by Alison Tyler
I laughed. “Really? How can you tell?”
His chair moved closer to mine, and he took my face in his hands. “Because you look gorgeous every night.” His breath was hot on my neck as he nibbled on my earlobe. His right hand brushed down my chest, pausing briefly to dip his fingers into my bra.
My nipple responded instantly to his touch, pushing hard against his fingertip. I moaned in frustration. “Oh Daniel. God, you’re killing me.” His head went lower, to my cleavage. He pulled the dress and bra down, flicking at the sensitive bud with his tongue, before taking it in his mouth and sucking gently.
Tears appeared behind my eyelids as I savored the sensation. The air of the restaurant was cool; his mouth was hot. The combination sent shivers through me, even as the trickle between my thighs turned into an ocean. I pulled my skirt up, fully intending on pushing the thong aside and using my fingers inside me. The vibrations were amazing, but they weren’t helping fill the need I had.
He pushed his chair away, leaving me sitting there with one breast out and my skirt almost to my waist. “The entree should be here in a minute. I’ll be right back.” The vibrations stopped as he hit the remote. He tapped his fork against his glass, which summoned the waiter. “Can you please escort me to the men’s room?”
“Certainly, sir.” The sound of two sets of footsteps walking away from the table allowed me to just breathe for a second and relax. I returned my breast to its proper place, but couldn’t ignore the pulsating beat of my aroused cunt. Drawing my chair as close to the table as I could get, I reached under my skirt, and almost gasped with relief as my fingers invaded the moist heat.
I thrust a few times, trying not to push myself over the edge. Flexing around my fingers, I allowed myself a quick fix, withdrawing as I heard him returning. He leaned toward me, sniffing the air.
“Oh Sarah,” his voice was low and husky. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?” I giggled my agreement. “Just for that, you’re going to have to wait until dessert for your next surprise.” I immediately put on my pouty face, the one always guaranteed to get me what I want, when I realized, once again, that he couldn’t see me. So I just sighed as our dinner arrived.
Even without my sight, and my lack of coordination in general, I managed to get through the entree without any major mishaps. What pissed me off was that instead of continuing the sexual dance, like we had during the appetizer, he started small talk, asking how my day at work was, and filling me in on his latest project. I managed to answer in even tones, but inside I was FUMING. How dare he get me all worked up, just to drop me in a bucket of cold water?
Well, I’d show him. As soon as dinner was over, I’d take the car and go home to my vibrators—again. Who cared how he’d get home? I wasn’t going to play his games any longer.
“Are you ready for dessert?” As he cleared the plates, the waiter addressed Daniel. “Absolutely.” He replied. I muttered something under my breath, which both men took for agreement.
Daniel’s hand reached for mine, which I stubbornly removed from his grip. If he was going to be that way…
My chair was moving! Daniel was pulling me toward him. Stroking my hair, he whispered, “Come here honey. Let me hold you.” I pulled away. Hauling me to my feet, he moved my chair. I bumped into someone, barely managing to stay upright. “So sorry.” I breathed.
“Quite all right, Miss,” our waiter responded. Plates were placed on the table. “Will there be anything else this evening?”
“Yes, can you please take her chair? She’ll be sitting with me.” Another chuckle from the darkness. I didn’t want to sit on Daniel’s lap, but there was no way I could safely sit on the floor, and standing was just silly.
“Fine.” I stepped in front of him, preparing to sit down. Instead I was pulled facing forward into his lap, straddling him in the chair. I gasped as his fingers pulled the thong aside, just as I had before, but instead of fingering me, he plunged into me with his hard-on.
He was fucking me. I was fucking him, right there. With dozens of people around us. And no one could see. I moaned as he kissed me, this time hard and hungry. His cock was hard as granite and felt like heaven as he guided me, helping me keep my balance as I fucked him as quietly as I could. I sat down hard, feeling his muscles coil as he barely bit back a grunt. His fingers found my clit, stroking it in a set rhythm, and I swallowed another moan. I flexed around him, rocking slowly back and forth. I stood again, keeping the tip of his head just barely inside my walls. I flexed again and swiveled my hips, and then slowly sank down, coming hard around his shaft.
