by Jolie Du Prè
I nodded. She stretched the crotch across my mouth.
“Taste good, Puma?”
Again I nodded.
“Enjoy,” she ordered.
I breathed deeply and tried without success to make sense out of the sounds assaulting me. Finally I felt Sherry close by. I heard a droning noise, like a plane approaching. Only it landed on my chest. Clippers!
“No,” I shouted into her panties.
A slow, deliberate swipe across my chest. I shook my shoulders.
“Don’t wiggle, or I’ll nick your nipples.”
“Why?” I squeaked.
“Why not? You’ll look great with a smooth torso. Maybe I’ll even oil you up.”
“I’ll look weird at the gym.”
“Particularly since I won’t shave your legs. At least then you could pass for a swimmer or a model.”
“Fuck.”
“You could shave them yourself.”
“Never!”
“Quiet.” Buzz, buzz. One pec smooth. Sherry swirled her finger tips over it, landing on my nipple, which she fondled. I groaned.
“Maybe I’ll even take you to the country club pool Sunday afternoon.”
“Fuck.”
“After I lock my exquisite, yet masculine, collar around that strong neck.”
“Aah.”
“Show you off.”
My dick stirred.
“You’ll be marked—mine.”
My dick jumped.
“And the high school girls will giggle.”
My dick drooped down.
Two pecs smooth. “Whenever you peer into a mirror, which I suspect is often, you’ll think of me.”
“And blanch.”
“After tonight, I think not.”
She finished and stood back. “My own David, sans fig leaf. I should leave you here.” She laughed. Then silence. Maybe she had left.
Sherry eventually returned. She threw the bra over her shoulder and grabbed the panties. I snarled and tossed my head to and fro like a puppy playing with his favorite rag while she yanked them off. She stood before me in stiletto heels, legs spread, and hands on hips, bright eyes perched over a wide grin. She sported a black leather jock-like harness that held a tan dildo.
My eyes widened.
“Is my big boy frightened?”
“It looks so large.”
“I have larger ones. This is the beginner’s model.”
“It looks so hard.”
“Harder than a guy’s dick, yes, but I’ll go easy on you. At first.”
I took a deep breath.
Sherry covered the dildo with a condom and lube and stepped behind me. She gently inserted one, and then two, and finally three greasy fingers into my butthole.
“You’ve had dicks up here, haven’t you? Don’t be shy—no secrets between us—well, perhaps a few. I can figure it out. You’re either tight or you’re not.”
“I’ve had a small toy or two up there.” I paused. “And, yep, butt fucked too. But not much.”
“We’ll soon find out what you can really take.”
Sherry put one arm around my belly and guided her cock to its target. I grunted as the rubber head penetrated my asshole.
Sherry grabbed my hips with both hands and pushed the dildo to its limit. I shrieked.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. The worst is over. The best is yet to come.”
I tried to step away, but she dug her fingernails into my thighs. She began with gentle prods that soon became urgent lunges. Then she started pumping. After awhile it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it almost felt good. But my hard-on wilted.
“Don’t worry,” Sherri reassured me. “Nobody stays hard while they’re being pounded like this.”
I relaxed and started backing into her thrusts. Her groans became gasps. Her panting turned into wheezes. “Fuck, this feels good on my pussy. Yeah, bang your butt into me, Stud Boy.”
I didn’t need further encouragement. I loved riding her dick and pushing her into further screams of delight. “Go for it, Stud Woman!” I shouted. Our voices rose to higher and higher pitches as our screams intertwined into meaningless gibberish.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sherry shrieked. I gave a final push, she gave a final thrust, and she yelled, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
She held me tightly for a few minutes, our torsos lubricated by a coating of sweat, as the aroma of sex dispersed into the room.
Sherry withdrew with a loud pop.
“Ouch,” I yelped.
“So sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I babbled. “The ride was worth it.”
Sherry lowered me to a sitting position and gave me water through a straw. We grinned at each other.
“Wow,” I said.
“Double wow,” she countered. “How are your wrists?”
“Fine, thanks for asking.”
“Good. Ready for more?”
What could possibly follow? I nodded assent, the motor whirred, and I ascended, but not to my taut position. My feet were on the floor, and I could bend my knees. Quite a bit, actually.
Sherry glanced at my nipples. They’re sizeable, due to numerous play sessions and self-inflicted abuse. She chose a pair of nipple clamps that I had never experienced, let alone seen, and dangled them in front of me with a mischievous grin. Inch long brass talons covered with black plastic protruded from a two-inch long black cylinder a half-inch in diameter. The talons were closed by rotating the cylinders which were joined by a twelve-inch chain of compact, stainless steel links that sparkled even in the dim light.
She circled each nipple with a talon, the cylinder adjacent to my body and pointing down, and tightened the clamps while holding my gaze. She watched me go from grin to gasp and stopped just before I entered the pleading and praying stage. She chose wisely. The clamps would keep me hard indefinitely, prancing midway on the tightrope that stretched from Why bother? to Get those damn things off me, now! Please? How had she known? Well, that’s how she had earned her living.
