Her many male admirers gazed in vain. With a single look shared between them across the room, it was clear that Courtney’s attraction was for her own sex—and for Tess in particular. Tess made a point to cut her workout short and do her stretches beside Courtney. They exchanged knowing looks and smiles, then phone numbers in the locker room. Six months later, they were living together. Seven months after that, they were here, with Courtney standing in front of Tess, posing seductively with her hand on her hip.
“Get over here,” Tess said. She put out her arms and Courtney drifted into her embrace.
Tess pushed her face between Courtney’s full breasts, deeply breathing in her scent. Courtney’s hands came to rest on her head, her fingers raking through Tess’s hair. Tess reveled in their closeness, basking in the warm loving feeling that wrapped itself around her, before succumbing to the pent-up lust that now seemed unstoppable.
With an unfamiliar aggression, Tess spun Courtney around. She grabbed her hips, her ass and then shifted around to her breasts, all in an attempt to have her greedy hands in as many places as possible at once. Tess slipped her hand underneath Courtney’s camisole and grabbed for her tit while her other hand slithered down between Courtney’s thighs and rubbed her sex through her panties. Tess kissed her lower back and bit hungrily into her skin.
“What’s gotten into you?” Courtney asked with a sharp intake of breath.
“You have.”
Tess felt Courtney’s clit hardening under her fingertips. She squeezed and pinched Courtney’s tit and nipple as she tried to push Courtney’s shirt up her back with her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Desperate to get Courtney out of her clothes, she tore at her panties and pulled them roughly down her thighs, biting into the skin of her ass in the process. Courtney responded with quickened breaths.
“I like you like this,” she said.
Tess spun her around again so she was facing her. She slipped her hand between Courtney’s legs to find her sex wet against her fingers. She kissed and bit her stomach while kneading her tit and pinching her nipple between her fingertips. As Tess sunk to her knees, she reached around behind Courtney and grabbed for the nearest chair and pushed her backward toward it.
“Down. Close to the edge,” she murmured.
She grabbed Courtney’s leg and pushed it up so her calf rested on the table.
“Let me see that beautiful pussy,” she purred as she watched two of her fingers disappear into Courtney’s wetness.
“Tessss…that feels really good.”
Tess sunk another finger into Courtney’s sex, focusing her ministrations on her G-spot while rubbing Courtney’s clit with her thumb. She ignored the pain in her knees from the hard floor as she kissed and bit the length of Courtney’s inner thighs.
Low murmurs and moans emitted from deep within Courtney’s throat. Courtney’s hand again came to rest atop Tess’s head, her fingers interlocking through her hair.
Tess continued to finger-fuck her and licked around Courtney’s asshole and sex with teasing strokes of her tongue, licking her own fingers in the process.
Tess paused and looked up. Courtney’s eyes were glazed over but still focused on Tess. Courtney’s hair had fallen from its clip and hung loosely around her face, tousled but still radiant.
Breaking eye contact with Courtney, she was drawn down again to her sex. The scent of Courtney’s arousal now permeated the air around them. With delicate strokes, kisses, licks and suckles, Tess buried her mouth in Courtney’s cunt.
Courtney’s climax was imminent. Her thighs quivered and her hold on Tess’s hair had grown stronger.
“Your fingers. Harder. More,” she directed through clenched teeth.
Tess manipulated her fingers harder against Courtney’s G-spot while sucking her hardened clit between her lips.
“Yessssss…fuck!”
Courtney’s orgasm swept through her body, sending her legs convulsing, quivering and smacking against the side of Tess’s head. Her juices coated Tess’s hand as she extracted her fingers, pooling around her knuckles and running down her wrist.
Tess sat back on her haunches and wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand. Pain shot through her knees, making her groan in protest.
Courtney reached for Tess and grabbed at the top of her shirt in an effort to remove it. Tess grabbed her hand, kissed it and motioned for her to stop.
