Lips Like Sugar

by Violet Blue

  When we’re making love, we rarely come at the same time. Now, though, both of us are so turned on that we couldn’t stop our oncoming orgasms if we wanted to. We pound against each other, your cock throbbing deep inside me as I feel the head of it hitting my cervix. Then I’m coming, and begging you for your come, which you give me as your body tenses, then releases with a smooth round of easy thrusts into me, making me come harder as I feel your cock pulsing, filling me.

  When you pull out of me, I slump forward on the pile of coats, my mouth open, drooling on a faux-fur Nehru jacket. I look back at you over my shoulder, still wanting you, feeling the ache where your cock has slipped out of me.

  You smile, those mirrored eyes reflecting the slackness of my face, all resistance fucked out of me. I’m your prisoner, ready for further punishment.

  You smile.

  “Now that makes a nice mug shot,” you tell me mischievously.

  And looking into my own eyes, four of them reflected in your mirrored sunglasses, I have to agree.

  MR. RIGHT(S)

  Ayre Riley

  I broke up in a rush. The finale was one year coming and one minute ending. He said I’d blown it big time. He said that if I’d played my cards right, I would have lived happily ever after, like a fairy tale. He said that he was my prince, my Mr. Right. What had I done to earn his anger? The first two years together, I’d been his humble student, soaking up everything he taught me. The second two, I’d rebelled and attempted to be myself. I didn’t agree with him by default. I fought. I clawed. Ultimately, I guess I won: freedom. But not the ending to our fairy tale.

  “Go on home,” he demanded. “Go back to Mommy and Daddy.”

  I didn’t.

  I ended up moving in momentarily with a girlfriend and her two male roommates. And after four stifling years of living with the wrong man, I couldn’t wait to be with a right one. Either one her roommates would have been right. They were both goodlooking, both a little older than me, but not too old. Not as old as my ex. They both checked me out when I dropped my one small suitcase on the floor of the guestroom, and I caught interested looks in their eyes.

  I felt on fire. I felt as if I would explode if I didn’t get next to a man. I didn’t want a relationship. I’d had plenty of what that word meant. I wanted good, hot sex, because in four years I hadn’t had any.

  And in the way only fairy tales usually end, I got precisely what I wanted. My first Mr. Right was tall and slim, an actor with dark eyes and dark curly hair. He had a look that was half-seductive, half-devilish. I could tell he was bad news as far as women were concerned, the type of player who could turn women off men, in general. At any other time, I would have known to avoid him. Instead, I went on my knees in front of him and undid the button fly of his jeans. He said nothing. He didn’t look surprised or eager. He looked accepting, which is exactly what I needed. I wanted to be accepted. Accepted for my greedy, sinful desires. I got out his cock, and gazed at his erection for a minute before sliding my lips around the head. He ran his fingers through my long black hair, caressed my slim shoulders through my silky blue-and-white checked pajamas. He moaned softly and whispered sounds of deep encouragement.

  When had I last sucked cock?

  Didn’t remember. That’s how long it had been. And not for lack of trying, either. My ex intellectualized sex. He wanted Tantric orgasms. He wanted our souls to be as one. Nice thought, that. But I wanted heat. I wanted quick, ferocious fuck sessions, and I wanted nights of sweaty, unstopping, heartpounding sex. The type that makes you weak for days. The type that makes you forget to eat. That puts dark circles under your eyes. That makes you radiate.

  Had I ever sucked cock in a living room, where two other roommates had the potential of walking in at any moment and disturbing us? That was easy to answer: no. I felt like a co-ed again, and really, at only twenty-two, I could have been a co-ed still. But what I felt most was free and untamed, and all because I had a stranger’s thick, hard cock in my mouth.

  Not a real stranger. He was Jean’s roommate, after all. But who was Jean? Someone I sort of knew from work. She was a half-assed acquaintance rather than a real friend. And who was I to be doing this so boldly on the revolting green shag rug in her living room after she was kind enough to let me move in for a few weeks? Nobody that I recognized. Nobody that I’d been introduced to. But maybe that was the point. I was ready not to be me anymore. That was the fantasy. That was the fairy tale.

  My ex had been unduly concerned with appearances. What will it look like if you travel somewhere on your own? How will it look if you quit your job here and search for a different one? How will it look? How will it look? For the first time in four years, I didn’t care about appearances. I didn’t care if someone saw us. If someone walked in. If someone judged me.

  Like I didn’t care later on in the night when Ian left for a hot date with a actress he’d met at an audition, and Paul took his place on the sofa. And I took my spot automatically on the floor in front of him, as if it was the proper place for me. Good girl, on her knees again, ready to drink from another stranger’s cock.

  He was wearing dove-gray sweatpants and I pulled them down and freed his dick. He was hard before I had my warm fist wrapped fully around him, hard before I glanced up at his face to make sure that this was okay with him. He had a different expression from his roommate’s. Tousle-haired Paul was clearly not someone who expected such treatment, but someone who was extremely glad that he was getting it.

