by Alison Tyler
She giggled, kissed my ear. “Well, you know. The management does sort of discourage it. We never know when a virile guy like yourself might walk in and steal all the femmes away.”
“Is that right?”
“Oh, yes. You know how we are. We’ll come here, all right, but we’re just waiting for the right man to come in, drag us home by the hair, and throw us on the bed. That’s what we all want, isn’t it? Even if we don’t know it.”
“Is that what you want?”
She looked into my eyes, her big brown ones seducing me in a way I’d never been seduced before.
I slipped my hand up Danielle’s dress. Now I could feel the soft skin of her thigh, and I found myself wondering, noticing that with my other hand I couldn’t feel those panty lines that had so turned me on when they showed through her slip. I ran my fingertips over the heart shape of her ass and wondered at their lack.
“I took them off,” she whispered into my ear. “I thought you’d like that. I know how a tough guy like you doesn’t like to waste time undressing a woman.”
Now my head was spinning for real, and I thought I truly might pass out. I tried hard not to blush, but as we sat there and drank our drinks, Danielle’s flirting increased a notch and we traded double entendres and brushed our bodies against each other. I got wetter with every sultry caress she gave the back of my neck, with every time she ran her fingers through my hair, with every kiss she planted on my lips. I had come in here planning to bewitch with my arrogance and braggadocio, but now this femme was seducing me with all the subtlety of Marilyn Monroe on Ecstasy. I can’t say I minded.
“You ever been with a real man?” I asked her in between flirts and kisses, in between letting my hands casually graze her breasts as I held her.
“Oh, I turn them into real men,” she said, kissing my forehead.
“Think you could pull that trick with me?” I asked.
“I won’t need to,” she said. “I can tell that right away.”
I still don’t remember how we made it from the table at the CoCo Club to the stairway leading up to the street. The four or five drinks probably helped, but I would have taken this girl home if I’d been drinking ginger ale.
I helped Danielle on with her long leather coat, feeling a sadness as I watched her button that gorgeous body away from me like a present wrapped before Christmas—as if I were never going to get a chance to unwrap it.
“I don’t live far,” she said.
“Good,” I told her. “My wife is waiting for me at home.”
She giggled and led me up the long staircase into the alley. The truth was that my three roommates were probably waiting up for me and would razz me indefinitely if I came home with a sweet thing like Danielle on my arm.
The second we got out in the alley, though, I found myself seized with a sudden urgency. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching—it was midnight on a Sunday night, and the streets would be empty—then grabbed Danielle and pushed her up against the brick wall behind the Dumpster, kissing her and thrusting my hand under her dress. She really wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Mr. Cooper, please,” she sighed, squirming against me as I touched her smooth pussy. “Someone might see.”
“That’s the idea,” I growled, slipping one finger inside her as I kissed her, as she moaned and wriggled against the brick wall and rubbed her tits against my chest. I couldn’t believe how wet she was—probably almost as wet as I was.
The alley was open to the street but fairly hard to see from it. I knew more than a few girls who did things in this alley, but I’d never done it myself. I guess I’d never got drunk enough or horny enough. But any guy named Chad Cooper wouldn’t hesitate to take his woman in an alley, right? Well, at least, that was my fantasy.
I slipped my hand out of Danielle’s pussy, brought it to my mouth, and licked it. Then she licked it, too, and we kissed hungrily around my finger and the sharp taste of her pussy. I pushed my sharkskin-clad leg up between Danielle’s legs and shoved it hard into her crotch. She clamped her thighs around my knee and whimpered. We were in an alley filled with Dumpsters and trash, but all I could smell was Chanel No. 5. I dropped to my knees and slipped both my hands up under Danielle’s dress, pulling it almost to her waist, staring hungrily at her meticulously shaved pussy.
I pushed Danielle against the side of the Dumpster, easing her ass up onto the little shelf so she could spread her legs wider, and buried my face between her spread thighs. I slid my tongue between her swollen lips and tasted the sharp tang of her juice, which was dribbling out as fast as I could lap it up. I teased my way up to her clit and suckled it gently into my mouth, flicking my tongue tip violently up and down against it in a quickening rhythm.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, and gripped my hair to pull my face harder into her. “More,” she whimpered. “Harder. Do it harder.”