“I’m okay. That was awesome but exhausting,” she said and stood on shaking legs.
She grabbed for the closest towel and tossed it to Courtney. Tess leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and affectionately rubbed her head.
“You asked what I wanted for dinner tomorrow?”
“Yeah?” Courtney asked.
“That,” she said and pointed to Courtney’s pussy, “was tonight’s late dessert. Tomorrow I’m for dinner.”
“Deal.”
GOOD NEIGHBORS
Mercy Loomis
The bored clerk behind the desk handed me my key and my receipt without once actually making eye contact, his gaze riveted to the computer screen in front of him. I supposed his obliviousness could be a sort of backhanded professional courtesy, since the sign at the desk clearly stated the going rates in half-hour increments. I amused myself with this thought as I made my way down the dingy hallway.
I let myself into my room, pleased to find it was not appreciably different from any other place I’d stayed, despite the “no-tell motel” atmosphere. All I wanted was some sleep, thank you, and an early start in the morning. With a sigh, I dropped my duffel on the dresser and dug out my toiletries bag and my nightgown before heading off to the shower.
Half an hour later, I settled gratefully between the sheets, the bedspread kicked off into an untidy puddle on the floor. I set the alarm, snuggled into the flat hard pillow and started to doze off.
The wall behind my headboard vibrated as the hallway door in the next room slammed shut. A wordless murmuring followed, punctuated by the occasional laugh.
Neighbors, I through to myself. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really, but I’d hoped…
Things got quiet again, and I’d just begun to drift off when I distinctly heard a woman moan.
Their bed must’ve been right up against the wall, as mine was. The slatted headboard did nothing to block the sound as the woman next door made her pleasure known.
I rolled over, disgruntled and getting more awake as the sound got louder, annoyed at being disturbed, which only woke me up more. I tried to ignore her, but the harder I tried not to listen, the worse it got.
Why can I only hear her? I wondered irreverently, punching my pillow and trying to get comfortable again. I was fairly sure I’d heard a masculine voice when they’d first come in. Of course, my imagination immediately tried to answer that idle question. A vision swam before my eyes: a woman writhing on a bed in a room the mirror to mine, her legs spread wide, her back arching as a man buried his face between her thighs. I saw his hands gripping her generous hips as she squirmed under his ministrations, watched her mouth open to produce the rising cries that drifted through the walls.
I rolled onto my back and pushed the sheet off me. When had it gotten so hot in here?
The woman was speaking now. I strained to hear her without even meaning to, but I couldn’t quite make out the words through the wall. The tone said enough: begging, pleading, making promises that might or might not be entirely of the moment. I stared at the backs of my eyelids, holding my breath, trying to give meaningful shapes to the sounds I heard. Please, oh, please, don’t stop, god, yes, don’t stop, baby, I’ll do anything you want…
I’d forgotten I was holding my breath. The air rushed out of me in a surprised burst that sounded suspiciously like a moan.
My hands, lying lightly on my stomach, twitched restlessly, fingers playing over the smooth surface of my silk nightie. What were her hands doing, right now? Were they tangled in her lover’s hair, urging him on? Were they tightly gripping fistf
uls of the bedclothes, or maybe wrapped white knuckled and straining around the slats of the headboard? I shifted, as restless as my hands, and felt the soft material rasp over my nipples.
My breath caught in my throat. I envisioned her kneading desperately at her breasts, fingers digging in hard as the man really got down to business. Almost without realizing it, I mimicked her, but softer, rolling my hard nipples between my fingers through the fabric, caressing the swell of my breast where it met my ribs.
And then, unmistakable, she shrieked, “Yes! Oh, yes!”
I let my hands fall back to my sides, half smiling at her exuberance, half disappointed that it was all over so soon. But only moments later, they were at it again. A rhythmic thump thump shook the wall, accompanied by a deep grunting bass.
