by Violet Blue
“Hey,” said Mario, a lazy smile on his beautiful face.
“Hey.”
“I feel kind of like a bitch,” he confessed.
“Well, you look kind of like one too,” I said. He paused for a second. Then we both laughed.
Leon came out of the shower and dressed, then he kissed Mario’s head. I smoothed my Chaiken dress. I went in the bathroom to clean up. I looked at myself in the mirror. This is the face of a girl who just fucked two gay men. It was the kind of self-conscious exhilaration that only comes with doing something outrageous. Nobody could ever take this experience away from me.
Mario rushed up to me when I came out. He was holding a drawstring plastic bag with the American Eagle Outfitters logo on it.
“Leon had these in his car for me,” he said excitedly. “He’d bought them for another guy, but he said I could have them. Isn’t that nice?”
“That’s pretty cool, new clothes,” I said flatly.
“He might not ever see me again and he did that. That was so nice!”
When Leon drove us back to Philly, he got Mario’s number. He tactfully kissed him good-bye and gave me a huge hug. Mario and I chatted on the ride home about Peter Salisbury and Cody. We agreed not to tell them what happened, because it wasn’t going to change anything at all. He said nothing about the fact that we’d had sex, because it meant nothing to him. He walked me to my room. I kissed his cheek and watched him smile.
ACCIDENTAL TRANSMISSION
Beatrix Ellroy
Sian dropped into her armchair, bowl of ice cream at her elbow, ready for her hot date with her news feed. She flipped her laptop open and nestled her way into the lush fabric of the chair, its arms curving around her. She flicked through her open tabs, then went suddenly still.
The video feed was still up from her chat earlier with Izet. Even though they’d run in the same circles for years, bumping into each other at events and parties, workshops and conferences, this was the first time they’d worked closely together and so far she’d been enjoying it. The banter, the wit, how easy he was on the eyes. They’d been talking about a project they were both freelancing on, and messing about with a bunch of different web apps for video chat.
One of which was still streaming.
He obviously didn’t realize he was broadcasting. That he was on her screen. He was still in his chair, headphones around his neck, but he was leaning back, his soft cotton shirt rucked up over the dark hair of his belly. His pants undone and his hand moving under the fabric of his jeans, his underwear.
Sian felt a chill run through her, followed by fire, rippling over her skin. Her nipples hardened beneath her camisole and she spread the fingers of one hand over her chest, the other hovering over her keyboard. Began to breathe silently through her mouth. She knew she should close the window, maybe say something. Not sit here, tensing the muscles of her thighs and running her fingers over her clavicles.
She stayed silent, mouth open, as Izet’s head fell back and his hand moved. As he shifted in the seat, one hand pulled his shirt farther up, the dark skin of his stomach made darker by the hair, thick and pelted from his belly button to the still-covered shadow between his legs. She swallowed hard and willed him to move more, do more. The desire to see him, his cock hard and leaking, rose up. She bit her lip, worrying at it, her fingers curving beneath the edge of her cami, stroking the soft skin of her upper breast. Izet shook his head and shifted in his seat again, spreading his legs as wide as the chair would allow. Sian held her breath, waiting. She was rewarded.
He leaned back, shuffling forward to spread his legs wider as he drew his cock from his underwear. His hand, broad and wide, moved against the smooth flesh. Sian felt herself slicken, her muscles inside clench and quiver. His cock was thick, nestled in dark hair, with a vein running along its length. She shut her eyes, breathed through her nose, gathering the remnants of her morals.
“Izet!” she said, but it came out too soft, too weak.
As much as she longed to see his hand move more, harder and faster until he came, as much as her body clenched and twisted at the thought of his face as he lost the barriers between his self and pleasure, in spite of all that, she couldn’t do it.
“Izet!” She leaned into her laptop mic as she spoke and typed a quick message in Skype, trusting it would pop up.
Sian: IZET! You’re still streaming.
