Lips Like Sugar

by Violet Blue

  Michael’s slutwear, however, introduced a whole new twist to this annual enjoyment. To her consternation, Cara discovered that she could tell vanilla men from the kinky kind simply by the way each looked at her. Vanilla men, their staff uniforms and badges aside, glued their gaze to her tits, smiling as if today was their lucky day. By contrast, kinky men didn’t even notice her breasts. Their eyes went right to the chain and, straight away, they engaged Michael in a good-natured banter about it and “his property.” Vanilla men were furtive in their appreciation, while kinky men openly swaggered, but both kinds embarrassed Cara. Both made her feel like an object to be ogled.

  Exposed. Cara felt exposed. The gaze of others unnerved her, even in this safe, encapsulated environment. And, regardless of the context, other people’s attention meant one thing: She was naked.

  Which Michael knew, as he pulled her this way and that while discussing how he had wound the chain around her body. After one particular inquiry prompted Michael to lift her skirt to the gaze of a gentleman who was a total stranger, he pulled her to him and kissed her feverishly.

  “People enjoy you like this,” he whispered luridly into her ear. “And I enjoy watching them.”

  His hand went to her breast and caressed it. Whatever composure Cara had held onto now melted into a slickness that leaked out between her thighs. Michael noticed immediately.

  “You’re aroused,” he declared as he held her close. “I can smell that you’re aroused.”

  Cara gulped. God help her if the rest of the world’s sense of smell was as keen as Michael’s.

  It helped that, marginally at least, Cara liked the attention and embarrassment that naked tits and a sheer blouse brought. Yes, she struggled with it and, yes, it made her blush, but when it came right down to it, it tapped into the part of her that liked attention—the part that liked sexual attention. In time, it allowed Cara to grow comfortable with her surroundings, but Michael, clever and watchful as always, spotted that measure of ease and upped the ante. He clipped her wrist cuffs together and sent her fetching.

  “I want something cold to drink,” he demanded.

  As she made her way to a concession stand, Cara had to wander through a throng of milling people, her hands before her, pressing her breasts together. She tried to avoid meeting the various gazes that watched her pass, allowing herself only the occasional sympathetic acknowledgment from fellow submissive souls.

  “Medium cola, no ice,” she ordered. She fumbled to retrieve cash from the tiny purse she carried, then fussed with the change and getting a lid on the cup. She wasn’t entirely unpracticed in doing mundane things in bondage, for Michael often had her do things cuffed—undressing him, gathering sex toys and whips, feeding him, even cleaning house. But the public nature of serving him while fettered added a level of struggle and exposure that she wasn’t familiar with.

  Fetish people watched. Leather or latex, dark fantasy or goth, they concentrated on her at work as intently as vanilla men stared at her tits. They all focused on her bondage, on her movements in bondage, on her most minor of accomplishments, and those who squirmed while they watched were, undoubtedly, bottoms made uncomfortable by her dilemma. One even offered to help.

  “Thank you, no,” Cara declined. “I’m OK.”

  She didn’t know whether it was more difficult to fall under the scrutiny of the implacable, poked-faced dominant or the squirming submissive, but she was thankful when she made her way back to Michael’s side where she could at least symbolically hide in his shadow and pretend the worst was over.

  The cold winter air came almost as a relief to Cara, after an entire day in Michael’s slutwear. Yes, it chilled her exposed legs, and her nose and cheeks felt absolutely frozen, but a warm jacket covered her breasts and Michael’s car was in sight in the parking garage. A few more steps and she’d be home free.

  But Michael exacted a price even during those last few steps. He grabbed Cara and forced her up against the car. He pulled her jacket open, swiftly unbuttoned her blouse, then spun her around to face the car. He pushed her forward, pressing her breasts up against the freezing windows of his sedan, then slammed his body against hers, pinning her in place. Cara could feel his stiff cock against the curve of her ass. It warmed her where the frigid chill of car did not. The mixed sensations thrilled her in ways the goose bumps early in the day hadn’t.

