Twisted

by Alison Tyler

  “Let’s get you out of these wet things,” said Ray when I arrived. I was damp with perspiration, but I knew he was referring specifically to my underwear. As if to back up his comment, he reached under my skirt and stroked the sodden pouch of my gusset. His touch sparked a bolt of need fierce enough to make me weak at the knees.

  “Don’t make me wait too long,” I breathed, lifting my arms so he could remove my top.

  He tugged off his own tee, baring his honey-bronze torso. I stroked his sweat-moist skin as he unclasped my bra and scattered kisses over my breasts. I felt woozy. When we were naked, I was instructed to sit in the armchair, legs wide apart.

  Ray looked down at me, big, brown eyes roaming over my body before focusing on the glossy slit at the juncture of my thighs. His gaze was like a touch, inciting my flesh to arousal. He dropped to his knees and printed kisses along my legs, moving higher toward my inner thighs.

  “How long has it been?” Gently, he toyed with my flushed, tender lips, watching my expression as he opened me with a single finger. He slid along my wet seam, nudging at my entrance then edging toward my clit.

  I groaned and wriggled. “Too fucking long.”

  He kept stroking me. “Four weeks and two days,” he said, full of pride. “Well done.”

  I groaned again, pained to hear how long I’d gone without.

  For several more minutes, Ray teased me while I writhed and whimpered. Finally, he slid two fingers into my wetness. The room grew suddenly darker, shadows cast by cloud not dusk. Ray rubbed me inside, leaning over me to smear kisses against my lips, his buried fingers picking up speed, his erection nudging at my body. Before long, he was giving me a curled-finger fuck, half-thrusting, half-tugging while his thumb bumped my clit.

  “Yes, there, there. I’m going to—”

  Instantly, he eased off. “No, you don’t. Not yet.”

  “No!” I protested. “You said I could. You said tonight—”

  “Shhh!” He dropped back to kneel between my spread legs again. Looking up at my face, he rolled my clit with excruciating slowness. “When I’m ready,” he said.

  I should have known he would spin out my torment, building me up again to that mad pitch where I imagined I could do serious criminal damage if only it meant I got to come. Strung out on the crazy back and forth of being indulged and denied, I never knew if this time, if this moment when the delicate tremors tightened in my thighs, would be the one when I’d be allowed to let go and ride the orgasmic wave.

  In the end, Ray told me. His fingers were inside me and he raised his head, lips glistening with my fluids, to say, “Any time. Any time you want to come.” He lowered his mouth to my clit again. The touch of his tongue felt like something I could finally trust. No more games. A huge pressure was lifted from me, that psychological release urging on my fast-approaching sexual release.

  I gasped as Ray’s tongue danced, my pleasure rising steeply until I was there, poised on the brink of no return. For a moment, the world stopped spinning, the universe held its breath and then I was crying out as my orgasm poured through me, gripping and tumbling, over and over. My body jerked and quivered, racked by an intensity I’d never known before. I floated outside myself, became formless and vast, as big as the sky. Lost to ecstasy, my senses scattered and I melted into Ray’s mouth, clutching his hair, my back arching as my cunt liquefied.

  Right on cue, rain crackled beyond the window. Lightning lashed the gloomy room. The sky gave a low, rolling groan as if returning a distorted echo of my bliss. I bumped gently back to earth and sank into floppiness. Ray sat back on his heels, his cock angled high. Outside, the rain kept on clattering and roaring, flashes of lightning chased by booming thunder as a storm of biblical proportions moved closer.

  “Wow,” murmured Ray, gazing at the half-raised window.

  I said nothing. I barely had strength to breathe. The noise of the downpour was immense, the rain bringing a welcome, earth-scented freshness into the room.

  After a while, Ray said, “If I’d known you wanted to come this badly, I’d have built an ark.”

  I laughed softly. “Good for the gardens.”

  The room exploded with a nanosecond of light.

  “And the reservoirs,” said Ray.

  “And umbrella sales.”

  Thunder ripped the sky apart. The building trembled.

