“Stand back!” I commanded, causing her to stand motionless, staring fearfully at my weapon. Even when faced by the man she had wronged, she breathed no word of remorse, and expressed no feminine desire for forgiveness.
I discharged a bullet directly at her heart, hoping to dispatch her at once. Her vile screams were so maddening that I scarce remember what I did next. Even when half-mad, I knew that I could not leave her to suffer. I fired at her head, the seat of her depraved schemes, and at last she lay in deep and utter silence.
How strange I felt, standing alone in the rustling woods with no sound of a human voice in my ears! Despite her treachery, my heart swelled with grief at the sight of my Alison, once so full of life and now permanently lost to me in death. How still were the two bodies! I felt no triumph, but a grim sense of having followed the prompting of Nature at her most relentless.
As a gentleman, I could not leave the dead unburied. On leaden feet, I returned to my home to fetch my most trusted and stalwart servants to help lay my late fiancée and her seducer in the earth to which we must all return in our time.
And so I stand before you, gentlemen, charged with the murders of two helpless women because I played the part of a man. Would any of you have acted differently under such provocation? And have I no claim on the mercy of the court, although none was shown to me?
I submit myself to your will. And if I must keep an appointment with the hangman, this sordid tale will at last end with no consequences to a living human heart. I have been told that hanged men spill their seed at the last, and thus my future heirs may die before their conception on the weathered wood of the gallows.
Perhaps the world has turned upside down after all. If that be the case, may my testimony reach the wondering ears of another audience, like a ballad of doomed love that cannot die as long as it is still sung.
HEAVENLY BODIES
Andrea Miller
Aries
“Forget social niceties,” Aries said. “Let’s screw in the bathroom.”
Refreshingly direct, I thought, but there was no way I’d follow her to that grimy stall. And the problem wasn’t the graffiti on the door or the overflowing trash can. No, the problem was that since Aries moved to town, she’d humped scores of women hovering over the toilet here at the bar and I refused to be next. Nope, I liked her too much for her to leave me in a washroom high and dry, or even high and wet. As perverse as it sounds, I wanted a relationship with Aries. You see, I’d a sixth sense about her—that under the tough butch exterior she was a lost lamb.
“You horny bitch,” I said, smiling. “We’re gonna fuck in a bed.” Then I grabbed a fistful of her short hair and dragged her outside. In the parking lot was Aries’ car—red and low to the ground. We got in and she started the ignition.
“I’m not sure,” she said, putting the car in DRIVE, “that I can wait for a bed.” Aries slipped her hand up my skirt, proving her point, and the proverbial sparks flew. I still wanted box-spring dignity, but I began to reason that a car was good enough. I spread my legs to give easier access. Very easy—I wasn’t wearing panties.
With one hand on the wheel, Aries simultaneously made sharp turns through empty streets and soft strokes against my fur—so soft and teasing that I realized she was making me wait for making her wait. I rolled into her hand, wanting more, harder. Yet she continued with her light touch and occasional no-touch as she changed gears.
Finally Aries turned onto the highway and sped up, her foot pressing into the gas pedal, her finger plunging into my hole. I moaned and rammed back at her. Aries went faster, dodging cars; streetlights and inky night blurring past us. My heart raced and I tried telling her to stop driving. But a part of me—the slick, throbbing part—didn’t even want her to slow down and the words jammed.
Aries pinched my clit, then rolled it with her fingers. She was being rough now, but the rub was bringing me to the edge. I lifted my hips off the seat and, jerking hard, came wet against her hand.
Aries pulled over onto the side of the road, gravel crunching under her wheels. Is it free will or destiny, I wondered, that doesn’t have a bed for us? My slit pulsing, the stars twinkling, I couldn’t tell.
Taurus
“I had a craving for brownies,” Taurus explained as she dipped her finger in the pot. “Taste this, sweetie.”
My mouth watering, I leaned in to lick the long delicate shaft of her finger and to swallow every trace of the just-melted chocolate. Leaned in to suck as if I intended to tongue her very bone. Taurus pulled out and took the chocolate off the heat. “The next step,” she said, “is to beat the butter.”
