by Violet Blue
When Andrew chops onions, he cries. I sit on the counter, absorbing his lean face, the faint scar that runs from his right eyebrow to just above his upper lip, his crooked nose. I see a thin stream of tears falling from his eyes, down his face, quivering on his chin before falling to his shirt or running down his throat, and I feel a stirring between my thighs, faint at first, growing as he cries harder, and harder. And I feel perverse, because when Andrew chops onions and when Andrew cries he looks beautiful and fuckable and vulnerable, and I am torn between wanting to see more and wanting him to close the short distance between us.
Andrew knows I enjoy watching him chop onions, so the ritual has become a point of seduction between us. As he slices, he will turn slightly toward me, from the corner of his eye watching me press my thighs together. He will flex the muscles of his forearm. He will talk to me, lowering his voice, speaking slowly, making me shiver as the baritone of his words tickles my ears. When he is done, he washes his hands under warm water, dries them with a dishtowel, and arches an eyebrow. I sit perfectly still, unclench my thighs, smile, and inch forward, beckoning him toward me. Andrew will make me wait, leaning against the counter, one foot crossed over the other, his arms loose at his side. He likes doing that, making me wait. He’ll stare until I’m uncomfortable, until I’ve memorized his gaze, until I’m forced to look away. And then he’ll slowly walk toward me, and the kitchen feels strangely silent, save for the sound of his bare feet against the tiles, a slightly moist sound that turns the stirring between my thighs into a cruel, slow burn.
He will hold my face between his hands. Again I will notice how thick, veined, pale they are against my much darker skin. He will press his thumbs against my lips, then move them upward, along the lines of my nose, softly across my eyelids, then back to my lips. All the while, I can smell the sting of onion on his skin. And then he is no longer gentle or silent. He will kiss me, hard, until my lips feel bruised and swollen. He will rub his face against mine, and I will taste his tears and the onion on his breath. I will moan, hoarsely, though he hasn’t really touched me, not yet—not the way I need him to. I will wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, gnawing on his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, tasting more tears. My hands will slide under his shirt, and I will desperately grab his chest, enjoying the way his skin feels beneath the palms of my hands. It’s a peculiar sensation, for he is not soft but sinewy, and with my eyes closed I imagine I can feel his blood rushing, his lungs gasping, his heart beating. I will pinch his nipples between my fingers, and I will exhale loudly, because I am fascinated by his nipples, small, erect pink disks that interrupt the pale expanse of his chest.
He will open my bathrobe and, forcing his hands between my thighs—for they are again clenched together—he will spread my legs apart, he will spread them until they ache. But I enjoy the ache. It makes me wet. He will bite my shoulders, inhale my breasts into his mouth, pausing to trace my hardened, purple nipples with his tongue as if trying to trace every crease along them. My hands will slide down his torso to the waist of his jeans, and I will fumble with the button, crying in frustration if it catches, then quickly undo the zipper. He will stop, quickly step out of them, move back between my thighs, and I will sigh with relief because for the one moment when he steps away, I feel empty and hungry. Andrew will pull me to the edge of the counter, the sharpness of it digging into my ass, which I will ignore. I will feel the tip of his cock against my navel, and I will wrap my hand around the shaft, feeling the warmth, the pulsing of the thick tendon along the underside, the way it continues to swell.
There will be no more seduction. In one elegant movement, he will position his cock at the entrance of my cunt, and he will thrust forward, burying his head between my breasts. I will want to scream, but instead choke, my voice trapped in my throat. I will tighten my legs around his waist. I will rest my chin against the top of his head. I will clench the muscles of his back with my hands—they are slick, strained—leaving the deep, crescent imprints of my fingernails. Our moans, harsh and low, will echo against the tiles and counters. I will tighten myself around his cock and he will press deeper. I will wish that we could enter each other’s bodies. And when we come, we will both cry, and later, lying in the bathtub, scrubbing each other clean, we will say it was the sting of onions in the air.
