Extreme Passions

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

  Keeping my new hobby a secret was pretty easy after I’d made the mistake of telling another friend, Deb. “You what?” she shrieked, then demanded to know every detail, grilling and admonishing me until I felt myself start to doubt my mission.

  “Can we change the subject?” I finally asked, my heart beating faster than it had when I’d held that first torch. I was getting better, and under Courtney’s steady guidance and patient waiting, I’d even attempted my whole routine, music, fringed bra, fire and all, once. I needed practice, and I needed to move faster and steadier, not showing an ounce of the fear lurking below the surface. The fire should reflect my beautifully made-up eyes, my bravery, my tongue boldly going where few had gone before. I knew that Brenda wouldn’t be able to resist me, even if she hadn’t made this stupid challenge. I’d been working out, too, honing and sculpting my body until it looked exactly how I wanted, until I was strong enough that I could literally lift Brenda up and carry her around my apartment if I’d wanted to.

  The big day finally arrived, and this time, my audience would be much bigger than simply Courtney in my living room. I peeked out from behind backstage through the mascara haze, hardly able to stand the jitters and energy coming from the other girls, and smiled to see Brenda shining up front in an elegant black wrap dress and mother of pearl necklace that made her simply sparkle. She outclassed everyone else in the theater, and I stepped back behind the curtain, running my hands over my bra, down the very small curve of my belly, along my ass. I knew I looked good, and shut my eyes for a moment, picturing my moment of victory. No, not the flame sliding between my elegantly parted lips. The real one, when Brenda walked out with her arm linked in mine, the belles of this wacky, downtown ball.

  I listened as the crowd hooted and hollered for the other performers, snuck glances as they shook and shimmied to everything from classics to punk rock to R&B, love songs to “fuck you” songs. And then, it was my turn. At first, I’d wanted something slow and sensual, something I could dance and writhe around to, but the more I’d thought about it, the more I’d wanted a song that was in-your-face, the kind of song best illuminated by disco balls and dazzling flame. I wouldn’t need to move fast as I’d have a stick of fire burning before me. I’d rummaged through my CD collection and found a classic from my early twenties—“Nightlife” by Kenickie, a wonderfully girlie British bit of power pop crossed with just the hint of snarling brattiness I wanted. Plus it was short, because I didn’t know how long I could pull off my bravado. But I’d forgotten that the element I’d missed in practice was the cheers from the crowd. Even if all I did was hold the glowing torch above me and look pretty, they’d be won over. Even Brenda, I soon realized as my flame reflected her beaming smile, her usually been-there-done-that attitude gone in a swarm of pride for me. I soaked it in, loving every second of it as I played with the fringe, used the stick to emphasize the loud girl shouts, then got ready for the moment of truth. I stretched it out as long as I could, crossing my legs, one against the other, for support, tilted my head back, grateful for the expertly coiled bun Courtney had fashioned my hair into, and opened wide. I held the stick above me, then twirled it down in one move as I’d practiced. I opened my eyes to see the flame heading toward me, then closed them and visualized myself and Brenda fucking through a blaze of fire, ready to burn for the thrill of touching each other’s bodies. The flame dove perfectly between my lips and I’d extinguished it so quickly I almost didn’t notice, my mouth touching the pole and then instantly opening and pulling it out. There were a few more seconds of music that I let play on, then held the cooling stick in both hands above my head in victory, leaned forward and shook my tassels, then spun around for a view of my ass and marched off. I sank into a chair immediately and stayed slumped there through the next two acts, relieved and grateful to have survived.

  Finally, I was ready to head back out there. As the show wound down, I saw that a seat had somehow opened up next to Brenda. I slipped into it, and her hand immediately reached for mine, like we were some old couple. It wasn’t a friendly hand-holding, either. Her fingers immediately started massaging mine, soothing me, calming me. “You were beautiful, darling,” she whispered in my ear, letting her lips hover there for just enough time to make my nipples bead against the heavy bra. She was telling me that tonight was the night, not simply because of a won bet or a technicality, but because she wanted it. Maybe she’d known exactly what she was doing all along with her incessant flirting, or maybe this time apart had made her think about me, and us. Whatever it was, I was grateful, and rested my head against her shoulder as she put her arm around me while I breathed in her vanilla scent.

  Finally, the time came to leave. I just put my long coat on over the bra and panty ensemble, too high off the night’s energy to change. People had been coming up to me all night congratulating me and asking questions, and for the very first time, I was the star instead of Brenda. She didn’t seem to mind, though, but she did keep her hand clasped in mine, guarding off would-be suitors.

  We strode out and walked the five blocks to my apartment. I’d stocked up on all kinds of sex toys, candles, and snacks and had redone my bedroom, hanging gauzy pieces of fabric over the windows and lights, buying even finer, softer sheets—only the best for my girl. “Wait right here,” I told her, pushing her down onto the living-room couch, giving her a brief peck on the lips, then racing around and lighting the many mini candles dotting my room until the whole thing glowed with a dusky light. When I went to fetch her, she had her eyes closed and I worried that she might be asleep. When I approached, she stirred, staring at me with lust and awe—the same way I’d been looking at her since we’d met. The look on her face told me that whatever had happened since she’d issued her ultimatum, she was here for the same reason I was—she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. Our first real kiss found my lips crushed against her heavenly ones, her surprisingly strong hands gripping me tight.

