As she parted her legs and Vaughn stroked her through her panties, it became a little harder to breathe. She met MacLean’s stare just as he was unzipping his pants. His lips curved into a smile, and he pulled his cock free of his boxers.
“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” she said with a grin, and sucked in a deep breath as Vaughn pinched her nipple between his teeth.
MacLean shook his head and slowly worked the skin surrounding his shaft. “You’ve got to put on a show for me first.” His gaze dropped to where Vaughn’s fingers hooked and pulled aside the lacy stretch of fabric covering her pussy.
Vaughn sighed. “And what a show it is. So wet . . .”
Sylvia held her breath and looked down. The liquid heat between her legs had streaked the length of her pussy, which was glistening in the dim light from the lamps on either side of the bed.
There was something about being displayed so openly, with all gazes upon her hot slit, that made the urgency of the moment unbearable. Vaughn, MacLean, her own stare, and even the open window: It was such sweet exposure.
Her clit throbbed as Vaughn circled his middle finger around its sensitive hood. With a soft moan, she started to tremble.
MacLean stood. In a moment, he was as naked as Vaughn and at her side, relieving her of the champagne flute. He drank down every drop and set the glass aside, then leaned over.
Both men worked to rid her of the damp panties and then hooked the mouths of her garters to her stockings again. Sylvia quickly freed herself of the corset. Only then did she realize why the garters had been reassembled: It was showtime. MacLean went to his carry-on, and from the side pocket, he produced a small videocamera with a flexible tripod. He set it up on the table and turned it on.
This wasn’t the first time they’d filmed their reunions. Over the years, they’d amassed a small collection of videos to remember their time together.
“Lay back,” Vaughn said as MacLean sat at her side.
Sylvia went back on her elbows and bent her legs at the knee. Like mirror images, the men flanked her and splayed one hand each on her plump thighs. Then they came upon her at once, each sucking and licking her hard nipples. Two sets of fingers probed her bare pussy: MacLean worked her clit while Vaughn penetrated her.
In unison, they set the perfect pace. A steady but powerful burn ignited, and she began to work her hips with increasing urgency. Through her moans, she could hear the wet sound of their mouths on her, and of their fingers working the slippery flesh between her legs. She was quickly losing the world around her to the fever rising beneath the surface of her skin.
MacLean lifted his head and met her stare. “Look at the camera when you come, baby.”
As the delicious pressure quaked in her belly, it was such a struggle to stay upright, to keep her eyes open and focused on the little camera framed perfectly between her legs. Her moans exploded in tight little bursts as her lungs constricted.
MacLean’s fingers worked the flesh-hood back and forth, back and forth, until she went feral, writhing and begging for release. Her clit throbbed. The walls of her pussy shuddered around Vaughn’s fingers as sweet rapture flooded her. As the world continued to spin round and round, she flopped back. A low moan turned into a sultry laugh. She was drenched inside and out, and was barely lucid, barely aware of their fingers slowing as her heart kept pumping hot blood through her body.
Her smile faded as MacLean’s shadow eclipsed her. While she had been surrounded by that delicious fog of afterglow, he had slipped a condom on. Sylvia took his hands and worked with him to move upright. The world spun around as he reversed positions, pulling her over him so that she straddled his thighs.
She glanced over her shoulder and found Vaughn with the camera in his hand.
“This is new. You’re usually the first one at bat,” she said to him.
He grinned. “I’ve mellowed in my old age.”
MacLean ran his hands downward from her hips and cupped her ass. She turned her attention back to him as his fingertips kneaded into the soft flesh. Steadying herself with one hand on his forearm, she reached between their bodies and guided the tip of his cock through her slippery lips to the mouth of her cunt.
She had expected to be off balance and awkward with her extra pounds, and was surprised by how graceful the act was, just as it had always been. She sank down, and MacLean pushed up until he was balls deep.