There are other times—times when, not even halfway through the onion, Andrew will push the cutting board away from him, grab me off the counter, turn me around, and swiftly remove my robe. I will feel the rough denim of his jeans brushing against my ass, shivering as he slowly unbuckles his belt, letting the leather strap slide across my skin. He won’t even bother stepping out of his jeans. Instead, he lets them wade around his ankles. There will be no time to waste. He will clasp the back of my neck with his right hand, holding my forehead to the counter, as he moves his left hand along my spine to my ass cheeks, squeezing them hard. He will take the open bottle of olive oil from the counter, slathering a thick layer around his cock, on the puckered opening of my ass. Carefully, but with determination, he will press himself into the tightest part of me, an inch at a time, until he can go no further. I will stop breathing, and become intimately aware of the sound of the sink’s leaky faucet. It will hurt, but I like the hurt, welcome it.
I will wonder what I look like from this position; does he find it attractive? I will think that bent over like this, ass exposed, legs trembling, I have become the kind of girl—no, woman—our mothers warned us about in hushed and awkward tones. When he pulls back, leaving just the tip of his cock in my ass, I will gasp for air, having forgotten that I was holding my breath. Now, he will wait, watching me squirm and pant and push myself backward, wanting him back inside me. And then he will slide forward again, grinding his hips in short, punctuated thrusts. The pain will start flowering into pleasure, and I will feel myself loosening around him.
I will hear my voice, but it will sound strange to my ears. I will beg him to fuck me harder, deeper. I will beg him to call me his slut, his whore, his fuck toy; and when he does, my body will shudder, it will nearly throb. My back will arch and I will try to raise my head from the counter, but he will slam it back down. I will feel my clit wet, swollen, and pulsing, and I will beg him to please touch it. Touch what? he will ask. Touch me there, I will plead. Softly, too softly, he will slide his hand around my waist and down, pausing as he runs his fingers through my pubic hair, then moving lower. He will press two fingers against my clit and hold them there. I will buck my hips, trying to trap his hand between my body and the cabinets below. But he is stronger. And this is all for him. He will lightly feather my clit with the pads of those two fingertips, and I will feel an indescribable sensation, keen, almost unbearable, and it will crawl from my clit through every inch of my skin.
I will feel used. His thrusts become harder, and in addition to the water dripping in the sink, I will hear his sweaty skin slapping against mine. When he comes, it will be fast, and violent. He will forget that I am a person. I am simply a tunnel that he is traveling through. My clit will feel like exploding. When I feel the hot, brief spurts of his cum shooting up my ass, I am the one who will cry. I will not come…but I don’t want to, because I like the unsatisfied edge I am left with. I will try to push myself away from the counter, but my damp skin will stick. My arms and legs will feel rubbery, and just before I fall, he will take me in his arms, and I will suckle his fingers into my mouth. I will relish the taste of onions.
Double Vision
MARK BROOKS
“Did I ever tell you,” my girlfriend Noelle asked, “about the time I slept with Luke and Tom at the same time?”
We had just finished making love for the second time that night, and the two of us were naked and tangled up in sweat-damp sheets on her bed. I was used to hearing about Noelle’s sordid sexual experiences, but I’d never heard about this one. She’d had a much more interesting sex life than I had.
I always loved it when Noelle offered up another tid
bit of her deliciously wicked sexual past. It was our favorite game—kiss-and-tell. Noelle giggled when she saw the eagerness on my face. The timeless ritual was begun: Noelle would inflame me mercilessly with tales of her sad, sordid life, then fuck me cross-eyed, bowlegged, and stupid.
“No,” I said. “You never did tell me that one,” I said.
“Do you want to hear about it?”
“What do you think?” I asked her as her abdomen pressed against my growing hard-on.
