Stolen Moments

by Stolen Moments [FF] (retail) (epub)

  I almost dropped the glass on the bar. She means now? I glanced at my watch. I was due back at the office in just over an hour. I had promised to catch Jack, my boss, before he left for a board meeting. Martine toyed with a swizzle stick, eyeing my cleavage. My body thundered out its response.

  “Okay,” I managed. “Let’s do it.”

  She turned to the barman working the other end of the bar and called out some instructions to him in French. He nodded and waved. She turned back to me, her eyes smoldering. God, she was hot. I wanted to find out exactly how hot.

  “Come to room fourteen, lower ground floor, in three minutes.” She pulled a key chain from her hip, put a key into the register, and logged herself off. “I have only forty minutes for lunch break, though,” she added, lifting her eyebrows suggestively.

  Perfect. I could be back at work in time.

  The three minutes seemed to drag, but gave me enough time to consider taking flight. I stayed put. Just a few minutes earlier, I had been reflecting on my business meeting. Now, well, now I was on Martine’s lunch break with her. I glanced at my watch and swore low under my breath. It was time. I threw back the rest of the drink and stood up.

  I clutched my jacket and portfolio against my chest and hurried down the stairs marked “Staff Only.” I couldn’t quite believe I was doing it, lurking in the hidden corridors of a premier London hotel, heading to an illicit meeting with a sex bomb with whom I had exchanged only a handful of words. A deviant thrill fired my veins.

  Perhaps I would wake up.

  And then there it was, room fourteen. From inside I could hear the distinct and powerful drum-and-bass sound of industrial dance music. I took a deep breath.

  “Come on in,” a voice shouted out when I rapped on the door. I turned the handle and pushed open the door. The room was filled with clutter—a metal-framed bed surrounded with stacks of clothes and teetering piles of books; lamps, bric-a-brac, and cushions littering the spaces between. Even the walls were covered with posters, photographs, mirrors, and other paraphernalia. A scarlet sarong was draped across the metal head of the bed, a vivid dash of color in the gloom. Over the bed, a poster of Annie Lennox at her most androgynous grinned cheekily down from the wall. In the center of it all was Martine, sitting on the bed with her legs coiled under her. She chuckled, leapt up, and walked over. She rested one hand on my bare upper arm, stroking me, sending wild threads of electricity between us. I caught a breath of her perfume, something musky and wild.

  “What do they call you, Red?” She nodded up to my hair.

  “Kim,” I replied, smiling.

  “Kim, huh? Well, Kim, I like a woman who goes after what she wants.” Her tone was admiring. Martine growled in her throat, eyeing my body. The atmosphere positively crackled between us.

  “Thank you for your invitation. It made me very…hot.”

  Martine grinned, proudly, and pulled me into the room by one arm, closing in on my mouth for an urgent kiss as the door slammed shut. Her mouth was lush and hot, damp and inviting. My portfolio clattered to the floor. She backed me toward the bed, her eyes sparkling.

  “You have to do it when it happens like this, yes, or you will have a regret, and life, it is too short for regrets, huh?”

  She flickered her eyebrows at me. Before I had a chance to reply, she pushed me and I landed on my back on the bed. She moved like lightning, her hands homing in on the heat of my sex, to the wetness that she knew awaited her. I opened my legs, my skirt riding up.

  “Take your clothes off, quickly!”

  I stripped off my skirt and started to pull my top up and over my head while Martine pulled my silk G-string down my legs. The shelves behind us rattled and something fell; the stereo jumped to the CD’s next track. My blood surged with a dangerous, dizzy rush of exhilaration when Martine stroked my legs and moved straight into my heat, taking my clit in her mouth, nursing its fullness and sucking deeply. She moved her mouth over my flesh in deliberate sweeps, ending back on my clitoris, with the tip of her tongue circling it closely, firmly. Oh, she is good. I felt as if a bomb was about to go off inside me.

  That’s when I noticed the mirror that stood close to the bed, and the scene reflected there transfixed me. Martine kneeling between my legs, and as her skirt rode up, I saw she wore stockings but no panties, her pussy naughtily peeping out as she bent between my legs. I could just make out the tip of her tongue, darting out and rolling over my sticky sex folds. It looked so strange, seeing myself like that, with her on me, and it sent me flying toward meltdown.

