I’m still trying to figure out what gave me away when he turns to me and nods to my barely touched beer. “What are you drinking?”
“Bud,” I say, trying to wrestle my heart back into its proper spot while he orders for both of us. Then just when my nerves have nearly settled, our drinks arrive, and he turns to me and offers a half smile. “You come here often?”
Jesus, is the man actually hitting on me? Before I can respond, his face reddens and he curses under his breath. I’m taken by how young he seems. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. What I meant is that I’ve never been here before, and I’m just wondering if it’s a good place. For a drink, I mean.” He reddens again, lifts his beer and nearly chokes on his first gulp. Stupidly, I pound him on the back before I catch myself. I clear my throat and step back. “You all right there?” My voice is a low contralto. Sexy, I’ve been told, but a bit mannish. Tonight I’m counting on it.
I take a long drag from my beer and pretend to be interested in some boxing match on the muted big screen. “My first time, too,” I say. “Just checking the place out.”
He heaves a sigh and offers a sheepish grin that makes him seem extremely boyish, though I’d guess from the smile lines around his eyes, he’s not as young as he looks. “I’ve never done this before.” He gulps most of his beer and orders another for himself and for me.
“You’re nervous,” I say, wondering what I’m going to do with three Buds.
“Aren’t you? I mean you seem a little, I don’t know. Out of place.”
He has no idea!
He leans an elbow on the bar and turns to face me. I’m struck by the long lean lines of him; not quite, but almost cowboyish beneath denim and cotton. He’s not actually any taller than I am, but the illusion of height is there. His blond hair is unruly around his cheeks and down over one eye, making me want to reach out and brush it aside. His stance is open, vulnerable. His gaze rakes over my body, and I shudder in response. When his eyes meet mine, the blush crawls back up his throat, where I can see the drumroll of his own pulse, but he holds my gaze. “I’ve never done this before,” he repeats in a half whisper. It’s not exactly pleading I hear in his voice; it’s something closer to curiosity and embarrassment maybe. But there’s no doubt about what he wants.
I don’t know what possesses me. I only came here to observe. But here I am giving him an equally hard once-over, which he endures stoically. There’s no missing the beginnings of a bulge in his jeans. Then I step closer and speak next to his ear. “You want me, you do exactly as I say.” Jesus, what the hell is in that beer? Whatever it is, I finish off one for courage, wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, then turn and walk out the side door into the alley with a hell of a lot more bravado than I actually feel. In my peripheral vision, I see him gulping his own courage, then he’s right behind me, so close I can feel the heat of him. At the door he slips a condom and a small packet of lube into my hand, and my pussy gets twitchy and my stomach does a flip-flop.
For sure, then. This is what he wants.
Outside, I don’t let him kiss me. I don’t even let him touch me. Complete control is my only hope of pulling this off. I can’t even allow myself to think about the utter madness of what I’m doing. I nod to his jeans. “I want to see.” I’m trembling too badly to manage the technicalities of freeing his cock myself, though he’s shaking pretty badly, too.
While he struggles to release himself, I stroke my strap-on through my jeans, and he watches hungrily. My pussy buzzes like there’s an electrical current passing between my legs. I never need a lot of effort to come. I can do with my brain what most chicks need a dildo for, or at least their fingers. Tonight I’m not going to need any help at all.
His balls are tucked tight up next to his slender torso in a pillow of blond curls. His heavy cock strains out toward me like a bodybuilder in full press. I step forward and shove his jeans and boxers down, then give his tight asscheeks a good feel. He grunts like I’ve punched him in the stomach, but as I start to kneel in front of him, he stops me. “No. I don’t want that. I mean not right now. I want…” He nods to my package displayed so nicely beneath my jeans. “I want you in me.” For a second I think he’s going to hyperventilate, but even as he struggles to breathe, his cock surges still harder.
Barely trusting my voice, I half gasp. “Turn around then.”
He does as I say. His breathing is fast and furious and his cock looks like it’s about to explode. He reaches back with a hand that’s none too steady and grasps one buttock, exposing his dark, tight hole, which clenches and relaxes expectantly. “Do it,” he rasps, and he spreads his legs and shoves his ass back toward me.
