by Alex Algren
He was here now, nursing her wounds, rubbing ointment on her scrapes.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your hip,” Trip said.
“Yeah, ’cause at my age it probably wouldn’t heal worth shit,” Sunny said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Sunny pulled at the bristly hairs on Trip’s chin. It wasn’t the fall. It absolutely wasn’t the fall. Sunny had fallen before and harder. She had broken bones and gotten back up and was back hitting the tar again within a month.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was something. Maybe it was the tear that Trip had furiously tried to wipe away before her eyes fluttered back open and vehemently denied even existed. Maybe it was the extra-large closet with the built-in shoe case, but suddenly, Sunny had begun hearing Asheville call her name.
She looked over at the green and gold mountain bike taking residence in a small corner of the den. It was a good day for a ride. Cool. Clear skies.
She would be breaking it in the first chance she got, and Trip, he would be right there with her on an old-man bike of his own.
Quickly, Sunny decided she would get a bell and a basket for hers, had to find some way to make the thing original. She cocked her head, eying it again. It certainly wasn’t a Harley, but she knew, nonetheless, that her legs would look spectacular when she pedaled, scrapes, scars and all.
SIMPLICITY
Gwen Masters
His voice came low in my ear. My eyes were closed, but I could see the flickering of the candlelight across my shut eyelids. The scent of vanilla filled the air. My breath was harsh.
He had been teasing me all night. I couldn’t take much more, and I told him so. I bucked up to meet him, but he held just out of my reach. I squirmed, wanting more, yet wanting it to stop. I couldn’t stand the anticipation. That voice was all he gave me, that gentle voice that could be so rough with passion or demanding with domination. I bucked up again when he asked me to beg. I showed him what I wanted.
“Please, please,” I whimpered.
“Please what? Tell me or I’ll stop.”
“Please fuck me!” I was close to delirious.
Then I felt it. His hard cock, sliding through the wetness that he had created within me. The sweet nectar of passion was flowing down my shaved pussy, down onto the soft fabric of the couch. His cock slid through it, and he groaned. I groaned right along with him. Then he let out a long sigh, and whispered the word I had been longing to hear: “Now.”
I arched and cried out at the invasion of his cock. His head stretched me just enough, opening me for the passage of his shaft. He jerked once at the sensation of being engulfed by the heat of my cunt.
“What do you want?” he panted, knowing damn well what I wanted, but wanting me to say it. To let go. To give myself over entirely to sensation. To act like the whore he knew I loved to be.
“I want you to fuck me deep. Make me come, make me squeeze you so hard you can’t move,” I murmured into his ear.
He groaned again, the reward I was looking for. Then he drove deep, hard, and I held my breath. The feeling was incredible. When his balls came to rest against my ass, I crossed the point of no return.
“God, yes!” I spread my legs wide; so wide, my hips hurt. He thrust in even deeper and I almost laughed out loud, so pleased to finally be fucked like this. My hands clenched hard on the cushions of the couch. I thrust up, meeting him each time he plunged into me.
“That’s it, baby. Tell me what a whore you are. Tell me how much you like that cock inside you.”
I started to shake. I was going to come soon, and he knew it. He knew what effect his voice, his cock, had on me. I loved the feeling of his strong, hard body over mine. But even the simple mindfuck was enough to make me beg for more. And so I did.
“I love being your little cockslut…I love spreading wide for you to fuck me…I want to feel you come….”
“Where. Where? Where do you want me to come? You want me to shoot it deep into your pussy?” He thrust harder and we both moaned. “You want me to slide this thick rod out of your pussy and slide it into your ass? You want me to come deep in your ass, baby?”
The thought was enough to drive us both right to the edge. He slid out of me. Then down. He lifted my legs and pressed his cock right against that tiny hole.
“Yes, yes! Fuck my ass, make me take it…please…make it hurt….”
