“You can let go, Crystal,” she encouraged me. “Don’t hold back. The neighbors won’t complain about the noise.”
I felt something melt inside me as a loud “Ohh!” came out of my mouth to mix with the songs of birds and insects. I pushed back as she thrust into me to the rhythm of her breathing. The rubbing of her thighs against my sore butt almost took my breath away, but it also raised my temperature. My Mistress was working hard to claim me as hers and to bring me to a grand finale. Knowing this made it hard for me to get over the edge.
I was so wet that my Mistress’s cock made a slurping sound as it pumped in and out of me, and I could feel the juice sliding down my thighs. My fear of not pleasing her and not being able to find my own release brought tears to my eyes.
“You—stubborn—little brat!” gasped Mistress Brock. I was vastly relieved to hear the affection in her voice. “Okay then,” she ordered, “don’t come.” She reached under me to roll my clit insultingly between hard fingers.
That did it, and my overwrought pussy squeezed and squeezed around the dick it loved. Judging from the sounds she made, my Mistress was getting enough stimulation to come with me.
After she withdrew, she held me for a long time. Eventually, we both remembered the other two.
“Hey, Brock,” called Master Keith. “We can’t stay. I’ll try out your little slut next time. I think she needs my belt.” I was aghast at this challenge to my Mistress as well as to me, but she let it pass.
I was allowed to stand up as my Mistress discreetly shook off her tool, then tucked it back into her pants. I watched Master Brock and Mistress Veronica casually pulling their clothes back on. I realized that everyone around me was climbing back into their daytime roles and preparing to go about their business. I was being left behind, left with my still-red behind and wet bush and pink nipples on display for the amusement of the grown-ups who had better things to do than to play with me.
I watched Mistress Veronica sliding her long thighs, one by one, into her ragged pant-legs. When she saw me watching, she laughed aloud. “I’ll get to know you better next time, honey,” she reminded me. “I like chicks too, but I’m fussy. I hope Brock trains you well.”
This time I saw my Mistress’s jaw tighten for an instant before she willed herself into a state of calm control. “Don’t worry about it, Ronnie,” she returned. She strode to my scattered clothes, picked them up, and held them in a tight bundle. I could see that my new outfit meant as much to her as it did to me, but she liked keeping me naked as long as possible.
I sensed that Mistress Brock’s friends or associates both looked forward to playing with me on another occasion, but for now it was too obvious whose property I was, and the straight couple didn’t want lukewarm leftovers. The glances they both flicked at me showed that I still had value as a form of currency.
Everyone exchanged good-bye hugs as a peace offering. “Brock,” muttered Master Keith, apparently as an afterthought. “You want to make money on this one?”
“We’ll talk,” she promised. Now that prostitution had come up as a real possibility, I felt relieved that my Mistress seemed reluctant to share me.
The Master and the Mistress mounted their bikes and roared away from us. “Ready for the ride home?” Mistress Brock asked pointedly. She handed me my clothes.
“I hope so,” I groaned. I wondered briefly if she would let me walk home instead of bouncing on her hog, but I knew that there was no point in asking. It was too far.
“Try this,” she offered, folding her jacket so that I could sit on it. I knew that being her girl would mean having to develop greater physical tolerance, and that this would be good for me. In the meanwhile, though, she was willing to let me toughen up by degrees.
As I climbed on behind her and she kicked her motorcycle into life, I felt that serendipity was still with me. I knew that Brock hadn’t had her fill of me for the day, and that we still had many miles to travel together. I had faith that even in the long years of my academic future, I would never regret letting her officially bring me out as a slut named Crystal. That weekend still shines among my memories, even though nothing happened exactly the way I expected. But then, every debut includes some surprises.
Frozen
Andrea Dale
Becca wanted to get a tree on December 1st.