I’ve never done this before. I’ve played with my own asshole a bit, and Alex tells me what it’s like for him, but I wasn’t expecting this. I spit on my fingers, saving the lube for the grand entrance. Then I carefully ease one finger inside him, and he catches a harsh breath. I fight the temptation to apologize for hurting him, but the pain must not be too bad because he thrusts and bumps back against my finger like he can’t get enough.
My pussy has reached flood stage. Each time I shift and squirm against the strap-on, my clit throbs and my cunt lips feel like they’re about to split the crotch right out of my jeans. I stick another finger in his ass and begin to scissor inside him. He sucks air between his teeth. “Fuck,” he grunts, “Do it! Christ, just do it! I need you to do it.”
In a near panic, I struggle to manage my fly and boxers with one hand, but when I need the other to maneuver my cock out, he groans. “Do it, goddamn it! I can’t stand it.”
“Shut up and hold still.” I’m amazed at how confident I sound. “You do as I say, remember?” I’m struggling into the condom, then smearing lube, getting as much of it on my jeans as I do on my cock.
He’s stroking himself fast and furious, and I’m lubing and rubbing all up and down my strap-on, shaking all over. I’m so nervous, and so damned hot, I fear I’ll self-combust before I can get into him. Then, when I’m ready, I bend down and spit into his tensing gape just for good measure. I’m trembling so hard I miss on my first thrust and we both curse out loud. But the second time my aim is true. I shove in hard.
“Oh, shit!” he gasps between gritted teeth. “Fucking hell!”
“What should I do? What do you need?” I gasp, holding very still.
With a bruising hand, he reaches around, grabs my hip and pulls me so tight against him that he forces the breath out of me in a hard grunt. “I fucking need you to thrust,” he growls.
And thrust I do, as hard as I can, as deep as I can. Each time I thrust, the back end of the dildo in the harness grinds against my pubic bone, causing everything between my legs to grasp and clench and swell in the slippery ride. I hold on for as long as I can, which isn’t long. Neither of us manages more than a few minutes. He grunts hard, and I see him jizz the brick wall in front of us. Then I’m coming so damned hard that I’m sure there’ll be broken bones.
It feels like I come for ages. It feels like I’ll never stop. But when I do pull out, he’s leaning against the wall gasping for breath. I yank off the condom as quickly as possible. I figure I’ve only got seconds to discreetly store the package before he regains his senses. Then maybe we’ll go back into the bar for a quick drink. And after that… Well, what could there actually be after that? I’m not the guy he thinks I am. It took all my concentration to pull this off. Round two would no doubt be slower, more touchy-feely, more show and tell, and I can’t afford to show or tell. But then I’m thinking like a woman, aren’t I? Anyway, I can’t risk it.
“When were you planning on telling me?” He speaks between efforts to breathe, interrupting my postcoital ruminations.
I freeze mid-tuck, realizing his back is no longer turned, and he’s staring at my strap-on, the look on his face unreadable. Now I’m not only struggling with the strap-on, but I’m struggling to keep my heart from jumping out of my throat.
“Leave it,” he com
mands, pushing my hands away and shoving my jeans down enough to get a good view of my package. Then he’s not just looking, he’s stroking. He releases a long breath, and I feel it low on my bare belly. “Bloody hell. It’s a nice one.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Glad you like it.”
“Why did you do it?” He seems fascinated with stroking my strap-on.
“I just wanted to know what it feels like to be a guy.”
He offers a half smile. “Looks to me like it felt pretty good.”
I heave a sigh of relief that he doesn’t seem to be too angry. I try to resist the urge to thrust, but it’s hard. The way he’s stroking me—the way he’s looking at me—makes me hot all over again. “Did you know all along?”
“Of course I didn’t know. It’s a gay bar, for fuck sake. Surely you must have known I’d want to see your cock.” He gives my extension a hard tug, causing me to gasp. “It took you ages to suit up and lube. I had plenty of time for a peek.” With the hand that’s not stroking my cock, he takes my chin and pulls me into a deep kiss. In all the confusion buzzing through my brain, I can’t keep from wondering what that expressive tongue would feel like snaking its way around my pussy.
Then it hits me: this tongue knows its way around a woman. There’s no awkwardness, certainly no sense that he’s not enjoying himself, and I may be a bit of a tomboy, and I may not have sex all that often, but I do know how a man feels when he’s aroused.