I sucked as hard as I could and lapped my tongue rhythmically up on her clit, working the tip under the hood so I could get to her most sensitive spot. Every time I did, I was rewarded with a shuddering groan of ecstasy. Both of us no longer cared who saw or heard. I licked faster and Danielle threw her head back. “Don’t stop!” she gasped as she grabbed the edge of the Dumpster and lifted both of her legs all the way into the air. “Don’t! I’m going to come!”
I brought her over the edge, feeling her thighs closing on my head like a nutcracker and her body twisting atop me as she spasmed. Her feather boa dislodged itself somehow and dropped down around my shoulders, its ends coiling on the ground. Danielle kept moaning, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” as she came, so when I felt the rhythmic convulsions of her body slowing and stopping, I put one hand on her belly to keep her from falling off the Dumpster and pulled myself up with the other. I wedged her against the Dumpster with my body and reached down to unzip my pants.
She stared into my eyes, her face and breasts flushed with orgasm. She had the hungry look of a woman who wants to be fucked so bad she’ll die if she doesn’t get it in the next ten seconds. I must have taken fifteen or twenty fumbling with my belt and slacks and jockstrap, because she closed her eyes and turned away, sounding like she was sobbing hysterically as she gasped, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”
Then I had my dick in my hand, and I leaned back to let a long stream of spit dribble onto the head.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Yeah. Fuck me.”
I rubbed the spittle-slick head against Danielle’s clit a few times, feeling her body shudder every time I did. Was she too sensitive for that right after coming so hard? I didn’t even care. I was going to fuck her the way I wanted to fuck her, and something told me that was exactly what she wanted, too. I teased her mercilessly, making her beg me a dozen times and more.
“Put it in,” she whimpered over and over again. “God, please, put it in me. I need your cock.”
Then I nuzzled it against the entrance to her cunt and pushed it in, feeling her postclimax tightness clamp hard against my entry. I got it into her and started fucking her, slowly at first, then faster as she begged me.
“Harder,” she whispered into my ear. “Fuck me harder, Mr. Cooper. Fuck me like I don’t matter. Make yourself come inside me.”
So I did, pounding into her as hard as I could, until I heard her moaning again and I knew from the shuddering of her body that she was coming a second time. I threw back my head and made the gruffest, most masculine grunt I could manage, and hissed: “I’m gonna come, baby—I’m gonna come in your pussy!” Then I realized I had no fucking idea what a guy felt like when he came, or what his body moved like, not the faintest clue what I should do when I shot my load in Danielle’s pussy. But as if from heaven, my roommate Tony’s fag porn came to me in a rush—of barely academic interest when I watched it, mind you, but now I could remember the frenzied motions of the leather boys as they came on each other. I tried to approximate that, shuddering in just that way and thundering, “Oh, yeah!” as I came.
When we ground
to a halt, Danielle slumped against me, kissing my neck. “I still don’t live far,” she told me.
I pulled down her dress, buttoned up my sharkskin slacks, and buckled my belt. Then I led her by the hand away from the Dumpster I’d just fucked her against. I stopped when I saw Karita leaning up against the doorway to the club, smoking a cigarette.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breathing smoke. “You were making so much noise I just couldn’t resist. I hope you don’t mind?”
I looked at Danielle, who shrugged and smiled. I shrugged, too. Danielle leaned over and gave Karita a quick kiss on the lips. “But you may not come home with us—at least not tonight.”
Karita laughed nervously, and so did I—a very unmasculine sound. Danielle and I left Karita standing there smoking in the alley and walked the four blocks to Danielle’s apartment.
RAKELLE VALENCIA
HEADING AND HEALING
HUSH, OR WE’LL HAVE TO HOG-TIE you, too,” my wife said.
