Radical Encounters

by Radclyffe

  My hips shot up until my thighs jammed into the steering wheel. “Squeeze me. Squeeze my clit now. Make me come. Hurry.”

  “Yes, yes,” the blonde chanted and she plunged her other hand into her jeans.

  I felt her shuddering and heard her coming but all of my attention was on Lila. Her face erupted in pleasure and she surged forward, riding her lover’s mouth. Her eyes glazed over but she never took them from mine as I called out her name and spilled into the blonde’s hand.

  Lila sagged back against the seat, looking supremely satisfied. The blonde slumped next to me, her hand twitching on my clit. I kept a death grip on the steering wheel. My clit, still jerking with the last of my orgasm, started to get hard again. Silence stretched, the only sounds our rapid breathing until after a moment, Lila opened a compartment in the back and took out a thick white envelope. She handed it to her young lover, who had dragged herself back up onto the seat next to Lila. I removed a similar one from a pocket in the door next to me. I gave it to the blonde.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She laughed and buttoned her jeans, then grasped the envelope. “I should be thanking you.” She slid back across the seat and grasped the passenger door handle. “Anytime you’re in the neighborhood, look me up.”

  Then she was gone. With my pants still open, I started the engine and drove just below the speed limit back to one of the well-lit main streets, where the dark-haired stranger got out. I waited, idling at the curb, until she got into a cab and disappeared. Then I pulled into traffic.

  “Home?” I asked. Our monitors were still on. I could see Lila and she could see me. Lila nodded.

  “Did she take good care of you,” Lila asked, lazily caressing her nipples with her fingertips.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you come in your pants while she played with your clit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to come again?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d like to put your hand in your pants right now and make your clit come, wouldn’t you.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? It’s still hard, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. For you, yes.”

  “How shall I make you come?” Lila mused. “Shall I fuck you while I suck your clit? That would make you come right away, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or shall I masturbate you while I work my fingers in your ass so you come extra hard?”

  “Whatever way pleases you.” I met her gaze, my labored breath loud over the speakers. “I’m at your service.”

  Cinnamon Secrets

  I smelled her first.

  A sweet, spicy scent that cut straight through the miasma of odors that were so familiar I didn’t notice them any longer—popcorn, cotton candy, and roasted peanuts. This was a playful, seductive aroma that captured my attention like a whisper of hot breath in my ear. Seeking the source, I gave the metal spike tethering the tent line one more hearty smack with my sledgehammer, then turned around and rested the broad iron head on the ground between my legs. The thick wooden handle nestled against my crotch.

  She was standing just behind me, studying me as if I were one of the sideshow attractions, a quizzical look on her face as her dark eyes swept me from head to toe. Her nose wrinkled just the tiniest bit, creasing her otherwise flawless olive-skinned face with an expression not of condescension, but concentration. Her frank appraisal caught me off guard, and I felt myself blushing, wondering how I looked to her in my work boots, threadbare jeans, and sweat-stained sleeveless T-shirt that I’d ripped down the front a couple of inches for ventilation. I wasn’t used to women cruising me quite so openly—at least not in a hell of a long time.

  I wasn’t wearing a bra, and though I’m not particularly endowed, when I felt my nipples tense under her continued scrutiny, I was sure she noticed. Even on a sultry August night in the middle of a dusty fairground, though, she looked as cool as a cucumber in one of those flimsy flowery things that my mother used to call sundresses. Her smooth, tanned legs were bare, her red painted toenails peeked through open-toed sandals, and, incongruously, she had a small white daisy tucked behind her left ear. Her shoulder-length ebony hair was pulled back and tied with a pale yellow scarf, and all in all, she looked as if she should be sitting on a veranda on a Bayou plantation a hundred years ago. I smelled that little bit of sin again and watched her take a bite of a big red candy apple.

  “Hi,” I said, watching her perfect white teeth chisel two matching crescents in the shiny scarlet surface. Juice oozed from the hard white meat inside and little flakes of the candy shell melted on her full lips, deepening them to a moist fiery crimson. I felt a twinge inside my jeans. Jesus, I was getting hard.