  “Oh fuuuuuck…”

  Martine lifted her head. Her fingers replaced her mouth, and she plowed them inside me. Her free hand crept up to my bra, and she bent its cups down, setting my breasts free.

  “You want it, don’t you?” she asked, as her fingers tweaked at my nipples, bringing it nearer. She kicked off her shoes and slid her body down with her pussy pressed up against my bare thigh.

  “Oh fuck,” I murmured again when I felt the beautiful wet slide of Martine’s heat on my leg. A wave of pleasure rushed up, the first ebbs of my orgasm.

  “You’re so hot,” she said and her eyes were aflame. She began to move her hips, pressing her sex along my thigh, rubbing frantically. “I’m going to come too!”

  We exchanged a look of total mutual appreciation, both moving desperately, climbing over the threshold. I let my hands close tightly on Martine’s shoulders and pressed my leg up into the hot wet valley of flesh that rode me. Martine’s lips parted and her eyes closed. She ground her hips down and pressed home. With a sudden cry, she came. My core pounded with release, my clit a buzz of sensation.

  After a few moments of labored breathing, I turned my head to look at the mirror. Did Martine put it there on purpose to entertain her lovers? I suddenly wanted mirrors everywhere; I wanted to see sex from every angle. Turning back, I saw Martine unzip her skirt and quickly drop it on the floor. She threw off her bra as she went over to the wardrobe that stood in the gloomiest corner of the room, and rustled around inside. When she turned back, I didn’t know where to look first: at the bright silver barbells that pierced her nipples or at the enormous strap-on cock hanging from one hand.

  She walked back and held it out. I took it in my hand, my eyes on stalks as I examined the huge contraption. It was molded with distended veins and the head was huge, engorged, as if it were about to explode. I ran my fingers around the edge of the head, imaging that rubbing against me, inside. My sex clenched.

  “Wow,” I murmured, looking up at Martine.

  “You like it, huh?”

  “It’s, um, amazing!”

  “You must put it on.”

  “Me?” I blurted.

  “Yes, I need more,” she demanded impatiently.

  The last round was obviously just for openers. I glanced at the clock; there was still time. Martine was already laid out on the bed, her knees pulled up and her legs open. She had two fingers up to the hilt inside her sex, thrusting vigorously. Her breasts had rolled out to the sides. The piercings made her nipples look loaded, like twin torpedoes about to be launched. Between her legs, her fingers were slick with wetness.

  I stood over her, filled with a sudden sense of longing and something else: power, raw power ebbing up from deep inside me. I hadn’t worn a cock before. What would it be like? I felt a surge of vitality roar up inside me. I was going to fuck this woman, really fuck her. Hard. I stepped back and quickly stepped into the harness, pulling it tight against my pussy and between my buttocks. The phallus felt heavy against my intimate parts, and outrageously large. I turned to glance at myself in the mirror, gasping when I saw it in profile. It looked totally strange and perverse in its size, brazen.

  “I look obscene,” I whispered to myself, a dart of sheer depravity flying around my veins.

  Martine moaned from the bed, reaching out for me, her gaze on the cock. Christ, this was so hot! I knelt down between Martine’s open legs and took a taste of her. She was so wet, and tas
ted so good, her nectar creamy and warm. She shuddered against my face when my tongue explored her. I had one hand on the cock, the other over one of her breasts. I captured the knotted skin between thumb and forefinger, rolling the steel barbell between my fingers. I was gratified to hear her moans growing louder. I lifted my head to suck on the other nipple, toying with the barbell with my tongue, moving my hips between hers. Martine looked down when I whispered her name. I guided her hand over the huge head, lubricating it with her wet fingers.

  “Oh yes, now,” Martine urged. I edged the massive head of the cock into the slippery entrance to her sex, angling my hips to accommodate the movement.

  “Oh, mon Dieu,” Martine cried out.

  I groaned. “Can you take more of it?”