She knelt before me and grabbed my balls with one hand, and the base of my swelling dick with the other. At last! My blow job! Then she disguised my prick with a blue condom. She rose. Our eyes locked.
“I’m so wet, lover boy,” she said before kissing me. She grabbed my hips and pulled me into her. I gasped. Then I started pumping. Oh yeah, did I pump.
“That’s it. Give it to me, Brad. Give it to me hard, real hard.”
“Fuck, yes!” I answered.
Sherry loosened her grip, but not all the way, and we charged into each other, both of us a mirror image of the other’s frenzy. We repeated our motions, over and over, a tangle of flesh and lust.
Then Sherry leapt up, threw her arms over my shoulders, and locked her legs around my waist. Her boobs dug into my nipple clamps.
“Ohmygod,” I bellowed.
Our pumping dissolved into churning as she hung onto me. Fuck! Double fuck! What a sensation!
Cuffs notwithstanding, I was able to grasp the bar with both hands. I threw my legs behind me and we swung. Two sluts on a trapeze. I wriggled my prick as much as I could, Sherry pumped as much as she could, and we flew. Oh yes, we flew, we soared out of the building, above the neighborhood, through the dark clouds, and into the starry night.
“I’m coming!” I gasped.
“Go for it, Brad, I’m with you!”
I watched us from the side of the room as we came together in a welter of screams and wild oscillations.
I landed, none too gently. Sherry slithered off. We stared at each other, too dazed to speak or move. Sherry lowered the boom and undid my cuffs. She led me to a love seat. I collapsed and she fetched two snifters of brandy. We lifted our glasses in a mutual toast, trembling hands notwithstanding.
“So many firsts tonight,” I said. “You took me into uncharted territory.”
Sherry put her hand on my thigh. “You inspired me to travel there, gorgeous young man with a sharp mind.”
I smiled and placed my hand over hers. We sat in silence for a few minutes.“So, you must really like older women.” Sherry’s tone of voice mixed question with tease, admiration with trepidation.
“Well, I, er, uh . . .”
“I know, I know,” Sherry said, camouflaging my embarrassment. “You go where passion takes you.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“And where your good looks and charm lead you.”
I blushed. “You’re very flattering.”
“You deserve it. Let’s take a swim, have breakfast, go for a walk. It’s Sunday. We’ll see what happens.”
“You know damn well what will happen.”
“I sure do.” Sherry stood and hoisted me to my feet.
Mine for the Night
Brenna Lyons
“Are you ready, Doctor?” the ancient woman in the doorway asked, a gleam of jealousy in her eyes.
Sondra ignored it. Late in her eighties, the handler was old enough to have had her pick of men before the plague had struck Earth. The wrinkled hag was old enough to have been married and have had a man to herself, or nearly to herself, for many years before the plague killed him off. She might even have raised a son to adulthood before he was lost to her. If she hadn’t, the crone was a fool who’d squandered her chance, and Sondra had no time for fools.
At forty-five, Sondra had had her first man less than five years earlier. She was one of only thirty thousand of the remaining quarter billion women on Earth young enough to bed a man who’d had since the first had been saved by the very process she’d helped created to repopulate the world.
Moreover, Sondra had worked her ass off to save the world. It was a small reward she reaped for it.
As if her gimlet stare had clued the handler as to how out of line her petty emotions were, the elder woman shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat, her face going a deep crimson.
Sondra straightened the files on her desk, making a show of ignoring her. “I am indeed,” she finally answered.
The handler withdrew, and the door to the male habitat closed behind her. Sondra set about her preparations.
She unbuttoned the top few buttons on her blouse to show the edge of lace and cleavage. The rest of the time was spent in busy work: fluffing the pillows on the bed in her combination office and apartment, smoothing the blankets, and setting nonessentials off the desk. Since every man reacted differently to his reintegration into society, she never knew how the first time would pass, and it was better to be safe than sorry.
Sondra straightened at the knock, her slit hot and wet already. “Come in.”
Oh, he will come in. They always did.
The man was more enticing in person than he’d been on the monitors. Then again, they usually were.
Three months off the suppressants, he had gained muscle, and a light smattering of male curls decorated his broad chest. Sondra’s mouth watered for that first taste of twenty-five luscious years of uneducated male specimen. Since half of the group they’d tried to mature at twenty-three had perished, she dared not move the process back further.
He tipped his head, half in greeting and half in challenge. “You wished to see me, Doctor?”
His life was full of handlers and doctors, women too old to have real aspirations of bedding a man and who had no wish to lose their comfortable positions by acting inappropriately around the young men they tended to. His newfound aggressive tendencies would make him bristle at yet another doctor in his life.
She motioned to a comfortable chair. “Sit. Please.”
He—Benjamin, she reminded herself.
Benjamin folded himself onto the chair, seemingly strung tight. “Am I in trouble?” he asked.
Sondra feigned interest in the file she’d left on her desk, though she’d memorized it in the two days she’d been watching him. “You’ve been in several altercations with other students.”
It wasn’t unusual. They had to suppress testosterone production until the engineered virus timed out and died off at sometime close to twenty-three or twenty-four years old. When the suppressants were taken away, and the testosterone production rebounded, the young men often suffered violent mood swings.
