“Fuck it,” I hissed. I leaned forward a little, so the head of his cock rubbed my G-spot.
His eyes opened. “Cool,” he said. He cupped my breasts, thumbing my nipples.
“How long can you fuck like this?”
He shrugged. “Forever, if you like.” He humped up again.
I made a strangled little noise.
Guy let his right hand trail down between my breasts, over my belly, to my mound. Again, his touch was gentle. He used his thumb to make lazy little circles around and over my clit. “Or we can come now and then come again later and then come again later and . . .”
“Uh huh.” I was nodding in slavish agreement. I shifted to a kneel.
Guy guided my head to his. Our mouths met in a sloppy kiss, sloppy because we were eager and the shower made it hard to breathe, not sloppy because he was inexperienced or demanding. He pressed my head to his skinny chest and he fucked and fingered me until I really did start howling and shaking and grinding and coming like I hadn’t had an orgasm in years. I was scared I might squeeze him right out of me with the force of my clenching contractions, but he was as solid as ever inside me.
“Stop!” I tried to wriggle free. “I can’t stand it!”
“Sure you can, chérie,” he murmured. He just kept on going, fingering and fucking me as if I hadn’t just come, until I did it again, as hard and long as the first time.
I lay plastered against his chest, half-delirious with delight. “You come!”
“I did,” he said.
“So quiet,” I marvelled. “And gentle. And patient.”
“I have to be these things,” he replied.
I climbed off him and out of the tub with as much grace as I could muster. Then I helped him out and wrapped him in a bath sheet. We were both a little unsteady.
“Why?”
“Hmm?” He leaned on me. He looked exhausted.
I leaned back. “Why do you have to be quiet and gentle and patient?”
He looked at me with the sad eyes of a weary warrior. “I think it’s going to take a long time to save the planet.”
When I woke in the morning he wasn’t in my bed. We hadn’t had sex again, after all, but I knew he’d spent the night, because every so often we’d curled into spoons and I’d felt his hard-on pressed against my bum.
It crossed my mind that he, and possibly my electronics and jewellery, might be gone, but I wasn’t surprised to find him in the kitchen, naked, gazing at the screen on my laptop and stuffing his face. I’d fed him all the non-meat stuff I could come up with before putting him to bed, but now he was back at it with a vengeance.
“Morning,” he said. “I made tea.” He gave me a dazzling grin.
“Great.” Who needs coffee when you’ve got a boy toy in your kitchen? I felt buzzed.
He held up a bubble-wrapped package. “Mind mailing this for me? It’s a solar-powered cell phone. A prototype. I have to return it now that the protest is over.”
“It’s over?”
He nodded at the screen. I bent to take a look. My robe slipped open so his face was brushed by soft cotton and even softer skin. He rubbed his cheek against my breast.
There was Brian in a hard hat, amidst a swarm of chanting young protesters. The only girl, presumably Willow, was being dragged away by a cop. In the background, the bulldozers were busy.
“That’s my girlfriend,” said Guy. He pointed to the girl.
I pointed to Brian. “That’s my boyfriend,” I said.
“No shit. What does that make us?” He gave me an amused look. “Romeo and Juliet?” He shrunk the window with a click of the mouse. Now we were staring at my desktop, icons dotting a vast expanse of beach. “Where’s this?”
“Negril Beach. Jamaica. I went after my high school grad, intending to stay for two weeks. I stayed for two years.”
“Cool. Rastas are OK,” he said. “But I don’t believe in God, or Ja, or whatever. I’m a Pantheist. You cool with that?”
“I’m cool with you,” I said. “I’m sorry about Châteauguay.” I closed the laptop. “How can I make it better?”
Guy grinned at me and patted his lap. His erection grew under my adoring gaze, like a time-lapse photo: no hands, no mouth, no cunt or ass or even whispered compliments, just my gaze, urging it to thicken and lengthen and pulse with power.
I sat on the table, instead. “Show me you can walk.”