A moan forced its way from the back of her throat, spilling forth before Sylvia could bite it back. She held onto MacLean’s arms as he began to pump her from below. She led his hands to her waist and rocked against him, letting the friction build between his cock and her slick walls still throbbing from her earlier orgasm. Rings of pleasure pulsed along the length of her cunt. She opened her eyes to find MacLean seemingly giving in to the sensation, head tilted back and lips parted in a low groan.
“I can’t wait for you to get a look at this,” Vaughn said from behind, and Sylvia could feel the heat of his nearness. “Your ass looks amazing with that garter belt surrounding it.”
Silent beneath her, save for the quick pace of his breathing, MacLean’s grip tightened. The bed, the room, the whole damn world shook as he heaved against the mattress, pushing and pulling her, fucking her harder than ever.
With each stroke, the pressure between her legs built until it became unstoppable. She cut her nails into MacLean’s hairy forearms and leaned forward to overtake him.
“Look at the camera, baby.”
Through the mounting chaos of the moment, she thought it was MacLean who spoke in a growl, but it was Vaughn. He had moved to kneel at the edge of the bed with the camera in one hand; the other worked his shaft at the same pace with which she rode MacLean. Imagining herself perfectly framed in the small LCD screen, Sylvia leaned back and fell upon her hands to give Vaughn the most perfect view she could imagine.
The slight change in position evoked a series of eruptions inside as MacLean’s shaft rubbed against her G-spot. Her abs screamed, and the backs of her thighs began to burn as she bucked faster and faster against him. She kept her eyes on the camera as long as she could until her orgasm pounded outward, flooding her with euphoria that took her breath away.
Her body went taut, and her inner muscles milked MacLean’s cock. Sylvia looked down her body at him. His features contorted into a grimace, teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut. His grip tightened, and he surged up, his dick twitching as he emptied into the end of the condom.
From his place at the edge of the bed, Vaughn dropped the camera and leaned forward. He made a fist on the bedding, and in just a few more strokes he came, staining the opulent bedding beneath him.
The air in the room seemed too thin, and she struggled to catch her breath. Vaughn flopped onto his side at MacLean’s head. MacLean seemed suspended in a state between sleep and awake, his eyes open but glazed.
Sylvia shook off the last delightful ripple that ran through her and rolled away. “I think I earned a second glass of champagne.”
As she filled someone’s empty glass, she heard a chuckle behind her. She looked over her shoulder and found them both propped up and grinning at her.
“That, my friend, is pure cheesecake,” Vaughn said.
“I couldn’t agree more.” MacLean reached for the camera and aimed it at her. “Give us your best Jayne Mansfield.”
She half-turned her back to them and blew a kiss to each one. MacLean laughed, and Vaughn let loose with a catcall.
Sylvia brought the champagne glass to her lips and silently toasted her victory ass.
First Come, First Served
BY LOLITA LOPEZ
The jingling bell announcing the morning’s first customer sent my heartbeat into overdrive, and a nervous flutter rocked my lower belly. I took a second to smooth my hands along the front of my bright yellow apron and to adjust the neckline of my V-neck tee. I glanced down at the girls to make sure they were perfectly displayed for my favorite patron.
“Good mor
ning, Celia!”
The sound of Jay’s low timbre made my knees weak. I turned and moved closer to the glass case filled with my special Mexican pastries. “Good morning, Jay.”
“So what’s new this morning?” He leaned an elbow on the glass and surveyed the day’s offerings.
I smiled and gave him a rundown of the new pastries, and also pointed out some of his favorites.
Of course, Jay wasn’t really interested in my baked goods. It wasn’t just my hot buns that brought Jay into the bakery. It was also my big, beautiful breasts.
High-flying movers-and-shakers like Jay Grant didn’t usually make a habit of visiting this rundown corner of Houston’s mostly Latino district. But for the past nine weeks, he’d walked through my door every day at 7:00 AM, on the dot, and greeted me by name. At first I’d assumed it was my deliciously sweet pan de huevo that brought him back morning after morning, but it quickly became clear he was interested in something that wasn’t for sale.
