scalp sang with pain, the scrapes on my face felt tight and raw and my body thumped uncomfortably with every move. But I followed her because she needed this. More than me.
“In,” she pointed to the shower. She’d turned it to hot and already steam was billowing around us. I spared a glance at her pale, small body. She was a true hourglass and the flare of her hips never failed to turn me on. The small waist, the heavy breasts, the slim legs. I trailed a finger over her belly button and she gently swatted my hand away.
I got in. I surrendered to Ro and her soapy natural sponge. I let her brush me down with water and fragrant bubbles until some of the fear and tension left my body. It was only after the shots, after the fall, that adrenaline had flooded me. When my partner had led my attacker off in cuffs, I’d felt real stabs of fear. The realization of how things could have gone had hit me full force—more of an impact than the bullets. My mind had gone to head shots, gut shots (that sweet spot where the vest can ride up). Anything that would have made the heavy vest I wore daily null and void.
“Stop,” she said.
“Stop what?” I played dumb as her small gentle hands worked around from my back to sweep the rough sponge along my bruised ribs, up my belly, over my breasts. She used her empty hand to smooth a trail after the sponge. Stroking my nipples so they stood on end. Her lips brushed slowly along the back of my neck until I shivered from the sensation.
“Stop going over it in your head. If I’m not allowed, neither are you.”
I smiled. “Deal.”
Ro washed my hair with that peppermint shampoo of hers, massaging circles on my scalp, getting my short blond hair clean. “Now turn around.” She squirted me down with the shower head and I shut my eyes against the spray.
“I feel like a circus animal getting hosed off.”
She tsked. “How about feeling like a woman who’s loved and is being taken care of?”
Being taken care of usually gave me a rash. I wasn’t a fan. I’d rather take care of someone. But tonight…I wanted it. I’d never admit it, but I did.
I toweled off, watching her do the same. Watching the flare of her ass as she pulled one leg up to dry it. She always did that, stood like a crane to dry off instead of bending over to dry. She caught me looking and smiled. “Don’t say it. This is the way I do it.”
“I know.”
“Now go get in a tee and drawers and I’m tucking you in.”
“Oh mommy,” I sighed, trying to sound sexy but just sounding very, very tired. Then I snorted, “Drawers.”
“I’m a hillbilly, what do you want. Underwear equals drawers.”
I touched her face, feeling a sudden need to feel her skin under my fingers. Brushing my lips over hers and briefly touching my tongue to hers, I whispered, “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Ro deepend the kiss, her lips parting, her tongue sliding slowly against mine so all the nerve endings in my body tingled to life. This time in a good way, not spurred by fear.
“Get in bed, Harley. You need to rest,” she said, pulling back. The look on her face said it was a hard move for her to make.
Her nipples had drawn up into tight buds and she moved her thighs together the way she always did when she was aroused. I was feeling pretty lit up myself. Despite the pain and stiffness, I bent to lick the nipple that tempted me most. Her left one always got harder, stood out longer, than the right. I captured it between my teeth and tugged the way I knew drove her crazy.
“Get in bed, Harl. No sex for you.” She pointed but I could see her wavering. And I found that the lust I thought I was too far gone to feel was alive and well.
“Life affirming,” I said.
“Bed,” she growled. Her tiny finger pointed the way. I went dutifully. I pulled on my police foot race 5K tee and a pair of candy cane striped boy shorts. I shoved my feet into white slouch socks and fell into bed. The fall jarred me all the way up to my molars.
“Jeesh, move a little slower, Officer,” she sighed. Ro pulled the white down comforter up around me and she slid in next to me. “Are you hungry?”
My hand found her smooth skin under the comforter and I stroked around her belly button. I knew it would make her wet. It always did. “I am.”
“Not for that,” she sighed, swatting my hand, but I saw the desire in her eyes.
“Yes, for that.” I dragged my finger over her shaved mound and felt her legs fall open just a bit. It might’ve been by accident, it might’ve been because she wanted me to touch her.
I touched her.
I curled my finger against the smooth knot of her clitoris and watched her face go peaceful, her pretty cheeks, bare of makeup, grow flushed.
“Not for food,” I said. “I’m too keyed up to eat…or sleep.”
“It’s only ten,” she said.
“Then why are we in bed?” I slipped my moist finger into the tight hot wetness between her legs.
Ro shrugged, her eyes going sparkly with unshed tears. “I don’t know. I just wanted to…take care of you.” It came out on a sob.
“Oh, baby,” I whispered. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m allowed.”
I laughed. “You are allowed.” I tried to lean over and kiss her but my muscles protested and I groaned.
“Oh, Lord,” she sighed, but she smiled in the low light of the bedroom lamp. “Let me.”
She pressed her body up against mine, shoved her fingers into my damp hair and kissed me. Hard.
I hissed when her lips pressed to the cut on my lips but when she backed up I pulled her in again. “No, no, it’s good. It’s a good hurt. Reminds me I’m alive and that I got to come home to you.”
She shook her head, said nothing. I knew it was to keep from crying.
Her fingers explored my skin under my tee. She touched gently along the small swell of my belly, up over my ribs, finding my breasts with her strong hands, she pinched my nipples until I shifted a little. It always got me off, when she was rough with my nipples. That pleasant bite of pain never failed to make me soft and hot and ready.
“The one place on me that’s not bruised,” I joked. She shook her head again.
“Harl—” She meant to scold me but I put a finger over her lips.
“If you don’t let me joke, I’m going to fall apart. And I can’t handle that.”
She nodded and went back to kissing me, stroking my tongue with hers. She took her time, slow and easy, so that I could taste sweet wine and what tasted like chocolate on her tongue.
“Help an old woman out,” I sighed, twirling one midnight colored lock around my finger and tugging. “Get over me so I can taste you for real. Please,” I added, because manners counted.
“Not tonight. You’re too tired.” Ro kissed a wet line from below my ear to my clavicle and my breasts puckered with goose bumps under her warm hands. She squeezed me. Sighed.
“No I’m not.” I put my hand over hers, trapping them under my shirt and against my skin. So she could feel my heart. “I need this. To feel alive and safe and honor what I have with you. I have you still. Still here. Still alive. Now fuck me,” I snickered, to make her smile.
Ro rolled her eyes, bit her lip in that way that makes me nuts, and finally gave me a short nod. “Take your clothes off.”
“Oh bossy, bossy. First you tell me to put them on, now you tell me to take them off.” When I grimaced from trying to take off my tee, she kissed me on the forehead and helped me take off what I’d just put on.
“I am bossy. Aren’t you used to it by now?”
I ignored her because when I was nude again, she kissed the very tops of my thighs, pushing her hot fingers against my nether lips. Parting me and stroking me and then finally touching me right in my center where I needed her. My hips moved up, forcing a shiver of pain through me, but I didn’t care.
“Come on, get up here.”
“It’s been ages since we did old school sixty-nine,” she teased. She pushed her lower body over my upper body as she said it. Her milky thighs parting for me, Ro lowered herself just a smidge so that I didn’t have to crane my already sore neck. I smelled the sweet rich scent of her pussy and let it wash over me, a soothing smell that made me think home. I dropped a single gentle kiss on her pussy and she stilled.