by Alison Tyler
He had no idea what he was doing on the deck. No, he did know, but he wasn’t sure how she had put him there, flat on his back.
Lenora’s warm weight pressed into his cock as she straddled him. “You’re not being helpful. I want out of here,” she said. “And you know this won’t hurt.”
He scowled. “Well, the hell with it.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know. Dignity.”
She grinned at him, the mischievous grin that was his secret favorite. She leaned forward and kissed him in earnest. His reluctance steamed away within seconds. Moments later, his hands were firmly gripping her arse, and she was muttering into his ear. “You sure you don’t have any handy explosives tucked in your—”
“You did this to me,” he said, in mock annoyance. “You broke it, I think.”
Lenora dissolved into shaking peals of laughter, entirely satisfying, even through clothing. “Do you have a spanner?”
“You’ll have to improvise,” he said.
Lenora’s grin turned devilish. Her hands swept out and grabbed his wrists, pinning his arms far from his sides. He stayed where she had put him, obedient for the nonce.
She swiftly bared his chest, but when he moved, she stopped him with a touch. “If you like,” he said. He hadn’t thought about it in detail before now, but he could see how Lenora might be one who preferred to take charge. He was willing to let her, so long as he had his turn later. Later?
She unfastened his trousers, a delicate maneuver. Mil winced, and then held still, thinking of cold empty space.
When she licked gently around the crown of his erection, realization struck. The aliens didn’t know what to expect. The two of them could have danced on their toes, and it would not have made a speck of difference to—
Never mind.
The square root of fifty-seven is seven point five-four…nine-eight. And its sine is point eight-three-eight-seven, and its cosine is point five-four-four-six…no, not good enough at all. Eighty-nine squared is seven thousand, nine hundred and twenty-one, which has a cosine of point nine-nine-nine-eight. No, that’s far too rhythmic. How about three, lovely three, prime three, the square root of three is one point seven-three-two-one…
Good-bye, higher brain functions, he thought. Will she respect me in the morning …will she shoot me in the morning? And then he could no longer think at all, the hot, tight suction of her mouth so painfully sweet that he thought he would scream with the pain or the sweetness; then he was coming in hard bursts that seemed to burn all the way up his spine.
When he could see again, he realized that Lenora was laughing, but coughing at the same time. He couldn’t think why. That wasn’t usual.
Lenora rubbed her face with the tail of his shirt. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but she was still laughing. Drowsily, he asked, “What’s so funny?”
She collapsed against him, her soft cheek landing on his chest, warm puffs of her breath stroking his bare skin. He gathered her closer. At last she said, with one final throat-clearing, “Sorry. I miscalculated.”
Surely she hadn’t heard him spouting mathematics—no, she couldn’t have. “What do you mean?”
The question made her laugh again, breaking up her sentence. “Not…your fault…never heard of anything like…”
“What?”
“It…it…missed…my throat. It…came out…my nose.” Lenora shrieked with merriment, slapping his leg in her enthusiasm.
No. Mil covered his face with his hand. Every millisecond had been recorded indelibly by an alien space station. On top of that, he might have hurt his…well, his closest friend. “Damn it! I’m so sincerely sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s all right. Really. Very memorable.” Delicately, she scraped her nail across his nipple and grinned.
He shuddered deliciously and stroked her cropped hair. He raised his voice. “We demonstrated! Now open the door!”
Nothing happened.
Lenora wriggled upward until her face was nestled against his neck. “Really, I haven’t had that much fun in years.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. The door isn’t opening.”
“You worry too much.”
Mil took a deep breath and sat up, pulling her with him. He yelled, “Let us out! Now!”
A strangely accented voice boomed, “We have allotted precisely three segments for the human mating ritual. Only a portion of one segment has been stored. Please provide further demonstrations of the human mating ritual. You will be released when the specified time has passed.”
Silence. Then Lenora snickered. “You said you would make it up to me. Get to work.”