I’d never had a customer who hemmed and hawed so long over choosing one of my heavenly delights. At first, I’d thought he was just one of those picky types. But soon, I noticed Jay always seemed to want to know about the pastries on the bottom shelf, or the ones tucked far into the corners of the glass case. That’s when it dawned on me that every time I bent down, my very ample bosom was presented for his appreciative gaze.
I should have been outraged, maybe even disgusted. But for some inexplicable reason, I found it incredibly flattering that he drove halfway across town just to stare at my generous rack. Surely there were plenty of zaftig bakers and restauranteurs to ogle in his ritzy corner of the city. But, no, Jay came here. For me.
Honestly, I experienced an illicit little thrill every time I thought about it. I often wondered how prominently I figured in his personal spank bank. The very idea that Jay fantasized about me, about my lush rack, made me vibrate with excitement. Sometimes, late at night, after collapsing in bed from an exhausting day of work, I’d let my dirty mind run wild with visions of Jay stroking his big, thick cock and shooting his load right onto my tits. My fingers would slide through the slippery folds of my pussy as I furiously rubbed my clit and came hard with Jay’s name on my lips.
Por Dios! What would my mother say if she knew those were the kinds of things that put me to bed with a smile on my face? She’d probably call me cochina, drag me to church, and throw me into a confessional booth.
“I’ll take one of the gingerbread pigs and a pumpkin empanada.”
“Sure.” I bent forward slowly, making sure to thrust my breasts out as I grabbed a dark brown marranito and an empanada with the tongs. I plopped them into a small box stamped with my bakery logo and closed the top. “Coffee?”
He smiled that sexy smile that made my knees weak. “Please.”
I don’t even know why I bothered asking. By now, it was a given: large cup, a splash of milk, two sugars, and a couple of ice cubes to cool it down, so he didn’t scald that sensual mouth.
I handed over his coffee and pastries, and our fingers touched briefly. A zing of electricity zipped up my arm. God, what would it be like to have his hands on my naked body, caressing my soft curves and intimate places?
“I didn’t know you catered.” Jay gestured to the stack of new brochures I’d set out the night prior.
“I’m trying something new. We get a lot of requests for large orders of pastries and breakfast tacos. I’m in the trial phase of adding a catering side to the bakery.”
“You know, my firm does a lot of working breakfasts. Maybe we could do business?”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s get together tonight and talk about it. I’ll cook dinner for you.”
I marveled at how deftly he’d slipped in an invitation for a date. God, he was good. “Okay.”
He grinned. “Great.”
A swarm of butterflies went wild in my stomach as he jotted down his address on the corner of one of the brochures. When he handed over the brochure, our hands touched and lingered. His eyes glinted with the promise of what was to come. Sure, we were meeting under the pretense of starting a catering relationship, but I doubted very much we’d be inking contracts and swapping business cards at the end of the night.
He tossed a sexy smile and a wink my way before ducking out of the shop and to his sleek black sports car. As I watched him drive off, I started conjuring up all kinds of naughty scenarios.
And almost as quickly, I was assailed with thoughts of what needed to be shaved, painted, and primped before I popped up on his doorstep. I rapidly exchanged a series of text messages with my three best friends. “What should I wear?” I asked. The general consensus: something with a skirt that could be quickly flipped up over my head. “Panties?” Yes. Going commando just screamed puta, apparently. Eat something before I left the house, they said. Go easy on the alcohol at his place. Stuff my purse with condoms, and use them—don’t take any of that “but baby it feels better without it” bullshit. Just in case, pack some supplies to ease a possible morning-after walk of shame.
I could barely concentrate all day. For the first time in months, I left the shop a few hours early. I had to get home and prepare.
That night, at a stoplight on the way to Jay’s place, I used my rearview to touch up my makeup. My hands were shaking from excitement and anticipation, and I had to concentrate so as not to smear my lip gloss. So far, I’d almost missed an exit and nearly ran a red light. Not to mention I was so turned on I could hardly think straight. Already, my panties were damp. There was no controlling my raging libido once engaged.