Guy stood, walked stiffly but quickly to the teapot, poured me a cup of peppermint tea and brought it to me without spilling a drop.
“Beautiful,” I cooed. I meant it, too. The restorative powers of the young always amaze me. I can get three kids walking in the time it takes me to get an oldster prepped to begin.
Guy tugged at the belt to my robe as I attempted to drink my tea.
“Careful.” I tipped up a pinky in a display of daintiness and sipped.
He nuzzled my ear. I shivered. He took the cup from my hand. “Tea time’s over,” he said.
“We gotta be quick,” I whispered in his ear, before biting the lobe.
He parted my knees and stepped between them. As the head of his cock touched me I shivered again. He slid into me as easily as if we’d been lovers forever. When he was fully inside we kissed. Then he cupped my ass with his hands and started fucking me furiously.
“Goddammit!” I shouted when I came, which was like three minutes later. My fingers were busy torturing my clit, just above the tunnel Guy was pounding in and out of. Together we were like some kind of pneumatic machine that thrusts and contracts at the same time. “Goddam good!”
“Mmm . . .” was the only noise he made. He froze, his eyes flew open, and that dynamite grin that announced, “I’m coming,” spread across his face.
I hugged him tight until he was done.
“I gotta go,” I said. We shared a long lovers’ kiss. “Will you still be here when I get back?”
“Want me?”
“Yes.”
“OK. I’ll cook. We can fuck before supper.”
Work was a blur. I was capable and considerate but the only bone I really wanted to manipulate wasn’t available. Dumb thoughts like that struck me as hilarious; I kept having to stifle the girlish giggles bubbling in my throat. I wanted to go home, badly. Not because I was afraid he was stealing my stuff or answering my phone (which I’d forwarded to my cell anyway, as always), but because I wanted more fabulous sex with Guy. My clit twitched at the thought. My groin burned.
Brian didn’t call, which was par for the course. He was punishing me for not showing up at his place like a good little cocksucker. I didn’t bother plotting how long to make him stew before giving in (I’m always the one who gives in when we get into one of these little contretemps). He could stew till the flesh dropped right off his osteoarthritic bones, as far as I was concerned.
When I got home the condo was redolent with yummy smells.
Guy was lying on my brass bed, still naked.
“What’cha doin’?” Suddenly I was shy. Who was this lovely, lanky blue-eyed boy?
“Slow cookin’,” he said. “C’mere.”
I started tearing off my clothes.
“Slow-w-w . . .” he said. “Tonight we take our time.”
I paused with my pants halfway down my thighs, not because he’d said we’d go slowly but because the difference in our ages suddenly overwhelmed me. He was used to younger, tighter, smoother, more flexible bodies. I had to counter that with my years of experience. Whatever his girlfriends had done to or for him, I was going to do better and dirtier. A woman my age doing a boy his age was pretty depraved already. So, if I was going to take a dip in the depravity pond, why not dive in deep and wallow in it?
There were a few things I hadn’t learned until my thirties and a few more that I hadn’t discovered until my forties. I had a repertoire to draw on that’d more than make up for my few wrinkles and no longer quite so perky breasts.
Talk was one of them. I stepped out of the pool of my pan
ts. “You have a magnificent cock,” I told him.
He grinned and waved the member in question at me. “Merci.”
“Inside me, it feels fantastique.”
“Is that where you want it? Inside you?”
I leaned forward and doubled my arms up behind me to unhook my bra. That way, my breasts would be at their best when I exposed them. I said, “Later,” and flung my bra aside. “For now, I want to get to know it better.”
“Help yourself,” he offered. Guy tucked his hands behind his neck.
That pose inspired me. Brian liked to play bondage games once in a while, with me the one getting tied up. It’d be a nice change to reverse roles. I went to the dresser and returned with a coil of soft white cotton cord.
Guy’s peepers widened.
“You’ll like it,” I promised.
