by Alison Tyler
He strokes my clit with the pad of a single finger. Such a big man being so delicate—it’s mind-boggling really. But he moves that finger with the perfect amount of pressure and thrusts so very deep inside of me, driving me forward again with the bang of his hips. He doesn’t withdraw any, though. This time, he keeps himself pressed flush to the back of me, rammed deep in the core of me, and he starts to simply nudge his hips side to side so his cock rubs my G-spot in the perfect way. So perfect my lips go a little numb.
His fingers dig into the meat of my hips, and I gasp. “I might fall.”
“You won’t fall,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you; you’re golden. Jill, baby, you’re always golden.”
And I come. His finger on the tight bud of my clitoris, his cock filling me to the point of bursting, his words a humbling rush of syllables in my ears.
He comes a second later, laughing in that way he has. The way that makes me remember why I love him so fucking much.
When he turns me to face him a moment later, we try to fix it—the mess we’ve made of me. My glasses are bent, my skirt is twisted, my giant panties are snagged on one side. And worst of all, my cheap shoe has broken. He tsks.
“Oh, shit,” I say. But what is one shoe in the face of an orgasm, really? I mean, let’s get real, here.
“No worries. Do you know the best thing about this fake stuff?” He’s forgotten the word again, I bet.
“Naugahyde?” I say, smirking.
“Right. Naugahyde. Do you know?”
“What?” I try to fix his once-impeccable DA but his hair bounces back up with irritating ease.
“A little duct tape will blend right in.”
“Oooh, duct tape,” I tease.
Jeff winks at me and it goes straight to my girl parts. “Later, babe. We have a party to get to.”
THE PERFECT PAIR
Sophia Valenti
I’d been thinking about Jesse all day. Whenever I could steal a moment of peace at work, my mind would wander, and I’d dream about his hands massaging my feet and his tongue teasing my toes. My commute home passed by in a flash as I spent the time imagining the look that would be on his face when he finally got to hold my pretty peds in his hands. The adoration that lights up his eyes when he gazes at my bare feet stokes my lust like nothing else.
You see, feet are Jesse’s fetish, but mine is being in control of Jesse. These two desires complement each other perfectly. I choose when and where he’s allowed the honor of worshipping my feet, and in the end we both wind up satisfied.
Jesse had been such a good boy all week—taking care of the house and me—so I wanted to give him a reward. The second I walked in the door that night, I told him that he’d earned a special treat. Upon hearing my words, he slid his lustful gaze slowly down my figure to rest at my feet, as I knew he would. My black peep-toe heels were high and shiny, and offered a tantalizing glimpse of my gleaming toenails, which were painted a bold red.
I sat on the opposite end of the couch, swiveling my body around so that my feet were in Jesse’s lap. I extended one leg so my foot could gently caress his cock, which had already begun to swell beneath his jeans. He groaned as I worked the toe of my shoe along the length of his hardening shaft, tracing its contours until he whispered desperately, “Please, Mistress.”
I stilled my foot, knowing that my tease had brought him dangerously close to orgasm and that he didn’t want to come without my permission. I bit back my smile, pleased that he’d been brought to the point of begging so soon in our session.
“You’re going to have to learn to control yourself, Jesse. You’re such an excitable boy,” I said, once again nudging his erection with my toe tip and making him groan.
“I’ll try, Ma’am,” Jesse whispered, eyes cast downward as he stared at his lap—and the leather pump that ruled his desire.
“Would you like to kiss my foot?”
“Very much so, Ma’am,” he answered, meeting my eyes. His hunger and desperation were written on his face, and a frisson of excitement coursed through me. To be desired so passionately is a heady experience, and it’s one I’ve never taken for granted; this night was no different.