  Ray kissed me between my thighs. “Looks like we’re in for a wet spell.”

  THE CUSTOMER’S WAITING

  Giselle Renarde

  My butch-crush Levy worked in a cage downstairs—down in the deep, dark, scary basement underneath the big, bright, shiny department store. She had the kind of job most people have never heard of: she fixed merchandise customers broke or returned, and she shipped manufacturers products that were still under warrantee. Anything she couldn’t fix or get repaired, she wrote off.

  Levy was supposed to ditch the busted goods, but she went against corporate regulations and kept them for parts. Management probably knew, but they were too scared to scold her. Levy always said that’s why they had her working in a cage—they could lock her in there like a rabid dog if she ever got out of control. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but Levy had a great sense of humour. Nobody knew the real her. That’s because she scared everyone shitless.

  But not me. I wasn’t afraid. Or, if I was, the fear was tempered so much by attraction that it only pumped up my desire to seek out the dyke downstairs and rattle her cage. I daydreamed about Levy constantly. I looked for any excuse to go down there.

  Me? I worked the sales floor, part-time because management claimed nothing else was available. Not that I believed a word they said. I knew better than to trust “the man,” even when the man was a group of nattering women, and even if that group brought in less than thirty thousand each for managing the hellhole they called a department store.

  Management assigned me to the sports department even though I knew less than nothing about hockey sticks and tennis rackets. Evening shifts were the worst. I had to work them alone, which was daunting until I realized “alone” didn’t just mean without other staff members, it meant without any customers either. People had better things to do at nine thirty on a Wednesday night than buy badminton birdies. Shuttlecocks. Levy taught me that word last week. I’d covered my lips and let them have their naughty smile.

  I was daydreaming about Levy stripping me bare and testing out one of the “neck massagers” from health and beauty on my naked body when a customer with a big bouffant hairdo approached me. She was way too well dressed to be shopping in a dump like this but, hey, it took all kinds.

  The woman glanced down at my name tag and said, “Excuse me...Asian?”

  “Ashlin,” I corrected her.

  The woman gave me a confused sort of smile and pointed to a fishing rod inside the Plexiglas case. She started asking questions, but it was all Greek to me. I didn’t know anything about fishing.

  So, I figured this was as good a time as any to hit up Levy for sports information. I told the woman with the big hairdo that I’d have to check with an associate. She didn’t seem too pleased about that, but I was pleased—pleased I’d be seeing my crush in thirty seconds flat.

  Tearing my uniform smock over my head, I ran through the store and swung open the staff-only door. One of the forklift guys in delivery made some comment about my skirt, which was rule-defiantly short. Any other day I might have cared, but I was about to see Levy. Stupid guys could say whatever they damn well pleased.

  I rushed into the back staircase and popped two buttons on my blouse. Nobody else worked in the basement. Just Levy. No one else would see.

  In my wedge heels, I had to be careful walking down those slatted metal stairs. It really was scary in the basement. Everything was either concrete or metal, and the only sign of life came from Levy’s blaring headphones. She obviously hadn’t noticed me yet, and I gripped the metal railing, just watching her work.

  There was something about d
ykes who looked like truck drivers that really turned me on. That was Levy’s style—dark blue pants like mechanics wore, and an unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt over a tank top. Her sandy hair was about shoulder length, but she always wore it back in a ponytail, with a baseball cap that said MACK and had a bulldog on it.

  Just the sight of her made my pussy pulse. I was so wet she could probably fist me in one go, if she wanted to.

  And that was the kicker: so far, she hadn’t expressed any interest in me. None. At all. Every shift, I dressed a little more femme—brighter lipstick, shorter skirt, higher heels. Anything to grab her attention.

  It took about a minute and a half to work up the courage to call her from the bottom of the stairs, but she didn’t hear me. I crept toward her cage until I was close enough to weave my fingers through and shake it. Levy jumped almost a foot off the ground, turning simultaneously and tearing off her headphones.