He looked a bit uncertain but he held still while I took a few turns around each of his wrists and looped the cord through a rail of the bed’s head. I took a bottle of strawberry-flavoured oil from a nightstand and anointed my palms, then poured more oil over the head of his cock. I let my fingertips run up the underside of his shaft. “So smooth.” I gripped him and squeezed. “So hard.”
“How else would it be, considering?”
I ignored the compliment and continued with a loose-fingered stroke, base to head. “Nice?” I asked as my palm glossed over his knob.
“Mm.”
Good – forming words was becoming harder for him. My strokes alternated, firm then loose. “Your cock, being so thick, will press my tongue down and rub against the roof of my mouth. I’ll be able to feel its pulse.”
“Cool.” The beginning of that beatific grin played across his face. “You’re a lot of fun, Annie.”
“Merci.”
I dipped my head a little, as if about to take him in my mouth. Instead I breathed words onto his shaft. “I’m going to make it so good for you, Guy, and when you finally climax, I’m not going to swallow your hot cream.”
“Huh?” His eyes, which had started to close, flew open.
I grinned. “Not till I’ve savoured it. I’m going to let it sit in my mouth for a little bit. I’m going to suck air, like you do when drinking a fine wine, to release the bouquet.”
“Jesus, Annie . . .”
I stroked him slowly, sometimes full-fist, sometimes just one finger and my thumb. “Look at me,” I ordered. My other hand went to my breast. I rolled and teased one nipple to aching hardness. “I like to have my nipples played with.”
Guy jerked his arms and shrugged helplessly.
I shrugged too. My hand dropped to my thong. Two fingers slid under it. Guy’s eyes followed them. “I like to play with myself, too. Do you mind?”
“Non.”
“My clit’s buzzing. I’m going to make it ready for you.”
“OK, but I’m going to make it wait.”
“Really?”
“I’m going to make you beg me to fuck you.”
My pulse quickened. Such a smart boy. Such a fast learner.
“Good.” Still softly pumping his shaft, I stood up and wriggled out of my thong. Two fingers bracketed my sex and spread to fully expose my hot pink nub.
Guy licked his lips.
“You like my clit? My cunt?”
He nodded.
“And I like your cock, your long, thick, hard cock.”
A dewdrop appeared in its eye. I licked it off.
He groaned.
“Nice,” I said, and squeezed another drop out. “Yummy.”
“Your mouth?” he asked.
“Not yet.” My fingertips worked inside my cunt and carried a smear of my juices to his lips.
He tried to follow my hand as it retreated but the cords stopped him. The long muscles in his thighs flexed. “Please?”
“Please?”
“Let me come?”
“Already?”
“I’ll still be able to fuck you.”
“I know.” I smiled. “Guy?”
“Yes?”
“Wanna try something new?”
“Such as?”
“Such as this.” I went to work with my mouth, just lips and tongue at first but gradually taking him deeper and deeper.
He chuckled. “Silly, I’ve had blow jobs before.”
“Mm?” My fingers were still slick with the oil. I rimmed his anus slowly, then applied pressure.
“Ah?”
I slid in to my first joint, then my second. There it was, that hard little walnut. As I rubbed it, his rigid cock thickened just a little more inside my mouth. Ready to burst.
Guy tensed. His shaft swelled in my mouth and started to spurt. He gasped, as if his climax surprised him. A prostate massage will do that.
I sat up and parted my lips, letting him see his cream in my mouth and on my tongue. I drew in a long, steady breath and exhaled.
He said, “Dirty, dirty girl.”
I smiled, breathed in again, breathed out, and swallowed. “Now,” I said as I released his bonds, “you do me.”
He pounced. One minute I was in charge, the next I was helpless. He pinned me to the bed. His arms were surprisingly muscular when tensed. I struggled a little, thrilled to discover he was so much stronger than me.
“Maybe I should tie you up,” he muttered. “But there are other ways to tame a filly.”
What started as a giggle turned to a moan as he buried his head between my legs. His mouth surrounded my pussy lips; his tongue slowly travelled up between them, dipping into the hole and out again and circling my clit at the conclusion of each languid lap.
