by K D Grace
‘Jesus,’ Mike whispered. ‘He’s so caught up in his work, who’d have thought he even had a sex drive?’ He nudged me again. ‘Go on. Convince him that wanking isn’t his only option.’ He gave me a quick cunt-cupping through my shorts, making me jump. ‘I know you’re wet for him.’
Mike had been my fuck buddy since we volunteered to help excavate the Neolithic passage tomb. Though we were both archaeology enthusiasts and both never missed a chance to volunteer, our motives weren’t as pure as the Professor’s. Beside the fact that the dig was on the Cornish coast, Mike was in it for the chicks, which meant yours truly. As for me, digging up the ancient past has always made me horny. Strange fetish, I know, but different strokes, as they say. It had been the Professor’s impassioned talk at our local archaeology club, complete with Neolithic relics and a multimedia presentation, that had sent me scurrying to the front of the queue to volunteer for what was turning out to be my horniest dig ever.
Mike was right. It was now or never, and I had a plan.
I slipped my vest off over my head and handed it to Mike.
‘Fucking hell,’ he breathed, staring at my tits.
I untied the blue bandana from around my neck, slipped from behind the hawthorn thicket where we’d been hiding, and moved silently toward the Professor, who was just getting down to serious communion with his cock. My pulse hammered in my throat as I tiptoed a circuitous path until I was directly behind his tree. His grunts and moans assured me he was enjoying himself too much to notice my intrusion.
I took a deep breath, then, with the bandana in one hand, I reached around and covered the Professor’s eyes. Before he could offer more than a surprised gasp, my other hand moved to take over the stroking of his erection, and I breathed in the hot bread scent of male arousal.
The Professor froze. I held my breath, prepared to make a quick escape if he objected to my presence. He didn’t. Finally he shifted his hips and began to rock in slow hypnotic thrusts against my stroking. When I was certain he was a captive audience, I took my hand away.
He protested with a guttural curse, but I only needed to secure my bandana around his eyes, making sure he couldn’t see. He groaned and squirmed, impatient as any man with full balls and a cock he could hang a ship anchor from.
When the blindfold was in place I moved to stand in front of him, shoving his T-shirt up higher, running my tongue around his little pebble nipples, making his cock surge with each nip and lick. Then I kissed him, feeling his breath released in a sigh as I pressed my breasts against him. While our tongues got acquainted, he worked my shorts down over my hips and cupped my arse cheeks, pulling me closer to his anxious penis.
Now I was sure I must be dreaming. I was about to fuck the unassailable Professor with Mike watching, and no doubt having a good wank. I dropped to my knees, tugging down the Professor’s shorts and underpants as I knelt, then I took his cock in my mouth. He uttered a cry of surprise then a groan of pleasure as he curled his fingers in my hair and held me to him. After just enough deepthroating to torture him, I kissed down the delicious length of him, then insinuated my tongue in tight circular motions over the double swell of his balls nestled in soft dark curls.
‘Oh God,’ he grunted.
I pulled away and stood up in front of him, just out of his reach. He anxiously looked around with sightless eyes, slightly fearful I might leave him unsatisfied.
But there was no chance of that. I dipped two fingers deep in my pussy then lifted them, slippery with my juices, to his nose. He took in my scent with all the enthusiasm of a dog sniffing a bitch on heat. Then he pulled them to his mouth. His tongue lapped the pad of each finger. His hips thrust forward anxiously.
Growing impatient for his cock, I stepped out of my shorts and backed up to him until I could feel him bobbing against my bottom.
‘What the hell?’ He jumped forward, nearly knocking me off balance. But when I regained my footing I saw the cause of his surprise.
There, kneeling behind him, with shorts down around his thighs, was Mike, pumping his hefty erection and nipping the Professor’s clenching arse cheeks with bared teeth. He paused to place a silencing finger to his lips and offer me a wink, then went back to work on the Professor’s undulating arse.
