Extreme Passions

by Extreme Passions [Bold Strokes FF] (retail) (epub)

  “Sex videos.”

  I was already kneeling, which was a very good thing, because my legs turned to jelly. “Like…porn?” I couldn’t think of another term.

  “No,” Elle said quietly, steadying herself with her hand on my shoulder again. “Well, some people might call them that. Some people probably buy them because they’re a turn-on. But they’re intended to be educational.”

  I looked up through the streams of water. Her eyes were closed. Her nipples were small pink erections. My face was level with her cunt. She sounded serious.

  “Who are they for?”

  “Women.”

  I tried not to imagine the way her clitoris would feel in my mouth. “Oh.”

  “Lesbians mostly; of course, almost anyone would enjoy them.”

  Between her naked body an inch away, her fingers stroking my shoulder, and the pictures my mind was making of the pictures she was making, I was so horny I thought I might die. I wanted to jerk off right then and there but I knew that would be impolite. “Oh.”

  “Thanks for helping me out here,” Elle said.

  “No problem,” I said, standing and backing up as far as I could. “Least I could do.”

  She looked me up and down as I handed her a towel and then hastily wrapped one around my middle.

  “You’ve got a great body. Have you ever done any modeling?”

  “Me?” I laughed. “Wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do.”

  Her smile was enigmatic. “Oh, I bet you’d be surprised.”

  While I dressed, she pulled on a robe and then walked me downstairs. She thanked me again and I gave her my number and made her promise to call me if she had any problems at all. Then I went home, walked straight upstairs to my bedroom, and came like a cannon shot in under a minute, her image all I could see.

  I figured that would be the last time we ever talked, but I was wrong. A week later the phone rang in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Jess? It’s Elle,” she said when I answered.

  “Hey. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Well, I’ve got a little problem, but—”

  “Your leg?” I asked urgently.

  “No. Nothing like that. It’s healed. But I’ve got a deadline and my model didn’t show up for the shoot.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said as if I understood, but I didn’t.

  “So I was wondering, how would you like to fill in?”

  “Fill in,” I repeated stupidly.

  “Yes. It won’t be a long shoot. Maybe forty minutes or so.”

  “Now?” I was stalling, because I was trying to get my mind around the idea of having sex with some stranger while Elle was watching. I’d never even had a threesome, and the idea of being watched had never particularly turned me on. At least, I never thought it did. But just hearing Elle’s voice was enough to make me wet. What would happen if I could actually see her, especially when I was getting it on?

  “If you could, that would be great,” Elle said. “I really need to get this done. You’d really be helping me out.”

  “Uh…I’m not sure I’d be any good, you know…at it.”

  Elle laughed. “Have you ever masturbated?”

  “Um…yeah.” A lot, lately.

  “Well, that’s what I need you to do.”

  My mind slows down when my clit gets hard. I’d been thinking sluggishly quite a bit recently. Fortunately, she understood my silence.

  “It’s a video on self-pleasure.”

  “What if I can’t come?” Performance anxiety already, and we were only talking on the phone.

  “You don’t have to,” Elle said softly. “But you can, if you want to.”

  Oh, I wanted to. Right now. In fact, while we’d been talking, I’d unsnapped my jeans and my hand was halfway down the front. I yanked my hand out. “Okay.”

  “You can do it?”

  I could hear the excitement in her voice. I would have done anything right at that moment just to be close to her. In the same room with her. Of course, I knew the second I started touching myself I’d come all over the place, but she did say I could. “Sure. Why not.”

  “Come over, then.”

  “Is there anything I should do first?”

  She laughed. “Just save everything until you get here.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I hung up, considered changing my clothes for one second, and then realized it wouldn’t matter what I was wearing, because I wouldn’t be wearing anything for long. Then I charged through the house and across the street.

  Elle was waiting for me on the porch. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She looked great in shorts and another crop top that left a lot of her middle bare. She held out her hand and I took it.

  “Thanks for doing this,” she said as she led me back up the stairs we had taken before.