  She was obviously scared, but she covered it up, yelling, “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

  I apologized coyly while she turned off her music, then posed the big-haired customer’s question. Levy came up with an answer, easy as pie. When I didn’t leave, just peered through the cage like a lost puppy, she stared at me, hard, unyielding, and finally said, “The customer’s waiting.”

  What did I care? I just shrugged and kept staring, smiling like an idiot. I was really good at saying stupid things to girls I liked. With Levy, I usually complimented her hat or her top or her rainbow bootlaces, but none of that had worked so far. When I asked if I could come into her cage, I didn’t expect her to say yes. In fact, when she did, I thought I’d heard her wrong.

  The door had a latch on it like the one on the gate to my parents’ backyard. She flipped it, opened the cage and yanked me in. Her eyes kept asking me what I wanted, but she didn’t say a word. That’s when I saw them: two different models of “neck massagers” from the sales floor. They were right on top of Levy’s big shop-teacher desk, just waiting to be played with.

  I picked one up, and Levy shot me a look like she didn’t want me touching her stuff. I didn’t mind those looks. She gave them to me all the time. I didn’t even care if she didn’t like me yet, because I knew she would, in time. Most people didn’t like me at first. It took a little while, but I won them over with subtle charm.

  Waving the smaller massager at Levy, I asked, “What’s the deal with this thing? Did a customer return it?”

  “No,” Levy scoffed. “We don’t accept returns on stuff like that. Didn’t you read the employee manual?”

  I shrugged again, hiding my smile. She was so mean to me and I loved it, because it was the meanness of an eight-year-old pulling a little girl’s pigtails. Levy liked me and didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself. When I put the massager back on her desk, she told me the products were for her own “personal interest.”

  I couldn’t have asked for better fodder for teasing. “Oh, so that’s why you work such long hours, huh? Management thinks you’re so industrious, but really you’re just sitting down here with your pants around your ankles.”

  “Shut up,” she said, turning her back on me. She fished through her cubbyholes full of screws and packing materials until she found what she was looking for. When she turned to face me, Levy had a packet of cable ties in hand.

  I’d broken her. She would top me. I’d finally won.

  “Stand against the cage if you’re so clever,” Levy said. “Feet apart, arms in the air. Like a snow angel.”

  I felt giddy as I got into position, spreading my legs for her. When she came close to me, I could smell the basement on her clothing. Damp and concrete dust. It made me want to sneeze, but I held it in. Levy probably didn’t want my spit and snot all over her.

  She bound me to the cage with a series of cable ties—down one arm, down the other. She put them on over my silky blouse so I could feel the pressure of them against my wrist, my forearm, my elbow, but the plastic wasn’t biting into my skin. That was a nice touch. She bound my ankles to the cage as well, and when it occurred to me that I was trapped, my heart began to race.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “You have no idea...”

  Levy went to her desk and picked up the wand. It was one of those Hitachi doodads. I’d never actually used one. She plugged it into an extension cord and thumped toward me. Her cage was built on a raised wooden platform, and every step boomed through the basement.

  “So this is what you want, eh?” Levy tapped the massager against her palm like a baseball bat. The end was bulbous and rounded; no way could it fit in my pussy. Way too big. I tried to close my legs, but of course they were secured with cable ties.

  When I didn’t answer, Levy asked, “If I do this, will you finally stop coming down here and making googly eyes at me?”

  I smiled and bit my bottom lip.

  “Well?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll keep coming back. I like you too much.”

  She rolled her eyes and sort of said, “Pfft,” but I saw a grin on her lips. She wanted me. She loved the sight of me strung up against her cage, helpless, just waiting for her to do whatever she wanted.

  That big toy in her hand buzzed to life, emitting a low hum. I felt all squirmy inside, but I couldn’t squirm. I was stuck to the cage. My knees felt weak, but I bolstered my legs, planting my heels hard into the ground. If I let them go, I’d be strung up by my arms and the cable ties would cut my skin right through my shirt.

