by Lacy Danes
“Climb up here,” I order. “Put your knees either side of me.”
Tom does so eagerly. My gaze roves over his body, as he moves with grace and athleticism. He is pumped to perfection. I don’t know who trained him before he came to me, but they’ve done a good job.
One drop of sweat leaves Tom’s brow and drips between my breasts. Lazily, I scoop it up with my fingertip and taste it. It’s salty and warm.
“Nice,” I say.
Tom is balanced over me, his weight mainly on one hand and knee. He wants to ram himself in me, lose himself in the desire that is fomenting in his brain, but I have other plans for him. I open my legs wide. My pelvis is heavy and hot as I strain with anticipation. “Take the head of your cock and rub it over my clitoris.”
Poor Tom is so desperate, his face is suffused with sexual frustration, but I enjoy torturing him. Like in his workout at the gym, he doesn’t bitch or moan that I am too hard on him, which is just as well, because whining only makes me tougher.
I watch as he takes the head of his cock in his hand and rubs it all over me, to lubricate the head. He stops at the entrance of my sex and looks me in the eye.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Tom bites his bottom lip in frustration and slides his cock over my clitoris.
I sigh. Now, he’s doing it right. I know because my clitoris is swollen and burning and every time his cock rubs on it, I think I’m going to come. I straighten my legs and arch my back, reaching down to expose my clit to Tom’s delicious rubbing. The steel of the Porsche is warm under my back. I’m enjoying this.
The head of Tom’s cock feels hard and warm. I soon match his pulsating rhythm until I can’t take it any more. My whole body is shuddering and I scream out loud. This is the moment I love when I’m at the peak of an orgasm. I want Tom’s cock inside me, and I’m sure he wants that too.
I can see the veins of desperation standing out on his neck, his face is flushed with exertion. I don’t have to say anything because I suspect the expression on my face matches Tom’s.
He moves upwards between my legs and pushes his way inside me. I savor the sensation of his initial entry, enjoying the size and feel of him. Every nerve ending is alive and open. I rise to meet his first thrust.
“All right?” Tom asks.
Of course it is. How could it not be, but I like it that he asks.
I wrap my legs around his hips in assent, wiggling my hips so that I can get the point of contact right. I can feel an orgasm building again in the base of my spine. I dig my fingernails into Tom’s back. If this is real and it certainly feels like it is, then Tom will have my imprint on him tomorrow.
I love the way he is big, hard and fills me. Every thrust, every movement is sending me close to what I need. I unravel my legs and arch when Tom hits the spot deep inside of me that feels so good. My orgasm climbs on the back of the first, more powerful and exciting than before. I’m gasping for breath as I come. Straining. Thrusting. Every nerve point tingling.
Tom must be close with me writhing under him. I realize at this point that I actually really like this guy.
I hold him tight to keep the moment, to keep the high, but he melts through my fingers like a phantasm. I can see disappointment on his face, which I’m sure is matched by my own.
“Hey!” I yell. This wasn’t quite the time I planned to make an exit, but it’s not like I had a say in it. Sure I was having my share of orgasms, but I was enjoying Tom enough to care whether he was getting his end off too.
I find myself falling. I wave my hands to catch onto something but there is nothing there but air. Thump! I land on my bed. I’m breathing hard and looking wildly around me, but it is hard to see in the darkness. With trembling fingers, I reach over and turn on my bedside lamp and sit.
I’m in my room. Everything is just as it was. My head is still swimming from my breathtaking orgasm. I flop back onto my pillows and try to make sense of what just happened. I reach between my legs and feel my throbbing sex. This was more than a dream. It just had to be.
The next day at the gym, I go to reception to collect Tom for his training session. He greets me with a big smile. “Hi, Gabby. Good to see you.”
“Hi. How were you feeling after yesterday?” I stop and stare at him for a moment, trying to work out if he’s thinking about last night. I want to know if he experienced anything or if it was just some wacky dream. I certainly haven’t got over the experience myself. If anything, it really makes me want him in the flesh, but I’ve never been interested in permanent relationships.