He unfastened the collar of her jacket. “This time, I promise I won’t miscalculate.”
SWEET AND SPICY
Kat Watson
In my hazy sleep-drunk state, I wonder if I should open my eyes or pretend I’m still asleep.
Maggie shifts against me, wiggling one of her legs between mine. My muscles ache and protest, bringing memories of the night before. The biting. The licking. The coming. The love.
As I wake up a little more, I keep my eyes closed and fight the smile that wants to spread across my face. Her body is in front of me, lush curves of her breasts against mine, and the smooth skin of her hips kisses my own. Soft, even breaths escape her mouth and warm my cheek. Blankets surround us, keeping our bodies cocooned in our private haven inside of her bedroom, her house.
“I want to play a game,” she whispers at my ear, clearly able to see right though my feigned state of sleep. “I’m going to put my hand between your legs and we’ll see how long I can spank you with my other hand until you’re wet.”
I recognize the statement as similar to something I read once and smile.
She slides her slim arms underneath mine, pressing our bodies tightly together. The tips of her fingers play in the hair at the nape of my neck as she kisses me intently, with certainty and passion and confidence. The kind of confidence I wish I could wear. She scrapes her teeth lightly against my neck as her fingers wrap around my hair, tugging once before she pulls away slightly. The air that gets sucked into the blankets when she moves to sit up combines with her words swirling in my brain and makes me shiver. I open my eyes.
“Please.”
I’m begging with my eyes, with everything I have, praying and hoping she isn’t teasing me, as she’s prone to doing. She answers with a smile, relieving my fears.
We’re both naked, having exhausted ourselves together the night before. We demand so much of each other and drain ourselves of everything. There’s never an ounce of pleasure or effort left in either of us, having given and taken so fiercely.
With her help—touching and guiding and teasing me on the way—I’m quickly bent over her lap. She moves her fingertips to play over the flesh of my pussy before she begins, stroking and pinching my lips, and I think this game won’t last very long; surely she can tell I’m already wet from her words, her body, everything about her. I worry that I’m going to be too wet too fast, bringing an end to our game before it really begins.
Still, she proceeds, and her fingers rest against my pussy. She moves her fingertips in tight circles against my clit. I want to protest at how unfair it is, how she’s not even following her own rules, but when the sting begins as her first spank lands, I’m flying, lost in the air above us.
She shifts and moves her other hand beneath me. At first, I think it’s so she can support me and hold me in place, but it becomes clear that it’s so that her fingers can glide in and out of me. She fucks me as deep as she can from the angle she’s at, making me squirm and moan. Unfair, my brain chants again, against my body’s sheer hope that she’ll continue even though she’s already made me wet. Swollen and achy. Full of need for her.
“Already?” she says with a half chuckle.
My heart sinks, thinking our game is surely over. I slide into feelings of shame at my own inability to better control the way I respon
d to her. My body automatically begins to pull away, an instinctual need to curl into myself taking over, but her hands steady me. Ground me. Hold me in place, in every sense.
I’m surprised by the even sharper sting of her wet fingers against the swell of my ass, and the sensation makes me gasp. Her continued attention is only part of the shock; the swirling mix of pleasure and pain make up the rest. My eyes close so I can focus on the sensations.
She takes turns landing her palms and fingers against my ass in sharp spanks. Sometimes she smacks directly on the round swell, which makes me squirm, thankful for her attention. Sometimes, it’s a sting in the areas with less padding, making it hurt more, but still I am thankful. I love them both, love the distinct way it feels if she’s using the tips of her fingers to make it sting, or if she’s used her entire hand to impact against my body, making the burn deep and hot.
I lose count of the number of spanks she’s given, grateful she hasn’t required me to keep track so I can focus only on the pleasure and heat building. The fingers she has inside of me wiggle and play, provoking more wetness and sounds, from the source and from my mouth.
