69

by Alison Tyler

  He looked into her eyes and kissed her, hard.

  His tongue plunged deep.

  His mouth came away with a glisten of wet, liquid-silver against the light of the moon.

  He grinned savagely.”Trust me?”

  She said, “Hell, no.”

  He kissed her again, and finally let her close her legs.

  Goes

  By Sommer Marsden

  “Basement duty.” Rod sighed. He sipped from the giant cup of coffee that seemed perpetually present in his big hand.

  “You love it.” I snorted. “You’re nosy and you love to slack off. In the basement, you can be nosy and slack off.”

  He stared me down, trying, I can only assume, to look threatening, but then his handsome face broke into a grin and he laughed. “Okay, Aderyn. You got me.”

  When he grinned like that, it did strange things to me. My stomach suddenly felt full of cotton-candy floss and warm air, my brain full of booze. It was the sensation of being highly alert and yet knee-buckling inebriated.

  “I did, I got you.”

  No, I didn’t. But I wanted to. I’d wanted Rod since my boss, Kitty, had hired him. More than six feet tall, as broad as the side of a barn, with almost-black hair and stubble that begged to be touched, he was my midnight jerk-off fantasy man come to life.

  And every time I was alone with him, I blushed like a guilty sinner.

  “What do we do?” he asked, running a finger over a big white box labeled Employee Reviews 1997−98.

  We hide ourselves among these boxes and you take my skirt off and you go down on me and then you fuck me until my body sags and I weep and―

  “Aderyn?”

  He touched my nose gently and a shiver shot through me, making my knees tremble. “What?”

  “What do we do?”

  I cleared my throat and smiled. Did I look in control? I hoped so. I doubted it, though, because I felt like I might start cackling madly at any moment.

  “We right Goes on the boxes that, um, go.” I uncapped a permanent marker, wondering if I stuck it under my nose and breathed deeply, could I knock myself unconscious. It seemed the best way to avoid any further embarrassment.

  He took the pen from me, thick fingers curling over mine for a second as he pried it free. Moisture pooled in my panties and I felt my heart jump once, mightily, like it was trying to escape. “That’s it? Goes?”

  I nodded. “Goes,” I said breathlessly.

  He pushed the cap back on the pen and I had a fleeting, confused moment where I wondered what he was doing. But then he took the tip of the pen and ran it over my breast. The black cap looked like it should leave long dark streaks on the white fabric of my blouse. The fear that it would sparkled in my stomach and added to the thrumming arousal between my thighs.

  “Goes,” I said. Stupidest thing I’d ever uttered, and yet, very unimportant because he was drawing an unseen line from between my breasts down the center of me. The pen bumped provocatively over my belly button and made me suck in a great breath of air.

  My clit banged in time with my palm. If he touched me I’d go off like a bottle rocket. Something volatile and bright and hot.

  “Goes wet?” He said it in an almost-whisper, driving the pen down over my belly and to my clit. He nudged me through the fabric of my skirt. My body flexed, moist and ready.

  “Um…”

  “Goes hot?” He dropped the pen and gripped the edge of my skirt, sliding it up so the gray cotton hissed along my hosiery.

  “Goes…” I was drawing a blank. Maybe I had sniffed the pen. Maybe I was high. Maybe…he was touching me.

  His hands gripped the tops of my thighs as he slid his way up to the waistband of my panty hose. They went down without a fight. Much like I probably would. I licked my lips and stared up into his dark green eyes.

  “Goes off?” Rod said, grinning. His hand drove into my panties and he cupped my mound in his warm grip. One finger pressing intently to my clit, the others just holding the heat of his body against mine.

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Kiss me, Aderyn,” he said.

  I kissed him. Gripped his big wide shoulders in my trembling hands and tried not to shake when he drove a finger into me. I tried not to sigh when he pushed me back into a tumble of boxes. I tried not to shame myself when he shoved my work clothes down to bare me and studied me intently.

  “Goes wild?” I laughed bravely.

  “Aderyn. Means…?”

  “Bird. In Welsh.” I found his thick cock with my hand, squeezed once, as I explained.

  Rod’s eyes slammed shut for a moment and then he muttered, “Don’t fly away.” There was a bump and rustle of clothes and a condom. The sharp yellow smell of latex in my head and the balmy glance of his lips on my skin. Rod grazed his teeth along my neck, and when my nipples peaked readily, he pinched me. Sliding his cock deep inside of me on a pinch that made me moan.

  “Goes,” he said again. The word had lost all meaning. It was nothing more than a catchphrase now.

  “Goes,” I echoed. I grabbed his hard ass and hauled him forward, letting my legs splay more, opening my body to his bold penetration.

  His hands settled on my collarbone, thumbs resting just above the jump and jive of my pulse at the base of my throat. He pressed every so lightly and my cunt flexed up tight around him. Grasping at his friction, accepting all he was giving.

  “Come for me, Aderyn. We’ve been dancing around this for weeks.”

  I nodded, deliberately gripping him tight with my internal muscles. He groaned.

  “Just one thing,” I said, yanking him roughly against me. His pants were still mostly up and they tickled my inner thigh.

