by Alison Tyler
Lucy soon returned to my table, tucking a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear before she pulled out a pen to jot down my order. As I spoke, she stared into my eyes, and I thought I sensed a spark of interest. At first I wasn’t sure if it was my dirty mind working overtime, but when Lucy returned to my table to check on me, she seemed to gaze at me more intensely and linger a bit longer. I can’t say I minded. I was as charmed by her sweet demeanor as I was by her lovely body.
My book was ignored as I watched Lucy bend over to clear the nearby tables, her tank top riding up and revealing a sliver of tanned skin. I was momentarily distracted by a mental image of trailing kisses down her spine, but I was brought back to reality by the sight of her thong peeking out above her waistband. The tiny triangle of fabric played hide-and-seek every time she moved. It was a delightful sight.
As I sipped my latte, I kept stealing glances at Lucy, and when she caught me admiring her, she would smile wickedly in a way that left no doubt: She was definitely into girls. When it was time for my check, she handed it over, saying, “Are you new in town? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Yeah, I just moved in down the block. The pre-war building.”
“Oh, that’s a landmark! I’ve always wanted to see what that place looked like inside. I’m working on my master’s in architectural design.”
I believed her, but the look on her face told me that she was interested in more than my molding.
“Want to drop by after your shift?”
“Love to—as a matter of fact, you’re my last table. It must by my lucky day,” she replied, her pink lips smirking sexily. At that moment, I knew the only place she’d be studying in my building was going to be my bedroom.
Minutes later we were in my apartment, kissing each other wildly as I walked her back toward my bedroom. I felt my cunt grow hotter and wetter as her tongue tangled with mine. Lucy might have been younger than me, but she was hungry and aggressive. The second we stepped through the doorway, she pressed me up against the wall. She couldn’t wait the thirty seconds it would have taken us to make it to the bed. She ground her body against mine, mashing her breasts against me as we continued to kiss. I moaned into her mouth, expressing my need, and moved my hands from her waist to down to her ass.
Lucy pulled back slightly and reached underneath my shirt and bra to toy with my nipples. I gasped, relaxing my grip on her as she rolled the nubs between her fingertips. All too soon, she abandoned my breasts so she could unfasten my jeans and push them down my thighs, and my panties soon followed. Leaving my clothes in a tangle around my knees, Lucy slipped two fingers into my slippery slit. I hissed loudly as she plundered my cunt. She plunged her fingers in and out of me, letting her thumb graze my button as she fanned the flames of my lust. Developing a sexy, insistent rhythm, she continued fingering me until I came with a loud cry, barely able to hold myself upright as I shivered through my orgasm.
I was still gasping for air when Lucy sank to her knees so that she was face-to-face with my naked pussy. Cupping my ass, she pulled me closer and fastened her mouth to my cunt. I parted my thighs as widely as I could with my jeans binding my legs. The close quarters didn’t bother Lucy; she wriggled her tongue into my slit, seeming to revel in the challenge. The only sounds in the room were my ragged breathing and Lucy’s sexy slurping. I ran my fingers through her tresses, holding her in place as she sucked my clit between her lips and strummed my stiffened nub with her tongue tip. I grabbed handfuls of her hair, tugging roughly as another orgasm rippled through me, growing in intensity until it shook me to the core.
Lucy let go of my trembling thighs and stood once more to kiss me with her juice-slickened lips. I savored the taste of myself on her smile, and then pulled away so I could finally get rid of my clothes—and strip her out of hers. It was time for me to taste her.
I yanked her tank top up over her head and slid her bra straps down her shoulders to reveal her perky breasts. They were perfect little handfuls, and I cupped them admiringly before covering them with kisses. Her breasts must have been extremely sensitive because as I worked my tongue around her pink nipples, she began to squirm and moan. She completely lost her take-charge attitude and seemed to melt in my hands.