Jesse’s hands were shaking as he held my ankle and reverently removed my shoe. I hadn’t worn stockings that day, and he lifted my bare foot up to his face. He held it still, looking serene as he breathed in deeply to inhale the scent of my warm flesh, no doubt redolent with leather. When he’d gotten his fill, Jesse planted gentle kisses on the tops of my toes, each one a sweet and tender bit of foreplay. After making his way across, his lips slid down my sole, lingering at my arch, where he dared to flick his tongue. It was a teasing touch that resonated within me, almost as if he’d stroked my clit.
I slid down the couch cushions, flexing my foot and waving my toes at him. “Do it again—lick me,” I murmured, nudging off my other shoe.
Jesse lavished my left foot with wet kisses as I moved my right into position, so I could stroke his erection with my toes. My dress rose high on my thighs as I squirmed; his ministrations were making my pussy feel slick and hot, and I couldn’t wait much longer to feel his cock inside me.
“Take off your pants,” I commanded, tracing the length of his fly with my big toe. “Take off everything.”
“As you wish,” he said softly, easing me aside so he could stand and strip.
Jesse’s muscular body was gradually revealed to me as he tugged his T-shirt over his head and then slid his jeans down his thighs. He’s so big and strong, yet he was so eager to please and serve me—a fact that made me ache even more for him.
As he stood before me, I reached toward him with my foot, touching the tip of his bobbing cock. He bit his lip as I teased his shaft with my toes and then lifted it with my foot to press it against his stomach. He rocked his hips forward, pushing against my sole as it massaged the underside of his dick. His handsome face was flushed, and his breathing was reduced to a series of erratic gasps as I brought him to the edge. When I sensed he was on the verge, I pulled back and he exhaled slowly.
Leaning back against the cushions, I raised both of my legs, offering him a good view of my feet, as well as a sliver of my pink pussy. I crooked my finger in a come-hither motion, and Jesse smiled as he positioned himself in front of me and held my ankles in one hand, while he used his other to guide himself into my slick slit. I closed my eyes as he slid into me, filling me so sweetly as he once again began to suck on my toes.
Jesse’s tongue tickled me deliciously as he pumped his shaft in and out of my cunt. I wriggled a hand between my thighs, fingering my clit as he worked his cock. A warm glow simmered inside me until my pleasure burst in a body-shaking explosion. I squirmed wildly but Jesse held my ankles fast, groaning against my soles when I finally gave him permission to surrender to his lust.
Lowering my legs, Jesse took me in his arms and whispered his thanks, which was funny since I have him to thank for endless hours of pleasure—only proving that together, we make a perfect pair.
TAMING HIS WILD CAT
Andrea Dale
She liked to scratch, which is why he called her his little wild cat.
It was harder to scratch him when he encased her hands in mittens that looked like feline paws.
She liked to hiss, which is also why he called her his little wild cat.
It was harder to hiss with a gag in her mouth, one with whiskers sprouting from the strap. The gag went so well with the headband bearing spotted-felt cat’s ears.
If she couldn’t scratch or hiss, then she couldn’t complain when he buckled a collar around her neck.
“Of course,” he said, “I also have to bell my cat.” He dangled the shiny silver clamps in front of her, and she batted at them, making the little bells chime. He laughed, then tugged on her rosy nipples until they pouted, and tightened the clamps around them.
She growled, deep in her throat, when he lubed her ass and slipped in a butt plug—one with a curling cat tail attached. He
tickled her inner thighs with the end of the tail, just to watch her writhe.
He flipped the switch. The plug began to vibrate.
That’s when his little wild cat arched her back and began to purr.
AT THE CAR WASH
Lucy Felthouse
Harriet considered her outfit carefully. She needed access, and she needed it fast. Also, she had to be able to hide what she was doing; she wanted a cheap, exciting thrill, not a warrant for her arrest and a restraining order.