  I sucked him happily, taking my time. I slid my tongue from root to head, then back again, swirled my tongue around the shaft, bestowed on him the attention I’d been longing to give someone—anyone—for so long. I teased him and taunted him, using all those long-repressed sexual tricks, stroking his balls gently while I sucked like a powerhouse. I made him cry out when he came, and I swallowed every drop. Then, after giving him the time to regain his composure, I made him come again.

  It was as if I was trying to wash away a bad taste—the bad taste of a four-year relationship gone indisputably sour—and the only way I could think to do it was to blow these two amazingly handsome men. Two in one night. One right after the other.

  And as I did, I realized that my ex couldn’t have been more wrong. Because now I could see what lay in store for me. My happily ever after.

  And all my future Mr. Rights.

  FORCE OF NATURE

  Miranda Austin

  They had been anticipating the encounter for weeks, ever since a whispered exchange of fantasies had revealed this startling coincidence of desires. They didn’t talk about it much after the first discussion, wanting the actual event to be as spontaneous as possible. But the very thought drove them to distraction, day and night, until they finally arranged for the house to be empty one Saturday. They had planned to wait until dark, but by midafternoon they could no longer stand it.

  “Why don’t you get changed?” he suggested. Her insides squirmed, but she nodded. Hugging him once, she disappeared into their bedroom and shut the door.

  She had been trying to decide what to wear for days. Usually she slept in the nude, but they had agreed that a proper “rapist” needs clothing to tear off. Suddenly there was no more time to plan. Her hands rummaged through the dresser drawer, bypassing her favorite silk pajamas, until she found the plain green cotton nightshirt and matching briefs. Yes, perfect.

  She sat on the bed, shivering, clutching the nightgown. She could still back out—all she had to do was open the door and tell him she’d changed her mind. They could order in Chinese food, maybe watch a movie, and make gentle love in front of the fireplace. But no, she wasn’t going to chicken out. She wanted this too much.

  It felt strange and sexy to slide between the sheets, knowing that sometime soon a ruthless assailant would be breaking in to have his wicked way with her. She fidgeted under the blanket, pressing her already-moist thighs together, trying to decide whether she should lie on her front or her back, settling on her stomach
so she wouldn’t be able to see him when he came in. She hesitated when reaching for the light switch—once the lights were off, he’d know she was ready—and at the last second she slid the lamp as far away from the bed as it would go. They definitely did not need broken glass and ceramic interrupting them.

  The closed blinds gave a reasonable illusion of night. Determinedly she ignored the mounting urge to slip her hand down to her pussy. It wouldn’t do for him to break in and find her playing with herself! How long would he make her wait? She shut her eyes, calmed her breathing, and, against all odds, actually started drifting off.

  After what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes, she heard the door squeak open. She had no time to think before he grabbed her and pushed her down hard against the mattress. Instinctively she struggled, kicking and grasping for any part of her attacker. He laughed, low and mean, and pressed his full weight on top of her, his voice menacing in her ear.

  It was everything she had fantasized about. Except that life isn’t fantasy. It hadn’t occurred to them that his first pounce might knock the wind out of her. She tried to keep playing along, but had to call a “time out” after only a minute or so. Struggling had turned out to be more of an aerobic activity than she expected.

  He stopped immediately, holding her, stroking her neck and shoulders soothingly as she curled up to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, when her breathing sounded normal again.

  She nodded, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He shushed her apology with a kiss. “Do you want to stop?” he asked.

  “No, no,” she assured him. “No, I’m fine. I want to keep going.”

  “Good,” he growled, pulling her against him spoon-fashion and slipping an arm around her to cup her breast. “Because I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” He squeezed his hand around her flesh, and she gasped in surprise and pain. And desire.

  “You’ve been teasing me for months, you slut,” he whispered. “I’ve seen you walking around in those tight shorts, wiggling your ass at me.”

  “No,” she moaned, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never….”

  “Oh yeah,” he continued. “You’ve been asking for it, and now I’m gonna give it to you.”

  He pushed her down onto her back, his intimidating figure looming over her. His face was close to hers, his body pinning her to the bed. She could feel his erection, hard and ready against her.

  “Please,” she begged. “You can’t do this. My husband will be home any minute.”

  The barest hint of a grin penetrated his sinister expression, but only for a moment. “Don’t lie to me, bitch,” he snarled. “I’ve been watching this place, and I know your husband is away.”

  “No,” she whispered, impressed with the authentic-sounding desperation in her own voice. “No, please. I swear, he’ll be home soon.”

  “Save your breath,” he said. “You’re all alone, all mine. And we’re going to have a good time together, aren’t we?” He stretched a hand down between her legs.

  “Bastard!” she hissed, striking out wildly, her fists flying at his smug voice in the semidarkness.

  He laughed and caught her wrists in his hands almost effortlessly, then yanked the nightgown up and off, baring her to the waist. Before her shriek of outrage died away, he had hauled her off the bed onto the floor at his feet.