The more I teased her breasts, the more impatient she became, kicking off her sneakers and shimmying out of her capris. I let my greedy eyes roam over her nearly nude body, admiring her flat stomach and toned thighs. Her tiny thong was the only thing between me and her pussy—a problem that needed to be remedied. I walked Lucy backward until she tumbled onto the bed, and then I yanked on the straps of her undies. She raised her hips to help me, and I worked the small scrap of fabric down and tossed it aside.
Lucy perched on the edge of the bed, her thighs parted widely in invitation. My fingers slid into her effortlessly, making her sigh blissfully. She was so wet that I could actually feel her juices dripping down my palm. I knelt before her and gently tongued her sex; her musky flavor suffused my senses as I lapped at her clit. Lucy bucked her hips toward my face, seeming unable to control herself.
When she was perilously close to coming, I rose and sat next to her on the bed. I wanted to steal kisses from her as I continued to toy with her. But as her pleasure built and her orgasm neared, she buried her face in my neck. Her hot breath tickled my flesh as she whimpered so sweetly and eventually succumbed to her pleasure, shaking in my arms.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” she eventually whispered with a shy smile.
“Thanks—I think I’m going to like it here.
Hot Cross Buns
By Shanna Germain
“Best. Ass. Ever.” Jim says this every time I undress for him. Every time as though it’s the first time. The little catch in his voice makes it even better, makes me hotter and harder. I want to be wanted. More than sex, more than orgasm, more than Jim’s hand on my cock or his cock in my ass, more than the way he spanks me or canes me, more than any of that, I crave the way he looks at me, the murky green of his gaze. And those words, of course. Three little words. Sweeter than, “I love you,” hotter than “I lust you.” Best. Ass. Ever. That’s all I need to hear, and I know how much Jim wants me.
“If I ever stop saying that, you know our relationship’s down the tubes,” Jim told me once. I believe him.
And every time I’m grateful for moments like this, when I’ve just stripped for the shower, and find Jim suddenly behind me as I turn the faucets on, his hands gripping my ass as his nails dig in. “Best. Ass. Ever,” he says, each word punctuated by a tightening of his fingers. Jim is leaned over me, pressing his chest to my back, his words near my ear. “I’d like to spank it till it blooms red, lick you until you howl, and then fuck you for hours. Such a pretty fucking ass.” He drags his nails over my skin, ten small slivers that scar me with their need.
I can’t think. All that want, just for me. It’s worth a hundred oysters, a million pounds of Spanish fly. Fuck Viagra. Give me Jim and his want and his words any day.
“I’ll just…ah…turn the water off....” I say, closing my eyes, letting his words and touch slip through me. My hand still rests on the hot faucet, as if it doesn’t know what to do.
“Oh, no,” Jim says. “I don’t think so.” One finger brushes the cleft between my cheeks, soft and circular. I clench, an automatic gesture of want, and he laughs in my ear as he continues to explore, holding me there with his weight.
Jim releases me and I rise involuntarily, like a balloon slipping from someone’s fingers. “Into the shower with you,” he says. He slaps me lightly, a playful smack that sounds loud in the small bathroom.
“But…” I say.
“Yes, butt. Exactly. Now get in there.”
I step in, careful not to slip. My feet are not sure where they’re going, or even if they’re connected to the rest of me. Jim has this effect on me, as though
I’m a naughty paper doll, and someone had taken off all my limbs, has left only my ass and my cock, the parts that Jim likes best.
Jim enters a moment after me, grinning at me. It’s an evil grin. I love that grin. It’s an expression that means, I have plans for you. I wait impatiently, to see what they are.
He lets me soap up and rinse before he makes his move. Taking the soap from my hands, he sets it to the side, and turns me to face away from the showerhead. “Bend over,” he says. His hand at the back of my neck shows me how he wants me. I bend so my hands are on the metal bar at the back of the tub, so that the hot water is spraying on my ass. He lets go of my neck—he knows I’ll stay where he’s positioned me. His cock presses into the side of my hip. The hard curve of it jostles me as he moves, lowering one hand to circle my cock, his strokes long and slow. The water makes it feel harder, because there’s no lube; it’s not pain but almost, and what starts as a moan ends in a low call of his name.
