Stories to Make You Blush: Seven Naughty Tales

by Marie Gray

  Once again, I attempted to superimpose these fantasies with images of Gabrielle. My sweet, gentle, blond Gabrielle, whose short hair gave her an adorably tomboyish look. My extraordinary little Gabrielle, with her fantastic blue eyes, eyes so eloquent that talking was often unnecessary, especially in bed.

  I turned away, blushing in torment. She had read the desire on my face. So captivated had I been by her presence that I hadn’t taken enough care to control my body language. That lipstick, on lips that were full like Gabrielle’s; those glasses that gave her a look both serious and playful. It was enough to drive a man crazy. Please show up, Gabrielle, please show up so I can attack you like an animal! Please, come quickly!

  I risked another glance at this temptress. Getting up from her stool, she leaned over the bar onto her elbows as if she wanted to have a discreet word with the bartender. She whispered something to him before casting an innocent look in my direction. But it wasn’t her eyes I was looking at—in the position she had now assumed, her breasts were lusciously pressed against the marble bar. She must have been completely conscious of my attention at that point because she began a little performance just for my benefit (or so I liked to think). She began swaying back and forth slowly and sensuously as she gently rubbed her breasts against the marble slab. It was like she was doing some kind of erotic dance. I watched her nipples become completely erect. She leaned her head against her shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment without interrupting her seductive little ritual. Her long fingers pulled an ice cube out of her drink and she placed it delicately onto her lips, like a kiss, before picking it up with her intoxicating pink little tongue. She let the ice cube melt on her tongue and run down her fingers, which she licked voluptuously while looking me right in the eye.

  It was too much! I had to get out of there and fast—my own self-control and love for Gabrielle depended on it. I felt like I were part of some slow-motion movie sequence where the background completely dissolves to reveal only the femme fatale in the process of seducing the powerless hero (me!) with her wanton wiles. She was almost going too far, but it seemed like I was the only one affected by her antics, maybe because her little show was in fact—amazing but maybe true—being directed at yours truly. No one else in the bar seemed the slightest bit disturbed by what she was doing.

  It was real torture, but I was helplessly caught in the trap. My body continued to betray me: I was harder than ever. There was no way I could just get up and move. Taking a deep breath, I turned my head toward the entrance in the hopes of finally catching sight of the one who had gotten me into this fine mess. But things were getting worse by the second—the redhead was coming my way. I shot another desperate glance toward the entrance. No Gabrielle in sight, and now the bar was starting to empty. She was coming closer now, striding gracefully toward me in spite of her impossible shoes, the slit in her dress parting at every step to display her long silky legs. And her nipples…so stiff they seemed on the verge of cutting through her dress. And those slender red-nailed fingers that were wrapped around her glass.

  She slid behind my chair and whispered in my ear, “Your friend still hasn’t arrived yet. May I join you?”

  A low, soft voice, with just a hint of a British accent. A sultry, spicy perfume…more quivering in my pants.

  I kind of half got up and babbled, “She’ll be here soon. Any minute now, I’m sure of it.”

  “I wouldn’t get up if I were you…don’t embarrass yourself on my account. Maybe another time, okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure, maybe.”

  She went around the table and stood in front of me in all her splendor before she slowly removed her glasses. Looking meaningfully at me, she bit her lower lip, just like Gabrielle…and then a mocking little smile began to play across her scarlet lips. Her proximity made me notice details that had evaded me before, and then, very slowly, reality kicked in. It can take a while for realization to dawn in a mind that’s been paralyzed by desire. But I saw the truth at last. She was wearing tinted lenses and her eyebrows had been shaded with the same red color as her wig. I had never seen her wearing so much makeup, especially lipstick, but sure enough…it was Gabrielle!

  “Do you want to keep on playing?”

  “Gabrielle! I don’t believe it!”

  “You seem to like it…so, shall we continue?”

  “Okay…but I can’t get up!”

  “Why would you want to get up?”

  Putting her glasses back on, she sat down in front of me. She placed her elbows down on the table, lowered her chest, and began sensuously rubbing her breasts against the tablecloth. I was fascinated, astounded, overwhelmed.

  “How did you do it?”

  “Hey, are you playing or not?”

  “Okay. Um, th-thank you for the drink you sent me before.”

  “Think nothing of it. I was just passing through town and I don’t see why a good-looking man should have to wait forever on his own. I’d just like to get to know you a little while we wait for your companion to arrive.”

  I felt something slide up my leg. She sat comfortably back in her chair and ran her tongue over her lips like a contented little kitten. Then she smiled at me.

  I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it. She had completely and utterly transformed herself. But the physical and psychological effects that this unbelievable creature had produced in me were unchanged, except for the guilt which, to my immeasurable relief, had evaporated.

  “You’re not from around here, are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “No, I flew in from London this afternoon.” Her leg slid even higher up mine. “I’m here for the fashion show.”

  “Model?”

  “No, photographer.”