  Michael held Cara there, one hand in her hair, the other searching far lower. He reached between her legs and when his fingers found their mark, he started feeding her cunt such pleasure that it readily seeped.

  He moaned in her ear appreciatively, kissed her, then whispered, “What a beautiful slut you are.”

  He slipped a finger into her waiting hole and as he penetrated her, Cara moaned and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe this scenario, that he was doing this to her, here, in a parking garage. Yet it felt so good that Cara longed to yield to it. When Michael brought his thumb to her clit, she shuddered and gave way.

  “You’re the eager slut, aren’t you? You’re ready to come right now, aren’t you?”

  Cara didn’t want to admit that, yes, she could come right there, on the fourth level of a city parking structure.

  But she didn’t have to. Michael stroked her fast, furiously, his hand determined to tear from her that which she was primed to surrender. Rubbing, circling, squeezing, fingers pumped and penetrated, but mostly they worked the hard knob of Cara’s clit until she could stand no more. She tensed against a peak both personal and familiar and there she perched until she fell into the deep spasms of orgasm, crying out at its strength, then panting to the rhythmic throbs that overtook her.

  Her orgasm barely subsided, Michael felt his way up her body, his hand roaming until he found a tit. He grasped and kneaded it, leaving Cara with a sense of wetness against her skin.

  “Be thankful I can’t come as quickly as you do,” he spoke in her ear. “Or I would’ve fucked you right here.”

  Cara shuddered at the thought.

  “But that’s OK. I’ll just shove my cock up your ass when we get home.”

  Then he laughed. Cara assumed he laughed because he’d have her yet, but when she opened her eyes, she saw that wasn’t the case. Ahead of her, two leathermen stood by their car, watching.

  “Nice one,” one of them said, complimenting him.

  “Yeah,” Michael agreed. “She is, isn’t she?”

  Cara froze, too dumbfounded to react. Michael chuckled and opened the car door for her. He took her by the arm and guided her.

  “Come on. Get in.”

  As she sat, Michael leaned in and buckled her seat belt for her. Stunned, she couldn’t believe that others had watched her come. She couldn’t accept that they appreciated what they had witnessed and that Michael had enjoyed their voyeurism. His enthusiasm, however, shattered her denial as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “That was great. I can’t wait for the next fetish event.”

  Cara clutched her coat close as if to hide from the very idea. But a warm throb from deep inside her, met by an unmistakable warmth between her legs, contradicted her and she knew she could no more escape her own desires than she could Michael’s enthusiasm. Embracing the inevitable, she let go of her coat and reached for Michael instead. She kissed him, urgently. She had to. She didn’t know how else to say, “Me too,” and she had to say it before common sense returned to reclaim her.

  JEN AND TIM

  Kay Jaybee

  The courier handed Jen a soft brown package. She signed his receipt pad and headed into her apartment, tearing open the stiff paper as she flopped down onto her bed. The delivery of an outfit had become an important feature of her nights out with Tim. Jen smiled in anticipation of the night ahead as she held up tonight’s uniform. “So,” she said to herself, “he’s obviously coming straight from work tonight.” Quickly slipping it over her immaculate underwear, Jen took a few minutes to put the evening’s essentials into her holdall and headed off down the str
eet.

  The crowd outside the club was buzzing with an air of expectation. Jen smiled sweetly as she pushed her way to the front. Tim, as she had foreseen, was right at the start of the line. A smiled greeting was all that was possible in the assembled din.

  The black doors swung open and the clientele surged in, jostling at first by the cloakroom door, then at the bar, before finally being swept onto the dance floor.

  Jen, who had opted to keep her coat and stay sober, acquired two bottles of mineral water, before locating Tim at a table in the far corner. “Well?”

  Tim pulled her jacket aside and nodded with satisfaction.

  “I’m glad you approve.” They swigged from their bottles, watching the decadent behavior of those around them. The crowd had already turned into a groping mass. Nurses were wrapped around sailor boys, policemen were behaving as if they wanted to get arrested, and a bishop was doing something intimate and entirely ungodly to a postal carrier. Jen loved this bit. The undemanding freedom of being felt up by a stranger who, just in that place, could be whoever they wanted to be.