His turn, I thought, having no trouble identifying the sound of their headboard smacking into the plaster. Obvious… but what position? I bit my lip, stifling a giggle as I contemplated it. Had his rod taken the place of his tongue, with the woman not even having to move? Or had they traded places, him on his back, her riding him, hands clasped around the top rail as she dug her hips into him, giving him as hard a pounding as his mouth had given her?
I pressed one hand against the wall.
Or had he rolled her over? I remembered his hands on her hips, imagined him flipping her, boneless and sated, onto her stomach. She would, of course, brace herself against the headboard as he shoved into her. I turned over, lifting my ass in the air, rubbing my aching breasts against the mattress. My nightgown was wet and clung to the backs of my thighs. Straightening up, I tore it over my head and let it fall to the floor.
I was facing the wall, facing them, in a sense. He was still going, the impact making my own headboard jump. I shuffled forward on my knees until I could feel the top rail banging against my ribs. My nipples brushed against the rough paint over the drywall.
The man groaned. The thumping began to come a little faster.
That last position really stuck in my mind. I imagined the wall was gone, that I was facing the man over the back of his lover, her face level with my crotch as I knelt before them; how her hands would run up my thighs, stroking and exploring me even as he fucked her. I spread my legs for her, my fingers finding my clit, pretending they were her fingers. I pressed forward against the wall, against her, her mouth, her hands; feeling him watching me, my ardor turning him on, making him thrust even harder, the whole wall vibrating against me as I ground myself against her, rubbing for all I was worth, savoring each thud as they came faster, and faster, and suddenly it was on me, the orgasm taking me by surprise with its intensity, a rippling and rolling wave that made the muscles in my legs quake and shiver. Without meaning to, I cried out against the plaster.
There was a startled noise from the other room and then silence.
I waited, breathless and weak from the afterglow, but to my disappointment the fucking did not resume. After a moment or two, I slithered back down onto the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin.
In the next room, a door slammed shut. The distant sounds of quick footsteps retreating down the hallway faded into stillness.
Curled up in a happy humming ball, I laughed quietly. At least now I’d be able to get some sleep.
LAUGH
Sommer Marsden
Renzo drops the sticky pink drink dead center on the table where it splatters like a messy bull’s-eye.
“Oh, my!” shout three rich women in unison and I cringe.
“Ladies. I’m so, so sorry. Lorenzo is still getting his sea legs down here in the comedy club.” I coo and cluck and promise them free drinks and appetizers.
When I pass Renzo, his cheeks a flaming beet color, I hiss, “In the kitchen.”
The comedy club is packed. The tables are close together, each crowded with chairs. I hate working the club. All the servers do. Putting a rookie like Renzo in there is insane, but management won’t listen. He follows me like a chastised puppy.
My belly flickers with a mixture of annoyance and anticipation. This is not the first time I’ve had to school this newbie. And truth be told, I kind of hope it’s not the last. I hand him a dishtowel, wiping off my khaki shorts. It’s not easy getting pink blender drink off of khaki. “I want to see your ass right here when the first act goes on.”
“Yes, Michelle,” he says and his cheeks flame even brighter. I didn’t think that was possible, but there it is.
I dress the ladies’ table in a new tablecloth, take them new drinks and appetizers. These are bribes, actually. They know it and I know it and even Renzo with his brick-colored shame-face knows it.
The opening act is a fat comedian with horn-rimmed glasses and a boring schtick. I’ve seen him seven times now and hearing his voice makes me want to scream. Or make someone else scream. Part of his show involves the use of noisy props—horns, drums, squeak toys, harmonicas. This will be good.
Renzo’s waiting for me in the kitchen, his shaking hands on the countertop. He’s facing the stage through the open counter window that looks into the kitchen. Once upon a time this spot had been a bar and you could walk up and order your booze. Now they make us bring it out. I walk close behind him so he can feel my energy. He twitches like a rabbit and I lean in close, speaking right into his ear.
