by Alison Tyler
He turned his head. “You can tell me what you want now. I’m pretty sure I’d sign over the house to you at this point.”
She gave his ass a squeeze and went silent for a moment. “I want to have a baby, Duke, and I want you to be the father.”
Nuzzling into his shoulder, she bit her lip and waited for his response. First, nothing, then his eyes grew wide and he pushed up like a shot. “What? Are you fucking kidding me?”
She gave his ass another squeeze and laughed. “I’m fucking with you. Jesus, are you fucking kidding me? No, I lost my job and I want you to help me find a new one.”
Down he went, flopping on his back with his hand covering his face. “That was a shitty thing to do.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was a joke. Your brains are just congealing at the end of a condom right now.”
He peeked through his fingers at her. “Okay, so you want me to help you find a job. All the fanfare was for this? The food, the booze and the sex?” He tucked his hands behind his head and grinned at the ceiling. “I think that this afternoon should be a starting point to favors rendered.”
Tabby narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, really? You want a home-cooked meal every night?”
“Let me fuck you like that every day after work and I’ll have dinner waiting for you.” His gaze cut to her and his smirk widened.
Tabby basked in the little pop of jubilation at the thought of a regular and vigorous schedule with Duke. “That sounds like a deal to me.”
Duke raised his hand, pinkie out.
Giggling, Tabby hooked her finger with his.
MAD GHOSTS OF LUST
Kristina Lloyd
Everything came clattering down as it would in the movies. Shampoos and shower gels got knocked for six, a bar of soap slithered to our feet, a razor scooted down the side of the tub. He fucked me from behind, water splashing between us. Struggling for balance, I bashed a tap. The temperature shot up, making us shriek. That might have got a laugh from an audience. I turned the tap down. Too cold. Up again, better. I flailed for something to hold, grabbed the shower curtain then thought again because curtains cost money and anyway it wouldn’t have worked except as a metaphor for reckless passion.
So I braced myself as best I could, one hand on the slippery tiles, another on the tub edge. Steam enshrouded us carrying scents of cosmetics, visions of vanilla chiffon. Pale streaks of foam spiraled into the drain and vanished.
His hands dug into my hips. In the midst of the vapor and wetness, his cock shored me up, enormous and substantial where I was soft and hidden. They wouldn’t show that in the movies. This wouldn’t even make a porno because it wasn’t camera friendly. Impossible to see our thrusting contact, secondary sex characteristics and my all-important twisting face.
“I’m going to be late,” he hissed. “Move your foot.”
The tub squeaked beneath me.
Janet Leigh’s shower scene popped into my head. A layer of knowledge beneath the surface of the story tells me they stabbed melons to make the sound of her being knifed. And that she stayed in the shower for too long: she soaped herself, rinsed, then lingered for no other reason than the sensual enjoyment of water, the caressing of her wet self. Ain’t that always the way? Woman gets punished for her pleasure.
I get punished for my pleasure too, but you have to flip the logic of that sentence to appreciate my meaning.
An hour before the shower, he’d trussed up my tits in a rope harness, making them balloon and flush. He’d fixed clamps to my nipples, tied my wrists to the headboard and, around my eyes, he’d wrapped a navy-blue, polka-dot scarf which my friend Maggie had given me as a thank-you gift after I’d fed her cat while she was holidaying in the Netherlands. I’d never liked that scarf. Sorry Maggie. We use it for bondage now.
He fucked me harder and harder. The pain biting my nipples soared, leveled out and soared again whenever he knocked or twisted the clamps. He dug his fingers into my blood-suffused flesh. Colors bloomed behind my eyelids and when I was there, the colors were my world. Flickering clutches of coming pulled me into myself and flung me out. Inside and outside, all at the same time.
Ecstasy escapes description; it’s like trying to package steam.
In the shower, I didn’t come. He did, pulling out of me, his white fluids chasing suds down the drain in separate blobs and strings. It didn’t look like bliss.