Her words, onscreen and through his headphones, broke through Izet’s inattention. He looked questioningly at his screen, letting go of his cock to move his mouse. Sian could pinpoint the moment he realized. He winced, and a flush rose up. He moved his hand and the stream shut down. Sian let out a shuddering sigh.
Sian: Izet, it’s okay.
She waited, one hand on her lips. A few moments later she finally heard the familiar chime.
Izet: No, it really isn’t.
Sian: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to perv on you like that—I should have said something earlier.
Izet: …
Izet: What do you mean earlier? How long were you watching?
Sian: Long enough to know what you were doing.
Izet: How long? And why?
Sian sighed, put her own headset on and then hit the voice call button. After a painful wait Izet picked up. His voice was rougher than normal, deep and caramel. She swallowed before speaking.
“Hi.” She coughed. “Um, yeah, so…”
He laughed, nervously. “Yeah, so. You kept watching?”
“Um. Yes? I’m sorry, I should have said something when I first realized. You know. What you were doing.”
She could hear his chair creak as he moved. “Why would you keep watching though?”
“Well. I.” She cleared her throat again. “I guess, I liked it.”
Izet was silent for a moment. “You liked watching me, ah, touch myself?”
Sian laughed. “Yes, Izet, I liked watching you touch yourself. Why wouldn’t I?” She felt arousal curling in the pit of her stomach, making her bold. “Your hand, stroking up along your cock, that patch of hair on your belly? It’s a good look.”
She heard the rough sound as Izet bumped his mic. “I…”
“Izet?”
“Yes?”
“Turn on the video.”
Sian watched as Izet came into view. He waved sheepishly.
“You’re not turning yours on?”
“No, not right now. Right now I want you to start again.”
He ran one hand over his face, resting it on his cheek over the wiry bristles of his beard. “Start again? You want me to touch myself on camera for you?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see you.”
“Not yet, Izet, not yet. I want to watch you come first; I want to see you make yourself come for me. Let me see.”
Sian watched avidly as Izet shifted while she spoke, rubbed his hands over his thighs. Covered his face before he finally nodded, silent. His hands moved down his chest and across the expanse of his belly. With one hand he pulled up his shirt and the other pressed into his pants.
“What do you think about, Izet?” Sian’s voice was low, bourbon-smooth. “Tell me, Izet. Tell me.”
Izet’s eyes closed and his hand moved more, pulling his shirt up higher, straining the fabric. “Right now? Right now I’m thinking about you.” His voice was raw. “About you watching me.”
“Telling you what to do?”
“Yes.” He hissed out the word and pushed the heel of his hand against his cock and gasped. “Fuck, please?”
“That’s it, Izet, I want you to moan, let me hear it.” She licked her lips. “Take your cock out, let me see it.”
Izet moaned and pushed his underwear down, freeing his cock. Sian could see wetness glistening at the tip, and she swallowed hard. Her clit was begging for attention; she could feel wetness soaking through her underwear.
“Now stroke, root to tip.” He did and moaned. “Again.”
“Fuck, Sian.”
“Shh
hh. That’s good, honey, once more. Now, get your pants off. Then I want you to hitch your knees up, spread your legs.”
He pushed his pants down over his hips, over his ass, to drop on the floor.
“Shirt?” he asked.
“Yeah, that too.”
He pulled his shirt up and over, his muscles and shoulders flexing, wrestling and swearing as the cord from his headset got tangled. He settled himself back in the chair, hitched his knees over the arms of his chair, spreading himself, his bare toes curling as his hand moved through the hair on his chest.
“Oh yes,” Sian breathed. “Izet, that’s great, honey. Fuck.” Sian inhaled, heavy and hard. Willing her hand to keep still, to not relieve the ache between her thighs. “Now, touch yourself like you normally would. Show me.”
Izet’s hand moved from his chest to his throat and the other curled around his cock, stroking it from root to tip, firm and unrelenting. His toes curled and uncurled and his free hand clutched up near his throat moved down to cup his balls, almost like he was weighing them, his thumb stroking down the rapidly tightening flesh.