  “You don’t know me,” Levy said. Her steel-toed boots touched the tips of my wedge heels. “How can you trust me?”

  “I just do,” I told her. There was no reason behind it.

  “Enough to let me tie you up at work where anybody could walk down those stairs and find us?”

  I would have shrugged, but I couldn’t move my shoulders. “Nobody ever comes down here but me. And you.”

  Levy leaned in, right close to my ear, and said, “They will when they hear your little-girl screams.” Her breath was so hot it made me sweat. I could feel little beads building under my breasts, soaking into my bra.

  “Did you think I would touch you?” Levy asked over the vibrator’s buzz. It was touching my skirt, making the fabric ripple. “Did you come down here thinking I’d eat your tight little pussy?”

  When I didn’t reply, Levy lifted my skirt with the buzzing head of the massager. She traced it up and down my inner thighs, but I could already feel the low vibrations in my cunt. I kind of wished she would touch me, just so she’d see how wet I’d become. It never took long. I could slick my panties on the bus just thinking about Levy.

  And they were super-slick now. I felt my juice mashing against my pulpy pussy when Levy pushed the vibe against my panties. I felt that first, the vibrations second. Once they hit, my knees buckled and I hung from the cable ties.

  Too many sensations all at once. Intense buzzing against my clit. It travelled down my legs like the blood in my veins. The pain of those cable ties sliced through my arms. I arched forward, but that put too much pressure on my wrists. My hands started feeling numb, so I forced myself to stand properly. There was no other option.

  “How’s that?” Levy asked as she stroked my pussy with the massager’s giant head. “Feel good? Feel nice?”

  “Yeah,” I panted. “Very good. Very nice.”

  I could hardly handle the vibrations through my underwear, but I still wanted to feel that buzzing thing right against my flesh. I wanted her to open me up like a gift and set that vibe flush to my clit. It throbbed in there, all hidden beneath folds of flesh and fabric. Even tucked away like that, it felt huge and ripe as a cherry hot off the tree. I imagined Levy taking it in her mouth and sucking, juice running down her chin and dripping onto the floorboards. Just the thought made me arch and whine. Sometimes my mind was more powerful than any sex toy.

  And other times sex toys won the day.

  Levy stuck
the vibe between her own thighs and held it there tight. I could see by the look of ecstasy in her eyes that the vibrations were riding through the seam of her pants, finding her clit just like they’d found mine. Pulling my skirt up over my hips, she pushed forward, driving the head against my pussy. She unbuttoned my blouse, clumsily, like an animal. Tearing my breasts from the cups of my bra, she bent down and sucked my tits so zealously I shrieked. “Christ, that hurts!”

  She didn’t stop. She went at my tits like the thing between her legs drove her impulses. Levy had been so focused on sucking and thumbing and slapping my tits that I thought maybe she’d forgotten about my pussy. But no. She shoved my panties down and they locked in place against my spread thighs. She pushed them again, but they rolled in on themselves, except for the gusset, which was spread wide and slick with pussy juice.

  Levy growled, and I could feel that low rumble in my belly alongside the deep vibrations of the massager. She pushed my lips aside with the vibe, like opening the curtains to a sunny day. Pressing her cock-vibe against my clit, she fucked it, and the sensation was so brutal and so wonderful it booted me right out of my body.

  I watched from above as she kissed me, kissed me as hard as she’d sucked my nipples. My breasts were now slammed against her chest, her hat sliding to the side, my back pushed into the wire cage. The cable ties made my arms scream, but I couldn’t speak. Her tongue pushed past my teeth and rooted around my mouth like it was searching for something. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but let her pound that vibe against my swollen clit and kiss me crazy.

  “You like that, eh?” She grabbed the vibe and mashed it in tight circles around my clit. “Yeah, you like it.”

  Levy grabbed my tit with the other hand, pinching my nipple and tugging it. God, it hurt so much. She’d made me sensitive by sucking my breasts. Now my nipples were red and raw and every time she yanked one a big sound built inside of me. It was trapped in my throat just now, but it was coming. Coming.