  “What’s that, pretty lady?”

  “If I go…”

  “Yeah?” His voice was rough and ripped. His face intense, his breathing harsh. He was gorgeous. A fucking stone statue come to life.

  “You go.” I grinned.

  “Deal.”

  When he kissed me again, he bit me. One sharp nip to the tip of my tongue that made me shake in his grip. His thumbs still barely pressed to my skin and yet it felt like he had trapped all of my blood flow beneath his hands. I cried out silently against his lips, giving in to the adrenaline-wrapped bump and rush of my orgasm. And he came with me, barely breathing when he emptied.

  Rod pressed his forehead to mine in the almost-dark cobwebby basement. “We have hours,” he said.

  “I know.” I laughed.

  When I went to put my blouse back in my skirt, he held up a finger. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  He bent, searching, and finally came back with the black pen. Rod pushed my shirt up to my rib cage and gently stroked the word across my skin.

  GOES.

  I watched him, and when he smiled at me, I whispered, “I hope I get to go again.”

  Rod touched the pen cap to my bottom lip. “Oh, you will. And I’ll go with you.”

  Waking the Neighbors

  By Heidi Champa

  “Baby, we got another complaint from the neighbors.”

  I set down my coffee cup and sighed. It was nothing but complaints with our downstairs neighbors. “What is it this time, Don? Did I sing too loud in the shower this morning?”

  “It’s not your singing, but your voice is to blame.”

  “What?” Suddenly incensed, I stood up and started pacing around the apartment. Even though our apartment was a tiny place and had thinner walls than I would have liked, this was home. But ever since the new woman had moved in downstairs, she had made our lives miserable. For years, we’d lived undisturbed by our neighbors, even having some of them over for Friday night potlucks. Those days seemed to be over. One night, our cat got out, a
nd the new neighbor found him on her floor and complained to the landlord, getting us a written warning. We had notes slipped under our door on a regular basis, complaining about all matter of sins. Most recently, she had the nerve to complain about the way the food we cooked smelled. Apparently, our taste for exotic cuisine like rosemary chicken and rice offended her delicate nose.

  The most audacious and humiliating note came several months before, and made me want to march down there and give the lady a piece of my mind. The note complained about the loud squeaking of our bed and asked us to keep our indecent activities to a minimum or she would alert the landlord about us. Instead of getting into a fight with her, Don and I broke down and invested in a real, luscious queen-sized bed. The old one had needed to be replaced, but I resented someone else deciding that for me.

  “So, what am I doing so loudly? Is it my breathing?”

  “Nothing like that, Shawna. You are going to love this one.”

  He handed me the piece of floral stationary, and I proceeded to read. My hand went to my chest in shock as I read the words, but I didn’t say a thing. I set the paper down, and looked at Don, in complete shock.

  “I moan too loud?”

  “Apparently so. Not that I blame you. I don’t like to brag, but I really know how to push your buttons.”

  I balled up the note and threw it at him, but it sailed over his head and hit the floor lightly. Don started to laugh, but my anger grew.

  “Careful, Shawna. She probably heard that paper hit the floor. I can see it now, she’s already writing a new note.”

  “What am I supposed to do about my moaning? I didn’t even realize I was that loud. Not that I am, I mean that woman can probably hear me turn the pages when I read a book.”

  Don looked around, obviously trying not to laugh.

  “Seriously, Don, what?”

  “Well, baby. I hate to say it, but you can get pretty loud.”

  “Too loud. What does that even mean? I consider my responses to be completely normal. Don’t you?”

  “Hey, don’t kill the messenger. You know I love the way you sound when you come. But, if we get another written warning, we’ll get thrown out of here.”

  “So, what do you suggest we do?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and poured himself a cup of coffee. I looked down at the floor and sent very bad thoughts toward my neighbor. When I left the house that day, I deliberately slammed the door. It felt like a true form of rebellion, and I smiled all the way to work.

  I was exhausted when I got home from work and still stinging from our neighborly note. The apartment was dark, except for some dim light coming from the bedroom. I trod heavily, not caring if I disturbed anyone. When I rounded the corner, I saw Don sitting on our bed, all the candles in the room flickering in the dark.

  “Don, what are you up to?”

  “Nothing. I just had a brainstorm while I was working today, and I wanted to run it by you.”

  As I pulled off my shoes and hung up my blouse, I rolled my eyes at the mention of that note.

  “Yeah, baby? What did you come up with?”

  Instead of speaking, Don got off the bed and pulled me close. I felt the tension in my shoulders dissolve as he planted kisses all over my bare skin. I let my head tilt back to give him better access to my neck, the nipping bite of his teeth forcing a moan out of my lips. The vibration of Don’s laughter tickled my skin, and I pulled back.

  “Come on, Shawna. If you keep that up, we’re going to get into more trouble.”

  “Well, then what are we going to do?”

  Don placed a finger to my lips, silencing me for a moment before kissing me hard. He sat me down on the bed and turned to open up our dresser drawer. Pulling out a bright red box, he sat down next to me, setting the gift in my lap.

  “I got you a present.”