I tried to talk her out of it, but she was having none of that. Her father had a tree farm in the mountains, she said, and when she was a kid she’d always been the one to pick out their family tree. Now, he continued to give her one for free—and she wanted to beat the rush and get the absolute best one possible.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t even sure if I’d still be around on the 25th. I went with her because I couldn’t resist that adorable uptilted nose and the dimple on her left cheek, but I made no promises otherwise.
It had snowed on and off since early November, and the world was white and eerily silent except for the sound of our boots crunching through the frozen cover. Beneath the tall pines, all lined up stately and proud, the snow cover was thinner, and occasionally I scuffed up enough to see the brown needles and dirt beneath.
“It’s not normal,” I said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “This white stuff falling from the sky at regular intervals. You should be able to visit winter, and then go home.”
Becca laughed and kissed my cheek, her lips warm against the flesh that was reddened by the cold. “Oh, you California girl, you,” she said. “How can it be the holidays without snow?”
It was a familiar argument, with no underlying malice or anger. We were just from very different places, and teased each other about it.
A few moments later I realized we’d left the carefully planted rows of trees and had headed on a slight incline, through birches and firs and other trees I couldn’t quite identify, all more jumbled together. I pointed out our misdirection.
“Oh, I know,” she said. “We never get our own tree from the farm proper. My dad owns acres and acres here, and it’s our tradition that we get our tree from farther back.”
I bit back a sigh, wistfully imagining a steaming cup of hot chocolate laced with crème de menthe. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I followed Becca deeper into the wintry woods.
It wasn’t much of a problem following her, actually, because I could focus on her sweet ass, contained in a pair of tight jeans (with silk long underwear beneath, I happened to know, having been involved in making it difficult for her to keep them on earlier). Right now, there wasn’t anything I wanted more than to be in a nice warm bed with her, my hands cupping that tight bottom as I buried my head between her thighs and made her wail as she came. I loved the sweet taste of her slippery folds, like cinnamon, and how they turned so dark when she was aroused, fiery red like the rest of her. Afterward I’d kiss away the orgasmic flush from her delicate breasts, only to be unable to resist taking one of her pert nipples in my mouth, and then we’d be starting all over again….
The trees thinned as we walked, and Becca paused to let me catch up, slipping her hand into mine. The intimacy of the action, despite the layers of knitted wool between our fingers, touched me. We’d been dating for seven months now, living together for two and a half, and yet I was still surprised by the tenderness. I felt guilty, too—after Lindy’s death, I didn’t think I’d ever open up to anyone like that again.
I hadn’t intended to move in with Becca, exactly, but the lease ran out on the apartment I was subletting and Becca had a spare room. Not that I ever slept in it, mind you—we set up the other room as a studio for me and an office for her.
I’d fled California when Lindy died after four years of living and loving together. I immersed myself in grad school in Minneapolis, as different a place as I could find, and that’s where I’d met Becca.
We’d started out talking about architecture, and tumbled into bed not long after that. When she was through stunning me with her energy and inventiveness and I’d caught my breath, we went right back to ta
lking…and then right back into screwing again.
I never stopped missing Lindy, but when I was tangled and sweaty with Becca, the pain lessened. She had that effect on me—perhaps because she was so unreserved, so delightfully free.
I made Becca no promises, knowing she deserved more than I could give her. But when I tried to tell her that, Becca would shake her head, brushing her silken red hair across my face, and tell me that our time together was all that mattered.
“We’re only given a certain amount of time on this earth,” she’d say. “Use every moment wisely, to the greatest extent that you can.”
I was afraid Becca would fall in love with me, and I’d have to leave. But right now, I was trying to live in the moment. Even if it was a very chilly one.
We came to a clearing, a circle of trees with the snow untouched in the center.
“So beautiful,” Becca breathed. “So pure.”
“It is pretty,” I agreed reluctantly. “Pristine. Like we’re the first people to come here.”