She put two yellow sticks in a green bowl and started the hum of the mixer. But the taste of her finger had left me hungry for more than brownies, and now I nuzzled her neck where the neat line of coffee-colored hairs met bare skin.
The butter growing light and fluffy, Taurus sprinkled in the sugar as I pressed against her—feeling the hard bone of my cunt sink into her generous ass. She added the chocolate and I fondled her breasts, her nipples stiffening under my touch. She cracked the eggs, mixed in the flour, folded in chunks of white chocolate. And all the while my hands strayed lower—across her round belly that was a sweet contrast to her limbs knotted with muscle—and down to her clit that was plump and prominent.
Taurus spooned the mixture into a buttered pan, put the pan in the oven and set the timer; we had twenty minutes. I nudged Taurus to the counter, getting her to lean over it with her legs spread and her back to me. I pulled down her boxers, baring her butt. Then, I slipped a finger into her pussy. She squirmed into it, moaning, and with my other hand I reached for the butter open on the counter. I took a generous swipe and greased her crack with it, making it so slick my finger easily slipped in. I felt the rub of my own fingers through the thin wall separating her two holes and my cunt throbbed. The kitchen was thick with the deep, heady smells of slit, sweat and chocolate.
Taurus turned to look at me with her liquid-brown, almost bovine eyes. “Now,” she said. “I need to come now.” Still pummelling her ass, I ripped my fingers from her gooey cunt and pressed them to her clit—her clit so hard it felt like it had a stubborn bone lodged inside. Taurus bucked between my hands. Her flanks straining. Her neck muscles bulging.
“Baby,” she grinned, with a final shudder as the timer rang ready. “You can ride me anytime.”
Gemini
The Gemini sisters kissed and it looked perverse—like someone pressed against a mirror, lips on the glass. Impossible to tell apart, they both had long limbs, pale skin and hair streaked blonde. I’d just met them earlier that night at the theatre. A double feature had been playing: two sexy French movies with convoluted plots. Neither twin had needed the subtitles. Both were good with tongues.
One Gemini circled my waist with her arms, pulling me in. And the other coaxed my mouth open, slipping her tongue between my lips. “Forget social conventions,” whispered the twin whose hand was roaming from my waist to my breast. “We’re all consenting adults,” she continued. “And you like it, don’t you?”
My nipples growing hard and my slit growing wet, it was obvious I liked it. But I didn’t want to. This is wrong, I thought, feeling a twin roll my nipples between her fingertips. We shouldn’t do this, I thought, sucking the other one’s throat. This isn’t normal, I thought, creaming all the more. Yes, some taboos are like that. Terribly, deeply titillating.
Stroking my ass, my breasts, my cunt, the Geminis unzipped my zippers and unbuttoned my buttons. It felt like they had a million hands all blowing over me and like my hands would never be enough to know their double curves. One Gemini latched her mouth onto my nipple and chewed slightly; the other lodged her thigh between mine. And the three of us humped hard, smearing juice across each other’s skin.
Suddenly one Gemini had a fat dildo—double headed with snaking silicone veins. She and her sister lay down opposite each other, legs butterflied open, and brought the cock to their holes. Then, gyratin
g, they swallowed. The twin bed underneath us moaned with each thrust and the yellow duvet got wetter. How many other women, I wondered, have the Geminis brought to this apartment of theirs and fucked on this tiny bed? Then the Geminis pulled me on top of them and I wondered nothing.
My tits hung in one Gemini’s face; my cunt hovered over the other’s mouth. And with me spread wide like that—perfectly exposed to their darting eyes—all their quick movements suddenly stopped and they simply studied me. The shape of my lips, hood, clit. The size and slope of my nipples. I waited for what seemed like a very long time, desperate to have their two tongues wash over me.
“Beautiful,” sighed one Gemini, her breath blowing cool over my slit.
“Lovely,” agreed the other, taking a taste.