My legs began trembling. “Please,” I whispered. “Stay on my clit?”
He ignored me.
I put my hand to his head, marvelling at the texture of his black hair. So fine. So thick. I stroked his head and any thoughts of trying to make him do it my way vanished. It was perfect. His tongue tasted me, tortured my entrance with shallow thrusts, found my clit, circled and then abandoned it, only to start again, from the bottom up.
Perfect.
When I came it was as if he’d pulled the orgasm from deep within me with his lips and tongue. As if he’d sucked it to the surface and set it free.
Before the last paroxysm had shuddered through my body, Guy was mounting me, his cock as hard as ever.
“Goddammit!” I whipped my head from side to side as a fresh wave of desire rolled through me.
Guy propped himself up, his hands on either side of my head, and gave it to me good. Hard. Good. So hard. So good.
When I came I locked my gaze with his, using his baby blues to keep me from exploding. Then his eyes closed and he grinned wide and said, “Yesss . . .” and I knew he’d climaxed too.
Guy.
I wanted to keep him forever but life’s not like that. I could clothe him, and feed him, and fuck him, and I did. But I couldn’t keep him. Life goes on, things change. Boyfriends resurface, suddenly insecure and looking for a commitment. Life is strange.
And so we come to the eve of my wedding. I dial a number and in surprisingly little time, Guy’s ragamuffin gang shuffles into my condo, led by the suspicious and spunky girl named Willow.
In the end he goes quietly. They convene on the balcony, in the rain, for a few minutes of intense conversation. When they return he’s among them. Back where he belongs. Willow picks up his jute bag and slings it over his shoulder.
Guy stops in the doorway. His voice is anguished. “What about love?”
Words fail me. His friends surround him, protecting him. They leave. The door closes.
I step out onto the balcony and stare at the stars and the full moon.
Tomorrow I’ll be a Mrs. Again. The night after that, I’ll be gazing at the constellations of a different hemisphere. Brian is taking me to his villa in Negril for our honeymoon. If everything works out between us, it’ll be ours. If not, well, then it’ll be mine.
A few nights after that I’ll slip out to find the taxi stand my friends
have told me about. You can get anything you want there, for a price. A ride around the world.
“What about love?” I wink at the moon. “Gonna get me some sweet, young, midnight love.”
It might just be the rain blurring my vision, but I swear, the lascivious bitch winks back.
You Get What You Pay For
Robert Buckley
“What’s the matter, Gleason? Never seen a woman fucked out of her senses before?”
The man with the bulging briefcase had stepped – actually sidestepped – into the pool of light in the centre of what was once a sunken dance floor. He leaned to one side, peering at the naked girl draped at the waist over the pool table. She was motionless; her long, silken, dark hair hid her face as she lay chest down on the felt-lined table, both arms extended like a sphinx.
Tobin sat in the surrounding darkness at a table on a raised, stepped platform above and behind the girl. She looked tiny. Her toes barely reached the floor, so her feet splayed apart, bowing her ankles away from each other and forming something like a U, or perhaps a cup to catch all the jizz that trickled in viscous rivulets down her thighs and over her calves, shining streaks catching and reflecting the light. A major portion of the ooze issued from her anus that was distended by the several cocks it had entertained and possibly a fist.
“Jesus, is she OK?” Gleason said, tentatively reaching towards her. “Is she alive, for crissakes?”
“She’s fine,” Tobin replied. “She’s just passed out. She’s been fucked almost three hours straight. The guys are all wore out. I didn’t think the little minx was ever going to quit, then boom, out like a light.”
“Have you had someone check her? Christ, I don’t think she’s breathing.”
“Rocco checked her a few minutes ago. He’s a paramedic. But feel free to take her pulse if you want.”
Gleason lifted the girl’s wrist. “Hmm.”
He stepped around, took note of the girl’s gaping asshole and coughed. “She paid for this?”
“No, her husband paid for it. But she sure enjoyed herself.”
“Are you sure?”
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