He slammed into me with one long thrust. I cried out, the sound echoing through the living room. I bucked hard into him, wanting him deeper. He spread my cheeks and gave me what I wanted. I could hardly breathe. The pain was pleasure, the pleasure was pain, and I didn’t care, I just wanted more of his cock rocking back and forth inside me.
“Fuck…yes…fuck me!” He moved so slowly, as if time had suddenly come to a standstill, and it wasn’t enough to calm the raging need. “I want you to come in my ass,” I begged, and moved against him, trying to get more, faster. He thrust again, harder this time. The intensity of it made me light-headed. My ass clenched hard around his cock. I was going to come.
“Baby…I’m going to…”
“Yes, you are,” he taunted. He began to move in short and deep strokes. I reached down between us and touched my clit. One touch, that was all it took. My ass contracted around him, my pussy clenched tight.
He murmured in my ear, “Come for me, baby. Come for that thick cock in your ass. Make me explode inside you….”
I came hard, bucking mindlessly against him. I screamed, perhaps. I was beyond conscious thought. I thrust against the cock imbedded so deep in my ass, thrust up toward him, wanting more of him. But he held just out of reach, letting the orgasm take me, letting me feel nothing but that heated rod gliding in and out of my stretched little hole. More than I wanted my own pleasure, I wanted to feel him come, deep inside me.
And come he did, his rod jerking hard inside me with every pump. He cried out, some moans incoherent, some clearly my name. I shook with the aftershocks of passion as he emptied himself out into me.
Soon the earthquake passed, and the only sound was his harsh breath, coming in counterpoint to mine. Soon there was my low laughter, and his answering chuckle. I slowly opened my eyes as he slid out of me.
“God, that was good,” he said. His demanding voice was soft, soothing, now that his passion had been sated. “Are you okay?”
I laughed again, feeling light with the relaxation of the orgasm we had shared. “Yes. I’m okay. But I don’t think I can walk yet!”
We giggled together, saying the little things that have importance only to lovers. The candles were flickering low. I stretched, groaning deeply while I did it. The sigh of his satisfaction was the perfect ending to the long night.
“Don’t get up. Don’t go anywhere. Just go to sleep. Dream about me.”
I knew I would. And with a whispered good-bye, I hung up the telephone.
ANAL-YZED
Donna George Storey
I have no idea why I said it. Or rather screamed it, just as I was riding my husband to a cowgirl climax.
“Oh, god, I want you to fuck my ass!”
Mike didn’t say anything that time.
But a few days later, when he was on top and we were both getting close, I growled in his ear, “Oh, yeah, I want your big, fat cock buried in my ass!”
Basking in the afterglow, he asked, “So, what’s all this about fucking your ass?”
I blushed. “I don’t know; it just gets me off to say it in the heat of the moment.”
He was quiet for a minute. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I think it was that night last spring when both kids had sleepovers.”
“You wore that lacy thing from Victoria’s Secret.”
“That’s right.”
Neither of us said anything more, but my thoughts inevitably wandered back to that night—how we ordered take-out Chinese and I put on my black lace catsuit and we watched L
.A. Confidential in bed. How I wrapped my legs around his thigh and humped him to a nice glow while he idly tweaked my nipples. Halfway through, we stopped the movie, and then somehow we decided he’d fuck my ass through the generous and convenient opening in the crotch of the body stocking.
I also remembered something else: that I’d never liked it so much. The tickly, stretching sensations aroused my secret muscles as he moved slowly in and out.
The next time we made love, I tried to stop myself, but it just made me too hot to say it. “Fuck my ass, I want you to fuck my ass so bad, oh, yes.”
Mike stopped midstroke and frowned down at me. “That does it. I am going to fuck your ass. Right now.”
“Not now, jeez, I was just about to come,” I protested.
“Listen, you’ve been leading me on so long with your dirty talk, you’ve got me wanting to fuck your ass pretty bad myself. So put up or shut up.”
I was indeed speechless as he rolled off and walked over to our sex-toy drawer.