“Bit stiff,” Tom says. “I’m sure you’ll iron that out.” He gives me a grin, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
Is he shy? Is that his problem?
I start Tom with some lunges today. I hand him his weights and show him what I want him to do. I’m waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
“How was your night, last night?” I ask.
“I picked up my Porsche,” he says as he continues lunging. I keep my hand on the small of his back so he knows how low to go.
“And?” I ask.
“Sensational,” he answers.
I give him a sharp look. Is he teasing me?
For once, I’m interested in talking, but Tom isn’t saying much other than the occasional grunt of exertion.
I see Pinky standing outside the massage room. Pinky is beside himself with desperation after I told him my story. He’s raising his waxed eyebrows and fluttering his fingers at Tom. Pinky thinks I’ve found a new portal into having irresponsible sex, which excites him tremendously, seeing as he never gets any. He’s already asked to borrow my book, which is a scary thought.
I ignore Pinky and give my attention to Tom. We move from station to station, and Tom focuses on his exercise. For once, I want a client to talk to me and he doesn’t, but he does perform every exercise to perfection. I enjoy watching him move like a well-oiled machine. It’s rare for me to get a perfectly built man.
Was last night a dream? If it was for real, did I really have the power to make Tom do what I wanted? Was it the power of that last orgasm that shook me back to my bedroom? If I held off my orgasm, would I be able to astral travel for longer?
I have too many unanswered questions. I bite my lip in frustration. My nipples are tight and I feel like rubbing them.
I look at my watch. “Time to stretch,” I say. “Lie flat on the mat.”
Tom looks up at me. “Like your tongue stud,” he says.
I grimace. “My tongue is swollen. I’m out of action.”
I take Tom’s leg in my hands, bend it at the knee and push it across his body to give his cute butt a stretch. His T-shirt rides up a little on his back as I push his knee further towards the floor.
He has fingernail marks on his back.
I run my finger over the mark. It’s an intimate gesture. In the background, I see Pinky shiver with anticipation. “Big night, last night?” I ask.
Tom sits up, twists around and stares at the fingernail marks as if he’s never seen them before. He colors and can barely look at me.
“I had the weirdest dream. I was polishing my car…” His voice trails off. He stares at the fingernail marks as if he can’t believe what he is seeing.
My grin spreads across my face. “Until you got distracted,” I can’t help adding. This has opened up a world of possibilities for me.
I see my next client turn up at reception. He’s powerfully built, dark and brooding looking. I bite my bottom lip.
“Gabby?”
My attention turns back to Tom. “Would you like to go to that bar you mentioned tonight?”
“Thanks, Tom, but I’m busy tonight,” I say eyeing my next client, too distracted by the possibilities opening up for me. “We’ll have to go another time.”
The new client is over six foot five, and spectacular. I can’t wait to get home tonight and try this astral traveling gig again. No way am I passing on my book to Pinky yet.
; I love sex with strangers.
Dark Moon Gathering
ALISON PAIGE
CHAPTER ONE
I SMELLED THE STALE BEER AND CHOCOLATE CAKE long before the park pavilion emerged in dark relief from the blue-green shadows that surrounded it. I raised my muzzle, scenting the air.
Humans; hours ago, their perfumes, their body secretions, still lingered on the air, like the first tinge of meat going bad. They’d left their scent everywhere, like fingerprints. Not that I minded. I’m human too, most of the time.
It was late. The park was empty. I padded onward, eager to finish the game, my paws silent through the short, manicured grass. The pavilion’s floor was concrete and my claws tick-tacked as I crossed. My nose led the way to the cake, following the chocolate-scented footprints to the garbage can at the far end. There it was, a big slice, icing-side down, tread marks squishing the corner flat, the whole of it covered with ants. Gross.
I backed away, running my long tongue around my muzzle, over my nose, fighting the creepy-crawly feeling tickling under my fur. A hard snort shook my whole head and finally blasted my senses clean.