Sian breathed heavily, squeezing her thighs together.
“I want you to slow it down.” She leaned forward. “Spread your legs wider. I want to see you better.”
She watched as he bit his lip and did as she asked; after a moment he stopped and leaned forward himself, adjusting his webcam.
“Is that better?”
Most of her screen was taken up by him now, framing his cock. But his face was just off the screen.
“I want to see your face.”
He moved the webcam slightly, then smiled into it. “How about now?”
“Oh yes, that’s perfect.” She sighed and licked her lips. “Now, like I said, slow it down, let me see.”
He moved his hand slower, spreading his thighs wider, stroking his fingers along the crease of his thigh, the seam of his balls.
“Yes, that’s it, farther down sweetheart. I just want you to press against the flesh behind your balls. Not your ass, just that bit of flesh.”
He opened his eyes like he was staring at her, then closed them again, letting his head fall back. One hand kept slowly moving along his cock and the other crept back, curving and cupping his balls before dipping farther behind, disappearing into the shadows. The hand on his cock stuttered again, then sped up.
Sian shook her head. “Ah, I said slowly. Take your hand off your cock.”
Izet’s eyes flew open, and he glared at the webcam.
“Izet, take your hand off your cock.” Sian let a hint of steel infuse her voice and felt a thrill run through her when he put his hands on his thighs. “Just your cock, honey, keep your other hand down there, keep it busy.”
Izet whined but did as he was told and his hand dipped back down, moving against his perineum.
“Do what you want there, whatever feels good. But leave your cock alone.”
He nodded and she could see his wrist flex and move, his fingers hidden. His brows were drawn together and his mouth open, his tongue darting out to lick his lips every few moments.
“Tell me, how does it feel? How do you feel?”
Izet shifted in his seat, squirming, and Sian felt a thrill of joy. “Christ. Not enough, it’s just not enough,” he hissed. “God, I want to touch my cock, I want to touch you.”
“Be good and you might just get to.”
He moaned, low and soft, and his hips flexed. Sian felt her own hips move in sympathy.
“Fuck, Sian, please? I want to…” He moaned. “I want to touch my cock, I want to come for you, please?”
Sian couldn’t help it and her own hand moved between her thighs, beneath her underwear, dipping into the slickness and circling her clit.
“Oh god, Izet, you are so fucking lovely. Touch yourself, touch your cock.”
His hand moved, one still nestled in the shadows, the other gripping and stroking, twisting up at the end of the stroke to curl around the glistening head of his cock. She moaned, sudden and wanton, and Izet’s hand flexed hard.
“Sian, I’m going to come.” His hand moved faster.
“Fuck yes, Izet, come for me, I want to see it.” Her own fingers moved, dipping inside then rubbing down firmly on her clit. “Do it, come, now.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she barely held back her own whimper as Izet curled forward.
“No, open your eyes; look at me when you come.”
Izet whimpered and looked up, teeth bared. “I want to see you.”
Sian’s free hand moved, turning her own feed on. She leaned into the mic and brought her glistening fingers up to the camera. “Watch me, Izet, watch me and come.”
She buried her hand back between her legs and worked her clit furiously, her eyes locked on the screen, watching Izet bite his lip, twist his hand and finally come, staring through the camera as his cock jerked and spasmed. After a moment he brought his hand, coated with come, up to the camera.
His tongue darted out and licked a stripe through the wetness and Sian whimpered and then came herself, hips jerking upward. She breathed out a moan, pulling her hand free and bringing it up to her own camera, even as she clenched through the aftershocks.
For a moment they sat still, watching each other on the screen. The silence lengthened and threatened to become awkward until Sian started giggling; Izet smiled and raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I should go and shower.” He raised one hand and ruefully wiggled it at her. She snickered, then looked mournfully at the bowl next to her.
“And my ice cream has melted.” Izet laughed and she mock-glowered at him. “I wasn’t expecting to get so…distracted.”