Cancer
The porch light was on and soft music leaked out through the window. Slipping my key in the lock, I pushed the door open and heaved my suitcase over the threshold. Inside were the smells of roasting and stewing, candles and Cancer. Hearing my footsteps, she raced to me and crooned, “I had a feeling you’d arrive around now and I’m so glad you did.” Then she looked at me with her large wet eyes and kissed me slowly, deeply, her hand cool on the back of my neck.
We’d been together for years, but we still didn’t like to be apart, even for just a few days. And during this business trip—a seemingly endless week—I’d missed her with particular sharpness. Missed her pale, translucent skin and her face round like the moon. All I wanted now was to melt into her warm breasts. “Come,” Cancer said, leading me to the bathroom.
The tub was a gorgeous old-fashioned claw-foot and Cancer had just filled it with deliciously hot water and a sprinkling of white rose petals from the garden. Anticipating a long soak, I started to take off my blouse, but Cancer caught my fingers mid-button. “Let me do it,” she said. “You need pampering.”
Her hands moved over me—slipping off my skirt, rolling off my stockings—until I was naked except for the thick steam clinging to everything in the room. Cancer, however, was still in her bathrobe. I tugged the satin belt and the robe opened like curtains—revealing full breasts and pale pink nipples. “Oh, I’m not getting in,” Cancer said. “I’ve already bathed and I want you to have the whole tub to yourself. I’ll stay with you, though.”
Lowering myself in, I tried pulling Cancer in too. But she insisted on staying out and positioned herself behind me on the rim of the tub. She began to massage my shoulders and it felt like the hot water and her touch were seeping into my bones, soothing me. I could feel the brush of her satin sleeves and the rose petals clinging to my thighs.
I turned to face Cancer. Her parted legs were propped up on either side of the tub and she was leaning against the wall behind her—exposing the cleft moon between her thighs. I followed the blue webbing of her veins with my mouth, kissing the tenderness of her inner thighs and their jasmine musk. “You smell,” I sighed, finally arriving, “like home.”
Leo
I imagine she smelled of nutmeg and cloves and that her skin felt warm, like peaches in the sun. But the truth is, I never got that close. Leo lived next door—in the house with the deck decorated with pots of marigolds. And during the summer that’s where she stretched out lazily in her lounging chair, watching me watch her from my second-story window.
I remember her working slick coconut oil into her calves and thighs as carefully as if she were polishing precious metal. And then, her long legs glistening in delicious contrast to her scanty orange bikini, her hands crept upward. Smeared oil along the length of her arms and over the curve of her hips—so slowly I squirmed impatiently. Was she toying with me? Would she hold back this time? I pinched my nipples to feel the soothing bite of nails.
The bikini top clasp rested between her two suns and just when I thought I’d burst, she undid it—showing me both her perfect generosity and her brutality, her nipples sharp like claws. I’d never spoken to her, but I adored her and ached to have her rake over me, over my cunt. I jammed a hand down my pants and rocked on my finger.
Leo flicked her long blonde hair and took a sip of her cocktail, an umbrella on the rim spearing a pineapple wedge. Spearing a cherry. Then she looked up at my window and, with even more excruciating slowness, she undid the bikini bottom ties resting over her hips. I saw the amber triangle between her luscious thighs and I began to sweat, to pant.
Her toes curling and extending, Leo lightly stroked her secret mane. Then she slipped a finger into her mouth and licked it with flashes of her pink tongue until it was perfectly wet. Yes, everything was wet; cream had gathered between my legs, too. Leo slid the juicy finger to her cleft and made precise circles. Her lips were parted and her eyes were half closed into pleasure slits—such the perfect lust look I wondered if she’d practiced in the mirror. But then her expression and even all her movements turned suddenly raw. And separately—together—we quivered against our hands, moaned like animals with deep throaty sounds floating through the open window.
Virgo
“According to the book,” Virgo said, taking a sip of tea. “There isn’t one correct way of performing cunnilingus. Correct is simply what the recipient prefers. Have you noted much variation in your partners’ predilections?”