The rope dug into my Wranglers at the ankles. I was slammed flat to my back by the horse dragging my feet out from under me. The Honda snugged my leather boot tops, gouging out a mark that would have cut deeply into my skin. I shouldn’t have stepped off my horse in such a huff to walk off some aggravation. Practice stunk, and if my new partner had been a guy, I would have punched him one in the kisser. Instead, I was fit to be tied with no means of physical release for my frustrations, and she took advantage of that by roping me.
Wiggling upright to sit on my ass, I felt the second rope drop before my hands could reach the first. I knew what they were doing. I was healed, then headed, so to speak. But I was no damned steer, and fooling around like this was dangerous, near to getting a fellow torn in half like those old stories of gladiator times when they quartered folks with four horses for fun or retribution. So I got nervous fast.
Until Kassy, my new header, stepped down from her quarter horse, Spike, and my wife threw me a hint of slack as she dismounted my own roping horse, Dregs. “This ain’t funny,” I said in a gruff manner that sent the women giggling.
“Hush, or we’ll have to hog-tie you, too,” my wife replied.
At least they took the ropes down off the saddle horns. Dregs had been known to be a sadistic joker, and I wasn’t real confident that he’d stay put once he surmised my position of being stretched out between the two waxed ropes. I wasn’t real sure he’d cut me slack instead of making this bad situation worse. He was a rehab that I had picked up along the way and tried to find a job for since no one else was getting along with him proper. He had never attempted to throw me per se, but he was cagey, knowing just how things should go, then doing the opposite unless I knew enough ahead of time to stop him. And the bugger was quick.
With a slight bit of relief, I flopped back into the dirt to lie flat waiting for the giggling twosome to set upon me, most likely with their demand for me to cool off. My wife threw a leg over and squatted above my chest, adjusting her rope from my torso to cinching my wrists. She was my wife, so I let her.
But then Kassy threw a couple of loops and a hooey around my bound ankles with some determination. Now, Kassy was a drifter of sorts. She followed the rodeos. She and Spike could run the speed events, taking most of the buckles every time, but she was a better all-around cowboy than that. Heading steers in the team event with a man healin’ was about the only other work she could get, when she could get it. Pro rodeo was still pretty tough on letting the women compete.
I had watched Kassy and invited her back to my ranch as a potential new partner. My last partner had to get his shoulder dislocated for the fourth time, riding bulls. He was now out of the point-running. Which left me out unless I could wrangle a partner this late in the game. There was only Kassy.
My wife licked her lips and threw a couple of loops and a hooey around my wrists, then stood, convincing my arms to stay above my head with her pointed-toed boots pressing into my pits.
My indoor arena was dead quiet except for the snuffling of the two horses as they wandered away toward a bale of hay used as a practice roping dummy for my three-year-old kid who was now fast asleep under the watchful eye of his grandmother up in the old house.
“Hon?” I asked. I knew I had been acting a little hot under the collar with Kassy since there was a lot riding on those earned points. I also knew my wife had taken her side of things and had asked me to lighten up. But I couldn’t. And I knew that I had gotten unbearable. My tension was seething to boiling. “Hon?” I repeated more tentatively.
In reply, she tugged at her gritty zipper, surprising me with nothing on under those taut Wranglers. She shimmied out of them, kicking her boots off at the same time and stood half naked above me with her crinkly, pruned triangle of hair taunting my sight.
I said no more. That is, until I heard my belt pop open like a soda can and my own zipper complain of being yanked, hard. “What…what’s going on?” I panicked. Tried to kick at Kassy until my wife dropped down to hover over me.
She tore at the pearly snaps of her Twenty-X shirt and leaned on all fours, positioning to fill my mouth with a pert, red nipple while reaching above my head to pressure my tied wrists deeper into the sand. I suckled, forgetting Kassy at that moment.
Kassy walked up and kissed my wife. I’m not talking a small, innocent peck to the lips—it was hot! She grabbed my wife’s hair, entangling fingers, to pull her head upward, then teased her with an open mouth, gently touching my wife’s bottom lip with the tip of her pink tongue just to move away and start again.