  “S’okay.” We went down a different hallway this time that ended in a big room that stretched across the whole back of the house. The windows were covered with heavy blinds that kept all the sunlight out, but the space was still pretty bright. That was because there were big round lights set in every corner. And a lot of other kinds of equipment, too. Most of which didn’t look like it was being used. Poles with microphones and a camera on a tripod and things I didn’t recognize. There was one thing I recognized very clearly, though: a great big bed covered with snowy white sheets standing against the middle of the opposite wall.

  Elle squeezed my hand. “What I need you to do is take off all your clothes and get comfortable on the bed. I’m going to be holding the camera and talking to you while we work, okay?”

  “Will there be sound?”

  “I’ll have the recorder on, but I’m not worried about that. If we need to, we’ll dub it later.”

  I tried not think about who would be doing that.

  “The most important thing is that you take your time. Imagine that you’re teaching someone about what makes you feel good. Someone who’s never touched you or themselves before.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “It’s just the two of us here,” Elle said gently. “I’m going to check over my equipment while you get settled.”

  I was wrong about coming right away. As I stretched out naked on the strange bed I was suddenly self-conscious. I was alone with the woman I’d been fantasizing about for weeks, but it was nothing like I had imagined. This was business and about as far from sexy as we could get. The sheets were too neat, the pillows smelled too fresh, and the light was too…everywhere. The last thing on my mind was getting off.

  Elle had turned her back to fiddle with her equipment while I undressed and lay down. Now she returned with a video camera and stood at the foot of the bed, within touching distance of my legs.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Nervous.”

  “Will you be more comfortable if you close your eyes?”

  “I don’t know.” I thought maybe I would, but I wanted to see her more than anything else. When she smiled at me as if she understood my uncertainty, I suddenly realized I wanted to watch her watching me. I felt myself relax. “Is it okay if I don’t? Close them?”

  “Jess,” Elle said tenderly, “anything you want to do is perfect.” She touched some button and I saw a small square screen slide out from the side of her camera. She glanced at it for a second and then looked into my eyes. “Show me how you touch yourself. Show me what you like.”

  Her voice was soft and her eyes were softer. I kept looking at her face as I drew one leg up and rested the sole of my foot against the inside of my other leg, forming a triangle with my cunt at the top. I skimmed my fingers over my breasts and felt my nipples harden.

  “Open yourself so I can see your beautiful cunt,” Elle whispered.

  I reached down and spread my lips, a thumb and finger on either side of my clit. I didn’t touch it. I wasn’t even sure if it was hard yet. I rocked my fingers back and forth, massaging the outer lips while I squeezed first one nipple, then the other. I watched Elle’s
gaze drift back and forth between the small screen and the space between my legs, and my hands moved faster, one on my breasts, the other just teasing my cunt. She had a look of fierce concentration on her face, as if every passing second was precious.

  “You’re gorgeous, and so wet.” Her voice was hushed.

  “I need to stroke my clit,” I whispered.

  “Just use one finger.”

  I gave my nipple one last twist and reached down between my legs. Now I used both hands, one to keep myself open for her, the other to jerk off. When I pushed down on the base of my clit with my fingertip, it twitched. It was hard. I moaned.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Elle muttered. “You’re getting so big.” She stared into my eyes. “All right? Feel good?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I gasped, rolling my clit between my fingers as if it were a worry bead, growing firmer with each squeeze. My hips started to lift in short, jerky movements. I think I moaned.

  “Careful, Jess, not too fast. Try not to come yet.”

  “Okay. Try.” My words came out like whimpers because I was having a hard time catching my breath. A few more minutes and I forgot there was a camera. I forgot the bright lights and the white sheets. My clit was hard. My clit was wet. I wanted to come. I dipped inside and painted the head of my clit with hot come. “Oh, that’s good. That’s good.”

  “Slowly—show me what makes you come.”

  “Doing it,” I groaned. I couldn’t go slow, though, it felt too fucking good and I needed to come too fucking bad.

  “Tell me when you’re going to come. I want a shot of your clit right before you come.”

  I heard her voice, but I wasn’t paying much attention to her words. I was circling the head of my clit, pushing back the hood and rubbing the supersensitive ridge underneath. My legs flexed and jumped. I pressed harder, faster.