“You’re not gay,” I say, when he gives me room to breathe.
For a second, he stops stroking my cock and holds my gaze. I can just make out the glint in his eyes under the muted glow of the second-story windows. “You’re not the only one who can fake it.”
“Why?” I ask, as his hand slides under my shirt toward my bound breasts.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love women, but…” his voice drifts off as his fingers find one of the safety clasps that hold the elastic bandage in place around my tits. It’s crude, I admit, but it works.
I ease my hand up to help him with the clasp, suddenly wanting him to touch me. “But you’re bi-curious?”
“More than that,” he gives my cock a hard stroke, and I thrust against him. I’m now working frantically at the clasps holding the bandage, and he’s shoving and pushing at the binding, trying to get to my tits. “I think I might be bi. I’ve known for a long time that I’m attracted to men. I just never acted on it until tonight. I’ve never come like that before.” He nods down at my cock. “I mean so hard.”
The binding uncoils like a snake and falls away, parts of it draping like bunting over my cock. He moves immediately to cup and knead my small breasts, almost as though he’s reassuring himself that I have all the right bits. I shove the binding off my cock and reach down to stroke his, which, amazingly, is already back at full attention and heavy against my hand. “But you knew I was a woman when I fucked you. That hardly counts as the real thing, does it?”
“Felt pretty real to me,” he says. Now he turns me to the wall and I hear the rattle of another condom wrapper. There I am, braced against the brick, bareassed, my pussy thrust back at him like a begging mouth. There’s no preamble. He’s in like Flynn, and I’m in heaven, thrusting back against him, my strap-on erection bouncing merrily in front of me. He pinches my nipples and kneads me like I’m bread dough. Then he slides a hand down to stroke and jerk my silicone stiffy in rhythm with his own thrusting. Jesus, it’s good! His hot breath is burning the back of my neck and I’m mewling and squirming like a wildcat, and we both come with guttural growls that rake at our throats and echo off the brick.
When it’s done and we’re more or less fit for decent company, I turn to face him, tucking the wadded elastic bandage into my pocket. “If you want the real thing, I think I can arrange it.” We exchange cell numbers and leave without going back into the bar.
I wanted to rent a hotel room. But Alex says if our new friend, Ben—that’s his name—likes fucking in the alley behind a gay bar, he’s way too adventurous for that. He says to leave the venue to him.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I hiss in his ear as the cab drops us in front of the MaXXX Cinema in a part of town I didn’t even know existed. I’m in my normal street clothes, but beneath my loose-fitting jeans, I’m packing. Alex is in his usual chinos and cotton shirt. A few men are buying tickets at the box office. They cast furtive glances toward the darkened streets before disappearing into the maw of the building between huge posters promising a triple feature XXXtravaganza. Standing there in front of one of the posters looking like he owns the place is Ben. He smiles when he sees me, and both men size each other up as I make brief introductions.
“So how are we gonna pull this off in a cinema?” I ask Alex. “Granted, no one might notice in a place like this, but I’m thinking logistics here, Alex, logistics.”
“Trust me,” he says, and motions us toward a door that’s marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Ben and I glance at each other, shrug, then follow. What else are we going to do?
Alex is already halfway up a dimly lit staircase by the time the door closes behind us. At the top of the stairs we follow him to another door labeled PROJECTION ROOM. Alex knocks softly and offers us a reassuring smile as we wait.
A woman with an overwhelming coif of gray hair and very large glasses opens the door, blinks magnified eyes as though the sight of us shocks her, then motions us in. The monstrosity that is the projector takes up most of the space in the cramped, dusty room. Along the tight back wall, a diminutive stepladder flanks shelves of disorderly film cans. The only furniture is a metal folding chair. The film’s already rolling. Through the darkened glass that looks out onto the cinema, I catch glimpses of the opening credits flashing over a Wal-Mart Kama Sutra of thrusting and humping all done to the rhythm of what could pass as elevator music on Viagra. Beneath it all, I can just make out the metallic whir of the projector.