“Too much?” he asks.
“No,” I say. And stronger, “No. Please.”
He resumes the pull and tug, the grasp of my skin that makes all my nerve endings tingle. When he shifts again, his cock nosing into my thighs, I know what’s coming and I flinch, but nothing happens.
Through the sound of the water on my skin, Jim’s throaty laugh. “Don’t tighten up,” he says. “You know it’ll make it worse.”
“I know....”I say, my head down, water running down my back to drip off my face. “I can’t help it.”
That’s when it lands, the flat of his hand on the side of my ass. The hot water, the wet cup and sting, the sound of the smack as it echoes inside the shower—it all makes me hiss and flinch, but too late. The pain is ricocheting around my skin, bee stings, nettles, sunburn, all of it eased only by Jim’s hand pulling softly on my cock. His hand comes down again, burn and sting.
I could pretend I don’t like it, but we both know better. Inside Jim’s hand, I’m even harder, arching my hips into his grip, asking for more, more, more with whatever sounds I can make.
“Your pretty ass is so red,” Jim says. “Like a perfect ripe cherry.” He rubs my ass, circles that smear the water and the pain, spread them around, let me relax. Just in time for his hand to leave and fall again. I arch and stutter his name. He picks up a rhythm, first one cheek, then the other, first with the front of his hand, then with the back. Each one makes a different sound, like music, a perfect drumbeat, punctuated by both of our moans and the spray of water. Each time he spanks me, he tightens his fingers on my cock, tugs from root to tip. I’m rocking between his touch, the pleasure of his pulls, the pain of his smacks, all of it focused in the middle of me, the places he’s touching and tugging. I struggle not to give in, not to come before he tells me too, but it’s a battle I’m losing. Badly.
I try to say something, to warn him, but only a moan comes out. Jim laughs as though he knows, and stops spanking my ass. His finger finds its way to the center of me, swirls through the water and the pain, and begins to enter me softly, searchingly. The pressure of his finger inside me, the burn of my skin, the quickening tug of his fingers—I’m coming before I realize it, pleasure rising out of me in a pulsed beat that matches the water raining down on us.
“Ah, fuck…Jim…” Water’s in my mouth and in my eyes, and Jim’s pulling the last of my orgasm from me, his throated groans of pleasure almost as loud as mine. I stay bent over, breathing, wet and wrung out all at the same time.
“Get out when you’re ready,” he says. He pushes his still-hard cock against me, lets me feel his want for a moment before he steps from the shower. I move slowly, letting my body put itself back together. The towel rubs against the raw skin of my ass as I wrap it around me.
When I enter the bedroom, Jim’s already on the bed, cock in hand. “Take that off,” he says. I drop the towel to the floor and turn, knowing what he wants to see.
“Best. Ass. Ever,” he says. “Want me to fuck it?”
As if he has to ask.
Granny Panties
By Sommer Marsden
“I’m almost done, I’m almost done!” I told Jason. He rolled his eyes. The mall was the equivalent of torture. I was impressed that he even deigned to come with me.
“What then? What’s next?”
I was still getting used to that crisp English accent. It still sent a shiver through me after six months of steady dating and upcoming cohabitation.
“Panties,” I whispered. But the guy ahead of me in line at the lemonade kiosk heard me anyway and turned with a grin.
“Ohhhh, panties.” Jason drew out the word, and it made my cheeks flush with heat.
“Yes, I’m down to just a few good pair. The others are either cotton monstrosities or teeny tiny thongs that are more intended to…”
“Remove quickly,” he said right up against my ear so only I could hear.