With a startled grunt, the Professor’s hand came to rest on Mike’s penis. For a second the world stopped. Mike and I both held our breath. Surely the jig was up.
But the Professor’s grunt turned to a low chuckle. He gave Mike’s cock an appreciative stroke then turned his attention back to me, grabbing my hips in such a grip that I fought back a yelp of surprise. He spun me around to face him, shoving me down onto the soft moss, forcing my legs apart with his knees. His mouth devoured mine while his large hands slowly groped their way down to my pussy. He ran a calloused thumb over my clit and fingered my lips apart, positioning his cock, all the while trailing kisses down my neck onto my breasts, nibbling hard enough to almost hurt.
I was so hot that I had nearly forgotten Mike, as I arched and writhed. But the Professor always paid attention to details. He snapped his fingers. Mike, in full self-gropage, let out a gasp as the Professor lifted his arse toward Mike and gave it a stroke.
Mike was definitely in over his head. I figured he’d make a break for the hawthorn thicket. But then the Professor stuck his finger in my mouth, and when it was wet with my saliva, he reached back and wriggled it into his own anus! Blindfolded or not, the man knew his way around the situation, and Mike was a very quick study.
When he stuck his middle finger into the Professor’s mouth, my cunt erupted into hard, grasping spasms. My God, I’d never even seen two blokes kissing. I would have never expected Mike to be up for a little guy-on-guy fun, and certainly not with the Professor!
When his finger glistened with the Professor’s saliva, Mike sucked his bottom lip, as though he was deep in concentration. Still tugging hard at his cock with one hand, he shoved and wriggled his finger into the Professor’s tight grip, resulting in a little gasp that turned into a deep-throated sigh, as the Professor leant back, impaling himself completely on Mike’s finger.
Once the Professor was satisfied with Mike’s efforts, he gave one hard shove and a grunt, and he was inside me, buried to the hilt. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as my slick pussy yielded to the size of him.
Instead of thrusting, he held me there, speared through on his cock. His hand snaked down my tummy and in between us to thumb my clit and tease me until I strained upward, trying to thrust. But he held me still.
‘You there.’ His voice startled both Mike and me, sounding loud in the silence. ‘You with the cock, are you going to fuck me or just have a wank?’
Mike suddenly stopped mid-grope. His face reddened, and this time I was sure he’d turn and run.
The Professor chuckled softly, with the patience one would expect from an educator. He was a man used to being in control. And I was beginning to realise he was still in control. ‘Look, I’m going to fuck this woman’s lovely cunt, and we’re going to come, and I promise you it’ll be good for both of us. Now do you want to masturbate, or do you want to fuck?’
His last word ended in a grunt and he sucked breath – physical evidence of Mike’s answer. ‘That’s more like it. That’s the spirit. More saliva. Now another finger. Spit.’
Mike obeyed his every command like a schoolboy.
‘Good job, and another finger.’ The Professor’s voice sounded almost as stretched as his arsehole. And at last he was, blessedly, thrusting. First forward into my pussy, then back onto Mike’s fingers. The muscles in Mike’s forearm bulged from his efforts and his eyelids fluttered from the growing urgency I knew he was feeling.
The Professor lifted my legs until they were wrapped around his waist, then he cupped and kneaded my buttocks greedily with each thrust, all the while grunting like a thoroughbred out to stud. Each time he shoved into me, he shifted and undulated and raked me until my clit felt raw and ripe rising up to meet him. Every
thing in me grasped for him, pulling him deeper, gripping him tighter.
I was on the edge, so close a feather’s touch would have sent me over again when he stopped mid-thrust, arse in the air. ‘Your cock,’ he gasped. ‘Bring it here.’
Suddenly I was looking up at Mike’s bum humping and shoving his penis into the Professor’s mouth. Saliva dribbled onto my breasts and belly with each thrust, and I rubbed the slickness of it against my nipples. Then the Professor pulled back, and ordered. ‘I want it in my arse.’