He had to dash. Dinner with some clients at eight. He dried off and I stayed in the shower for too long, because I can without dying for my desires. I will do. They don’t give you your sexual freedoms. You have to claim them.
When he’d gone, because I wasn’t finished yet, I lay on the rumpled bed, and brought myself off with my fingers. I thought of how he’d behaved earlier, sadistic and cruel, reveling in my cries from the pinch of the clamps and the slam of his cock. Then I fell asleep for an hour or so. When I woke, my hair was in a crazy, damp tangle and my breasts were a mess of scratch marks and blotches. And he was probably eating wild turbot because he usually does when it’s on expenses at Saxby’s. I would too.
The point I’m making: sex isn’t like it is in the movies; it isn’t even like porn. Sex isn’t like anything except itself. At the time, it is most like bodies and least like bodies.
And afterward it falls back to lie in our memories, mad ghosts of lust rising up to consciousness on the train, at our desks, in our dreams.
BOOKMARKED
Alison Tyler
Gina sat in her bed and tried to read High Window. She’d devoured the novel many times before, but familiarity didn’t stop her from rereading her favorite works. Tonight, however, the words blurred in front of her eyes. She could only see the man in the store—his name was Andrew Martin. He’d written that on the bookmark. She toyed with the slim piece of stiff blue paper. Should she call him? What would she say?
She reached for the phone. Put it down. Picked it up.
She dialed the number, then almost slammed the phone down again when she heard his voice: “Hello?”
Her first word came out as a husky whisper, “Hello,” as if she were auditioning for a part as a 1-800-porn actress.
“Hello?” he said again, and she cleared her throat and said, “I’m the girl…” but then she didn’t know what to put after that. The girl who masturbated in your store. Jesus, Gina, get a grip. She was a second from disconnecting the line when he said, “Don’t hang up. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
She swallowed over the lump in her throat but didn’t say a word.
“You’ve been on my mind all day. I can’t stop thinking about you. Will you come over?”
“This isn’t a booty call,” she said, but she was lying. It was midnight. She was calling a stranger. She wanted him to fuck her. What other type of call would this be?
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not. It’s different. I want to do things to you…”
She sighed, “Like what?”
“You’re so nervous, so twitchy. I want to tie you down…and punish you.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she sighed.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Like wasn’t the right word, but she didn’t attempt to correct him. “Yes, I would,” she said, and it sounded like a confession.
“Can I come over? Can I play with you? I’ll go slow. I promise.”
“No,” she told him. She could hear his disappointment over the line, even though he hadn’t spoken. “You can come over, but you can’t go slow.”
She gave him her address and then she waited, pacing through her apartment wearing only her robe. She felt as if she were in a waking dream—she could see herself in the mirror, could hear her thoughts, feel her actions, but she felt as if the whole world had been plunged underwater. Everything was slow, languid, distorted.
He knocked twenty minutes later and she let him.
“Vanilla,” he said, and he smiled. “Are you trying to give me a message?”
“It’s always been my favorite scent
. That’s all. Just a scent.”
She didn’t know what to do, standing there in the hallway. He looked different than he had at the store. Less scruffy, that was for sure. More adult in his button-down white shirt, dark jeans, black boots. He was taller than she’d imagined, and he looked so serious.
He lifted her face toward his, his fingers under her chin, tilting up.
“I saw you,” he said. “You sat on the ladder in my back room and you put your hand down your skirt.”
She still couldn’t believe she’d done that. Only borderline crazy people did things like that. But he didn’t appear disturbed by her actions.
“What were you thinking about?”
Nothing like this had ever happened to Gina before. She decided to be fully honest. Where she might have said, “I don’t know” in the past, this time she said, “You fucking me.”
He smiled, and that softened the seriousness of his expression, the look in his eyes.
“It’s been a long time for me,” she said. “I guess I forgot that part of myself.” That was her only explanation for what she’d done, and it was the truth. She hadn’t been on a date in over a year, hadn’t slept with a man in eighteen months, since her last brief disaster of a relationship.