  “I know this sounds ridiculous,” she said, “but don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  I didn’t answer because I was watching the tip of her tongue snake out and catch the tiny droplets of cinnamon and apple before they slithered down her chin. It was so unconscious, so natural, I couldn’t help but imagine just exactly how it would feel if she licked the juice from my—

  “I’m so sorry,” she said stiffly, her face flaming, “I have no idea why I said—”

  “No, wait,” I blurted out when she started to walk away. “You do. Know me. I mean, you’ve seen me. At least, I’ve seen you.” I stopped, realizing that I sounded like an idiot. And I held out my hand and told her my name. “I’m an EMT. You’ve seen me in the ER. You work the night shift at County, right?”

  “Of course!” She smiled, absently sucking at a few streaks of red liquid candy that had dribbled onto the back of her hand. “Without the uniform, I didn’t place you at first. I’m…”

  “Christy...I know.” Boy, did I know. Every time we transported a patient to her ER at night, I noticed her. She looked great even in scrubs—tight little butt, high full breasts, and long, long legs. I didn’t think she’d ever noticed me, though. Usually she was too busy getting report or triaging to do more than toss me a glance. At least that’s what I’d always thought. The fact that she had paid me enough attention to recognize me now made me feel good. Better than good. It made me pleasantly horny, just a nice little buzz between my thighs. Unconsciously, I rocked my hips, and when the handle of the hammer bumped my clit, it zinged a bit harder.

  “So, you volunteering here?” Christy asked, indicating the tent with the red cross stenciled on the side.

  “Yeah.” I grinned. Inanely, probably, but she had a fabulous mouth which was at the moment nibbling at the edges of that candy-coated apple. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way she licked at it. Every little swipe of her tongue shot right to my crotch.

  She looked me right in the eye, turned the apple to a new spot, and took another bite. “I love these things,” she said after she swallowed and tongued her lips again. “But I always make a mess.” She raised her hand to show the wooden stick that speared the core of the apple. Rivulets of thick ruby syrup trailed down onto her fingers. “I’m going to have to find some place to wash up.”

  “Come to the equipment trailer,” I said hastily. “We’ve got a john.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” Boldly, I held out my hand for her free one. “Come on. It’s around back behind the tent.”

  I led her through the maze of tent ropes, trash barrels, and empty benches to the small trailer that housed the emergency medical equipment and our personal gear. I was the only one on shift at the moment, so we were alone when we stepped into the dim compartment. I switched on the light over the small sink, which gave us just enough illumination to see each other by. The space was crowded, and when I turned back to where she stood just inside the door, we were so close I could feel her breath on my neck. It tingled with the taste of cinnamon. I didn’t move and neither did she. Not until she leaned back against the inside of the door and held up the apple.

  “Want a bite?”

  Oh, man, did I ever. I slid one step closer until my thighs just gr
azed hers, braced my hands on the doorjamb on either side of her shoulders, and leaned my head down. “Hold it still,” I said.

  “Okay.” Christy settled her free hand on my hip. “Go ahead. But no hands—just your mouth.”

  With my eyes locked on hers, I slowly opened my mouth, pressed my lower body a little harder against her, and bit down on the rim of the apple where she’d last taken a bite. My bottom lip brushed the wet surface of the fruit as my teeth scraped over the stiff covering. I closed my lips ever so slowly, edging my hips forward at the same speed until my crotch settled into the vee between her thighs. I gave my head a little shake and broke off a section. I ended up with a portion of it extending beyond my lips.

  “That’s an awfully big piece.” Her voice was breathy, and she reached around to my ass and squeezed. “You should share.”

  I kept the sweet-tart fruity concoction between my teeth and let her pull the other half into her mouth. Our lips met, the candy apple joining us, and we both sucked on it. My head was getting light from not breathing, and the steady rush of blood into my clit was making it ache. I could feel her nipples like small stones crushed against mine. Finally I bit through my half and she sucked the other part into her mouth. I swallowed it fast; so did she. And then our mouths were fused again, free of everything but the taste of cinnamon and sex.