He cursed under his breath when Mike faltered, then he spoke in his professor voice again. ‘Stick it in now,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘Trust me. It’ll be so good.’ His eyes moved wildly beneath the blindfold. He lifted his arse so high he would have pulled his cock from my pussy if I’d not had my legs wrapped around him in a stranglehold.
With a growl that sounded like an angry bear, Mike shoved his cock into the Professor’s backside, and the Professor growled back with equal ferocity. There was an awkward moment when we felt like dominos about to topple, then both men found their rhythm, each pump of their buttocks accompanied by tight little grunts. I was almost completely off the ground, wrapped as I was in the Professor’s arms, and he in my legs as I gripped his cock tighter and tighter in my hungry cunt.
Mike had the Professor by the hips, and I could hear the slap of his balls against the man’s arse each time he humped and shoved. It couldn’t last long. God, I wanted it to, but it couldn’t. I was sure we’d all shatter into pieces, entangled and stretched as tightly into each other’s passion as we were.
With every thrust we drew closer and closer. Our breath sounded like a hurricane, our pulse hammered, I heard someone’s joint crack, and yet we thrust harder. Then we stopped breathing. I wasn’t entirely sure we weren’t all going to die from the impact, all thrusting, all pushing, all riding the edge. But at last we came together and collapsed into an oxygen-depleted heap.
I would have loved to stay for a cuddle. I even thought about revealing our identity, but it was just too hot being Professor Ed Thompson’s mystery fuck buddy – make that fuck buddies. I pushed him off me and motioned Mike to pull out. The Professor rolled onto his back, chest still heaving. I couldn’t resist. For a second, I laid my head against his shoulder, resting a hand on his chest. Then I kissed his ear and whispered very softly, ‘Eyes closed. Five minutes.’
He nodded understanding. I stood, quickly bundling my panties and shorts under one arm. Mike was already darting for the thicket we’d come from. I kissed my delicious professor hard on the mouth and whispered again, ‘Eyes closed.’ Then I snatched off my bandana and scurried away. I dropped into the seclusion of a dense hedge next to Mike, wiping my pussy with my bandana as we both caught our breath and watched.
Sure enough, five minutes passed, then the Professor walked by, dressed no more carelessly than usual, though I was pretty sure he would give some of the female volunteers a pheromonal banquet if they got close enough for a good sniff. He hurried back to the dig and back to work.
Mike and I exchanged unbelieving smiles, both knowing we’d have a lot to talk about tonight at the pub. And afterwards, whosever room we inevitably ended up in, the sex would be the best ever. I was pretty sure we were both already wondering if the Professor would be back tomorrow – same time, same place. This could be the start of something good. Something really good.
Seeing Red
Everything about the man pulsated in shades of tangerine and vermillion. His whole body seemed about to blow the end off the infrared spectrum. Jenny was surprised the bus didn’t burst into flame around him when he sat down across from her. His head glowed like his brain was burning up, like whatever he was thinking was too hot to be contained in the human skull. Mental focus that generated such internal heat would have completely enthralled her if it hadn’t been overshadowed by the deep scarlet glow pulsating around his groin. For a second she was almost convinced he actually had set the bus on fire. She blinked and tried not to stare. But even through the red shimmer, she could tell he didn’t have an erection, and yet the whole front of his trousers was a blaze of red.
It wasn’t like looking through rose-coloured glasses. It was more like looking through smudged stained glass. Very old stained glass. One day, Jenny woke and found she could actually see body heat, the body heat that showed up in the infrared spectrum in glorious swirls and splashes of colour from burnt orange all the way to spilt-blood black. Watching it was like watching fireworks, subtle living fireworks. It was impossible not to be drawn to it. Jenny had got used to seeing everything as though it were viewed through night-vision goggles. Maybe she was a mutant. Maybe she was just weird, but it was a secret she learned to live with. She had even learnt to interpret the variations in colour and vibration.