“It’s an important part,” he said, and he pressed against her, pushing her toward the wall. She sighed and then bit her lip. She wanted him to fuck her. Her whole body was aching. He seemed to sense her needs, but he didn’t give her what she wanted.
“You touched yourself in my store,” he said, “in a public place, without permission. You’re going to need to be punished for that.”
Oh, god, he was speaking to her in a language she’d only fantasized about.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She nodded.
“Do you accept what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” she stammered. “Yes, Andrew.”
“Turn around and face the wall.”
She did as he said, and she felt him lifting her cream-colored satin robe to her hips. He stroked her ass through her panties once, almost lovingly, before bringing his palm back and smacking her bottom hard. Gina groaned and arched her hips back, showing him with her body that she wanted more.
“Good girl,” he said, admiring her position. She heard the sound of his buckle being undone, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.
“Ten with the belt,” he said. “I think that would be fair. Don’t you?”
She nodded. Her hair fell in front of her eyes and she tossed her head back.
“Have you ever been whipped before?”
She shook her head this time, and then she found her voice. “No, but I’ve wanted it.” Her voice was trembling, but she made herself say the words aloud. “God, I have wanted it bad.”
He doubled the belt, made the leather snap. She sucked in her breath, faced the wall and waited. Andrew did what she’d asked him over the phone. He went fast. The ten stinging blows landed in rapid succession as they met the curves of her ass. Gina held herself in check, palms flat on the cold wall, accepting each fiery stripe. The pain burned inside of her, but it was a sweet pain. Different from anything she’d thought, anything she’d fantasized. Better. She relished every blow. When he was finished, Andrew dropped the belt and reached for her. He carried her to her bedroom and threw her down on the bed. Gina waited for the next command, but there was none forthcoming. Andrew was in motion now, pulling down her panties, undoing his button fly, climbing behind her on the mattress.
He put her on her hands and knees and took her doggie-style. She groaned out loud from the moment the head of his cock parted her pussy lips.
“I don’t want you touching yourself without my permission again,” he said.
She tried to reply, but she only managed to moan.
“Do you understand, Gina?”
She tried again, hearing the words in her head before she said them out loud. “Yes, Sir.”
He responded by fucking her harder, gripping her long dark hair in his hand as he pounded into her body. She held herself still as he worked her, unsure of whether he’d want her to buck back against him or not. This was new to her. Outside of her fantasies, her daydreams, the stories she told herself when she came, this was new.
But it felt old. It felt as if she’d always been on the bed with this man, always had his hands on her body, always had his whispered words working through her mind.
He reached one hand under her and began to rub her clit as he fucked her. She made a low, keening sound under her breath, unable to stop herself.
“Come when I tell you,” he said.
Could she? Gina felt that she was right on the edge, teetering. What if he didn’t tell her fast enough? What if he didn’t say that she could and she came without permission? What if…
“Come now,” he said, and she thought, Thank fucking god, as the climax broke within her. She could not remember a time of greater pleasure. Her ass still felt hot from the hiding he’d given her with his belt, but her pussy felt liquid with the intensity of her bliss. Her arms were trembling. He held her in place with his hands on her waist as he slammed into her. She had the sense to realize he’d let her come before he reached his own orgasm, and this gentlemanly touch made her smile to herself—as if he’d held the door for her, or placed his coat over her shoulders on a chilly evening.
He came as hard as she had, and then wrapped her in his arms and settled with her on the bed. She reached to pull the sheets around them, and when she did, her book fell off the pillow.
Andrew saw she’d had the book open, spine cracked. She saw the frown on his face as he slid the bookmark between the pages and shut the novel, but he didn’t say a word. Still his hands went under the covers and he traced the lines he’d left there with his belt. Bookmarked.
CUCKOLD’S NEST
D. L. King
He was young and his cock was as hard as a steel rod. No foreplay was necessary. He took off his clothes and, bang: hard and ready. Not like your sad, little caged protuberance. I can’t imagine you were ever like that, were you?” She shook her head in mock sadness as she gazed at Bob. He knelt, naked, with the exception of the chastity device affixed to his cock and balls. He yawned, silently.