  “Yes!” As if to confirm it, she grabbed the cock and hit a switch at its base. I gasped with shock when it started to vibrate, reverberating between us and sending a little jagged riff that went straight up into my clit.

  Oh my!

  I was wired, hugely aroused, and totally empowered. I looked down at the woman spread in front of me, all wet with sex and wanting. She was like a pool of liquid lust on the bed, bubbling up, ready to be brought off. A sense of sheer and absolute power filled my body. I pulled the base of the cock up against my clit, enjoying the weight and the vibrations there, where I was taut and pounding. The molded thing in my hands felt like a weapon and I jutted my hips forward, reaching and testing the tender succulent flesh of Martine’s hole. I worked my hips slowly, edging it inside. Martine’s hands flew up to the metal bed frame to brace her. She began to rock in time with my thrusts.

  “Oh yes, push hard,” she said. I raised up onto my arms, pushing the strap-on firmly against the resistance it met. She suddenly grabbed at my arms. Her hips bucked wildly. I leaned forward watching the reflection of our bodies in the mirror, the line of my breasts heaving as I moved back and forth between her thighs. It looked so hot. I was fucking her; I was fucking this hot glam-bitch with an enormous strap-on cock. My sex was on fire with arousal, the threat of another climax trembling right down into my hardworking thighs.

  “Oh, Kim, I like you lots!” she cried out, gasps of pleasure and laughter escaping her. Her neck arched up, her eyelids lowering. She was so close.

  “I like you lots too,” I replied, grinning, loving her foreign tongue, and thrust hard. She reached down to the juncture of our bodies, rubbing her clit. The fingers of her free hand fastened over my nipple, pinching me while she bucked up. The pinch shot through my body, wiring itself into the heat between my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to shout my pleasure aloud. I looked down at the bucking woman beneath me and grabbed the base of the cock, crushing my clit hard against it and sending us both right over the edge.

  *

  Non, je ne regrette rien. I hummed the old Edith Piaf number as I drove my Land Rover into its bay in the underground car park at HQ and stepped out, grabbing my portfolio.

  “Hey, Kim, how did it go?” Jack waved to me as he threw his briefcase into his Merc. I had caught him just before he left for the board meeting. What a bonus.

  “Success. They went for the whole campaign, Web slots and all.” It was a massive contract for the company, my best work to date.

  “Excellent. I knew you’d pull it off. That pay raise of yours is secure.”

  He saluted as he climbed into the car, then stuck his head out of the window. “And you be sure you take yourself a good lunch break. You deserve it!”

  I smiled to myself as I headed for the lift. Too right, honey. I had just enjoyed the best lunch break I’d ever had, and with a pay raise in the offing, I could afford to visit Kilpatrick’s for lunch more often, just as Martine had suggested I should. Now, how was that for staff motivation?

  Bingo, Baby

  Radclyffe

  “Honey, let’s go in drag tonight.”

  I looked up from the newspaper and tried to suppress a grin. Shelby is a femme. Not ultra-ultra-femme—no super-long nails or heavy-duty make-up, but she doesn’t leave the house without eyeliner, either. Plus, she’s small. Okay, petite. Her head comes to my chest. But she’s perfectly built—every part of her—from her pert, high breasts to her nicely rounded, squeezable ass. But no one, nohow, would take her for a guy. Not even with a twelve-inch dick. “Sure, baby, but we only brought one dick.”

  It’s tough packing toys when you travel, and the security people at the airport in Provincetown check everything. But then I guess they’ve seen everything, too, and there’s no way I was going on vacation without my equipment. Still, I couldn’t bring a complete complement either, so we both wouldn’t be able to dress in full gear.

  Shel’s lush pink lips parted, her tongue peeked out as she ran it lightly over the velvet surface, and my mind turned to oatmeal. “We only need one. For me.”

  I got hold of myself and dragged my thoughts away from what she could do with that tongue. “Huh? What am I going to wear, then?”

  “This,” she replied sweetly as she held up a tiny swatch of leather.

  I paled. “That’s a skirt.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s yours.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I can’t wear that.” I started to sweat. I started to look for the exit. I was in boxers and nothing else. I couldn’t run.