“Honey, I think I’m going to…” he began, and I flexed again, kissing him as I felt him shoot off inside me. My pussy clenched as his fingers flew over my clit in a frenzied dance, and within seconds I was coming again, biting his shoulder to keep from crying out.
We sat like that for a minute, just holding each other. “Sarah, I think we should…”
I moved. “Yeah, I agree. Let’s get out of here.” He tapped his fork against his glass.
We both stood on shaky legs, as the waiter came over. “I think we’re done for the evening,” Daniel told him, and the waiter put my hand on his shoulder, caressing it briefly, with Daniel’s on mine, and led us out. “I trust you had a good evening?” I could tell he said it with a smirk.
“Yes, we did,” I replied with a sweet smile to my voice. “I trust yours was equally as…entertaining.” He laughed. “Yes, Miss, yes it was.”
As we said our good-byes and walked out into the well-lit lobby, I stopped to allow my eyes to adjust. And appearing in front of me was a bank of monitors. I didn’t even think of security cameras!
I held on to the desk, mortified, as Daniel spoke with one of the guards. He was passed a disc and high fives were exchanged.
As he led me outside to the waiting limo, I had to ask. “Who was that?”
“Oh, that was just Kenneth. A guy I used to work with. He gave me a copy of the footage from the camera pointed at our table tonight.”
As Stanley helped us into the car I groaned and held my head in my hands. “You mean they saw all that?”
Daniel slid over and put his arm around me. “They did. And they said I was the luckiest man in the world.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me tenderly. “And they’re right.”
I leaned into him and grinned, holding up a strawberry. “We missed dessert.”
But Diary, we made up for that.
Just ask Stanley.
CHAPTER THREE
SLIPPERY WHEN WET—
CUNNILINGUS
Cunnilingus is next to godliness.
—KALI NICHTA
My hand guides your head down, your probing tongue settling between the juncture of my thighs. I hold you in place as you part my lips with yours, searching for my bud of passion. You find it; I gasp. You quicken; my grip strengthens. You work tirelessly; I come. You’re such a good boy.
—J. SINCLAIRE, “PASSION”
Oh god, yes.
I want more. Give me more. Spread me open. Lick me up and down. I devoted one chapter to oral sex in Never Have the Same Sex Twice, and you know what? That wasn’t enough. And it wasn’t really fair. Cunnilingus really deserves its own chapter, or night on the town, or holiday weekend.
I’ve written about oral delights in more stories than I can lick—I mean, count. Sometimes, my characters talk about what’s happened in the past, like in this clip from “Burned”:
I’d told him about the time she splayed me on the kitchen floor and licked my pussy for hours without letting me come, a candle in her hand, drip-dripping wax all over my body whenever I got too close to climax.
I’ve penned that first breath of a tongue on a lover’s pussy, like in “Seeing Stars”:
We were nine floors up. But we were on top of the world, on top of Los Angeles. His mouth crested over my pussy, not locking on, not licking in. He was teasing me. I was shuddering.
And then I’ve moved on to the main event, as
in “Zachary’s Bed”:
I moan as he spreads me with his thumbs, parts my nether lips like the petals of a flower. I moan again as his warm mouth opens and he slides his tongue in crazy circles there, where I need him, there, and I can’t keep from shifting my hips to the rhythm he sets with his tongue, rocking with him while he laps at me. Laps and licks and kisses me with his magic tongue.
“Zachary—” I am begging, beyond shame, straining at the ties that won’t allow me to reach him. I need to touch him, need my hands on his skin, my nails digging down his back, my fingers twisting in his still-wet hair.
“Sh, Risa.” I feel the words against my skin rather than hear them, feel the gentle motion of his mouth and tongue echoing inside me. “Please.” I arch as I say it. Desperate.
“Sh, darling,” he croons in the lullaby voice that has infiltrated my fantasies. “Sh, Risa,” he whispers as I slide on the slippery sheets, pressing hard against his lovely mouth.