Benjamin ground his teeth, his eyes hardening, proving himself a veritable throwback to the times when men were hunters and providers, the times before men were pampered and protected by the females who needed them so desperately.
“Am I in trouble?” He annunciated every syllable, warning that he would chance fighting with her and finding himself tranqued in the process.
She smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Not at all, but I may be able to help you.”
A look of surprise turned wary. “In what way?”
“Aggression is a symptom of—”
“You’re saying I’m sick?”
Sondra set the file aside, assessing his reactions. She’d never invited a quad in and had the male prove unstable, but there was a first time for everything, she supposed. Even with all the psych evals, they could be wrong.
“Not sick. Your body is changing.” It was a given he’d noticed it. “You are in a transition phase.”
“Transition to what?” His words were economical, nearly clipped.
“Full adulthood.”
He hesitated and then nodded.
“You will have noticed other symptoms. You’ve increased in muscle mass.” It will feel so good when he’s thrusting inside me. “You’ve grown body hair.” Sondra panned her gaze to his lap. “Erections.”
Benjamin darkened but didn’t reply.
“How often do you come erect, Benjamin?”
“Ben,” he snapped back at her.
Sondra raised an eyebrow at that. “You’ve chosen to shorten your name?”
“If I am adult, I have that right.” His chest and shoulders tightened down in preparation to fight over it. It was time to defuse the situation.
“Of course you do. I simply hadn’t been informed that you’d done so. I meant no offense.”
He relaxed again, crossed his arms over his chest, and grunted his agreement.
“Now . . . How often do you come erect?”
Ben seemed to consider it. “Five . . . times a day.”
Sondra knew he was lying. Most of them did. She’d seen him on the cameras. He had a healthy male response of more than double that number in a day. “Only five? Perhaps we should start there.”
One brow went up in something resembling shock, but he didn’t respond.
She sat on the desk in front of him, close enough for him to smell her musk. In this stage of the testosterone storm, scent would be a powerful motivator. As if in confirmation, his cock thickened slightly. Ben lowered his hands to his thighs, and his eyes dilated in arousal.
“Do you notice anything in particular that brings you erect?” Sondra added a note of invitation to the question.
His gaze slid downward then flicked back up. So, he was a leg man, but he didn’t want to admit it.
Sondra raised one leg and planted it between his parted thighs. Ben stared at it, swallowing hard. His cock hardened further, going thick and heavy behind the soft, medical center lounging pants he wore.
“Excellent response,” she noted. “Touch, Ben.”
His dominant right hand skated up his thigh toward his cock.
“Do you want to touch yourself?” she asked. “Or do you want to touch me?”
His breathing went harsh. Ben’s hand settled on her foot. He stroked back and forth, circled his fingers around her ankle, and moved upward.
“What do you feel?” she prompted.
“Soft. You’re so soft.”
Sondra stared at the impressive length of his cock, licking her lips. “And you’re hard.”
“Is that right?”
Very right. “Yes, it is.”
His hand passed her knee. Ben paused at the hem of her skirt, meeting her eyes as if seeking her reaction to him going farther.
“Touch, Ben.
Touch everywhere you want to.” Her inner muscles clenched in anticipation. “Taste everywhere you want to.” A vision of his long, auburn hair brushing her body as his tongue played between her spread legs sent a trickle of moisture down her perineum.
“Taste?” His voice went rough at that, and his brown eyes dilated until the black pupils were more dominant than the iris.
“Perhaps we should divest of clothing,” she suggested.
Ben stood, towering over her. Sondra untied his lounging pants and pulled them down, letting them pool around his ankles. He kicked them away, his body fairly vibrating for more. Sondra wrapped her hand around his shaft, stroking up and down. Precum leaked from the crown, and she licked it off. His shout was sharp in the newness of the sensation, and she took a moment to suck at him before she released the tip and sat back.
He stood, his eyes closed, seemingly shocked into stillness. Sondra leaned toward him, laying a lick over one male nipple . . . and then the other. Ben gasped, arching his back.
“Undress me, Ben. Touch and taste.”
He was aggressive. Whatever came next was sure to be a wild ride.
The first few buttons on her blouse opened smoothly. The next two ripped away in his haste. Sondra didn’t offer instruction or correction. When she chose an aggressive one, she planned to lose clothing in the process.
Ben grasped the edges of the blouse and pulled, and Sondra arched toward him, aroused by his raw need. He yanked the blouse off her arms, then dragged her chemise up and off, leaving her nude to the waist.
One large hand kneaded at a breast, and Sondra leaned back on her elbows. He stared in fascination, his gaze flicking this way and that.
Her breasts weren’t as perky as a younger woman’s, she knew. Sondra had produced her required male child by insemination, after all. Perhaps he would enjoy the young quad member’s breasts better, but tonight, he didn’t know any other woman’s body.
Even when he was presented to the quad, the women would have no hetero physical experience. Other women, even with strap ons, or computer-driven neuro-stim weren’t the same as sex with a man. Sondra was experienced in things his quad wouldn’t learn without years of experimentation and research.