Damn, Mattie Banebridge, you are good. Nearly giddy with the win I gave a sharp yip of a bark, turned and took a running leap onto the wooden picnic table. I raised my head, filled my lungs with night air and sent a high, clear yowl up and out through my throat. The sound pierced the night, echoing off the wood rafters of the pavilion, filtering through the surrounding trees, traveling long and wide. The howl died as my lungs emptied.
God, it felt good, primal, natural. A heavy thud on the picnic table turned me around.
The large honey-blond wolf was double my weight and several inches taller. He moved in near silence. Scary for something so big and potentially deadly. But he was beautiful. A soft thick coat smelled of fresh air, forest and earth, with the faint hint of men’s cologne underneath. His eyes were an amazing shade of blue that looked almost violet in the moonlight. And even in wolf form his lean muscled body made a girl go warm and wet in all her special girl places.
He closed the small distance between us and licked the side of my face behind my eye to my ear, his tongue barely rough enough to feel through my fur. I leaned into him, nuzzling my head under his chin, running my body along his. As solid as a mountain, he didn’t budge, taking the full press of my weight so my fur stroked against him. When I reached his tail my nose tickled with a familiar scent. Arousal.
I dropped my snout; a quick peek between his back legs and my suspicions were confirmed. There, nestled among all that lush fur, wagged his stiff, glistening, pink penis. I wasn’t surprised. A late-night run always made me horny as hell, too. But when I felt the cool wet nudge under my tail and then the sudden stroke of his tongue over my pussy and anus, I nearly jumped out of my fur.
Instinct spun me around, teeth bared, a hard snap clenching my mouth. Anthony yipped and jerked backward to avoid my bite. Not fast enough. I was spitting fur from my tongue as he tumbled off the table and landed with a clumsy grunt on the cement floor. His whole body twisted and spun to get his feet under him again. And when he stood I could’ve sworn he was laughing.
I shifted forms, fast and painless. I can shift at a run now, sensing the second before my hands and feet become paws so my stride remains unbroken. It had taken practice, and a lot of tripping ass over head.
Thirty seconds, maybe a minute later, I was sitting on my hip, my legs curled, my arms locked, bracing me. Anthony waited until I finished before he shifted and I couldn’t help watching that pink little penis grow and thicken into a fully erect human cock. It made my thighs cream. No matter how large a guy is, he’s bigger, much bigger, in human form. And Anthony was scary big as a wolf.
Fur receded as though pulled beneath tan, taut flesh until all that remained was a wavy butterscotch mop on his head that brushed his shoulders and the darker thatch that encircled his cock. The body of an athlete, long and lean, broad-shouldered and powerful.
“Not into the fur-on-fur scene, love?” he said the second he was able.
Anthony Ricci wasn’t British; he was Italian. But sometimes he slipped into this weird British accent. I don’t know why—I never asked. Besides, I thought it was kind of cute, sexy even. Most of the time.
“I don’t screw dogs,” I said, rolling onto my butt, shifting my hands to brace behind me on either side. Anthony moved toward me, using the picnic table bench to climb on.
He positioned his long, hard body over top of me, kneeling between my open legs, his hands next to mine, his bearded, scruffy face inches away. “But pet, you were a dog.”
I narrowed my eyes, forced a scowl I didn’t feel. “Do you want to fuck me or poke fun at my hang-ups?”
“Not hang-ups, sweet Mattie. Endearing quirks that make you even more irresistible.” His gaze dropped to my mouth and he leaned close like he’d kiss me. But he didn’t. His warm lips hovered a hairsbreadth from mine, waiting. Waiting for me to kiss him. It was one of those unspoken games we played. Who wanted whom more?
Anticipation tightened my nipples, pulling a light tingle through my breasts. Muscles in my sex flexed and a hot rush of liquid flooded between my thighs.
Screw that. I found the cake first. I already won.
“Right.” I sounded almost unaffected. Pretty good, considering. “Stop trying to charm me and start putting that thing to good use before you pass out from lack of blood flow.”