After some deliberation, she chose a formfitting black top that never failed to make her feel sexy, and a loose, floaty, knee-length skirt, also in black. Granted, she’d put together a dark-colored outfit that would absorb heat to wear on one of the hottest days of the year, but she’d be fine; thankfully, she had air-conditioning in the car. Plus, the very idea of what she was about to do was already making her feel all hot and bothered, so it wouldn’t make much difference.
What really mattered, after all, was what they would be wearing. Or, more accurately, what they wouldn’t be wearing. Harriet had deliberately not cleaned her car for ages then chosen a day with record temperatures to take it to the hand car wash. Why?
Because she lived for danger and naughty sexual escapades. A visit to the hand car wash where several shirtless, muscular men would clean her car while she sat inside with her hand down her knickers was definitely in order. It had been on her dirty bucket list for some time and having already ticked off several other items, it was time for her to give the filthy car wash fantasy a try.
Harriet dressed carefully, then tied her hair up into a high ponytail and applied a fresh coat of makeup. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but the more attractive she felt, the more likely she’d be to come before she got caught.
Then, grabbing her purse and car keys, she headed out to her car and got in. She started the engine and pulled on her seat belt. Just before reversing off the drive, though, she looked around, noting the position of her seat in relation to all the windows. Harriet figured that the only way they’d be able to see what she was doing—and even then they probably wouldn’t believe it—was if they were looking through the passenger-side window. She was so close to the driver’s-side window that the angle was all wrong.
Nodding to herself, Harriet put the car in gear, released the handbrake and maneuvred down the drive on the way to her illicit adventure. The hand car wash was only a five-minute drive away, but she was already so excited that she could barely wait to get there. As a result, she broke out in a light sweat and a wash of heat rose up her cheeks and gathered between her legs. Huffing, Harriet switched on the air-conditioning then grinned. If she was already feeling this agitated and horny, she’d probably end up coming before they’d even given her car a preliminary once-over with the jet spray. She might even manage two orgasms!
Harriet shook her head as she pulled into the hand car wash. She knew that wasn’t possible, really. There’d be no time for thinking, for hesitation. And, due to the lack of any other patrons—she’d picked her arrival time carefully and it had paid off—her time was now. Right. Fucking. Now.
Beaming as the topless guy approached her car, Harriet rolled down the window and told him she just wanted the outside of the car cleaned. Truthfully, the inside could have done with it too, but there was no way she was going to fling the door open and get out having just masturbated in her car while they washed it. It was unlikely her legs would hold her up, in any case.
No, she’d stay safely ensconced in her little motor—
Her thought process was interrupted by much waving from the several men standing a couple of dozen feet away. They were ready and were beckoning her into position. All except one were shirtless, and he wore a tank top so she still had a delicious view of his arms, which were definitely worth looking at.
After rolling the window back up, she inched closer until one man held up a hand indicating she should stop. Harriet did so immediately, and simultaneously slipped a hand up her skirt, shoved her barely there thong to one side and stroked her fingers through her folds. Her pussy was already damp, and as she gazed out of the window at the half-naked men surrounding her car, she began to play. Cautiously, at first, but as the spray of the jet wash caused her car to rock and vibrate—not to mention obscuring the windows—Harriet grew braver and more enthusiastic.
Knowing the additional movement she was causing inside the car would go unnoticed, Harriet rubbed her clit vigorously, occasionally dipping down between her pussy lips for more juices to slick over her swollen nub. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t. Instead, her gaze flicked from the windscreen, to the side mirrors and windows, to the rearview mirror in turn, checking out the flexing muscles that were alternately spraying, rubbing and buffing her car. Each and every one of them was a sight to behold, and had one pulled her out of the car and bent her over it, she wouldn’t have resisted. Not even if they’d passed her round like the last cigarette.
Boy, was it hot. As Harriet’s right hand continued to stroke and pinch at her clit, her left flicked the air-conditioning switch, lowering the temperature even further before she was in danger of spontaneously combusting. A fresh blast of cold air was a blessing over her heated skin, making her aware of the fact that a fresh blast of cold water was being aimed over her car. They’d almost finished washing, she’d soon have to move the car around the corner to the area where they dried and polished exteriors and cleaned the windows.
