Liaisons

by Various

  My body was rigid from a mixture of excitement and the strain of my unnatural position. My nipples were erect and painful, rubbing up against the fabric of my bra every time I breathed. My crotch was on fire. Johnny’s talented tongue was bringing me to a pitch. He covered my taut clit with his hot mouth and circled it hard with his tongue. He slid two fingers inside me, bending them upwards and pushing them hard against my G-spot. My whole body stiffened, banging my head against the turntable again.

  ‘See, I told you it was dangerous,’ Johnny mumbled between licks.

  ‘You should never talk with your mouth full.’ I struggled hard, trying to free my hands. ‘This is torture. I can barely move and my head’s full of snot. Let me down so that we can do it properly.’ I kicked my heels uselessly against the wood. ‘I want to suck your cock,’ I begged.

  ‘Shhh, shh …’ he soothed. He circled his fingers inside me and went back to licking me. His fingers worked my G-spot, each gentle thrust setting off a little peak of excitement that I knew would lead, inevitably, to orgasm. He was working directly on my clit now, alternately flicking it with his tongue, then covering it with his mouth and sucking on it hard. I moaned.

  Between Johnny’s legs I could see the leopardess prowling backwards and forwards in her cage. She scented the air, extending her neck and sniffing. Her tail snaked.

  My crotch tingled with delicious sensations. Each lap of his tongue unleashed another wave of pleasure. Excitement was building to a pitch. Sweat ran across my face and into my eyes. My hair dragged in the dirt.

  He sucked on my clit again and I knew I was going to come. I thrashed against the cuffs, my body banging against the turntable. I dug my heels in, trying to move my hips and create some rhythm. Johnny wrapped his free hand around my hips and licked my clit with the flat of his tensed tongue in long, slow strokes. ‘Yes … yes … yes …’ I said with a gasp. ‘Like that. Don’t stop.’

  My clit danced in his mouth. Heat and tension throbbed in my belly. My nipples ached. I was groaning loudly now, responding to each divine pulse and tingle Johnny’s talented mouth created. He rubbed his whole lower face against my crotch and his scratchy moustache created a wave of eye-watering pleasure.

  I clenched my fists and stiffened my whole body, digging my heels into the turntable, forcing my pussy against Johnny. I was coming. Tears welled in my eyes. I trembled and shook, my body banging noisily against the wood. I moaned and sobbed. The sound seemed to fill the air like a feral cry of satisfaction and desire.

  He rode it out with me, holding onto my hips as I thrashed, his mouth always moving, sucking the orgasm out of me. As I let out a final cry of pleasure and excitement I realised that the leopardess, too, was roaring, standing on her hind legs and shaking the bars of her cage as she roared into the night.

  When Johnny finally unfastened my ankles and turned me upright I was dizzy and out of breath. He released my hands and I instantly dropped to my knees and began fumbling with his belt with trembling fingers. He unbuttoned his own flies and pushed his jeans and underwear down to his knees. His hard cock stood out in front of him, thick and purple-tipped and glistening. ‘You told me it was only an adder,’ I murmured, before taking it into my mouth and sliding all the way down until my nose was pressed into his fragrant pubes.

  ‘I lied,’ he whispered, his voice husky and soft. His cock was silky and hot. I could feel the blood pumping under the skin and taste the salty pre-come. I stroked his balls, already hard and tight inside their wrinkled sac. I slid a finger behind them and ran it around the wrinkled rim of his arsehole and was rewarded with a shudder and a long, low moan.

  I bobbed my head, moving my mouth up and down his slippery cock. I could hear my own snuffling breathing mingling with the restless voice of the leopardess. Johnny’s thighs had begun to tremble and his hips pumped, establishing a rhythm that I quickly followed. He reached down and stroked my hair. ‘That’s absolutely divine, Jo. But if you don’t stop it I’m going to come pretty soon and – wonderful though that sounds – I think I’d rather come in your cunt.’

  The crudity of the word made my nipples prickle and my crotch ache. I released his cock with a soft plopping sound and struggled to get to my feet. He half pushed, half led me over to some piled-up straw bales beside the animal cages. I quickly threw off my jacket then pulled off my jumper. Johnny dragged down my bra straps, uncovering my breasts.