  “You might be taller, but your hips aren’t that much bigger than mine. It will just be a little short.”

  “A little?” God help me, I actually squeaked. Just the thought of the skirt was making my clit shrink. “That won’t even cover my crotch!”

  “This will.”

  She held up a black satin thong, and my clit fell clean off.

  “Oh no—no fucking way.”

  “Please, honey?”

  Not fair. Not fair, not fair, not fair.

  “Then we’ll both be in drag,” Shel pointed out, twirling the thong around her index finger. “It is drag bingo, after all.”

  Ordinarily, Shelby within twenty feet of a thong makes me want to start at her toes and lick my way to the top of her head, but today all I could think about was how much that tiny triangle didn’t cover. Especially on me.

  “We don’t have any drag clothes that will fit you. My jackets are all too big.” I tried a different tack. Shel was very particular about her clothes.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage something.” She leaned over the sofa, cupped my crotch, and resurrected my clit as she squeezed. “Didn’t fall off, now, did it?”

  “Ha ha,” I muttered as she stuck her warm tongue in my mouth. It was a few minutes before I thought about much of anything except how clever her fingers were. When she stopped doing that wonderful up and down, round and round thing she was doing with her thumb, I groaned in protest. “Hey—what—?”

  “Later, honey.” She gave me another little tug and kissed the tip of my nose. My clit gave a little jump right back. “I have to get dressed. And so do you.”

  That effectively killed my healthy, happy hard-on once and for all.

  I dawdled. I balked. I downright stonewalled. Okay, okay—I mostly sulked. I showered but then I refused to get dressed. Shelby ignored me as I sat on the foot of the bed staring at the floor, naked, immobile—a pathetic rendition of the Thinker facing a firing squad.

  “What do you think?” Shel asked softly.

  I turned my head and found myself eye to eye with a pair of black silk boxers that tented out suggestively over the gently bobbing dick inside. Now I have to tell you, I think wearing a dick is about the sexiest feeling I’ve ever had—except, of course, fucking Shelby with one. But I’ve never particularly been interested in being on the receiving end. Fortunately, Shelby has never complained. So I’d never seen her strapped before. I couldn’t take my eyes off her smooth, tanned belly encircled by the broad waistband of the boxers and the jutting prominence below. She is such a girl in every way, and I wouldn’t have believed how hot she’d look with all that girl power dancing inches from my f
ace.

  “Jesus,” I breathed in awe.

  She made a little sound like a contented purr. And then she reached down and wrapped her dainty fist around the silk-sheathed cock and gave it a little shake. My mouth dropped open and my clit stood at attention.

  “Does it always make you horny right away when you put it on?” she asked a little dreamily.

  “Usually, yeah,” I muttered, watching her hand action speed up a little bit. “Baby?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you want to jerk off with that, come a little closer and I’ll help.”

  “Oh no.” She laughed knowingly, giving the dick one final tug before letting go. “You just want to distract me so we miss bingo.”

  “That was the furthest thing from my mind,” I protested. It was true, too. In that moment, all I could think about was holding on to her ass and putting her dick in my mouth. In my mouth? Jesus Christ. What’s happening to me?

  “Come on, honey. Stand up. Let me dress you.”

  My brain was still a bit addled, and without thinking, I complied. The next thing I knew, I was wearing a sleeveless mesh top that was so tight my nipples nearly protruded through the tiny holes, the black satin thong that barely kept my clit covered, and the leather skirt that hit right at the bottom of my butt cheeks. I don’t know why she bothered to put me into clothes at all. I took one look in the mirror and almost fainted.

  “I can’t go out like this.”

  “Sure you can. I promise your butch credentials will not be revoked.”

  I turned, ready to take a stand, and got a good look at her as she buckled a thin black belt around her waist. She’d gone for the simple GQ look, and it worked perfectly on her. She wore an open-collared black silk shirt tucked into tailored black trousers with dress shoes and the belt. She’d slicked back her short blond hair and wore no make-up. She resembled an androgynous Calvin Klein model, the ones that I always feel a little bit guilty about staring at. I glanced down. She looked like a handsome young man with a very substantial hard-on. Oh baby.