Eyes wide, I watched him pull out a condom and the bottle of lube. The whole lower half of my body was a riot of sensation. My clit and cunt still buzzed from the normal fucking, but now my asshole tingled and throbbed, as if his cock were already inside. The very idea of being skewered back there had my pussy drooling onto the sheets with envy.
“Turn over on your stomach,” Mike ordered.
Still in shock, I obeyed. He lay down beside me.
I thought he might just stick it in my backside then and there, but he surprised me by running his palm slowly up and down my back, occasionally dipping farther down to circle over the soft flesh of my buttocks.
“So tell me why you’re so hot for me to fuck your ass.” His tone was softer, but still determined.
“I don’t know,” I murmured into the pillow.
“Come on, what do you like about it?”
It took a moment to put it into words. “Well, when you fuck my ass, I can feel every movement. It’s so there. Like your cock is sliding all the way in up to my throat.”
“And that feels good?”
“Sometimes it hurts, but most of time it’s…tingly and nice. And I like the way I feel afterward. All loosened up. And proud. Like I’ve done something special.”
“Interesting. I have another theory, though.” As he said this, his finger dipped between my asscheeks to stroke my tender pink valley.
I shivered and arched up into his touch. “Theory?”
“Yes, that anal sex is an unnatural act, so it makes you feel like a dirty slut to do it.”
My muscles down there—belly, cunt, asshole—immediately went into spasm, prickles of shame mixed with sweet twinges of pleasure. He was right. It was a turn-on to be a naughty girl who let boys in the back door. But I suddenly realized something else, too. Having him talk about fucking my ass—actually analyze it like this—was making me incredibly hot.
“But don’t you think there’s something…uh…almost noble about it?” The electric sensation of his finger circling my anus was making it hard to speak. “Anyone can do it the regular way, but…oh, yeah, that’s good… when you have anal sex you have to slow down and think.”
“You definitely have to take it slow,” Mike said, nudging me up on my hands and knees and popping open the lube. His finger brushed my crevice again, anointing my entrance with the slippery gel. He paused, then slipped his fingertip into the hole a half inch or so. I took a deep breath and willed myself to relax. His finger slid in farther.
“What are you thinking now?” he asked.
“That I wish it was your cock instead.”
He seemed to agree because the next thing he did was tear open the condom wrapper. I felt a smooth hardness pressing against my opening. Tilting my hips up, I breathed past the sensation of something pushing out as he went in, willing my asshole to open like a flower in May.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” In fact I was better than okay. On impulse, I squeezed my muscles around him; clench, release, clench, release.
He moaned.
“You can move now,” I said.
He bent forward and reached around to pleasure me.
“No, just enjoy.”
His hand dropped away, and I brought my own finger to my clit, strumming the hard nugget protruding from my slick, satiny skin.
Mike began to thrust, carefully, as if performing an ancient ritual.
He’d fucked my ass half a dozen times, but now the sensations were noticeably different. I was softer, more open—yet still so aware of being taken and of giving myself solely to this exotic pleasure.
I pushed back against him, quickening our pace. It was good. Really good. I felt his thighs trembling against mine. My own thighs began to shake as my orgasm gathered at the base of my spine. Almost clawing at my clit, I exploded around his cock, milking him with my tight ring of muscle.
Mike’s moans rose up, up to a ghostly tenor, and I knew he was coming, too, his thrusts driving my hips forward and my face down into the pillow. And then a second wave of pleasure bloomed inside me. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted: I was getting fucked in the ass and loving every sublime, decadent minute of it.
That’s when it finally hit me. Think, slow down, pay attention, do it for the sheer sensual pleasure, embrace the extraordinary. Anal sex was poetry. Fucking poetry.
When Mike and I had caught our breath, I knew I’d tell him everything I’d thought and felt and learned while he was fucking my ass. Then maybe we’d analyze the poem we’d made together.
Or maybe we’d just enjoy.