As I stepped out of my car and handed over my keys to a valet, I felt seriously out of place. This was the hottest address in Houston’s upscale condo market. It was the kind of place that screamed money and class.
At the lobby’s front desk, a perky brunette directed me to a private elevator manned by a porter. (Apparently, to keep out the riff-raff, all guests were escorted. So much for taking my walk of shame in private!)
We arrived at Jay’s floor, and I stepped out of the elevator. “Thanks.”
The porter gave me a knowing smile. “Have a good night.”
“I plan on it.” My saucy reply garnered a shocked expression. I smirked and tossed my hair as the elevator door closed behind me.
I’d barely rapped my knuckles on Jay’s door before it whipped open. Had he been listening, waiting, like some overeager puppy desperate for the return of his mistress?
“You look fabulous.” His hungry gaze raked over my curves. “Red’s a great color on you.”
“Thanks.” I felt silly as I blushed under his compliment. He looked devastatingly handsome in his jeans and blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up casually.
My insides were wiggling like a bowl of Jell-O as he ushered me inside his ultramodern abode. It was all gleaming wood and muted metallic tones. Nothing like the homey Southern Living–meets-Acapulco vibe of my place.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Sure.” I followed him into the kitchen, with its top-of-the-line appliances. My envious gaze moved around the spacious room as I placed my purse and a folder holding menus and boilerplate contracts on the nearest granite slab. “Something smells good!”
“Roast chicken and summer vegetables,” he said, popping open the oven for a quick peek. Jay seemed surprisingly at ease in the kitchen as he fiddled with some kind of sauce reducing on a back burner.
“Mmm. Sounds delicious.”
Jay gave a hum of agreement and poured me a glass of wine. I took the glass and inhaled the scent. I wasn’t by any means a wine connoisseur and hoped he wouldn’t ask any weird questions. Nothing made me feel smaller at parties than folks talking about the “notes” and “bouquets” of a particular wine. Unless I could see the label, I couldn’t tell the difference between a syrah and a zinfandel.
As I sipped my wine, I became aware of Jay’s suddenly pensive mood. He braced himself against the counter and played with the co
rkscrew. I could tell he wanted to say something but was afraid to open his mouth. “Is something wrong?”
Jay’s mouth quirked to the side. “You know, I had this whole romantic evening planned for us. We’d have some wine and talk over dinner. I wanted to give you a great first-date experience.”
“But?”
He dropped the corkscrew and took a step closer to me. The crisp scent of his cologne filled my nose. “But I can’t stop thinking about what I really want to do with you.”
I swallowed hard at his husky admission. “For what it’s worth, Jay, I thought I wanted the same wine-and-dine experience, too. But now I’m not so sure.”
“What do you want?” His voice sounded a bit shaky. The air between us practically sizzled with sexual tension.
I held his gaze. “You. Fucking me. Hard.”
Jay grinned and teasingly asked, “On the first date? My, aren’t we progressive?”
“Well,” I murmured, toying with one of the buttons on his shirt. “This is more like a second date. I mean, the last nine weeks have basically been one long first date, right?”
Jay grinned and slid an arm around my waist, then hauled me tight against his chest. “I couldn’t agree more.”
When his lips crashed down on mine, I nearly fainted. If it hadn’t been for his strong arm supporting me, I would have slid right down to the floor. His hand tangled in my hair as he devoured my mouth, his tongue stabbing between my lips. My senses reeled at the potent combination of man and alcohol exploding on my taste buds. I’d been kissed dozens of times before, but nothing—nothing—had ever compared to this.
Nine weeks of anticipating just what it would feel like to have Jay’s lips on mine intensified the explosion of the moment when our mouths met. As he cupped my head in one hand, Jay allowed the other to slide down along the curve of my back to the full crest of my ass. He palmed a handful of my derriere and gave it a squeeze. The feeling of his hard cock stabbing into my soft tummy told me he appreciated a big juicy ass as well as big lush breasts.
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