Noelle smiled and began. “I was nineteen.” That made it almost twelve years ago. “I was a freshman at Berkeley. Luke was the first guy I slept with after I came to college. I guess he was the first guy I knew who was openly bisexual. He had a single room—I had a roommate—so we were always in his room. We used to fuck for hours—I mean, hours and hours and hours. And hours. We used to fuck so hard the corners of Luke’s bed would put divots in the drywall. People from the next college over would call the campus police to complain. This one time, a crowd of people gathered down in the quad and started applauding when I came.… Are you enjoying this?”
“You’re making this up,” I said. Noelle’s hand had curved around my cock, now fully hard, and as her fingers gently worked their way up and down I moaned.
“You know I don’t have to make stuff up,” she told me with a smile. “Real life is so much dirtier. I was so embarrassed at the time.”
“You? Embarrassed? Impossible.”
Noelle squeezed my balls.
“Mercy!” I yelped.
“Then play nice,” she said.
“I promise,” I said.
“Anyway,” sighed the smiling Noelle, stretching out atop me once more with her hand loosely cradling my cock. “Luke had this gay friend named Tom who had been his roommate in the dorms the first year. Tom was so cute. I mean, I loved Luke, but Tom was the kind of guy that girls dream about. He was fucking gorgeous. OK, so anyway, like I said, I had never known a real bisexual guy—one who’d actually done it, actually fucked around with guys and girls both. The idea of Luke fucking another guy just totally drove me nuts. I used to fantasize about it all the time. I told Luke all about it.”
“What did he think?”
“He thought it was hot. Then he told me Tom thought he was bisexual.”
“With you around, I can imagine,” I said, reaching for her breasts. She caught my hands and pushed them away playfully, though her nipples were obviously hard and she plainly wanted me to touch her. She held my wrists down.
Noelle leaned down, smiling wickedly, and gulped my cock into her mouth. I ran my fingers through her long, dark hair, muttering encouragements.
Noelle’s story, coupled with the stimulation of her hand and mouth on my cock and balls, had already brought me to the brink of orgasm.
“You are so hot,” I whispered as I lifted myself up, put my hands on Noelle’s shoulders, eased her back onto the bed. “Don’t stop,” I begged as I kissed her mouth, soft at first, then harder, then harder, then harder harder harder until Noelle was arching her back and writhing hungrily underneath me as I bit at her lips and penetrated her with my tongue.
“I’m not sure I can remember the rest of the story,” said Noelle absently.
“Remember,” I told her firmly. I started kissing my way lower on Noelle’s throat, nearing her full, firm breasts. I used my hands to play with the hard nipples.
Noelle told her story only with great difficulty. “One night Luke and I had this evening planned. He had the only TV set and VCR on the hall. I had never seen a porn movie, and he was going to remedy that.”
My fingers found Noelle’s pussy, and I slipped two fingers into her, biting her nipple roughly as I did. Noelle’s spine arched and her ass lifted up off the bed.
“Don’t stop or I’ll stop,” I told her as I worked a third finger into her, slid it deeper.
She stifled another moan of ecstasy and continued with her story through rhythmic sounds as I worked her clit with my thumb and thrust my fingers into her. With my other hand, I held my hard cock, excited by the knowledge of what was to come.
“Anyway, when I showed up at Luke’s dorm room, Tom was already there. Luke told me Tom had just dropped by, but even then I figured that had to be a setup. Tom said he’d never seen porn either—straight porn, that is—and Luke asked me if it would be all right if Tom stayed to watch it with us.”
I lowered my mouth further, letting my warm breath ruffle her pubic hair.
Making it look effortless, Noelle pivoted her body so that her ass was comfortably on the edge of the bed, as far forward as it could go—in the perfect position for me to eat her out. I lowered my mouth to her cunt and pressed my lips to her pussy. I wriggled my tongue into her tight hole, licking hungrily. Noelle moaned as my lips and tongue played around her clit and then traveled back down to her dripping pussy.
“Those dorm rooms were small,” Noelle continued breathlessly, without prompting, as I licked her. “And so all three of us sat on the bed and watched these porn videos. We started drinking wine, and maybe it helped break the ice. Oh God, right there—that’s right, lick my pussy just like that—right there, oh God….”