THE BIRTHDAY TREAT
Jolene Hui
It was nearly birthday time again. This year I would turn thirty-four. Still single. Still trying to figure out what the hell life was all about.
The Wednesday before my birthday, I received a birthday package from my mom. It was wrapped in balloon paper with little turtles on the front. She had always called me “Turtle,” because I had this stuffed animal I just couldn’t break myself of. On top there was a note fastened: Don’t open this till your birthday…or else. What? Did my mom think I was still five? I could wait until my birthday. It was only two days away and her gift was really the only thing I had to look forward to.
Jillian and I were scheduled to go out for drinks on Friday after work to celebrate the horrific occasion.
As I sat in my office on Thursday, I zoned out while squishing my earth stress ball repeatedly. I thought of the life I didn’t have. The life that I had always wanted but had somehow escaped me: the large Victorian house, picket fence, dog, two kids, and handsome husband with a fabulous job. It apparently was not intended for me, as by now nearly all of my friends except for Jillian had husbands and beautiful children. The ringing phone interrupted my thoughts of bounding around on the beach with Fido, little Lizzie, little Joe, and my muscular man.
“This is Lynn, how can I help you?”
“One more day!” It was Jillian’s squeaky voice.
“Why?” I put my head between my legs and sucked in my breath.
“Should I invite the crew?” Jillian asked.
“No!” I screamed, then breathed in a puff of air, my nose plugging and the blood filling my head. “I don’t want anyone else there to celebrate my humiliation.”
“Oh come on,” said Jillian. “Bobby, Jim, and Susie really want to be there!”
“No, no, NO!” I shouted, sitting upright, the blood flowing back down correctly through the rest of my body. Good thing I had closed my office door.
“Well, you have no say in it. I’m picking you up at eight sharp. You better be dressed and ready.”
“But…” I trailed off. Jillian had already hung up.
That night I went home and went through mounds and more mounds of clothing. I wasn’t sure what exactly to wear the next day. Should I do flashy? Sexy?
I was on my fourth beer and modeling my fortieth outfit when midnight struck. I heard the chimes of my antique clock in the liv
ing room. My mom’s gift was in the entryway. Since it was technically my birthday, I could finally open the gift.
On the front of the card was a picture of a little girl standing in front of a mirror in full dress-up regalia. Inside, my mom had scribbled, I had hoped for grandchildren by now, but, oh well, Turtle, you might as well not deprive yourself of sexual pleasure.
I tore open the wrapping and there it was—a slim, pink, slick mini-torpedo vibrator. My mom had gotten me a vibrator. She had given up on me. The packaging was pretty hilarious, depicting a wan-looking coed sitting in a field of daisies. Did she think this was really my first vibrator? My first vibrator had made its way into my bed when my boyfriend in college was so much of a drunk he regularly passed out before we could have sex. My first vibrator, which I named Steve, was my favorite sexual partner at that time in my life. Steve was slim, lime green, and always there when I needed him—especially after a long night of studying when I was stressed before a final, and even when I wanted to entertain guests that stumbled home with me after fraternity parties. If my mom thought I’d never used a vibrator, she was seriously kidding herself. But maybe she was just being clever. Maybe she just wanted me to feel youthful. I laughed and slipped the package into my handbag.
“Happy birthday, you hot piece of ass, you!” Jillian’s voice buzzed into my living room at eight o’clock the following night. I was putting the finishing touches on my freshly done hairdo when I heard her echoing voice.
“Come on up, Jilly,” I said into the intercom, rubbing some gloss across my lips and slipping my heels on. I grabbed my bag just as Jillian burst through the doorway.
“I am taking you out for a wonderful evening, my dear.” In usual Jillian style, her hair was up in a French twist and she wore pearls around her neck and a sexy strapless dress on her slim body.
I always felt so much less sexy around Jillian. But tonight I didn’t care. I was in a little black skirt and see-through top, my hair freshly straightened with a flattening iron I had treated myself to for my special day.