  ‘God, you’re beautiful …’ He pushed me down on my back on one of the bales. He knelt down and spread my legs then shuffled forwards until he was positioned between them. I watched as he took his erection in his hand and pressed it up against my wet pussy. With a single slow thrust of his hips he pressed it home.

  I couldn’t help trembling as it slid inside me, awakening and enlivening every one of my nerve endings and making them tingle. It was hot and hard as a piece of newly forged iron and it filled me like only cock can. He held onto me and began to fuck me. I wrapped my legs around him and brought my hips up to meet him. Johnny bent his head and sucked a hard nipple into his mouth. He began to nibble and I moaned.

  Beside us, the cats were restless and noisy. They moved about in their cages, growling and pacing. One of the tigers stuck its snout through the bars and roared and I felt its fiery breath on my skin.

  Johnny released my nipple. Strands of his hair had escaped his ponytail and fallen in his face. His eyes were slitted, making him look mysterious and sensual. His gold tooth gleamed. His hips pumped, fucking me hard.

  He pulled open his shirt. His nipples were pierced with heavy gold rings and the right side of his torso was criss-crossed by thick raised scars. My entire body quivered and shook. Blood pounded in my ears. My heart thumped.

  I was on the edge again, riding that divine moment of pleasure that can tip over at any second into orgasm. I rocked my hips, meeting his thrusts. Johnny was sweating and gasping. Light gleamed on his closed eyelids. Damp hair clung to his forehead.

  He gave a particularly hard, deep thrust and I started to moan. Another couple of thrusts and I’d be there. I gripped him hard with my legs and ground my crotch against his scratchy pubes.

  Johnny began to grunt. His hips pistoned and his fingers dug into my skin as he held on to me. His strokes grew shorter and more urgent and I knew he was going to come. His eyes flickered and he groaned between clenched teeth. It was all I needed to push me over the edge.

  Pleasure burst inside me like a bomb going off, spreading out from my crotch and rocketing down to the tips of my toes and the roots of my hair. I rocked my hips, rubbing my clit against his hairy crotch. I was trembling all over, feet locked behind him and my back arched. I was practically screaming now as each wave of pleasure overwhelmed me.

  Johnny held on to me as we rode it out. His body trembled. His cock pumped out hot sperm inside me and I realised that I could no longer tell where he ended and I began.

  The cages rattled and shook, the cats’ agitated voices joined our own. Their roars, growls, snarls and howls filled the night air; it was a cacophony of pleasure and wild animal urges that were as old as time.

  After I showered and changed my clothes in Johnny’s caravan, he drove me to the university where a very horny and slightly drunk Mike was waiting for me. We fucked all night and he never suspected a thing.

  I never saw Johnny again and, though I think of him often, to tell you the truth I think I preferred it that way. But, whenever the circus is in town, I remember him and the night when I was as wild and greedy as the leopardess who rattled her cage and roared, hungry for a taste of freedom that was as terrifying as it was exciting.

  Mae Nixon is the author of the Black Lace novel Wing of Madness, and her short stories have appeared in numerous Black Lace collections. She also writes as Madeline Bastinado for Nexus.

  A Stroll Down Adultery Alley

  Portia Da Costa

  RUNNING FOOTSTEPS BEHIND me. ‘Katie! Wait! Are you going for a walk? May I join you?’

  I turn around and th
ink, Thank you, God, what on earth did I do to deserve this? I’ve been fancying this guy since almost the first instant he moved in with us and here he is chasing me, not the other way around. ‘Of course … why not?’ With my best smile on my face, I hope to do the best I can to impress my mother’s latest lodger, Doctor Peregrine Nash, noted academic and all-round tasty morsel of hot quirky male pulchritude.

  I wait for him to catch up with me, still hardly believing my luck. With my mum on guard duty there’s not really been a chance to show the good doctor I’ve had the voracious hots for him.

  The desire to ogle him is intense, but I manage to restrain myself to sneaky glances as we fall into step along the path to the common, Kissley Copse, and what the locals all call Adultery Alley.

  I’m pretty nervous too. This man is brilliant. A real brainbox as well as a cutie, an eminent mathematician newly arrived at the local university. I’m not exactly thick, in fact I’m fairly sharp in my own way and I have a damn good job. But I’m not in his league where grey matter is concerned.

  ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ he says.

  He’s nervous. I can tell. A shy guy, despite his academic eminence. And that is sexy. I’ve always had this thing for tutoring a less-experienced man. It’s like a major fantasy of mine. And to tutor a gorgeous bloke like this, who’s so used to tutoring other people, will be something of a twist. Of course, I could be imagining things and he’s got available women coming out of his ears … but somehow, my hottie-sex-radar tells me I’m right on the money. And, with any luck, we’ll both learn something down the Alley.

  ‘Smashing … fantastic day for a walk. I like to get out of the house, you know … I mean, my mum is great, but she watches me like the proverbial hawk. She thinks that, just because I’m not married now, I need to be kept under constant surveillance.’

  Why, oh why, am I babbling and telling him all my intimate troubles? If I’m not careful I’ll be telling him that I’m dying to get laid next. And also that he’s the one I’d like to do the honours.

  ‘Yes, quite,’ he says, flashing me another cautious little smile, as if he’s not quite sure whether he hasn’t stumbled into something he really hadn’t bargained for. What if he really does only want a perfectly innocent walk in the fresh air with his landlady’s divorced daughter?

  We reach the edge of Kissley Copse and I’m still trying to weigh him up. It’s a warm evening and he slips off his denim jacket revealing a white T-shirt laundered lovingly by my mum. I must admit that he’s not really a classic Adonis. He’s short, for one thing. No taller than I am. And he’s also ever so, ever so slightly chubby, with a rounded face and a stocky little body. But he has got ‘it’. The X factor or whatever. Or, in his case, Pi factor or some other esoteric number. He’s sort of dark and swarthy with a slightly hooked nose and the maddest mop of black curls. He looks like a delicious combination of sex animal and innocent naif. I could eat him alive.

  We don’t say anything, but I catch him sneaking the same sort of glances at me as I’m sneaking at him. Sly, discreetly assessing, but also cautious. I’m convinced he wants me but is calculating the precise theorem of a successful seduction pounce. I wish I could tell him that I’m a dead cert. Disgracefully easy in his case, although not as a rule. Well, at least not since …

  ‘What are all those cars doing lined up in the lane?’

  We’ve reached the footpath that runs parallel to the ‘alley’, our track separated from it by a sparse and scrubby hedge that looks as if it’s been deliberately pushed through in places. Which, of course, it has. This is a prime spot for both sexual exhibitionists and doggers, and voyeurs who lurk on this side of the shrubbery watching the performers both in their cars and out of them. How to explain this to the good Doctor though?

  ‘Well … um … this is a sort of hang-out for people who are having a bit on the side. They come here to … er … do it in their cars.’

  Beautiful brown eyes widen. Brighten. And also darken at the same time as his pupils dilate. His lush mouth curves into a smile that would grace the image of the wickedest-ever sex pixie. And I like that – ‘Sex Pixie’ – it sums him up perfectly. My mother would go ballistic if she saw the way his eyes glint, and suddenly he licks his lips. She thinks he’s a gentleman and above all that sins of the flesh lark. She thinks he’s too good for me. But curiously, and conversely, that no man is actually quite good enough for me. Which means that me finding a bloke at the moment is pretty much a lose-lose situation.

  She blames me squarely for my divorce and current lack of grandchild-producing potential. And she’s right in some ways. It was an error of judgement on my part. But that’s by the by. This is not the time to be worrying about what my old mum is thinking and how she perceives I’ve let her down. ‘Everyone round here calls it “Adultery Alley”. Because most of the people in the cars are married, but not to the people who are in the car with them.’ This ought to bug me and make me uneasy, but it just makes me hornier than ever. I’m so screwed up.

  ‘Indeed.’ His eyes twinkle again. He’s definitely up for something, I hope. ‘A sort of “Liaison Lane”, I presume.’

  Liaison Lane. I like that too. Although it does rather over-dignify the grubbiness of these gropers and cheaters and adulterers. ‘If you say so.’

  Is he closer now? I never saw him move. But somehow he’s in my personal space, smelling sumptuously of a rather expensive cologne. ‘And …’ He hesitates and a cheeky grin spreads across his impish features. Being so dark and saturnine, he always seems to need a shave. ‘Do you come here often, Katie? Do you like to observe the fornicators in their natural habitat?’