“I cannot fucking believe you did that. You’re new, Renzo, but not that new. You’ve been here long enough to not douse the patrons in booze.”
He flinches and says nothing. He stares straight ahead and I watch the other servers sit in the back seats to watch the show until someone needs them.
“I think the whole fucking catastrophe deserves a punishment. What do you think?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, eyes straight ahead like a soldier.
My pussy flickers and I feel a little lightheaded at his answer.
“Yes, ma’am, what?”
“I need to be punished.”
My nipples spike, my belly drops, my head spins. I nod, though, hiding my giddiness. “Good boy.”
Somehow I had found him. It was the night I barked at him for serving the wrong drinks to the wrong folks. When I swatted him with my towel out of frustration and anger, I’d noticed his hard-on. He’d noticed me noticing. Now we dance around each other in our small confines. When he works with me, his dick gets hard. I like that.
I lean in close to him, pressing my front to his back, and when the comic raises his air horn and gives a blast, I smack Renzo’s ass with my small round drink tray. Hard. The size of a pizza pan and made of shellacked wood, I’ve found it’s the perfect paddle for fumbling, bumbling waiters who’ve been bad.
He grunts, grinds his cock to the wall in front of him. His body is ramrod straight, but his shoulders and arms give off fine tremors you can barely see.
A patron turns to look for the sound and I freeze. When the comedian uses his harmonica I hiss, “Laugh!” in Renzo’s ear. When I deliver his blow, he laughs out loud like the stupid man on the stage is funny.
I get two more swats in before the room quiets again. Each blow is punctuated by Renzo’s stark laughter.
When the drum is used, I swat him one, two, three, four times, hissing, “Laugh, laugh, laugh,” in Renzo’s ear as I hit him.
He does. He laughs and rubs his cock against the wall, and I shiver in the little grubby, poorly lit kitchen, trying to track how much longer the performer will be onstage.
“Are you sorry?”
“Yes!” he says and hangs his head.
“Will you do better?” I pinch him and he jumps.
“Yes!”
“Do you want me?”
“God, yes,” he breathes and I take his hand and drag him to the tiny walk-in that’s just big enough for bags of chicken nuggets and fries and deep-fried vegetable bits. And two people.
I push him to his knees. “Do it.”
Renzo needs no instruction. He tugs at my shorts, my little blue panties. He presses his face to my pussy and licks me until I’m clutching bags o
f frozen food I’d never eat. He sucks and licks and nudges my clit with his tongue, burying his cool fingers into my cunt and pressing me until I shake and come and say, “Good boy, good boy, good boy,” a rain of nonsense noises and praise.
I grab him by his hair and yank until he stands. We’re face-to-face, his lips rosy and plump from kissing my clit. His breath smells like me and I kiss him hard. “You will do better,” I order.
“Yes, Michelle.”
“You will be a better waiter.”
“Yes, Michelle.”
“You will fuck me now,” I say and grin.
“Yes, Michelle,” he repeats, but that one has more sigh and need in it than the others.
I grab at his pants and wrestle and tug until he’s pressing his hot cock to my chilled body and slipping into me. My back hits the cold silver wall and the frosty fog swirls around us as he fucks me hard and fast, laughter barely drifting to us from the club.
I come, clutching his shoulders and bucking my hips. He bites me briefly in his excitement and mutters, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, ma’am.”
I don’t admit that the burst of pain gets me off. That can be my little secret.
“We have to go,” I hiss, and we put ourselves back together.
We reenter the club just as the horrible comic ends his set. One of the women waves at me. “Refills,” she mouths and shakes her glass at me.
“Set ’em up,” I say to Renzo.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says and I notice his shirt is half tucked and half not.
It makes me smile.
He scampers over with a pitcher and promptly overpours, dribbling it all over the new tablecloth. His eyes shoot to me and I shake my head, frown, turn my back. When he can’t see me, I put my head down and feel the thrill of anticipation shoot through me. And I laugh.
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