  “Oh, Jess,” Elle exclaimed. “God, you’re so wet. Your clit looks like it’s…”

  “I’m going to come,” I blurted. I lifted my head and shoulders off the bed and stared at my own hand whipping between my legs. “Oohh, fuucck, Elle. I’m going to come.”

  “Yes, yes. Show me. Show me your clit when you come, Jess.”

  My orgasm had already started, and I couldn’t have stopped masturbating then if the house had suddenly caught fire. I needed the terrible ball of pressure that throbbed heavily in my pelvis to burst or I would just stop breathing and die. I watched Elle watch me coming as long as I could before the pleasure drove me blind and I collapsed with a long, broken cry.

  When I became aware again, I was covered with one of the clean, crisp sheets. My hand was still clamped between my legs, and I was alone. Elle’s camera sat on a table a few feet away. I felt tired but satisfied. When a soft tapping came at the door, I drew my hand away from my tender cunt and half sat up. My voice was raspy when I called, “Come in.”

  Elle came in looking unexpectedly shy. “How are you?”

  “Great.” I grinned. “How did we do?”

  “Wonderfully.”

  Elle sat down on the side of the bed, her body inches from mine. She brushed her fingers through my hair. “Thanks.”

  “Where did you go?” I caught her fingers without thinking. When hers closed around mine, I felt the shock all the way to my toes.

  “You were so beautiful,” Elle said. “I got so excited watching you.” She shrugged, then smiled. “I had to come, too.”

  I groaned. “Oh, God, and I missed it.”

  She laughed. “That never happens to me when I’m working.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. Pleased with yourself?”

  I tugged her close and kissed her very softly. “I’d be a lot happier if next time I were the one making you come.”

  With her eyes on my face, Elle stood up and pulled off her T-shirt. As her hands went to her shorts, she said, “Why don’t we try running through that scene a few times now.”

  I made room for her to slide in beside me. “I could use a career change.”

  “You’re a natural.” Elle laughed and turned down the lights. “But I think I’ll keep you for the private assignments.”

  On Fire

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “I would do anything for you—anything,” I said boastfully, caught up in the throes of lust as I looked at Brenda, all luscious curves that seemed to extend from her beautiful breasts down over her slightly rounded stomach to her killer ass and along her thighs. Every part of her made me want to lie down and worship her—with my tongue. Yes, I wanted to make love to her, to push my fingers deep inside her until they unlocked her coils and made her hiss and moan, but I also wanted to take each of her carefully painted toes into my mouth, wanted to trail kisses up the seams on the backs of her stockings, wanted to dig my palms into her shoulders and caress her into oblivion. We were friends and hung out almost every night. She maintained that she was straight, but that didn’t stop her incessant flirting, and sometimes, about once a month or so, we’d come so close to kissing that I’d feel dizzy afterward. She knew I was hopelessly besotted, and she teased me, stringing me along, but I was so turned on I couldn’t help it. I really would do anything—almost.

  “Okay. If you do this one thing, you can have me—all of me,” she said, spreading her arms wide, letting her luxurious red curls bounce along her shoulders. I couldn’t believe it and sat up straight, putting my drink down, my eyes wide with anticipation. I was ready, for sure.

  “I want you to eat fire for me. There’s this amateur burlesque competition, and I know you could win. I want to watch you shake your ass, showing off those tits you’ve got buried under there, and I want you to put a flaming torch inside those pretty little lips and make it disappear. I want to hear the crowd go wild for you, and then I want you to come home with me and breathe your fire onto me.”

  I stared at her like she was crazy. Certifiably Nuts, like she was speaking another lanuage and belonged in a mental hospital. What kind of person wants someone to practically light their mouth literally on fire to prove their devotion? I knew that other people ate fire, but those were trained professionals. All sorts of images flashed through my head, and none of them involved me in a skimpy outfit trying to impress a crowd of jaded hipsters with an orange flame. I looked at her, my face drained of color, and said, “I’ll have to think about it.” Then I got up, put some money down on the table, kissed her weakly good-bye on the cheek, and went home.