  I’m gobsmacked. I never realised he was so full-on. I suspected he had a frisky rampant satyr’s heart beating in his mathematician’s chest, but I didn’t expect the switch from polite respectful lodger to total horn-dog to be quite so sudden. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound. I take a deep breath that unconsciously, or perhaps consciously makes my breasts lift and displays them to their best advantage. I’m wearing a white T-shirt too, and my frontage is one of my most attractive features.

  ‘Yes, I do. Is that a crime?’ My chin comes up and it’s like there’s a clash of two sabres as our eyes meet and hold. I match his grin with one of my own. ‘I like to watch. I can’t deny that. And this lot are fair game if they shag in a public place.’ I gesture vaguely towards the scrappy hedge and the vehicles parked beyond.

  ‘No crime. None at all. I find your honesty refreshing and healthy. And I must confess to snatching the opportunity to observe a fuck in progress whenever I can too.’

  He chuckles. I snigger. We both simmer and gurgle and boil and then nearly collapse, trying not to howl at our own absurdity and alert the shaggers in the nearest cars to our presence just yards away.

  Oh, I love his grin. His sparkling eyes. His aura of total naughtiness. He might not be a Greek god, but he makes up for any deficiencies in this newly revealed and scrumptiously open horniness. Whoever would have guessed? I was quite wrong about him. The demure Doctor Peregrine is a rampant, sexy pervert.

  ‘Perhaps we should partake of the show that’s on offer then?’

  ‘Way to go … um, Peregrine?’ I’ve never called him by his first name. At home, because my mum had me in her 40s and is in her seventh decade now, we observe the proprieties and he’s ‘Doctor Nash’ at mealtimes.

  ‘Perry,’ he says softly. ‘I’d love it if you call me Perry. All my close friends do.’

  And, boy, do I want to be a close friend. The closest of close kind of friend. The kind of close friend who gets to touch and fuck that cute chunky little body. The one I got a glimpse of the other day when he came rushing down to the door to collect a courier parcel, draped in a bath towel. There’s a lovely little mat of dark hair on the chest that’s hidden behind the snowy T-shirt.

  ‘Righto, Perry. I’m game if you are.’

  The conspiratorial smile he gives me lets me know we are in agreement.

 
; We pad forwards, sneaking right up against the hedge. Again, more by design than accident, I trip on a root and he catches me by the arm to stop me falling. And it feels like he’s just goosed me with five thousand volts; all the current goes straight to my pussy. I cling on to him, more wrong-footed by his touch than by anything else.

  And he’s strong too, far more powerful than his modest stature and slightly soft build suggest. He’s like a rock I could hold on to forever. ‘Thanks,’ I whisper, reluctantly releasing my limpet-grip. He gives me an odd, sweet, complicit little smile as we edge forwards again and take up our position.

  Here among this section of the scrubby bushes, tucked up against a drystone wall, we’re higher than Liaison Lane, and we have a perfect view into the light-blue Japanese saloon car below. Where a middle-aged couple are already going at it.

  And they’re really bold. They’ve stripped off completely. She’s sitting astride him in the back seat, her heavy breasts bouncing as she pounds up and down upon him. I can’t see as much of his body as hers, but the tangly mat of dark hair on his chest reminds me of Perry’s delightful pelt. Unable to stop myself, I glance to the side instead of at the raunchy goings-on in the car.

  Perry’s looking at me. As if my reaction, and my response to the illicit shaggers, is far more interesting and arousing to him than they are. He gives me that devil–cherub smile of his again and waggles his dark brows before nodding towards the car.

  Oh, God, I barely care what they’re doing now. I just want to grab him, roll down into the dip behind us, and climb on board him just the way the bouncing woman in the Honda is astride her bloke. But Perry gives me a strangely commanding look and nods again to the cavorting couple in the car.

  The woman is really putting on a show, lifting and grinding and shimmying. The man’s holding her hips, but she’s in charge, and she’s all about her own pleasure, not his. She’s tweaking one of her nipples as she jogs up and down, and her other hand is down between her body and his, obviously rubbing at her clitoris in the nest of her pubic hair.