  Tim leaned across the table toward her. “I have booked a room.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought we could skip the dancing tonight. There are other things we could do with our time.” Tim lightly touched her arm. The electricity shot through her.

  Tim smiled coyly as they picked up their bottles and made their way to the back of the dance floor. The deliberately poor lighting hardly made any impact there at all. A tall, seminaked security guard admitted them into a long corridor that had three doors on each side. He handed them the key to the furthest door on the left and walked away. Jen undid the lock and they went in.

  Jen had been attracted to Tim’s dark eyes and shy smile from the second she had seen him, but any sort of relationship had seemed impossible to him. She knew different and had begun a campaign to convince him that they would be good together, despite his usual preferences. Not a relationship, not even a friendship really, but sex to die for. Jen had been proved right on more than one occasion.

  The room was dominated by a giant bed, around which there were various chairs, cushions, and racks of paddles, whips, and enough restraints to please the choosiest of bondage queens. The light was not bright, nor was it that tacky shade of neon associated with many other such establishments.

  As yet neither of them had spoken. Jen looked into Tim’s eyes. He was waiting for her. Walking toward him she reached out to his airline pilot’s jacket and stroked the soft navy fabric. She took off his cap and placed it on her own head at an angle that complemented her long, perfectly straight pigtails. Then she took his hands and placed them onto the buttons of her coat. He undid them and let it fall to the floor. The tight pale-blue air hostess’s outfit he revealed fitted the contours of her body perfectly. Slowly Jen unbuttoned the front of her outfit, then let it slip to the floor.

  Jen hesitated for a second to let him take in her beautiful figure encased in a cream basque and hold-ups, before sliding on his jacket. She was careful to leave it open so that her body could still be seen beneath its dark lapels. Next she removed his shoes, socks, and trousers, folded them deliberately neatly, and placed them in the corner of the room. Jen stroked his muscular calves and admired the form of his cock as it pressed hard against his boxers.

  Next came his shirt. Jen pulled the slightly creased material off his broad shoulders, placing a kiss lightly on each side of his dark chest as it appeared before her. She placed it with his other clothes, before regarding him critically. Jen knew what she ultimately wanted to do to him.

  Dressed in his jacket, Jen began to feel the stirrings of power. All she had to do was put on the final part of her costume and once again she would feel what she imagined it was like to be male, at that moment, for that one purpose. Nevertheless she hesitated. Tonight she would treat him, and herself. She sat him down on the edge of the soft duvet that covered the bed and, in an unusual act of submission, knelt down, pulled his boxers to the floor, and placed his deep brown cock into her mouth. A sigh escaped him as Tim felt the firm lips alternate between clasping him tightly, pushing him forward, and then lightening their hold so that Jen could lick him as if he were an exquisite ice cream cone.

  Jen knew he was keeping as still as he could, for the second he made any movement she would stop. She began to move her hands up his long dark legs, until she cupped his balls, cradling them softly. Then, with precision timing, she gently inserted her index finger a short way into the velvety entrance to his arse. Tim shivered and reached out, pulling on her pigtails. Jen withdrew. Whilst on her knees she had formulated a plan for the evening.

  Tim had already climbed onto the bed, so sure was he that she would be strapping him to it at any moment. “Where are you going?” she asked in a commanding voice. “Stay still and wait until I say you can move.” Jen picked up her discarded air hostess outfit and put it on him. It hardly reached around him, and was ridiculously tight across his chest, but to her he looked magnificent.

  Tim stood silently and watched as Jen reached into her bag and pulled out her impressive strap-on, wrapped it around her waist, clicking it into exactly the right spot, before hooking its remote control onto the thin leather belt that held it in place. “I have given you pleasure, I expect you to return the favor.” Jen pushed Tim to his knees and watched, fascinated, as he began to deep throat her phallus. It was as if she’d been given a huge testosterone injection. Tim was gobbling at her dick as greedily as if it had belonged to one of the many men he had known. He glanced at her breasts, which he could just see through the gap in his jacket. He looked at her for permission to touch, she nodded, and his hands kneaded her with all the force of a baker attacking bread.