And by her interpretation, this man was a walking flame. This man should be ejaculating all over himself. Yet there he sat dozing in the seat, his head bobbing side to side with the motion of the bus. She fought the urge to move next to him, to let the red of him fondle and stroke her. Of course she wouldn’t actually feel anything more than his ambient body temperature. But it was what she would see that interested her. It was the erupting cinnabar dance that she knew would occur when she brushed against the heat from the furnace below his skin, the furnace that animated his heart, his head and, of course, his cock, nestled like a sleeping dragon low in his trousers. She knew what she would see would alter the rhythm of her own furnace until it spiked and fried circuits. Then it would expansively reroute them all until she could scarcely be contained within her own flesh. And that was just the act of touching.
The head and the cock, those were always the infrared hot spots. And though it fascinated Jenny – the flame halo that always surrounded the head of someone deep in thought – it did her no good. She couldn’t actually share what was inside a person’s head. They could only tell her, they could never let her experience it.
The cock, however, that was another matter. The heat flare around an aroused penis was a darker red with a bloody garnet effervescence that, to Jenny, was like a neon sign. Every man had the hot spot between his legs, there at the centre of his identity. For her, sex was a visual smorgasbord, a light show that happened when heat penetrated heat and friction won the day. The pyrotechnic result was addictive.
For a fortnight the crimson man rode the bus with her, getting on just after she did and getting off just before her stop. Every day, he was redder than the day before, the hues shimmering and coalescing around him like he was the centre of a rubicund kaleidoscope. She stopped pretending not to stare, not that he ever noticed. He always dozed or meditated. But even if he had been looking right at her, she doubted it would have curtailed her hungry gaze.
She couldn’t sleep at night for thinking about the redness in him. She wandered the clubs and bars, all places she knew she would find plenty of red. If a man was red enough, if the colour around his cock danced and glowed just right, then there was nothing he wouldn’t do to relieve the heat. And she would take him exactly as he needed to be taken. Any place would do. She didn’t care where – the storage room, the alley, a cab, even in a crowded booth while his mates looked on. A bloke might not be able to see how red she was, but she never left him in doubt. She’d kiss him with lots of tongue, she’d rub her tits against him, or her arse. She’d give him tantalizing views up her skirt. Sometimes she’d even guide his fumbling fingers up to her hot spot, reassuring him of what his cock could have. All the while she watched the area around his groin grow redder and redder while the halo of heat around his head grew paler and paler until he reached the point of no return.
Sometimes she’d take the bloke in her mouth so she could watch the flames dance. His hand would curl in her hair as he thrust in an out of the tight O of her lips like flint and steel making fire. But she never let him come in her mouth. She needed the heat someplace more primal, someplace far away from the centre of thought.
It didn’t matter w
ho he was, what he looked like, or if he thrust three times and shot his wad. What mattered was how red he was. What mattered was what happened when his heat met hers. The explosion, the eruption, the fireworks burned her eyes until she could see the afterimage burst and quiver and convulse behind closed lids, blinding her to anything else, filling her until she could feel it in her veins like the rivers of magma glowing beneath the surface of the earth.
And that had always been enough until that first day he got on the bus. Now she felt his presence constantly, like a homing beacon somewhere in the city, waiting for her to come to him. Now, each time he got off the bus, she felt like her skin would crawl off her body and chase after him. The ache had grown to an anguished screaming need to see the dance of body heat and fireworks. So when the bus stopped and he got off, just before the doors slammed shut, she made her decision. She followed him with no thought that he might not want her, that he might be appalled at her need. The very glow of him broadcast the intensity of his own desire and of his readiness to satisfy.
She followed him down the street for several blocks before he turned into an alley between an off-licence and a coffee shop. Even in her peripheral vision she could see the pulsating waves of her own red, grown to consume most of her body, and still it gnawed like hunger that had come home to live inside her and rampage.
The rapping of her heels on the cobbles echoed off brick and plaster, telegraphing urgency. He waited for her, leaning against a metal door with a heavy lock. His trousers were open, and his cock glowed heavily in his hand. ‘What took you so long?’ he said. ‘This is what you want.’