She kissed me again, this time on the lips, her tongue caressing. Then she pulled back, and I saw a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Snow angels!” she shouted, her voice startling a cardinal into a flutter of crimson. She grabbed my hand again and dragged me into the center of the clearing. Flinging herself down on her back, she waved her arms and legs frantically.
“Are you having a seizure?” I asked dubiously.
She laughed as she sat up. Carefully she stood and took a big step away from where she’d been lying. I could see the outline of her form in the snow, and suddenly I understood what she’d meant.
“You try it,” she said, dusting the snow from her legs.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Looks cold. And wet. How come snow’s never wet in the movies? You see people walking with the snow falling around them, sticking to their heads and shoulders, but when they go inside, they’re dry, and there’re no puddles on the floor….”
Becca laughed again and pushed me, not quite hard enough to make me fall down. Suddenly catching her playful mood, I nudged her back. She shoved me again, and I started to lose my balance. I grabbed her as I tipped, and she landed atop me, face inches from mine.
Now neither of us was laughing. Becca kissed me until my toes started to tingle (or maybe that was from the cold?). Her mouth was hot, her tongue a frenzy of motion. I was almost forgetting where we were when she jumped up and trotted over to stand beneath one of the trees, a twenty-foot pine with sporadic branches for the first six feet from the ground. She curled her mitten-clad fingers at me, beckoning. I struggled to my feet and followed.
“I didn’t want you to get too wet there in the snow,” she said. “Turn around.” I did, and she brushed me off, her hands particularly clingy around my upper thighs. The kissing and rolling around hadn’t made just my toes tingly, I had to admit. The moist warmth growing in my cunt was a nice contrast to the clear, cold day.
Becca finished her ministrations and turned me, walking me a step backward until I was pressed against the tree. “Put your hands up,” she said, “and grab hold of that branch above your head.” I did, wondering what she had in mind. I felt like a sacrificial virgin. She slipped off her mittens and shoved them in her pocket, then unzipped my down vest.
“Hey!” I protested, reaching down to stop her. She grabbed my hands and pulled them above my head.
“Hold on to the branch,” she instructed. “Unless you want me to use that scarf to tie your wrists up there?”
A dull ache spread out from my pussy. We’d talked about trying some light bondage, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet, although it intrigued us both. Now, though, wasn’t the time I wanted to try. Suddenly I just wanted to do what Becca told me to do.
“Okay, I promise to be good,” I whispered. “I’m at your mercy.”
Her grin was appreciative and wicked, all at the same time. I knew I was in for it, and boy, was I looking forward to it.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I said as she parted my vest and slid her hands beneath my sweater. “What if someone sees us?”
“Nobody ever comes up here,” she said. Her hands moved higher, finding my nipples, already budded hard beneath my own silk turtleneck. My body throbbed. “It’s private land.”
I didn’t make another protest, but she added, “I’m just trying to help you live in the moment.”
To be honest, I couldn’t think much past the maddening feel of her fingers massaging my breasts through the slippery soft silk. She pushed my sweater up and suckled one of my nipples through the silk. When she pulled away, my nips contracted harder, reacting to the cold air and the moisture.
I needed to feel her lips on my flesh, with no fabric barrier between.
Becca knelt before me and tugged the undershirt out of my waistband. My stomach contracted against the rush of air. She nuzzled her cold nose into my belly, and I yelped softly. She laughed, her breath warm against my skin. Goose bumps skittered across my flesh, but I didn’t want her to stop.
When she stood to reach my nipples, I saw a flash of white in her hand, and before I could register what it was, she pressed the snow to my breast.
I howled in surprise and nearly let go of the branch. My nipple was so hard it hurt, but a moment later her mouth was on it, hot and sucking hard, and my knees would have buckled if I hadn’t been holding on. She repeated the process on my other breast, and again on the first, back and forth, back and forth, until heat and cold became a single burning sensation. I was so close to coming, just from the breast play. My cunt was shivering with tiny spasms that weren’t quite orgasms, and the moans coming from my mouth were noises I didn’t think I’d ever made before.