  The first thing I did was lie down on my bed, grateful I lived alone and wouldn’t have to contend with any pesky roommates asking what my problem was. I just didn’t have the energy to explain. If it were anyone else, I’d tell them where they could put their fire stick, but Brenda was different. She was a ray of light with her bubbly, infectious laugh, bright green eyes, freckles and red hair and anything-goes attitude. Sometimes I half expected us to wind up on a flight to who-knows-where before the night was out. One time she even got me in a taxi headed toward the airport, but I managed to talk some sense into her and we turned around halfway there. That was on a Monday night, mind you. I’ve found myself in areas of New York City I not only never would’ve ventured into without her, but also didn’t even know existed. She’s an expert at unearthing the overlooked, at figuring out just what someone’s limits are, then pushing them to the hilt. She thrives on it, and I knew she’d asked me to eat fire to see if I was really her kind of person, if I’d really go over the top for her, or if I was all talk and no action. I’d been saying I’d do anything for her, but by that I meant take her out to any restaurant, take the day off work—pamper her, do something for her. Not necessarily just do something myself with no obvious payoff for her except to watch me be humiliated.

  Yet even as I lay there dramatically, on my back with my hand across my forehead, I knew I would do it. How could I not? I hadn’t seen most of my other friends much in the last year, unless they came out with me and Brenda, and had let my online profiles languish into oblivion. I wanted Brenda, Brenda
, Brenda, and no one else. If this was how I was going to get her, then I’d just have to do things her way. I fell asleep and had dreams of flames licking the walls of my bedroom while I had my face buried inside Brenda, but I didn’t wake up scared so much as energized. I was really going to do this, and suddenly, I felt a little bit more powerful, a little cooler—I was going to eat fire.

  The first thing I did was go online and read as much as I could about the topic. I’d seen someone do it once at a circus, and the flames had been extinguished almost immediately upon entering the performer’s mouth. He’d opened wide like he was eating a s’more, not something that could obliterate his whole face. I wondered whether I could do it—both swallow the flame and make it look effortless. But I knew I’d try, because I’m never one to back down from a challenge, and I had said I’d do anything. This feat almost seemed even more exciting than the chance to sleep with Brenda—almost.

  I asked my best friend, Courtney, who’d run away with the circus when she turned eighteen and done a stint for a year as a clown, mime, and general overall trickster, to help me practice. First, we went out shopping. I thought I had plenty of sexy bras and undies in my drawer, but our trip proved me wrong. Courtney took me to a few shops frequented by strippers where every single item was more flamboyant than even my most risque outfit or undies. We settled on a plush maroon bra with tassels hanging down below, the kind that made you want to pet it as much as you did my pushed-together breasts—whoever you were. As soon as I saw my cleavage in it, my breasts seeming twice their normal size yet supported by the sturdy material, I knew I had to have it, along with the matching thong. I found some maroon fishnets and tall, shiny black heels to complete the look. I turned this way and that in the mirror, admiring my own ass, sure that I was halfway there.

  Now for the hard part. Courtney patiently watched as I made many attempts, chickening out before the flames got anywhere near my lips. I’d always thought there were some things you couldn’t simply learn by reading about, fire eating being one of them, so I was also going to learn in the tried and true way—trial and error. I envisioned my mouth moistening around the flame, putting it out in one smooth shot, as the instructions commanded. The torch looked scary once I’d lit it up, but I thought of it like my old pet snake Zilly—everyone else in junior high had been petrified of him, but I’d spent hours sitting around the house with him happily coiled around me. It had been a learning process, but one that made me a better person. When I wasn’t envisioning the flame roaring out from between my lips, I was picturing Brenda, with her tumbles of hair and searing gaze. My fantasies could only go so far because I didn’t know what she looked like naked or even what she was really like in bed, so I just focused on her presence, her stretched out next to me against my queen-size bed, her red hair fanned across my black sheets. Even though I had to focus immensely on what I was doing, holding the torch high above my head, then tilting it upside down, tipping my head back, arching my long tongue out, and dipping the wick between my open lips before wrapping them around it to cut off the oxygen supply, somewhere, hovering over everything else, was Brenda. The flame became an extension of her fieriness, her red hair, her laugh—except those were things I didn’t want to extinguish.