Harriet had literally seconds to go. Milliseconds, perhaps. Concentrating fully on the pleasant rock and rumble of her car, and the damp fingers manipulating her clit, Harriet bit her lip as she felt the welcome wave of orgasm wash over her. She couldn’t help it—her eyes squeezed closed and she let out an involuntary squeak as her legs clamped together over her hand. Her pussy clenched forcefully, the strength of the climax taking Harriet’s breath away and leaving her feeling like a mass of quivering jelly. Thank god she was sitting down.
A bang brought her back to earth with a bump. The guy in the tank top had tapped on the hood of her car, bringing her attention to the guys waving madly and indicating she should move on. Snatching her hand from her crotch and yanking her skirt down, she put the car in gear and drove around to the drying area. Her heart thudded in her chest. That had been seriously fucking close.
Not to mention seriously fucking good. A grin spread across Harriet’s face as it dawned on her that she’d done it. She’d crossed another item off her dirty bucket list. A cheeky wank in a hand car wash without getting caught.
As the muscular men surrounded her car once more, buffing and spraying various chemicals on the windows, tires, trims and paintwork, Harriet adopted a happy, relaxed expression. She’d have plenty of time to leap around and congratulate herself when she got home, but she’d just have to keep her excitement at her dirty little secret under wraps for a little longer.
Finally, when her car was shining and sparkly clean and she handed over the cash to pay, she caught the eye of one of the other guys. He was watching her with an expression akin to hunger, then when he realized she was looking back at him, his face broke into a knowing grin and he gave her a lusty wink.
Taking her change with a hasty word of thanks, Harriet rolled up the window and drove out of the hand car wash as fast as was safely possible.
Perhaps her dirty little secret hadn’t been so secret after all…
Nevertheless, it had been worth it.
THE EXORCISM
Veronica Wilde
Cara? You’re my five o’clock?“
The deep voice made my guts clench. That was the voice my ex-boyfriend Ben had fallen in love with. The voice he had left me for five months ago. I turned and faced the hairstylist waiting for me.
Shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, a ring in his lip. Yep, Hunter was as cute as everyone had said. I felt a stab of jealousy and attraction at the same time.
“That’s me,” I lied. Pretending to be just a girl looking for a haircut
. Pretending I wasn’t really scoping out the guy who’d lured my boyfriend away from me. I forced a smile, aware of how crazy this whole idea was. But I’d been unable to stop thinking about Ben, and I had to finally see for myself this new lover of his.
Hunter said, “The chair’s over here.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off him in the mirror as we discussed the kind of cut I wanted. His fingers moved through my long red hair with sensual confidence. He smelled fantastic and his easy, sexy smile spelled out what Ben had found so irresistible. I was jealous, yes. But my curiosity was taking on an uncomfortably erotic edge.
Those velvety brown eyes met mine in the mirror. “Come on. The sink’s back there.”
I could scarcely breathe as the hot water poured through my hair, his fingers rubbing shampoo into my scalp. These were the fingers that touched my boyfriend each night. The hands that played with Ben’s cock were stroking my head. My nipples filled with heat. Stop it, I scolded myself. This is your rival.
Nor did I feel exactly sexy as I settled back into the chair, wet hair dripping down my neck. I was glad now I’d given him a fake name; I didn’t want him to think of Ben’s ex-girlfriend as this girl with running mascara in his chair. But when his eyes met mine again in the mirror, I swallowed hard. Damn him for being so hot. Damn him for luring my boyfriend away.
I’d known Ben was bisexual when we met. It hadn’t bothered me. When he ditched me for Hunter, I told myself it didn’t matter if it was a man or a woman who stole him. But thinking about them together made me obsess over what Hunter had that I didn’t—besides the obvious.