“Please….”
Becca pulled my jeans and underwear down below my knees, as far as they’d go before getting caught by the tops of my boots. Frigid air blew across my thighs, but my cunt was still scalding.
“Close your eyes.” Becca’s voice was thick with lust.
I did what she told me to do. I felt her hand stray between my legs and, using the branch for support, I bent my knees to give her access, since I couldn’t spread my entangled feet.
She found that I was wet to my inner thighs. Her caress was too light for me to come, but it held the promise of enduring pleasure. Becca’s petiteness extended to her hands, and sometimes, if I was wet enough, she could reach completely inside me.
I was wet enough now—I was sure of it. But she toyed with my folds, which I imagined were steaming as they came into contact with the winter air.
“Open your mouth.”
I expected Becca to bring her hand to my mouth, to slide in her fingers that would be sweet and pungent and slick with my juices.
Instead something hard passed my lips. Hard and cold and long and thick and shaped like….
My eyes flew open. Becca’s green eyes had gone nearly black with excitement, but she managed a tremor of a smile as she slid the icicle back out of my mouth. Her other hand was still between my legs, driving most coherent thoughts from my head.
Still, I knew what she was going to do with that natural, frozen dildo.
My mittened hands clung to the branch above me as she drove it inside of me. It wasn’t cold, but burning hot, and oh, so slick, like the glass dildo I’d once owned. I screamed as I clenched and came, bucking my hips as the world whirled in a kaleidoscope of cardinal red and snow white.
I melted.
I slid down the trunk, not caring if my down vest tore against the rough bark. Becca dropped to her knees next to me, helped me raise my hips so she could slide my jeans back up so I wasn’t sitting bare-assed in the snow.
“You’re so freakin’ hot,” she said, her voice hoarse, “that you completely melted the icicle. Damn.”
I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. My body started to shake from the sobs I couldn’t keep down. I wasn’t making any noise, but the tears were on my cheeks, and Becca began kissing them off.
&nb
sp; “What’s wrong, love?” she asked, her voice now tinged with concern.
I managed to form words. “I let go of the branch.”
I know she didn’t mean to laugh. For what it’s worth, I did know she wasn’t laughing at me, and I took no offense. Instead I buried my face in her shoulder, glad she wasn’t angry.
“Sweetness, what matters is that you trusted me for that long,” she said, rocking me back and forth. “You held on a lot longer than I expected. And there was never, ever any penalty for letting go.”
Christmas Eve. I sat on the floor, my back against the sofa, my head tilted back to watch the psychedelic play of blinking colored lights against the ceiling.
Yes, I was still with Becca, about to celebrate with her one of the biggest, most emotional holidays of the year. Fact was, something had snapped in me, that day in the woods. Or, more rightly put, something had thawed.
I still missed Lindy, and loved her dearly. But she was gone. I had to move on.
Becca had showed me how to trust again.
Before we’d left the clearing that day, Becca had pulled a long, bright-red nylon cord out of her pack and wrapped it around the trunk of the tree where we’d just made love. I asked her what she was doing.
“This will tell my dad what tree we want,” she said. “He knows where this clearing is; we used to picnic here when I was a kid.”
I stared at her, wondering if the lust had fried her brain, too. “But it’s twenty feet tall.”
Becca led me to the center of the clearing, near the indentations where we’d lain, and put her arms around me. “Look up,” she said, and I did. “The top of the tree is perfect,” she said.
And she was right: The top of the tree, especially about seven feet or so, was a flawless conical shape, like a storybook Christmas tree.
“We never take the trees from down below,” she said. “We always pick a taller one, and then Dad uses the rest of it for firewood.” She grinned mischievously, wriggling her body against mine. “Besides, don’t you want that reminder sitting in our living room every day for the rest of the month? I think it’ll be…quite inspirational.”
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