The woman pulls the key from her pocket and looks around the room with a sigh. “Film’s just starting,” she says in a voice that sounds like it could belong to my grandmother. “Stay away from the projector, don’t touch any of the films and clean up your mess. I’m not a janitor.” She looks down at her watch. “You have exactly an hour, Alex. Not one second more. Then I’m coming in.” She holds up the key. “No matter what perversions you lot are up to.” She gives us all a disapproving glance. Then she turns her attention back to Alex. “You owe me one.” She offers him a brief hint of a smile and leaves. We hear the key turn in the lock.
When we’re all satisfied she’s gone, Alex turns his attention to Ben. “Kitty tells me you like her as a guy.” He rakes an approving gaze over him, lingering just below belt level. “But you want the real thing, don’t you?” He steps forward into Ben’s personal space and runs a hand over his fly, smiling at the little flinch that ends as a tight sigh in the back of Ben’s throat. He takes Ben by the wrist and guides his hand to reciprocate, offering a little grunt of surprise at Ben’s enthusiasm. “There, you see? This time I promise you the genuine article.” He gives a nod of consent and I can see Ben’s hands tremble as he opens Alex’s chinos and reaches awkwardly inside.
I sit on a chair near the projector, happy to play voyeur. I watch Alex’s eyelids flutter and I see the way he shifts his hips forward, one hand pushing the waistband of his chinos away. He flinches and bites his lip. Ben’s a little rough on the extrication, but Alex doesn’t seem to mind rough. And when the unveiling is complete, there’s a collective gasp as Ben and I see my friend’s large heavy cock for the first time, and I’m seriously considering taking the dildo out of the strap-on and using it on myself.
“There,” Alex breathes, guiding Ben’s hand along his shaft. “You like that, don’t you? It feels like you, only different.” He leans in and kisses Ben and nips his bottom lip with just the flick of his tongue, and I soak my panties as I shift against the chair.
But Ben’s not settling for a nip. He wants the whole enchilada with all the trimmings. Still stroking and
caressing Alex’s cock, he pulls him close and eats at his mouth like he’s starving. Alex manages to get his hand down the front of Ben’s jeans and both men are thrusting against each other and I’m thrusting against myself, holding my breath, not even blinking, because I’ve never seen anything like this.
Alex pulls away and places a heavy hand on Ben’s shoulder, and Ben totally gets it. He drops to his knees and takes Alex’s cock into his mouth, nearly gagging in his overzealousness. Then Alex curls a hand in his hair and helps him find a rhythm that works for both of them.
The room is filled with slurpy, slippery sex sounds and I’m not sure some of them aren’t coming from my drenched pussy rubbing against the seam of my jeans. In the flashing monochrome light of the projector, my eyes ache from watching so hard. I fumble with my jeans, pushing them down until the hard metal of the folding chair is against my ass, then I shift until I can slip some fingers between my lips. Both men glance over at me, and I realize I’m making little moaning sounds and stroking my strap-on in solidarity with the guys.
Alex pulls away with more self-discipline than I think I would have had. He helps Ben to his feet. “I showed you mine, now show me yours.”
Ben nearly rips the fly out of his jeans, releasing himself, and Alex lets out a low whistle. “Kitten, I’m gonna need that chair,” he calls over his shoulder.
With my jeans still down around my thighs and one hand still stroking the strap-on, I shift to the ratty-looking stepladder, and Alex takes my place on the chair, pulling Ben by the belt loop to stand in front of him. He sucks and strokes and admires until Ben is practically thrusting in his face, then Alex pulls away. “Now that I’ve paid my respects to your cock, turn around and let me see your ass.”
The lighting’s poor, and with the flash from the projector and all, maybe I only imagine that the color has gone from Ben’s face. Maybe I’m only speculating that he might be feeling just a little frisson of fear about now. After all, Alex has a big cock. Ben’s lips are a tight, straight line pressed against his teeth as he slowly turns to offer his tender pink ass. Alex gets right to it. He buries his face between the pillows of Ben’s buttcheeks and his tongue goes dancing around that luscious little pucker. Ben nearly goes through the ceiling with that first contact. Alex’s tongue is long, and I’m almost certain it’s prehensile, and Ben’s cock is jerking and throbbing like it’s alive. I can’t tell by the look on his face if he’s in ecstasy or agony. I’m pretty sure it’s the former as Alex reaches around to cup his balls and knead them like they’re his favorite new toy.
Women in Lust Page 16