Of course, when things really get heated, I like pushing the envelope as far as settings go, like in this gang-bang piece, “Last Call”:
Brody pulls my panties down then, and I raise my hips up to help him, but I don’t stop stroking those cocks. I feel energized, as if I could do this all night. The low, hungry sighs of the men is payment enough. I am the center, the focus of attention, and I bask in the glow.
Brody dives back between my thighs, and I bend my knees and splay for him, back arching. He’s so good. Declan knows how to eat me, knows all the tricks and turns I love best. But there’s something unreal about having that magic moustache run over my pussy lips and against my inner thighs.
I enjoy the way writers dance around the topic, making sweet spiraling circles, or loopy figure eights.
Writer Angell Brooks told me, “So many of us are sexually active early on in life. I overheard someone saying to a girlfriend over coffee one day that since she thought oral sex is the most intimate act you can do with someone, you should wait until it’s someone you absolutely trust. And I wondered, what if…?” In a “A Taste of Trust,” she answers her own question.
I needed to trust before I’d let someone do this to me. And after a year, I trusted Eddie to take care of me.
To be my first.
“Eddie, I need to come, like now,” I purred. Horny as hell, I looked into his eyes and whispered the words he’d waited a year to hear. “Eat me.”
He knelt on the floor between my legs, his fingers parting my swollen lips. Leaning in close, his tongue slipped out, sliding through my wetness.
The tip of his tongue teased my clit, stroking as he would with his fingers. I whimpered, goose bumps already forming on my exposed flesh. He took his time, sipping, tasting, running patterns through the slick layer of want that covered me. He licked me with a broad stroke of his tongue, covering everything with one rough slide. I shivered. “More.”
He fucked me as thoroughly with his tongue as he always did with his fingers, twisting it inside me as if every section of my pussy was a different flavor, and he wanted to taste them all.
His lips fastened around my clit, sucking and tugging on it. “Please. Eddie…” I pleaded. “Make me come.”
“As you wish,” he whispered with a grin. With a strategic nibble and lick, he pushed me screaming over the edge. My cunt clenched in spasms as I felt him lapping at my come.
As I fell backward, a satisfied giggle escaped my lips. And one single word.
“Again.”
In “Mrs. Claus and the Naughty Elf,” Andrea Dale won me over from her opening line: “You first.” What woman doesn’t want to hear that?
“You first,” he said.
She felt inner walls flutter and clench at his words. There was nothing like lying back and being worshipped, and if he was offering, she was going to accept it gladly.
He nipped at her hip, scraped his fingers along her inner thigh, and she shivered. Rough but respectful, aware.
But his tongue snaked between her folds, lapping at her juices, and then he moved up to her clit and settled in as if enjoying a feast. She tugged at her own nipples as the heaviness built in her belly, in her cunt.
She tensed, a subtle movement, but he caught it. He picked up the pace, flicking his tongue faster over the hard nub, but at the same time backing off on the pressure, just a little, as she became more sensitive.
The familiar roll started, a wave building, growing, curling…
The wave broke, and she screamed as she drowned in it.
And then, oh god oh god, he didn’t stop, and the undertow caught her and tossed her and flung her into another orgasm, sharper and stronger than the first.
In “Ecstasy,” by Molly Moore, a woman loses herself in a sultry memory:
I remember his fingers finally pushing deep inside me and the slow firm rubbing of that tender spot high up on my vagina wall. I remember the feel of my warm juices as they leaked from within me and ran down over my thighs and arse. I remember the throb and ache of my clit as he continued his slow deliberate massage of it; I remember the way I spread my legs as wide as I could; I remember the feeling of fullness as he slowly eased more fingers into me; I remember the way the muscles in my lower belly twitched and spasmed as my orgasm started to build deep inside me. For a moment it felt like I was being wound up like a spring, coiled ever tighter and tighter, by his controlled movements when all my body seemed to want was more, deeper, harder, fuller, faster, tighter, stronger and then I remember the dip of his head, the warmth of his breath and finally the searing heat of his mouth on me and then ecstasy.