  I couldn’t say anything else. Both of her feet were now perched on top of my cock, which was as hard as it could possibly get, and those feet were gently kneading and massaging me, first gently, then urgently. I knew—as did she—that if she didn’t stop soon, I was going to come uncontrollably in my pants, like some randy adolescent. Sweat was running down my spine and I was getting worried about what the other people at the bar could see. But her under-the-table antics were invisible thanks to the floor-length white tablecloth. Gabrielle had no doubt factored this detail into her plan. She gave me some respite at last by pulling one foot away. Picking up her glass nonchalantly, she slid her free hand casually under the table. The glass came back down from her lips after a while and she looked at me for one long moment before lightly lifting herself forward. She brought her mouth close to my ear.

  “Here, I have something for you.”

  She handed me the skimpy underwear that she had somehow removed under the table without my noticing, using that invisible technique known only to women. I took them from her and lifted them discreetly up to my face. Her perfume, mingled with the sweet musk of her body odor, made me quiver.

  Gabrielle held out her hand to me and I grabbed and kissed it, immediately smelling, then tasting, her sweet, damp, heady perfume. I licked that hand fiercely. Pulling it away from me, she ran her own tongue slowly and sensuously between the fingers of that hand, sliding it afterward along her throat, down her chest, then in between her breasts. Then, with a quick, deliberately careless gesture, she pushed my coaster onto the floor.

  “You should pick that up,” she murmured.

  I leaned over and quickly checked under the tablecloth. She had hiked her dress up over her thighs, and through those long parted legs I could clearly see her glistening folds. She was running one hand under the edge of her stocking while the other hand was busily stroking her pussy. Those scarlet nails fascinated me. Her lips were swollen with pleasure and she was becoming hotter, wetter, and more excited by the second.

  I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

  “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  “I haven’t finished my drink yet.”

  “I can’t take it any more.”

  “I’m calling the shots here. Besides, we ha
ven’t even eaten yet.”

  “We’ll eat later.”

  “No. I’ve hired a special taxi to take us to the restaurant. I decided we shouldn’t eat at the hotel after all.”

  One look at my crestfallen face, however, made her expression soften and I could tell she would take pity on me and play it my way in the end.

  She led me out of the bar to the hotel entrance. A long black limousine awaited us. Gabrielle ordered me inside and told the chauffeur to drive. The black partition between the front and back seats hummed to a close, completely isolating us from the driver’s scrutiny.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Oh, you’ll see. You won’t be worried about where we’re going for long.”

  She fixed her gaze on mine and slowly began pulling off her dress. But just the dress. She was now wearing only a black strapless push-up bra, the silk stockings, her shoes, and the pearls. Champagne being entirely appropriate, she reached for the bottle, popped the cork with one expert hand, and poured out a single glass. She ordered me to drink it in a tone that left no room for discussion. She reached into her handbag and unfurled a silk scarf, which I was kind enough to let her tie around my wrists so she could then secure me to the door handle.

  “Just to tease you a little bit,” she reassured me. “Happy birthday, Michael!”

  She refilled my glass, took a mouthful of the champagne herself, and then slowly released the liquid into my mouth. I felt it flow from her mouth into mine, slightly warmed and tasting sweetly of her. She licked a few stray drops from my chin and then began kissing me passionately—almost aggressively—as she flicked her tongue inside of my mouth, over my face, and then down my neck. She poured some champagne onto her breasts and then licked it away, a sly little smile playing on her lips.

  I could say nothing, do nothing. All I could do was watch her perform for me…but I had no intention of complaining! She poured a little more champagne over her breasts and then made me lick it off her so that I could taste the sublime, incomparable blend of champagne mixed with the sweet delectable taste of her skin. Every time she drank a little champagne, she shared some of it with me and the bubbly mingling with our saliva was a heady sensation.

  Gabrielle sat down on the seat facing mine. She spread her legs apart and started slowly caressing herself again. Her scarlet-nailed fingers parted those tender pink lips so she could get down to serious work—and torture me a little more too, of course.

  This woman of mine who was also another; I would have given anything to be able to touch her, kiss her, make her come with my tongue and fingers. Her breathing was heavy with arousal as she stroked herself for a few more minutes and then suddenly stopped: she obviously felt herself in danger of reaching ecstasy too soon.

  She finally knelt before me and began unbuttoning my shirt with unbearable slowness. Pulling off my pants, she started stroking me with only the lightest of touches, making me shiver with the violence of almost unendurable pleasure. I thought I’d be able to enter her at last but then she told me, “I want to look at you for a minute. I want to see you get impatient. I want to see you hard and ready.”

  Impatience was no problem!

  But she didn’t give me the much-anticipated pleasure. Instead, she poured more champagne onto her body and began caressing herself all over again. The bubbly liquid ran down her breasts, over her belly, and then down between her legs. She pulled off her string of pearls in one move. Holding one end in each hand, she ran them over her abdomen and then down between her legs, where they soon got buried in the moist folds of her lips. She slid them back and forth inside of her, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly. I watched in wonder as the pearls began to glisten irresistibly from her pre-orgasmic juices. Wrapping them around her finger, she plunged them deep inside of herself with measured strokes that caused her to shudder uncontrollably. I wanted to be those pearls and slide myself into the deepest parts of her body.