She continues this torture, which really isn’t, until I’m writhing. We’re moving in time with each other, her hands synchronized and rhythmically bringing me higher. She’s spanking and fucking and flicking and pinching, and dear god, did she somehow grow more hands? I can’t keep track of her movements as she pushes and pushes, and I’m suddenly on the brink of my orgasm. I try hard to shift my focus and hold it at bay, needing more of her.
My head is heavy, neck resting against her legs, and I’m kind of nuzzling her as she loves and gives to me. Without thinking, I bite her calf—not hard, just a nip. Just a thank-you. Just a please, don’t fucking stop.
She doesn’t stop, but she does laugh very lightly, and it’s a much-needed reassurance. She knows me well enough to know these nonverbal cues. Her palm lands even harder and I bite back another loud moan. Now she’s in the moment, and I know if I look up into her face, I’ll find concentration mixed with passion. This is when Maggie is her most gorgeous, although she’s always beautiful. It’s a shame I can’t see her, can’t watch her deepest in her element.
She strikes harder against my skin. I imagine the pink blossom, imagine the way my skin swells infinitesimally in its attempt to reach out for her. Small noises of exertion come from her, mixed with soft moans and needy breaths. Her knees part farther, her body seeking contact with mine, and I gladly shift to provide it. Her pussy is wet against my outer thigh. The very first lift of her hips and she exhales in a gorgeous, erotic sigh, and I’m conflicted about focusing on pleasuring her or the pleasure she’s bringing me.
She moves her hand, fingertips again reaching to my clit, and lands several quick, stinging slaps directly on top of it. They make the throb swell, and everything intensifies. I’m moments away from coming, whether from the hand she’s spanking me with or the one that’s fucking me, it doesn’t matter.
The spanking stops, both of her hands preoccupied with bringing me only pleasure now, and my whole body starts to tighten. Now, now, now, my brain repeats, and I let go.
As if I had a choice.
I come hard, harder than I can remember ever coming in my life. Loud, foreign noises leave my mouth, and I am powerless. Boneless. Bodiless. I can hear her, too, her wetness slipping and sliding, and her muscles tighten beneath me as she gasps, coming against me.
Once I can think again, I realize I’m panting, my body desperate for the air it was deprived of when I began to crest into my orgasm. For a brief moment, I’m embarrassed at the way I lost all control over myself. Usually, even when I come, it’s controlled and quiet. This time, it was wild abandon and reckless passion. Loud, both of us, our voices, our bodies together. There was nothing at all controlled about it, and I smile wide.
I think about how my whole body will be sore later, especially my ass, but it will be a good sore. The kind of sore that will make me smile even wider. I know Maggie will take every opportunity to remind me, remind us both, of our morning. She’ll press me against the counter in the kitchen, her hands wrapping around my waist and sliding down to pull against hot, pink skin. When we’re out in public and we sit at a table for dinner, she’ll smirk at me, knowing.
When my breathing has slowed to match hers, I curl up on her lap a bit, needing her reassurance. She pulls me to her, and we’re stretching and sliding against each other as we spread out our limbs. We move to the pillows, tangled and wrapped in each other and it’s perfect. Just like she is. Just like we are.
WORKING UP A SWEAT
Heidi Champa
The sky filled with angry black clouds. She circled the gray path, her feet hitting the asphalt in near unison to his. She heard his heavy breathing next to her, saw his firm legs flexing with each step. They ran at the same time nearly every day, but they never really spoke. A few mumbled greetings here and there, but no real conversation. She always wanted to say something to him, even if it was just the tiniest bit of small talk. But she never had the courage to speak to her hot running partner. She told herself he was too young, too cute, too much for someone like her.
The first time she had seen him was a coincidence, a scheduling conflict pushing her workout away from its usual time. After that first run, she permanently moved her running time to coincide with his. Someday, she thought. Someday she would say just the right thing and they would run off into the sunset together. When the sun actually came back out, of course.