  I heard a thump, but my tongue was in her mouth, chasing after the juice and the spice, and I didn’t register what it was. I got one hand between us and clasped her breast. She was swollen and heavy in my palm, and when I flicked her nipple, she moaned. The sound made me want to come. Christy pulled her mouth away and held up her empty hand between us.

  “Still a mess.”

  She was breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling with each uneven gasp. My stomach was in knots, my clit like a rock, and there was no way I was letting her move. I shifted my hand from her breast to her wrist and pulled her fingers into my mouth, sucking the melted candy from her skin. Her eyes glazed as she tilted her head back against the door, watching me lick her through half-lowered lids. Her fingertips played over my tongue as I slid up and down the length of her fingers. I worked my thigh between hers and she rode me to the same slow rhythm as my mouth on her flesh. When her fingers were clean I went after her mouth again, releasing her wrist and dropping my hand to the outside of her thigh. I slipped my fingers under the light cotton dress as my tongue probed her mouth for the taste of cinnamon. She bit my lips like I was her candy apple.

  The silk between her thighs was soaked. I traced a furrow in the thin material with my fingertip, slow-stroking the bump of her clitoris each time I passed. Her fist opened and closed on my ass, picking up speed as she pushed harder and harder against my hand. My palm was slippery with her juice. I edged her panties aside. She was swollen and wet, full and ripe—her scent as sweet and mouthwatering as the candy-coated apple that lay abandoned on the floor between us. I fondled her, teasing inside her opening and then up and down her slick cleft, flicking her clit with each pass, until I felt her legs stiffen and her back arch. Then I stopped.

  “No, noo,” she groaned, grabbing my wrist and squeezing her legs around my hand. “I’m almost coming. Rub my clit, baby…baby, rub it nice.”

  I skimmed inside her mouth, then sucked her lips, gathering the last little bit of cinnamon on my tongue. Then I slid to my knees and pushed her dress up at the same time. I pulled her panties aside and closed my mouth on her sex, working her clit in and out between my lips. She shuddered and whimpered, and then I licked her, catching her drops on my tongue and teasing the essence from her pouting lips. This time, when her clit turned rocklike beneath my tongue, I didn’t stop. I circled the tip, flicked the shaft back and forth, and tugged it deeper and deeper into my mouth as I slid two, then three fingers inside her.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me. Suck me suck me, do it hard. I’m gonna come.”

  I looked up at her face as I worked her clit, thrusting my fingers slow and deep, watching her head roll from side to side against the door. Eyes closed, she dug her fingers spasmodically into my shoulders and chanted over and over, “That’s it that’s it I’m coming, I’m coming coming…you’re making me come…”

  I tasted the rush of her orgasm, sweet and rich, just before she jerked against my face. She tightened down around my fingers, releasing a single high cry of pleasure and surprise. She rode my hand and my face, coming hard. I shook uncontrollably with the pressure in my belly, and I jammed one hand between my legs, rolling my clit between the folds of rough denim.

  I shot off, doubled over, shivering through my orgasm with my forehead cradled against her trembling thighs. When I could finally focus, I saw the apple lying on the floor between my knees, the sweet red candy melting in the heat.

  Every time I’ve made love to her since, I’ve tasted the sweet cinnamon secret she saves just for me.

  Private Caller

  “Hello?” I said absently, most of my attention on the report I was reviewing.

  “Do you know what I’m doing right now?”

  I glanced at my watch. It was later than I thought. Almost 8 p.m. I was most likely the only one left in the office, which, considering that I was the boss, was probably appropriate. I leaned back in my chair and smiled at the sound of my best friend’s voice. “Well, Sylvia, I imagine you’re doing something very exciting, like—”

  “Oh I am,” the breathless voice said. “I’m lying outside on the patio, nude, and I’m imagining you beside me while I touch myself.”