The wife’s nipple slipped from my open lips as I gawked. My cock grew in my boxer shorts, and I was glad for the relief Kassy had afforded me before this new torture began.
Their eyes made contact and never left as their mouths danced in an erotic tease. Finally, Kassy sucked my wife’s bottom lip into her mouth and tempted their tongues into play. A feminine hand lifted the weight of my wife’s breasts, fondling them, pulling at each nipple and twisting them to my wife’s muffled moans and groans. The hand that had been wrapped in long brunette tresses eased away to where I could only imagine.
I licked my own lips and looked toward my wife’s pussy, seeing thin, rugged fingers circling her clit shaft. Those fingers drew back, following the crack of ass, and ending, I believed, by my wife’s lower lumbar because that palm had urged her to sit up and forward, fully on my face, leaving my tied hands alone in the trade for balance.
Kassy gave one last kiss to my wife before I felt those same lips at the tip of my cock’s head that had poked its way from cotton captivity. She fisted my shaft, moving the skin up and down its length as her tongue swirled the head and poked into my piss-slit.
My legs kicked once or twice. My mouth hummed with words that were never heard. And my wife began to rock harder on my lips, her engorged clit shaft hitting the tip of my nose, juices sluicing the sides of my stubbly face. I stuck my tongue out and did my best to stroke her hole, which wasn’t easy with the rocking force of an entire body sitting square on my mug.
I dragged the thirty-foot rope by tied wrists to reach for those beautiful breasts. Their heft swayed in my calloused hands until I could find and pluck at the nipples one at a time. Incoherent sounds gurgled in my wife’s throat. And I knew, somewhere in the back of my thick skull, that she was close to orgasm.
But my dick was in Kassy’s mouth. I’m a guy, and I can vouch for the fact that the little head does take over the thinking for the big head at times. This was definitely one of those times. With sweet pussy on my lips, I still couldn’t help but think only of the velvet sheath that swathed my prick.
My tied legs no longer jerked, but my hips bucked. I beat a rhythm into that deep throat until my balls crimped up to where they were almost nonexistent outside of the body. I twitched. I lunged. I moved this side, then that. Kassy rode to stay with it, just like at the pro rodeos.
My wife popped off first. I only realized it when she bore down so hard as to sore up my jaw and slop me to soaking by sq
uirting. I tried to get my mind to her. I tried to rub her breasts just how she liked, though I was hampered by waxed rope tied tightly about my wrists and my brain losing any type of focus other than toward my groin.
Kassy’s calloused fingers took over for her warm mouth, easing the need to shoot my load immediately. She went back to seductively kissing my wife as her other hand lay flat between those breasts, urging my wife off my face and aiding in impaling that sopping, spasming twat onto my cock.
I lost it. I shot load after load while watching my new arena partner seducing my wife with her passionate kissing.
The horses had made short work of the bale and now snuffled the sodden, sandy tangled mess of human flesh, sturdy cotton work clothes, and waxed ropes. Kassy got up and led the animals away by their bits. “I think I’ll let them cool down,” she said as she exited the indoor arena.
I didn’t know whether she meant the horses or my wife and me. But it didn’t matter, I was healed and headed and laid out like a good-scoring steer. I let the ropes have me then. There was no fight left in my bondage.
SHANE ALLISON
FLAT-FOOTED
HATE WHEN PEOPLE TAP ME on the shoulder. Don’t like to be bothered. ’Specially by people I don’t care for anyway. Wish that I could say that I was happy to see David, but I wasn’t. Wasn’t in the mood to be watched by this guy who gets off watching others get off. Fucking perv. I was having one of my bad days. One of those days where nothing was going right.
David picked the worst time to come around here, bugging me, tapping me on my shoulder of self-loathing. He took a seat next to me, asked how I was doing, wanted to know how things were going. “Fine,” I said. I haven’t heard from the bastard in weeks. Hate when people ask how I’m doing. My mouth was just too lazy to speak that day. I just wanted to punch him in the face. I hated everyone in the world, despised everything on this planet. I couldn’t have been in a shittier mood.