Giving head was one of my favorite topics and I strained to keep my voice as clinical as Virgo’s. If I ever hoped to get down her pants, I couldn’t blow it with dirty cunt talk. She wasn’t that kind—not yet anyway. I suspected, however, that if I could just spread her legs, her repression would crumble to an uninhibited, hungry hole. “There’s a great deal of deviation,” I finally answered. “Much depends on the vulva’s shape.”
“Do you mean the size of the labia?” Virgo asked. “I read that women with large inner labia sometimes like having them sucked, yet women with small or absent inner labia are unable to experience this.”
“The size of the labia is important but so is the size of the clitoris,” I replied, marvelling again at the perversity of Virgo’s sexuality. Although she’d never been with a woman, she had thorough book knowledge of lesbianism. She worked at the public library and apparently spent every free moment combing just a few special shelves.
“When a woman has a clitoris that juts out,” I continued, “her partner can suck on it as if it is a small penis, but when a woman has a hidden or small clitoris, her partner is only able to lap at it.” I tried to imagine the form of Virgo’s clit and I felt mine pulse. We’d been having these chats every Saturday for months and they still always got me wet.
“Is there anything that all women enjoy?” Virgo asked, just as the waitress arrived with our scones and cream. “Don’t you think, for example, that virtually all women prefer when the clitoris is not sought out immediately?” Virgo took a tiny bite and looked at me with clear eyes.
“True, it’s best to begin by…slowly licking the area where vulva…and inner thigh meet….” I crossed and recrossed my legs but the rest of the thought stayed jammed in my throat. Slipping the tongue between inner and outer labia. Gently retracting the hood. Sucking the clitoris. Virgo smiled elusively.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” I said. Then in the bathroom I made it fast and dirty and solo. Leaning against the wall with my hand rammed down my pants, I imagined Virgo using—just for once—the nonscientific terms.
Libra
We’d been dating for just a few weeks, but we were already packing for our first romantic weekend getaway. “Which toy should I bring?” Libra asked, her voice clear sugar coming through the line. “What’ve you got?” I answered, stuffing a swimsuit into my suitcase.
“Well, I have seven…. The first one’s a finger vibe that fits perfectly—nice and snug—over the tip of my pointer. You’d love it,” Libra assured me. “It feels delicious on the clit, so precise.” I imagined her making tiny humming circles over my nub and assured her that I was sold—that she should definitely pack the finger vibe up.
“Wait,” Libra said. “Make an informed decision
; hear about all the toys before choosing.” I cradled the phone against my shoulder, getting ready for Libra to talk my ear off. “I also have a dildo with a hollow base,” she continued. “It’s bright purple and intensely ribbed. The problem is, it’s massive so it’s only really good if you want to be ripped open.”
“I could handle that,” I said, setting Libra giggling. “Do you have a bullet vibe to stick inside the base?”
“Of course,” she answered. “And when turned on, it purrs like a pussy and even makes some women ejaculate. It’s fantastic, but on the other hand so is my elegant glass wand. Glass, you know, is rock hard and frictionless. You can fuck and be fucked with it all night long.” I pictured Libra ramming such elegance up my cunt and then cleaning off the juice with the bow of her mouth. I tried to interrupt and insist that she bring the glass wand, but Libra barrelled on.
“I also have a double dildo,” she said, bringing my packing to a distracted finish, suitcase left gaping. “Can you imagine us being filled at the same time?” Imagining just that, my cunt creamed and I couldn’t take any more. “You know,” I said, my voice cracking. “We don’t need a toy. Your fingers would be just fine.”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “All right,” Libra finally answered. “But what hole would you like them in first?”
Scorpio
Scorpio’s cock was too long, too thick, too red. Too much to hide in the folds of a skirt without magic. But no, I didn’t notice the bulge when she led me through the beaded curtain to her chamber flickering with candles. Nor when she took my hand and traced each line with a bold crimson nail.
“This curve in your heart-line,” she said, pinning me with her penetrating gaze, “indicates a tendency toward lust. Is that true?” Scorpio smirked like she knew the answer and placed her hand on my thigh. “Is your pussy often wet?” she continued. “Is it wet now?”
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