  “You’re so beautiful,” we echoed each other, our fingers tracing each other’s faces. I still almost couldn’t believe that my Brenda was actually in bed with me. The pressures leading up to this night seemed to melt away, even though part of me knew I was still riding the adrenaline high of baring my body—and my bravado—in front of so many people. Still, in some ways, being so intimate with Brenda made me even more vulnerable, which is why I decided to take control.

  “Now, my darling, I’ve been so patient waiting for you to see the light, I think I deserve a little prize for all my hard work today—don’t you?” Before she could say yes or no, I’d fastened a blindfold over her eyes. Then I sucked on her earlobe, tugging the tender flesh between my teeth, then suckling on her delicate skin. I slipped a finger into her mouth, feeling her tongue instantly seek out its tip, sucking me deeper inside. Oh, yes, I had my sly little Brenda pegged all right—she was one of those tough on the streets, submissive slut in the sheets kinds of girls.

  “Now you really look beautiful,” I told her as I lifted her arms above her head, trapping them between fur-lined handcuffs. She moaned as I placed them around her, not making a single movement to escape. She wanted this, and from the throbbing in my pussy as I bound her wrists together, I realized that I did too. I’d known it but hadn’t really known what a rush I would get out of controlling my favorite little vixen. “Now I’m really going to heat things up,” I said, the sound of the match striking the matchbook echoing loudly against our ears. Just seeing the flame reminded me of what I’d done earlier, but whereas that had been all spectacle and sass, blaze and glory, this was a calmer fire, a private one. I lit a purple candle, transferring the heated glow and blowing out the match.

  I took the candle and lazily trailed it along her skin, tipping it so the flame hovered several inches above her stomach, enough so she could feel its warmth. “Ow,” she giggled, a very un-Brenda like sound yet one I longed to hear again. I let a drop of the wax drip onto her belly, watching the purple pool against her pale skin. She whimpered, her b
ody rippling as she angled away, and then toward the flame, afraid to want more, even though she did.

  “Hey, I did what you wanted today, you can take a little wax, can’t you?” I asked, smearing in the warm, gooey cream of it as she grinned at me. My other hand trailed down to her pussy, finding the trimmed red hairs there and tugging on them gently. I swept my fingers across her inner thighs, pushing my short nails along her delicate, pale skin. I wanted to be inside her so badly, but I knew I had to wait. I spread her legs, noting the moisture along her sweet lips, then took the candle and made lines going up and down her thighs. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, Brenda, you’ll be feeling it for days. Just as soon as I pour the wax from this candle all over you,” I said, my words making her shudder.

  Watching the wax cover each new part of her, her body assimilating its heat quicker and quicker, made me proud. I watched as the liquid dribbled onto her, tested myself by aiming at certain spots, diving lower with the flame, then pulling upward as it arced all the way down. She thrust against her bonds, shifting slightly, but not enough to dislodge the blindfold. Her lips kept opening and then closing, yearning for something to taste, something to suck. When the candle was near done, I took pity on her, blowing it out and offering her the waxy, non-wicked end. My little slut took even that, though I only made her taste it for a moment, more a test of wills than anything else.

  My fingers dove along her slit, parting her lips and entering her heated sex. “Oh, you’re ready all right,” I said as she drew me deeper inside. Whether or not she’d ever fucked or been fucked by another girl no longer mattered—she wanted me. I’d saved my favorite toy for last, and in mere moments, had gotten naked and slid the cock into its harness. I mounted her, greedy to shove the fat dildo into her dripping hole. It was the biggest one they’d had at the store, but she took it like it was nothing, like it was my finger or the slim candle, and I rocked against her. I’d been planning to untie her, but the look on her face as her arms strained against the cuffs, her eyes shielded, her mouth seeking, was too precious. I thrust the cock in and out of her, watching its black surface emerge sleek and shiny, her juices coating it from the start. I was so horny I could feel her squeezing the dick, giving herself to me again and again, just as I’d given myself to her today. It was all worth it as the cock pressed against my clit while filling her completely, and I made sure to take her right to the edge, then pause. I peeled some of the pretty purple wax off her, but left most of it as I pumped her fast and hard. Her nipples beckoned to me, and I heeded their call, twisting one as I balanced my other hand against the bed. She shuddered as I pinched her nub between my fingers, this new, needy creature before me not quite the girl I’d pursued so valiantly all these weeks, but someone hotter for showing me this new side. Eating fire was nothing compared to sinking my cock—myself—into Brenda, the moment purely ours as we joined together. I let my hand wander down to her clit, stroking her nub until she bucked, spasming against my touch, her body jerking all around. I lifted the blindfold so she could watch as I thrust into her a few final times before I too came, then collapsed on top of her, our sweaty bodies pasted together by wax and desire.