“Tell me more,” I demanded insistently between thrusts of my tongue into Noelle’s pussy and twirls of it around her swollen clitoris. I rubbed my naked cock against Noelle’s leg, so she could feel how hard I was, how hard she was making me. God, I was harder than I had ever been, and Noelle moaned as she felt my cock against her leg. She tried to bend over, to reach down to take hold of my hard cock, but I slipped my tongue back into her cunt, and she whimpered and relaxed into the bed. “Get this cock of yours in my face,” she breathed. “God, I’ve got to have your cock in my mouth if you want to hear any more of the story,” she told me.
“How can you talk with your mouth full?”
“I’ll find a way,” she said.
The woman knew what she wanted. I climbed onto the bed, assuming a 69 position. I put my mouth on her and started to lick again. Noelle wrapped her hand tightly around my hard cock and stroked it, rubbing the slick head against her face, her lips, her breasts, squirming against me as she talked. I was already incredibly turned on, and Noelle’s stroking brought me closer and closer to an orgasm as I licked her closer to hers. I slipped two fingers into Noelle’s wet cunt and began to gently finger her as I licked her clit. She moaned.
Noelle wrapped her lips around my cock and started to suck me, and I almost shot into her mouth right there. But I didn’t want to come yet—so I fought my orgasm down while she talked.
“Finally, we started making out,” she said, her mouth against my cock. “I was so hot for both of them. They both had their hands everywhere. We started taking our clothes off, and nobody said anything, like talking would break the mood. Tom started sucking Luke’s cock, and I started sucking his. God, it was hot watching Tom suck Luke off like that.” Noelle took a moment to slip my cock into her mouth, and I knew I would come if she didn’t stop. So I pressed my mouth to her and started licking her clit, knowing she was going to come herself, my moans telling her how close I was.
I guess she wanted to finish the story: She took her mouth off my cock and started talking fast while she stroked my cock very, very slowly with her hand. I held my orgasm at bay with great difficulty.
“Luke and I started sucking Tom’s cock together, trading off on it while Tom jacked Luke off. Tom said he’d never fucked a girl before. Luke asked him if he wanted to, and he said ‘Sure.’ So Luke got a condom from the nightstand and helped me roll it on Tom.”
“I’m going to come,” I said.
“Not yet! Not yet! I climbed on top of Tom and put him inside me while Luke and I kissed. I was incredibly turned on. I started fucking Tom while he sucked Luke’s dick. I knew I was going to come no matter what I did, so I fucked him really slow and started rubbing my clit. That—that feels so good—right there—keep doing that! I came once and Tom just looked at me like I was crazy , then started laugh
ing. ‘I never saw a girl come before,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you made so much noise!’ He wanted to be on top of me, so I rolled onto my back and Tom got back inside me. Then Luke got up alongside the bed and put his cock in my mouth. God, it felt good to be fucking them both. God, I was going to come again—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t….”
Her ass lifted off the bed, her back arching, her naked body squirming, she came—moaning, gasping, pumping her hips as my mouth rode her clit. She started working my cock with her hand and I came too, my head spinning as the pleasure coursed through me; my come jetted onto her breasts and shoulder. When the two of us ground to a halt, I took a deep breath and started laughing.
“What?” asked Noelle.
“Did it really happen like that?”
Noelle smiled, slipping out from under me. “It was an awfully long time ago,” she said. “It might have.”
“I see.”
“And maybe it happened a different way,” she said. “Why don’t I tell you the story again tonight…and we can see if anything changes?”
Number One on the List
KATE DOMINIC
Justin and I were at an impasse. We’d decided to spice up our marriage by making lists of things we’d like to try—no holds barred. We could put anything we wanted in one of three columns: interested, OK if you want to, and not interested, with stars by the things we felt really strongly about. Then we were going to make a list, in order, of the five things we’d most like to try.