They ran in step for a few feet, but then he looked at her and smiled, pulling ahead. She pushed herself forward, regaining the edge from him. They went back and forth for nearly a lap, pushing each other along. As they rounded the last turn, she felt the large, wet raindrops falling on her face. The skies opened, pouring down rain. Not breaking stride, she looked up into the black clouds and heard the thunder in the distance.
Picking up the pace, she started running to the nearby picnic area, getting under the roof as the worst of the storm was coming. After a few moments of being exposed to the elements, the rain had soaked her completely. He was right behind her, following her to the relative safety of the pavilion. When he emerged from the rain, he was sodden, his face red with exertion. He leaned against the brick wall that closed in one side of the building.
She took in the bulk of his frame, the fact that he towered over her, even more so now that they were still. He took his water bottle from his jacket pocket and drank noisily. She stood by the old, wood picnic tables, catching her breath, staring out into the sheets of water falling from the roof. The drops, hitting the ground fat and heavy, were already making puddles, their rhythmic cadence filling the air. She always loved the smell of the rain, and as she took a series of deep breaths, her nose filled with the scent of wet earth. She stole a quick look at her running partner, his eyes already on her as she regained her composure.
He surprised her by holding out his drink, and she walked toward him, reaching for it without much hesitation. He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze as the plastic bottle slipped to the ground, his hand circling her wrist. His grip was tight, but it didn’t hurt that much. The slight pinch of her skin under his grasp sent a fizzling shot of heat to her pussy. Her heart started its crazy beat all over again, the pounding almost as fast as it had been during her exercise.
His smile seemed to be the same one she had seen many times before on the track. But there was an edge to it, a flicker of desire behind his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. She knew it was now or never, or at least that was what it felt like in the moment. With a boldness she had never possessed, she took another step toward him, backing him up to the wall and pressing him into the bricks with her body. Resting her hands on his muscled chest, she eased the length of her body to his. His arms enclosed around her, and she felt their weight on the small of her back. She reached up and pulled his head to her, kissing him firmly on the lips, tasting his sweaty, salty flavor.
She felt his big hands push underneath her clammy shirt, as his tongue slid deeper into her mouth. The fabric of her wet sports bra was pushed aside, replaced by the rough softness of his thumbs sliding over her erect nipples. She reached her hand into his shorts and felt his hard cock, pulsing gently as she squeezed his length. His hands fell away as she sank to her knees in front of him, pulling his shorts down his thighs. She looked up into his eyes before taking him deep into her throat.
He ran his hands through her hair, pulling her down onto his shaft. She slowed him down, teasing him with her tongue. She swirled it over the head, feeling its velvet smoothness between her lips. Moving her hands along his muscular thighs, she felt his cock twitch and grow inside her mouth. Rewarding his patience, she pushed him all the way to the back of her throat. She felt his knees buckle slightly as she eased up and down the full length of his cock. Each time she pulled back, she let her lips slip over the sensitive ridge of the head, before sinking all the way to the base. He groaned, just as another round of thunder rang out above them. She looked up at him, licking the head of his cock, when he suddenly pulled her up to her feet, and pushed her back onto the picnic table.
He knelt in front of the table, pulling her shorts down, leaving them to dangle around one of her feet. He dragged his thick finger down her slit, feeling her warmth. He parted her lips with his thumbs, exposing her wetness, her eagerness. She looked up at him, waiting to feel his hot tongue on her, squirming at his hesitation. He stayed still, content to stare at her, drinking her in with his eyes. Lightning in the distance momentarily caught her attention, just as his tongue swept over her wet pussy.
His finger teased her cunt, gently circling it as he trapped her clit in his mouth, sucking it gently between his lips. He pushed one finger deep and then two, stretching her with his twisting thrusts. Her hips rolled with his tempo, pushing herself hard against his mouth. The wind picked up, and she felt the cool air rush over her, as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Adding her moans to Mother Nature’s voice, she bucked hard against his slowly moving fingers.