  Jen could feel the conflict rising within her. Her breasts ached for the attention only a mouth could give them, but not now. She had to remain as male for him as she could, although she allowed him to tease them for a little longer before she pushed him away. “Now,” she said firmly, “I think a change of routine….”

  Tim nodded meekly, fluttering his eyelashes as seductively as a young girl. She took his hand and led him over to a bar stool that stood in the corner of the room. “Bend over it.”

  Tim was unsure. “It’s too narrow.”

  “Are you questioning my decision?”

  Tim hastily bent over the stool. “No.”

  “Feet off the floor, please.” Jen spoke harshly. “Stand on the lower rung and hoist your body over.” As she was speaking Jen produced four short lengths of cord from her bag. She smiled at his discomfort, yet he had done as she asked, his stomach precariously pressed against the seat, whilst his feet perched on the rung between two of the legs, and his hands reached down to the other two. Jen’s practised hands secured him in place, just tight enough to keep him still, but not so tight as to burn. She stood back to examine her handiwork.

  Tim looked incredible. Her outfit had hitched up across his back, revealing a pair of lush buttocks, and his dick was crushed against the edge of the stool’s plastic seat. She could feel her juices sticking to the inside of her strap-on. The sight of his prone body was almost enough for her to overload on power. Jen tore her eyes away from her whore and surveyed the rack for a suitable weapon. After all, he hadn’t done as he was told straight away, had he? There were crops, whips, and paddles of varying sizes, each of which could, in the right hands, cause as much pain or pleasure as required. To Jen it was as hard as choosing between bars of chocolate in a sweet shop, and all the time Tim was crouched uncomfortably on his stool, waiting.

  Jen picked up a black leather-coated paddle and felt its pleasing weight in her right hand. Then she tried a short white cane by swishing it around her legs. She could see that Tim had begun to tremble on the stool, his shoulders and calf muscles twitching involuntarily, and she wondered if he was feeling light-headed, for the blood must have run to his head by now.

  She chose the paddle. Tim’s head jerked up in pain as the first
blow sent a stinging sensation across his left buttock. Jen matched the resulting pink blotch with another on the right cheek. It looked beautiful. She slowly caressed each hot mark with a long, hard kiss, before inflicting the punishment again and again until her captive’s cries became moans and his ripe cock began to look agonisingly uncomfortable in its enforced position.

  Jen’s black dick seemed to have taken on a life of its own as it swaggered in front of her when she stepped around to face Tim. She lifted his head and teased his parched lips with her hard tip. “Want this, do you, madam?”

  “Yes, sir. Please, sir.” Tim’s throat was so dry that the words came out as a whisper.

  “You’ll have to speak up. What did you say?” Jen was thoroughly enjoying the wait, the expectation of what was to come making it so worthwhile.

  “Yes, please, Captain, sir.” Tim barked the words like a sergeant major, yet a slight quiver to his voice betrayed every inch of his need.

  Jen inclined her head. “Very well, madam.” She moved back around the stool and arranged a pile of cushions onto the floor, so that she could stand at the correct height. Then she reached between her legs and scooped up some of her own juices to smear along the length of her thick shaft. Stepping up into position, she took one final moment to examine her handiwork, before jamming herself between his exposed buttocks. Jen almost lost control, so strong was the feeling of domination that powered through her body. She leant as far forward as she could, the pilot’s jacket falling open so that her taut breasts brushed across the back of his dress. Jen rested there for a while, feeling the muscular body that was caught beneath her, before beginning a slow, rhythmic pumping against his arse, her hands clawing his hair to keep in position.

  The shallowness of Tim’s breathing told her all she needed to know as she pressed the trigger on her remote, sending delicious vibrations coursing across her enflamed clit and down through his backside. “Oh, Christ, girl!” Tim cried as she pushed him over the edge. That was all she needed to hear, to make her climax in body-raking shivers as she lay across his bound form.