“Well, you did. Thoroughly.”
“I’m not going to use that particular service again, and I’ll submit a bug report. But I’ll be better prepared next time.”
“Next time?”
She looked down. “If you want to, that is.”
He leaned into the camera again. “I was hoping next time would be a little more interactive, that’s all.”
“I’d definitely need to be more prepared in that case.” “Well, let’s say we try for Friday night?”
Sian smiled. “Sounds good to me.” She kissed the tips of her fingers and waved them at the camera and Izet smiled in response before signing off. Sian blinked a few times before getting up and dumping the melted ice cream into the sink and heading for her bedroom, and her bedside table. The ache had barely subsided, and the promise of Friday night was still too far away.
She couldn’t wait.
GROPED
Lana Fox
There I was, on the Boston subway at rush hour, dressed in a tight, white, partly unbuttoned blouse, with a short pleated skirt and socks that rose over my knees. Schoolgirl material. I stood by the doors, holding on while the train sped toward Park Street, and the young guy in earbuds, who was standing just to my left, glanced down the front of my blouse.
Do it! I told him with my eyes, arching my body toward his. I was so close that he could easily brush his arm or leg against my own, and my blood was pumping for it—I could hear it in my ears. Christ, I was practically rubbing my pussy against him, all hot and wet and ready. And for a moment, he looked right at me and I saw the lust in those heavy brown eyes.
Grope me, you asshole! Put a hand on my tits! Stick one under my skirt! And I waited, edging closer, to feel his fingers touch my thigh, and hear his groan of pleasure when he found I was wearing no underwear. I waited, wet as hell, just hoping I’d found a pervert to stick his fingers into my cunt and fuck me in front of the world.
It had started six months ago because of a gorgeous porn flick. Not long after my boyfriend had moved out, I was watching an anime cartoon about a woman who longed to be fucked on the subway. She tried to get groped several times, but just before a guy would be ready to stick his hands on her, she’d always lose her nerve and edge away. At last, she gave in to an older guy who rubbed his hands all over her body and eventually fucked h
er in full view of everyone.
But that wasn’t the hottest moment for me. No, the high point came when he stuck his hands up her skirt and stroked her buttocks, followed by her pussy. It was the pervy act of being groped by a bastard—that’s what gave me the best climax I’d ever had.
In the weeks after I saw that movie, I’d climaxed over and over, every single day. I was desperate to get touched up whenever I took the subway, and had pushed my ass into dozens of thirsty faces. Yes, I’d been so turned on, waiting for some sweet sucker to fondle my ass and pussy in public. I could even have humped a stranger’s knee—that’s how wet I was. But there’s a limit. I mean, you can’t force others into stuff like that, right? Besides, the best grope was the quiet grope, the sly hands cupping my warm buttocks, the shape of a cock pressing against my crack. Hell, if someone would do it, I’d come like a fucking steam train.
I just needed some gorgeous pervert to take the bait.
But even while I was standing close to the guy in the earbuds, feeling his stare on my body like a laser, watching him bite his lips—even when I turned so my buttocks were there, begging his hands for some serious dirt, I knew he was just going to walk away and fantasize about me later. Christ, what was wrong with the men in this town? Why couldn’t I just get groped?
“Sweetie, you’re mad,” said my friend Barney the following night at the pub. He was wearing a peaked cap today—a fawn-brown number that matched his eyes. “I mean, what if someone gets rough with you? You can’t just hand yourself to anyone.”
I told him I could do what I liked, thank you very much, but he looked concerned. Barney is usually such a mischief-maker, that when he gets serious, you have to worry. “Barns, brighten up! I’ll be careful, okay?”
He gave a shrug and downed a few gulps of Guinness. “I mean, they’re obviously loopy,” he said, as he placed down the glass. “If I was straight, flower, I’d grope your little ass off.” He giggled, then he lowered his eyes. When he looked back up, they were soft with feeling. “But sweetie, any trouble, just call me, all right? I love your feistiness, but I worry.”