  “Jesus, Syl,” I said, sitting forward sharply. Sylvia and I had once had a sweaty, frantic, fabulous night of passion on a narrow bed in a cramped dorm room. That was before she met Alan, the love of her life, and settled down with him to raise children and do whatever it is married straight women do. “Are you hitting the champagne again?”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to numb my senses. Not when I want to come as much as I do right now.”

  I heard the hitch in her voice and I knew with absolute certainty that she was masturbating. And I also knew it wasn’t my friend Sylvia. My mind went blank for a few seconds. I’d never had a phone call like this before. I stared at my desk console, saw that my personal line was blinking, and checked caller ID. Private number. Jesus.

  “Who?”

  “God…it makes me so wet to think about you fucking me. So deep inside I—”

  “I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong number.” Why the hell was I apologizing? I was on the receiving end of a dirty phone call. Still, perversely curious, I strained to hear her voice, trying to place it. But I couldn’t.

  “No,” she said, sounding dreamy and needy at the same time. “It’s you, Avery. It’s you…oh, I’m going to come soon…touch me there oh yes…ohh—”

  I slammed down the phone, shaking, and stared at it as if it might come to life and bite me. I’d never heard anything like that in my life. So…so…sexy. Jesus, she’d sounded so sexy. I stood up abruptly and paced in front of my desk, the sound of her voice, her excitement, burning the surface of my brain. My clit thumped with every step, but I refused to admit that I was aroused. Finally, I searched the outer offices and then walked up and down the hall looking for a light, some sign of where she might be. She knew my name. I had to know her. There was no one. I went back to my office but I couldn’t work. An hour later I went home and had a stiff drink. That night I dreamed of a woman whose face I couldn’t see, writhing beneath me while I fucked her until she came with her nails raking my back. When I woke the next morning my clit was hard and I came in the shower and pretended it was just like any other day.

  The first few times my phone rang in the office, my heart pounded as I answered it. I almost expected—hoped—it would be her. After a while I realized I was being foolish and vowed to forget about the strange call. And I did, for all but a few fleeting moments each day.

  A week later I returned from a business trip and stopped by the office on my way home from the airpo
rt to check my mail. My secretary had already left and it was quiet in the building. Just as I sat down at my desk, the phone rang.

  “Avery Campbell.”

  “Do you know what I’m doing?”

  I caught my breath and gripped the phone so tightly my fingers ached. “Who are you?”

  “I’m lying naked on my bed. The windows are open and I’m surrounded by the toys I like to fuck myself with. I love to slide something big inside when I’m ready to come. I imagine it’s your hand and I come so hard.”

  I saw it, every movement, felt her cunt close around my fingers. “Look, I’m not going to play—”

  “Did you…oh that’s so good…did you…have a good flight?”

  I was listening hard, trying to place the voice, and I heard a choked moan. My stomach spasmed and I felt a flood of come between my legs. I couldn’t help myself, I had to know. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m playing with my clit. I like to pinch it…until I have to come.” Her breath shuddered. “My nipples are super sensitive and sometimes I stop to squeeze them. That makes my clit harder.”

  Mine was like a stone between my thighs, but I kept my free hand firmly on my desktop. I would not be seduced by a voice. But I couldn’t force myself to hang up the phone.

  “It feels so good,” she crooned. “So good when you rub my clit, when you lick me… oh yes, lick that spot…you’ll make me come…”

  “Don’t come,” I heard myself say, not believing I’d actually spoken.

  “Oh, I want to. Please, I want to come for you.”

  “Not until I’m inside you.” I hunched over the desk, my eyes closed, straining to hear the smallest sound, completely focused on her and her pleasure. “Do you have a cock there?”

  “My favorite,” she whined. “B-but I can’t wait.”

  She was gasping, muttering broken words, moaning steadily. “Stop it,” I said sharply. She whimpered. “Get that cock. The big one. Our favorite. The one that makes you come all over it when I fuck you. Do you have it? Do you?”