Cheyenne Blue writes in “A Story About Sarah”:
I taste her. I eat her. I push my face up between her legs, so far that my nose is wedged against her mound, my chin wet with her juices. She smells so strong then, and I love it. I lick her delicately, using my tongue all around her pussy, pushing it inside, and then around and around her clit. She’s vocal, my Sarah, and she hums and sighs and grunts in pleasure. Sometimes she’ll hold my head, trying to direct me, but I’ve been doing this for so long that I know the moves; I know the paths that she loves the most.
She shivers when she comes, a whole-body sort of shiver that starts at her toes, travels up along her legs, so tautly held, and into her rigid abdomen. She clenches down, as if pushing herself into the blanket, into the red earth, will make her come harder. If my fingers are inside her, I can feel her internal little tremors too, all flickery and shivery. It would be a delicate dance around my fingers, except that she’s so strong. She always comes. Once, maybe twice.
Don’t relegate oral pleasures to foreplay only. Whether you’re spending time between your partner’s thighs—or spreading your own legs wide apart, give yourself over to this luscious activity. The rewards are unlimited.
TANTALIZING TIPS
•Learn from an expert. Check out Violet Blue’s The Ultimate Guide to Cunnilingus for the ins and the outs, the ups and the downs, and the ’round and ’rounds.
•Trace letters, numbers, or sultry designs on your partner, or have your lover bestow this treat on you. The lucky one under the tongue can try to guess the image being created by the tongue-trickery.
•Try a new position for cunnilingus—standing up, on all fours, or bent over a table.
FICTION: CUNNILINGUS
SAVORY
GEORGIA E. JONES
When Jasmine walked into the bedroom after work, Nick was sitting on the bed with a pile of her scarves in his lap. “Want to get tied up?” he asked her. He wasn’t wearing any clothes.
Jasmine considered him. It was a pastime. He was just the right amount taller than she was, and olive skinned, and burly. He radiated calmness, as if no matter what apocalypse occurred, the center would hold. It had taken her months to figure out that he was as riven with worries as the next person and that sometimes he didn’t sleep at night. She felt guilty about that for a while, as for the most part she slept the sleep of the innocents. Eventually she decided what she could offer hi
m was a warm body full of love to lie awake next to and, when he wanted it, she would pry her eyelids open for long enough to fuck him sideways before sliding back into her dreams.
She dropped her bag. “I might,” she said. “I just might.” It wasn’t something he’d asked her before. They had rollicking sex. She loved the sex they had. He’d been with someone else when they met. She hadn’t been paying attention until he pitched a fit one afternoon. “This sucks,” he said forthrightly. “You never hug me.” She stared at him. “I didn’t know you minded,” she said. After that she hugged him extra to make up for it. She hugged him early and often because it made him happy. Still, it was a while before she noticed his personality. He was quiet compared with some men. There was nothing brash about him. He was soft-spoken, exceedingly polite and his sense of humor was so deadpan she didn’t know it existed for a time.
And he didn’t strike her as particularly sexy until the day he picked her up. Literally, he strolled up to her and lifted her off her feet and held her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a pound of fluff. When he put her down her knees buckled from uncomplicated desire. “Honest to god,” she had sworn to a friend only the week before, “I am a person who always knows instantly one way or the other. If there’s attraction, it’s always there. If there isn’t, no amount of wishing can change it.”
Someone was laughing somewhere. It was like a lock that wouldn’t open until all the tumblers clicked into place. After that, it was fairly inconceivable that they wouldn’t be together. She wanted to crawl all over him. She wanted to rub her face on his skin until she absorbed him. She wanted to open herself up and spread herself all over him. Luckily, he was built for it.
Jasmine had kicked off her heels, unzipped her skirt and peeled down her stockings and gotten rid of her silk blouse and Nick was doing some considering of his own. “Hey, pretty thing,” he said, smiling at her. Her belly flip-flopped. She got down to her bra and panties and stopped. Nick stood up, leaving the pile of scarves on the bed. Nicholas Harvey. That was her man. His friends called him Harv, but she wasn’t his friend. She was his lover and she called him Nicholas or Nick or beautiful, though he hated that. “Take those off,” he suggested, “and I’ll tie you down.”