  I didn’t know where to look anymore. I was almost gasping as my eyes shot up and down from the hands that lovingly fondled those tender, wet lips to the mass of red hair that seemed to caress her breasts, neck, and stomach. I had never been this excited, even during my first sexual experience. As she watched me looking at her the way I was, she seemed completely gratified to know I was ready to explode at any second. Then finally, mercifully, she begged me to enter her. But I was still tied up, and for the moment, she had no intention of undoing my bonds! She stroked herself faster and faster, her pussy flowing with champagne and excitement. Her halfclosed eyes and glistening mouth suddenly squeezed shut as her orgasm rushed upward and violently consumed her. Her body jerked, her muscles contracted, and then her whole face contorted with pleasure.

  She got up at last, undid the scarf around my wrists, and then mounted me like a panther as the car raced down the highway at top speed. Her long red hair fell into my eyes and mouth, just like I had imagined earlier. I was making love to both Gabrielle and a European stranger! It was incredible, indescribable.

  We made love wildly, frantically, the way we had at the beginning of our relationship, but it was even better now. I was having trouble holding back from coming. What a strange sensation! I was with a woman I knew better than anyone, knew every intimate detail about, but this woman was also a stranger! I stared at Gabrielle’s blue eyes and saw them transform into emerald green cat’s eyes. I was caressing my Gabrielle’s body, but this long red hair was completely unfamiliar to me. When she finally gave me permission to come, I yelled out “Gabrielle!” because it was indeed her I wanted and nobody else.

  When we finally arrived home, I took her in my arms and kissed her with a passion that could just barely express what I felt.

  “Happy birthday, my love.”

  “I love you Gabrielle. But I have a favor to ask of you. Do you think the British miss could go now? I would really like to make love to the woman of my life. I feel guilty for having been unfaithful to her.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She went toward the bedroom, leaving me to admire the other woman one last time, and when she emerged a few minutes later, she was wearing her favorite dressing gown. It was my Gabrielle all right. My sweet, blond, adorable, generous Gabrielle. Seeing her once again—without makeup and looking suddenly so petite in her oversized bathrobe—made me desire her with such force that we didn’t even get as far as the bedroom.

  The Roar of the Crowd

  For some time now, the reality I once knew has been dramatically altered. I now live in a world where limits have no place, a world where all my most outrageous fantasies can, and probably will, come to life. My days and nights are spent wondering what he will dream up next, and the wait is deliciously unendurable.

  I should say a little bit about myself. I used to be what some people might have qualified as a “woman with limited prospects.” After my last failed relationship, when Dennis dumped me, I spent two years alone. But make no mistake: in this case, alone really means alone. Oh, I did go out with a few men for a drink or two, but nothing much beyond that. My sex life, apart from the contribution of a few rather limited devices, was completely nonexistent except, of course, in my imagination, where the ever-present fantasies were painfully alive and well. I never, however, intended things to be that way! But ever since the breakup, I couldn’t seem to meet any man who made me want to start the game all over again—the game, of course, being that process of accepting the million and one compromises and weeding out the countless blind expectations that go along with the relationship package.

  Friends and acquaintances alike certainly tried to set me up with some “good catches,” but to no avail. After giving these setups a few tries, I decided to leave the chase behind, with no regrets. And then one fine day not so very long ago, against all my expectations, he waltzed into my life.

  My good friend Renée, a talented painter, was holding her first important exhibition at a well-known gallery a little over a month ago. On a whim, I decided
to buy three of her paintings, with the excuse that it would be better to buy them now while they were still in my price range. I immediately agreed that she exhibit them at the gallery for the duration of the show, after which she would have them delivered to my place. The paintings I had chosen were truly wonderful depictions of couples making love, and only later did it occur to me that having them around on a permanent basis might only stir up fires that were best left unstirred. Those intertwined lovers bathed in splashes of vivid, almost violent color, their bodies an abstraction of lines and curves that conveyed both passion and tenderness.

  Two days after the exhibition’s closing, Renée inquired as to when I wished to have the paintings delivered. We agreed on a time that very evening, and she was right on schedule, in his company.

  While opening the door, I had no inkling that my life was about to change dramatically. Renée was hiding behind one of her paintings, and Daniel was standing there in front of her with a charmingly timid look that seduced me at first glance. The introductions were brief, and I surprised myself by blushing like an idiot.

  I took Renée aside into the kitchen to find out more about this unexpected apparition, leaving Daniel with the task of unwrapping the paintings. She was one of the only friends who had never tried to play matchmaker with me. She admitted that she had never thought about doing it until it recently dawned on her that her cousin, whom she saw fairly frequently, was in the same boat as me.

  “You didn’t tell him you were bringing him here for that reason, I hope!”

  “Of course not! He offered to help me bring back some paintings and when I told him I needed to deliver some to you, he insisted on helping me.”

  “Hmm! Well, he certainly is cute. What’s his story?”

  “Oh! He was married for four years, and one day his wife up and left him for another man, but that was a while ago. He’s completely over it now. But he’s so shy!”