  She found herself on her knees on the carpet. Her intruder pressed his knees on either side of her, pinning her arms at her waist and jamming her up against the side of the bed. Her face was level with the bulge in his tight jeans, and even though it was out of character, she couldn’t resist rubbing her cheek against the rough fabric. He felt so damned good, all muscle and heat.

  A low chuckle came from above her. “See, I knew you were just a little slut. You can’t wait to get your mouth on my cock, can you?” he jeered. “I bet those panties of yours are soaked just thinking about what I’ve got for you.”

  She wrenched her shoulders trying to get loose, but he just laughed louder and grabbed her by the hair.

  “Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere.” His other hand reached for his zipper, and in another moment he was stroking his exposed cock only inches from her face. She tried to pull away, but his hand was still tangled in her hair. The head of his cock came closer until it was rubbing over her lips, and he was muttering, “That’s right, you’re going to take it all. Open your mouth, little girl.”

  She whined, “No!” through clenched teeth, and bucked so violently that she nearly got free. He slammed her back against the bed.

  “I don’t like the word no,” he barked. He gripped a nipple, pinching it between his thumb and finger, making her screech. “Are you going to be good?” he asked. To punctuate his question, he pinched again and gave her nipple a cruel twist. She gritted her teeth stubbornly and flattened herself back against the bed.

  He changed tactics, and began to stroke her face lightly. He spoke quietly, almost soothingly. “This will be much easier for you if you cooperate. Will you be a good girl?”

  She deliberately looked up into his eyes. “No,” she said softly.

  A stinging pain blossomed on her cheek, and she was stunned to realize that he had slapped her. He knew she had obsessive fantasies about being slapped, but he had never felt comfortable doing it. This stranger in her husband’s body both excited her and scared her silly.

  “I told you,” he growled, “I don’t like that word.”

  She was whimpering now, but he ignored her, pulling her forward and thrusting his cock between her lips. She surrendered to the moment. She had always loved the feel of him growing bigger and harder in her mouth, loved running her tongue over every inch of him, loved teasing him to insanity. But her tormentor had no patience for niceties like that—he shoved himself inside her as far as he could, holding her head, fucking her face roughly the way she had always imagined.

  She tried to do what he wanted, but all too soon she had to pull away, desperate for air. He gave her only a moment before he dragged her back to him, pushing his hips forward to plunge himself even more deeply into her mouth. When he relaxed his grip slightly, she took advantage of the opportunity and jerked her head violently away from him.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he snapped, raising a threatening hand.

  She was breathing in big gasps. “Fuck you,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

  His eyes gleamed. “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

  To her surprise, he did not slap her. He let go of her and zipped his pants up. Before she could take advantage of her freedom, he pulled her up from the floor and onto her back on the bed, his solid body crushing her underneath him.

  “You don’t want to suck my dick?” he asked, in an ominous tone. She shook her head, trying to stay focused on resisting, but distracted by the pressure of that wonderfully familiar body against her.

  Quick as a flash, he produced a piece of rope from his pocket and bound her wrists together. Her head had somehow ended up at the bottom of the bed, which added to her disorientation. He yanked her bound wrists up and tied them swiftly to the bars of the footboard, leaving her body exposed and available to his roaming hands.

  “Well, that’s fine,” he remarked. “There are plenty of other things I like just as much.”

  He slapped her breast and she yelped. Over and over he smacked her, stopping to pinch and squeeze and twist, alternating with caresses until she thought she would go mad. Being tied made it almost impossible for her to struggle, and she imagined that she could actually feel the adrenaline pouring through her veins.

  “Are you going to do what I tell you?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  The click of a knife unfolding startled her. Her eyes opened wide as the blade in his hand traced its way up from her belly button, just barely brushing her skin, sending shivers through her.

  “Knives are dangerous
,” he had told her when they had planned the encounter. “If you’re fighting, it would be easy for me to slip and accidentally cut you.” So she hadn’t expected this. But then, she hadn’t expected to be bound, either.

  Lightly, almost idly, he traced one nipple with the tip of the blade. She couldn’t help but moan. She knew that knives aroused him powerfully—almost as powerfully as they aroused her. And when the blade moved up to rest against her soft neck, she found herself looking into a pair of dark, utterly serious eyes. Her breath caught hard.

  “What about now?” he asked calmly.

  In her mind she was shaking her head, but she couldn’t do that, not while there was a sharp edge at her throat. She had to stay absolutely motionless.

  “Do you have something to say?” he inquired.

  “I…I’m….” She labored to get words out. Her heart was pounding, from the excitement, the heat, the fear.

  “Yes?” he demanded, increasing the pressure of the knife slightly, just enough for her to feel the tip dig into her skin.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” she gasped. “Just don’t hurt me.” Her cunt contracted as she finally said those fantasy words out loud.

  He smiled. “You will do whatever I want,” he said. “And maybe I won’t hurt you too badly.” She felt the knife’s pressure release, but before she could react, he warned, “Don’t you move one inch.” It took a massive effort for her to obey, especially with his fingers trailing down her torso again.

  “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, pinching her inner thighs, then spreading her legs apart and cupping her through her soaked cotton panties.

  “Oh god,” she whispered. “Please….”