He glanced down his chest to his cock and I snuck a look. Lord, he was even thicker than he’d been when he’d shifted. Ropy veins twisted beneath the darker flesh, the fat head glistening with a small bead of come at the tip. I licked my lips on reflex, wanting to be filled by him in any way.
When he looked back he must’ve seen the need in my eyes and his expression heated to match. His lids sank low over those violet eyes, and his voice came deeper, resonating through my body like the strike of the lowest key on a piano, echoing forever inside me. “Winner’s choice. How do you want me?”
My breath shuddered. I couldn’t help it. Every muscle in my body tightened, heat thrumming through my veins and pooling wet and wanting between my thighs. “I wanna ride you.”
One brow lifted, a crooked smile slanting his mouth. “And so you shall, love.”
He shifted backward and sat, swinging his feet to the bench below, knees spread, cock thick and stiff like the pole of a carousel horse between his muscled thighs. He held out a hand to me. “All aboard.”
My hand in his, I found the bench with my feet and stood. My legs trembled as I shifted around him and placed a foot on the outside of his. He was watching me, our gazes locked, as I straddled him, my hands on his shoulders, fingers squeezing those hard round muscles beneath hot flesh.
His grip tightened on my hips, tugged lightly at my body, encouraging me to lower myself onto his shaft. I resisted. Winner’s choice. His face was chest level—perfect—and I arched my back, offering my breast to his mouth. He dropped his gaze and seemed only then to realize the treat at his lips. His mouth opened, eyes fluttering closed as though the taste and feel of me on his tongue was something to savor.
Hands slipped from my hips to the rounds of my ass; fingers squeezed, pulling me toward him until the damp hairs at my sex crushed against his chest. I knew he must feel my wetness on his skin. With my knees spread wide to accommodate his large lap, my pussy was open against him.
The low moan that vibrated through his chest rumbled into my groin, humming over my clit, and sent a quick shiver of delight racing through my veins. He suckled harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive nipple, teeth nipping and tugging, making my breath catch and my sex ache for the same attention. He released me and shifted to my other breast, lavishing it with the heat and suction of his mouth.
I couldn’t breathe, muscles squeezing throughout my body, tensing, wanting more. I sank my hand into his thick wealth of hair, fisted, letting the beast in me rise, rough and ready. A gentle tug and my breast fell from his lips, the night a
ir tingling an erotic chill over the tight, moistened flesh. His gaze slid up to mine and I pulled harder on his hair, not to hurt—much—but to bend his neck back so his lips rose to mine.
What he’d done to my breast he now did to my mouth, suckling my tongue, my lips, exploring my mouth with his. My body lowered, and somewhere in the far recesses of my mind I knew my brain must’ve given permission, though I couldn’t think past the feel of him. The taut skin of his chest smoothed along the folds of my pussy, warm and hard. His hands wrapped around the back of my thighs, cupping my ass and guiding my body onto his.
Fat and round, velvet flesh over marble, his cock pressed into me, stretching me so I had to close my eyes, relax, to take him in. He was too big and just right all at once. The muscles inside me cleaved to him, fluttered as he pressed in, deeper and deeper. Pressure built as he filled me, tingling, electric sensation dancing through my body, humming over my skin. I had to hold my breath to withstand the barrage on my senses. I opened my legs wider, lowered my body, sent him deeper—and there was still more of him to come.
Even before my thighs pressed flat against his and his cock seemed to fill me up through to my chest, I knew he’d ruined me for lesser men. I didn’t care; my flesh hugged around him, milking his cock, coaxing it to harden and swell further. This wasn’t our first time, but his size made each encounter a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.
“You good?” he asked, breathless.
I swallowed and gave a weak nod. Then he lifted me, using my body to stroke his shaft and his shaft to send pleasure rippling through my body. Muscles snapped tight, tensing my legs, wanting more, wanting speed, needing friction. My fingers clenched on his shoulders, skin catching under my nails. I raised myself to the very tip of his cock then slammed down, impaling myself to his hilt.