  I pulled the top of the box off, looked past the tissue paper and saw a black ball gag. I looked at Don and saw a gorgeous smirk cross his lips.

  “This was your brilliant idea?”

  “Think about it, Shawna. This way we can still do whatever we want and maybe we can keep you a little quiet. Besides, it might be fun. We haven’t tried anything new in a long time.”

  I picked up the ball gag and studied it. I had to admit the idea had me intrigued, and I felt my anger at the situation fade away. Don was already pulling at my skirt and bra, the only clothes that remained on. I let him have his way, slowly finding myself more and more in the mood. His clothes were suddenly gone as well, and I let the queen-sized bed hold me while Don kissed his way from my feet to my head. The gag was still in my hand, and he took it from me, pulling me forward to secure it around my head. The ball nestled between my lips and felt foreign at first. But as Don settled between my legs, his tongue dancing all over my pussy, I started to forget the gag was even there. Until I wanted to make a sound. It really made a big difference, the sound dying before it had a chance to hit the air. Don continued, working two. then three fingers inside my pussy, and still the sounds coming from my lips remained barely over a whisper. He may have been on to something. I wrapped one of my legs around his back, grinding my hips up into his ever-moving tongue and lips.

  He started to move up my body, his hard cock bobbing between his legs as he crawled over me. Even though my hands weren’t bound, having the gag in my mouth made me feel as though they were. I left them splayed over my head, letting Don move over me as he wished. When he entered me, even though he had done it a million times, it felt different. My throat felt tight, like all the noise I couldn’t get out had started to back up. As he slowly moved in and out of my wet pussy, he pressed his hands into mine, pinning me to the bed as we moved. My legs went around his back, keeping him close to me, even though I wasn’t touching him with my hands. The gag was starting to dry my lips out, and the latch behind my head was uncomfortable.

  But it was more than that. I missed making noise, missed responding to Don the way I was used to. As the climax built within me, I was growing more and more restless being stifled. Don released my hands as he started to move faster in and out of me. My hands were now free, and I decided to finish liberating myself. Don barely noticed as I freed my mouth, letting out a roar as the gag hit the carpet. My orgasm came quickly, the sound and fury shocking even me, as the sounds of my pleasure rang off our walls and no doubt hitting the ears of our sensitive neighbor. I didn’t care at all. I let all the joy out, every last sound releasing every last bit of euphoria from my body. Don rolled off me, not mentioning the noise. I loved him for that. Nice idea, but a gag just wasn’t me. We both knew it, in that moment.

  The next day, before the note came, we left the apartment extra early. After all, we didn’t want to be late for our appointment with the realtor. After the night we had, four walls of our own were starting to sound better and better.

  Ours

  By Charlotte Stein

  When he slides against her in just that way, she loses herself a little. Not enough to forget who they are or what they’ve just done, but enough, enough. The searing mark across his bare ass brings her back, because she can feel it against her palm when she touches him there. She can feel it like it’s on her, too hot to stand.

  He tells her it’s unbearable and then fucks her hard. Then again, harder yet.

  She supposes the strokes could be termed punishing, only they’re not. There’s a firmness to them that’s all her, but a restraint that’s all him. Or is it vice versa? She can’t say, and neither can he.

  He can’t because he’s biting his lip again as he rocks over her, his already too hard cock swelling inside her tensing body. That’s how she loves him best, like that. She thinks he likes her like this best, too. It’s beyond the spanking and the domination games, beyond anything and into the aftermath.

 
She’s sure it says something about them, that the aftermath is sweet bliss and ever-pleasure. It says something strong and all-consuming, and when he clutches at her—hard enough to leave his own brands all over her—she knows it’s okay to be devoured.

  When they both walk around the next day, marked beneath their clothes, it will be okay. Maybe that idiot at his office will print off the wrong reports again, or maybe she’ll have to deal with that woman in marketing who can’t stop being cruel, but that’s okay, it’s okay.

  Because of the block of red on his ass, and the shape of each one of his fingers on her upper arms. Because she says yes, yes, do it, and he does it. She comes in great shaking bursts with his fingers on her clit and his cock in her cunt and their mouths mashed together so that neither can breathe.

  They breathe later, once it’s done. He threads his hands through hers and she threads hers back, and after a long, long while he says, “Do you think we’re weird?”

  In truth, she’s surprised he has to ask. Of course they’re weird! They do weird things that normal people don’t do, and then they do it again just for good measure. They play games that neither of them knew they wanted, but that both know the other wants more than anything.

  It’s a complicated thing. It’s a punishing thing. But it’s a good thing.

  “What does it matter?” she asks, and he nods just once.

  There’s not anything else that needs to be said. Not anything, between the two of them.

  Mathematics

  By Nikki Magennis

  These were Izzy’s lessons, and she was to learn them thoroughly:

  Some triangles have more than three sides. And a multitude of angles, depending on whether you use items of furniture as props.

  Two lovers increase one’s chances of an orgasm equally.

  If one subtracts an embrace, only to yearn for it harder and longer over the duration of a day, two minuses can cancel each other out and create a positive addition. Thus, the lack of one lover may compel one to work even harder at the bed of another and eventually inflate the final tally.