I nodded. I could barely breathe let alone speak. We got our lemonade, and Jason tucked his one lone package—a silk necktie—under his arm and took my hand in his. “I’ll help you.”
“Help me what?”
“Pick out knickers.”
Knickers. I laughed. “I don’t think so.”
He winked at me. “My taste is that bad?”
“Your taste is impeccable,” I said.
“I chose you.”
“See, case in point.”
“But?”
“But like I said, these are to be nice but they’re everyday. Not my schlubbing around cotton ones or my siren sex ones, but nice yet modest panties to wear to work and whatnot.”
“Not sexy?”
“Yes sexy. But comfortable, too. And you know—actually cover things!”
“All the good things.” He tsked. But then he squeezed my hand and said, “I think I know exactly what you mean. Will you give me a shot before you relegate me to the wooden benches chock full of men with no taste just waiting on their women?”
I looked at that face—that handsome face with the cut jaw, the peppering of stubble, the icicle blue eyes—and grinned. “Okay, but just one. Don’t muck it up.”
“Oh, look who’s picking up my words.”
“That’s right, you heard me, don’t muck it up.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Brandee. Not at all.”
* * *
“Oh. My. God. What are those?”
Jason held out the large white silk panties. The silk was gorgeous. Brilliantly smooth under my fingers when I touched them. But the rest of them, my God, the rest of them was Sears catalog circa 1979!
“Panties,” he said with a crooked grin. The grin went straight to my naughty bits, but the panties struck my funny bone and I started to laugh in earnest. “What?”
“Granny panties,” I whispered, touching them again. God, they were soft. How heavenly must it be to walk around in these things? Covering everything that should be, smooth and soft and comfortable against the skin.
“Nonsense. These, my dear Bran, are spectacularly sexy underthings.”
I pushed my hand to his forehead. “Are you feverish?
“Not at all. I’m also perfectly sane and absolutely right.”
Funny thing about Jason’s accent: He could tell me the sky was purple and the sea was made of marshmallow fluff, and I’d buy it hook, line and sinker.
“They’re horrible,” I said, oddly drawn to touching them again.
“They’re gorgeous. I want to see you in them.”
“You’re high,” I said, but something about his tone and his apparent sincerity.
“Please?”
“Oh, my God. Really?” I hurried to the register with the five pairs of panties I had picked out myself. I had to get out of there because some of the patrons were starting to stare at me, the crazy woman who kept g
iggling and shaking her head. They were also staring at my handsome boyfriend and the large white panties he was fondling.
“Really.”
“This all?” The cashier asked, folding each pair into a prim square of fabric.
“And these,” Jason said and dropped the parachute-sized panties on the counter.
The cashier cocked an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. Either she thought we were nuts or she thought they were for Jason. Either way, let her think what she liked. Jason’s hand was stroking my lower back, his fingers brushing the bundle of nerves just below the small of my back. I was getting turned on and now very, very interested to find out why he wanted me in the granny panties.
“Those, too,” I said and pulled out my credit card to hurry her on.
* * *
“See, the thing about these is they leave so much to the imagination.”
I was transfixed, I’ll admit, watching Jason unwrap the panties from their white tissue paper prison. He spread them on the duvet cover and turned to me. “Off with the clothes.”
“But…but—”
“But what, Bran?”
“I…”
He cocked his head, waiting. His supernatural blue eyes studied me and my body hummed with a quiet current of lust. It coursed through me, zipping and shooting under my skin, invisible starlight. Phantom energy. All for him.
“Go on, then.”
I shrugged, my arguments lost, or never really there, actually. I tugged my black jeans down and kicked them toward the clothes hamper. I yanked my stretchy red long-sleeved top over my head, and my dark hair swirled around my face, clouding my vision for a moment. Right before he parted my tangled mass of hair with his big hands and leaned in to kiss me full on the lips. His mouth was warm and soft, and my pussy thumped along with my now racing pulse.