  “You didn’t really mean it, did you, your ultimatum?” I asked, pinching her cheek lightly. “You wanted me all along, I can tell,” I said, the thought just now sinking in.

  “Maybe,” was all I could get out of her, but her twinkling eyes gave her away. I didn’t mind, though—it’s not every girl I’d eat fire for, and most girls wouldn’t even think to ask.

  Escort

  Cheri Crystal

  “How old are you? And I want the truth.”

  She towered over me, a burly woman with short dark hair, a crooked nose, strong chin, and the most intense dark eyes I had ever seen. She’d found me huddled in a shelter made of cardboard and torn plastic in an empty lot behind some decaying buildings and took me home with her. Her apartment was small, the table cluttered with empty beer cans, Chinese take-out containers, and a pizza box with a dried-out slice still in there.

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dani.” My voice cracked and I touched my neck as if that would help. “Danielle, really, but nobody ever calls me that anymore.”

  “Your throat sore?”

  I nodded, practically falling asleep in the soup she’d heated for me. She carried me to a room down a long hallway and used her shoulder to turn on the light. She held me against her breasts and I could feel her heart beating through her shirt. She tucked me in with my clothes on. I woke up hours later drenched in sweat but still thinking I’d died and gone to heaven.

  That was how Max Martins came into my life.

  *

  I tried not to think about what her kindness was going to cost me. I was used to paying a price for any crumb but had somehow managed to avoid putting out for my daily bread. “Come here,” she commanded the next morning, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Shyly, I padded over to her. My toes poked out from the holes in my socks.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Do it!”

  There was no point arguing. I removed my filthy, ripped-up jeans and tattered sweater and stood there feeling more exposed than I’d ever felt in my life.

  Desire flickered in her deep brown eyes when I took off my underwear and T-shirt. Good thing I had rinsed them out in a Starbucks restroom the day before. I shivered. Nobody had ever looked at me quite that way and I liked it. But before I could get used to it, the hint of longing vanished.

  She thrust two towels and a washcloth into my arms and led me to the bathroom.

  “Do a good job, but make it snappy! We have work to do.”

  The hot water cascading from my head to my toes was almost better than food, it felt so good. When I was through, I wrapped a short towel around my chest—the towel barely covered my ass—and walked into the living room.

  Max was guzzling a can of beer in front of a flat-screen TV. Her muscular body took up the whole love seat, and I thought how nice it would be if I could cuddle up next to her strength. Being sick and living outdoors had not just chilled me to the bone, but to my soul.

  Everybody has a story—mine wasn’t special. My stepfather used his fists when he was provoked, and any little thing provoked him. My mother couldn’t rescue herself, let alone me. I’d been on the streets, avoiding pimps and cops and asking kind-looking strangers to buy me burgers, for eight weeks when Max found me. Even now I’m not sure why I went with her that night. The survival instinct, I suppose. Max looked tough. She looked like someone who would always protect what was hers.

  I stole a look at her and wondered how she got to be so strong. Her broad shoulders, muscular arms, and powerful thighs were hard to miss in her sleeveless button-down shirt and cut-off jeans. Even her knuckles looked like a fighter’s.

  She pulled me toward her. My legs went wobbly as I sank into the threadbare love seat. I could have used a beer.

  “Stay put.” She got up off the couch and came back a few minutes later with a medical bag.

  “Are you a doctor?” I asked when she took out a stethoscope.

  “Physician’s assistant,” she snapped. “Lay down and spread ’em.”

  Here it comes. Payback time for her taking me in, I thought.

  I was frightened, but I spread my legs.

  “Knees up.”

  “Hey, I don’t need a doctor.” I started to get off the couch but her powerful arms stopped me.

  “You have to be healthy if you want to work for me. If not, take your stinking clothes and get the hell out!”

  I let her check me over. What did she mean, work for her? Whatever it was, it had to be better than going back on the street. Just when I thought she would order me to get up and get dressed, she took out a tape measure and told me to lose the towel.

  She circled the tape around my body as if she was measuring a mannequin in the win
dow of Macy’s. It had been a long time since anyone touched me in a nice way, never mind a loving way. I wanted her to like me. I needed her to like me.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Shut up and stand still!” She roughly straightened my shoulders. I immediately stopped squirming.

  “Thirty-four, twenty-one, thirty-two. Jesus, you’re perfect. Skinny, but perfect. We’ve got to put some meat on these bones.” Her voice was husky and low. “You’ll need something to wear. I’ll get you stuff tomorrow.”

  She handed me one of her XXL T-shirts. It fit like a dress and the clean scent reminded me of the Tide my mother used to do the laundry.

  That was my start in the escort business.

  Max said I was her best student. She fussed over me, dressed me up, and took me to the best hairdressers in town. I was only 5'4" tall, so Max had me in 3-inch stiletto boots most of the time. I wore short leather skirts, tight knit tops, and wide leather belts. Or chains or fancy cocktail dresses if the occasion called for it. I was the center of Max’s attention, and I loved it.