“Does this bore you?”
“Sorry, Ma’am.” It wasn’t so much that it was boring, it was that it was just stories. He needed more.
“And then today, at lunch, I seduced a UPS guy. All tan and muscles, he looked great in his uniform shorts but he looked even better out of them. Nine-inch cock, at a minimum. Straight and thick. And boy could he eat. Someone had trained that boy well. I had three orgasms before we even got to the actual fucking. I thought about you—stuck here, cleaning the bathroom or the kitchen or whatever it was you were doing.”
“Look, Barbara,” Bob stood up. “I just don’t think this is working anymore. It used to be great, but I need more now.”
Barbara looked at him. Stepping out of character, she said, “What do you mean, baby? This is exactly what we discussed.”
“Well, I think it’s time for a renegotiation. I mean, it’s always the same: big cock yada yada yada, muscles yada yada yada, long, blond hair yada yada yada, better in the sack—do you actually have sex with these random guys?”
“Of course I do! I wouldn’t lie to you. Is that what you think? That I’m lying? That these guys don’t exist?” Barbara sat down on the bed and ran her fingers over his chastity device, playing with his caged cock, running her little fingernail over the skin that was reachable through the slits and fondling his balls. “Do you want me to bring one home, fuck him in front of you?” She could already see his skin swelling, filling any available wiggle room.
Barbara arrived home with the barista from her coffee shop. Bob had to admit, he was something—shoulder-length blond hair, green eyes and tall—really tall. He wondered what the guy thought when he saw Bob, naked, in cuffs and a chastity cage.
The guy pulled Barbara
to him, kissing her almost violently. Breaking the kiss, still holding Barb, he opened his eyes, made eye contact with Bob, smiled around her mouth and winked. A delicious shiver ran through Bob.
“Come here, Bob.” Barista Boy’s arm was around her shoulder, his fingers playing inside the neck of her blouse, underneath her bra. “I’m going to free you so you can properly appreciate everything Alex is going to do to me. You can touch yourself all you want but you’d better not come.” She unlocked his chastity cage and let it fall to the carpet. “Go sit in your chair and watch what a real man does with your wife.”
Bob’s cock was already lengthening and thickening as he made his way to the hard-backed wooden chair in the corner. It got appreciably larger as he watched Alex undress his wife.
Alex tweaked her swollen nipples before hooking his thumbs into the waist of her panties, pulling them past her hips, down her thighs and over her knees. Not until she was completely naked, with the exception of her red leather pumps, did he stand and unbutton the waist of his jeans. Leaving them open, he pulled the T-shirt over his head, exposing the pecs of a guy who obviously spent all his free time at the gym.
Alex finished unbuttoning his jeans and slid them down his legs, pulling them off. He’d gone commando, so there was nothing hiding his enormous package, which he pulled and stroked. The guy had a gorgeous big cock. He stroked it twice more, appreciating the sight of Bob’s naked wife, before going to his knees and latching his mouth to Barbara’s cunt. Bob watched as the guy’s cock bobbed in time to what he imagined was Alex’s sucking rhythm.
Barbara flung her head back and moaned. “Oh, god, Alex, you’re so good—so much better than my worthless husband.” She wrapped her hand around his cock as she kissed him. “God, so big. Not like the tiny, little nothing Bob’s got between his legs.”
Bob’s tiny, little nothing had grown to a very respectable length and thickness as he stroked it gently, not wanting to overstimulate himself. He watched as Alex pushed his wife to her knees and fed her his cock. He almost lost it when she gagged a little as Alex pressed her face to his body, but he managed to maintain. He let his cock bob in time, without the use of hands, as Barb sat atop Alex and rode him while her lover squeezed her tits. He saw her shudder with an orgasm a few minutes before Alex pulled out of her, porn movie style, and came on her stomach for Bob’s benefit. Bob’s painfully hard cock ached as she made him crawl over to lick Alex’s come off her skin.