Change of Pace

by Radclyffe

  I’ve been watching you from my shadowed corner since the instant you walked in. There are a hundred other women in this hot, sex-scented space, but you’re the only one I see. The air around you shimmers with heat, or perhaps it’s merely a reflection off your leathers. Can you feel my eyes on you? You’re early. You wanted to stay away, but you can’t, can you? I like knowing that you couldn’t, that you had to come looking for it. You look good, in your arrogant butch way and the leather pants you wear like skin. They make you look tough; you are tough. Do you hope they’ll toughen your heart as well?

  You cruise the room, a shark among the unsuspecting swimmers, hungry and dangerous. My clit gives a quick jerk inside my tight 501s, and that swift pulse makes the tip rub against the seam of my pants. I’m hard; I’ve been waiting, too, to be caught, devoured, swallowed down. The head presses out beyond the hood, fat and firm. My need leaves a wet spot inside the threadbare denim. The crowd is so close around me that, unnoticed, I cup my crotch and massage the ache, but my clit only gets stiffer with every squeeze. If I don’t stop, I’ll come just from looking at you. But fuck, it feels good. I can’t wait any longer. Catching my clit in my fingers, giving myself one final tug, I push off from the wall and shoulder through the crowd.

  My lips curl as I watch the synchronization of lust and leather, remembering a time when I was among the many hunters in the feeding frenzy. Never again; not after...Shaking my head, I drain the glass, turn back toward the bar in search of a refill, and continue to eye the dancers in the dirty mirror opposite me. The bartender places another drink in front of me and continues on her way. I can feel the heat boiling from within, a heat so powerful it makes me ache to succumb to its demanding call. I sip the beer from the frozen mug and watch as the delicate ice crystals on the rim melt instantly when I touch glass to my hot and hungry lips. The droplets slide down the surface of the glass, and I know that I am just as wet and slick. I suck in my bottom lip to catch a stray drop before it streaks down my chin and bite the tender flesh to quell the driving need within my belly. Then some unseen force takes control as I feel the heat of you against my back.

  I slide my arms under your leather jacket, circle your waist and, ever so slowly, cup your breasts in the palms of my hands. You jerk infinitesimally, then stiffen as your iron control kicks in. I smile, my lips brushing the soft leather at your neck. I love to take you by surprise, love to tease you. There’s nothing quite so sexy as a butch in need, unless it’s two. You hide that need well, from everyone but me. And I know just how to break that pristine hold you exert on your power. There’s a connection between your tits and your clit. Just feeling the stone-hard peaks beneath my fingers, knowing you’re getting harder—everywhere—as I slowly squeeze, makes my nipples contract. I rub my breasts across your back to tease them. Now who’s topping whom, huh, baby?

  My hand trembles as you pinch my already erect nipples between your fingers, and I set the glass down hard. In a surreal moment I notice a new indentation in the scarred surface of the bar, marking another moment in time—a new experience etched into the flesh of this place. A smile teases my lips as my eyes trace the new mark, and I know this will be a moment I will not soon forget.

  I attempt to turn around, but your body pressing against the length of my back holds me in place. Your breath is warm on my neck, and I shiver as your tongue traces the outline of my ear. I feel the wet heat flowing between my legs. The insistent throbbing of my clit, bound tightly in the skintight leather pants, makes my hips thrust forward involuntarily, and I release a quiet whimper that only you can hear.

  You’re teasing me, testing my resolve—my strength. The molten heat boils beneath the surface, and the urge to allow you to take control is powerful. My eyes, veiled and dark, meet yours in the mirror, and you smile. You think you have conquered me, and as I return the knowing smile, I instantly feel a renewed strength in your posture as you press your body closer to mine. But not tonight, not this night anyway. You’re mine, and I will play you as I know you like it.

  I don’t expect your next move, but I should have. How many times have I bottomed for you? When you reach behind, grab my waistband, and pull my crotch into your ass, my clit bangs against the seam of my jeans again, and I almost fall down. Then you begin jerking up on my jeans, swift hard tugs, over and over, the material fisted in your strong hand. You’re jerking me off with the ridge of denim squeezing down on the head of my clit. The pressure is making my stomach churn and my head light. Jesus, I want to come in my pants, right here and now. Oh man, I really need to get off. I forget about topping. It’s not my nature where you’re concerned. I push back, rotating my hips enough to flick my whole clit back and forth over the taut material. The shaft is so stiff it’s almost enough—oh fuck, yeah, I’m almost there. Eyes nearly closed, I lower my forehead so it just touches the back of your head, still twisting your nipples as my clit dances on the edge. Silently intoning, I’m gonna come for you, baby. Just a little more.

  I know you have nothing on beneath those 501s, and the thought of your clit pressing against the rough fabric almost makes me lose control. I ache to feel your hard clit between my fingers, feel your slick heat bathe my hand. The women on each side of us are facing away, and I know we are hidden from roaming eyes. My hand fumbles blindly with the buttons of your jeans until you subtly reach down and undo them for me. I can feel the heat radiating from you, and I delve deep within the tight confines of your jeans.

  Oh thank Christ, you’re going to touch me. I just have to try not to come all over your hand with the first contact. I might be a butch bottom, but I’m not submissive. But I am so ready to blow—I’m not sure—oh man...My breath stops dead as you slide a finger on either side of my clit. When you start to stroke it, the pleasure floods my belly.

  “Baby, you’re making me come.”

  Did I say that out loud? I can’t tell. I didn’t mean to. I’m so hard, so swollen, and I can’t keep from thrusting my hips into your palm. I pull on your nipples mercilessly as you tug on my clit. I’m gonna shoot in your hand...

  I hold still, forcing you to ride my hand, making you work for what we both so desperately need. You’re wet and hard as you pump your clit between my fingers. I know the chance of being found out makes the experience even more exciting for you, yet you move against my hand almost imperceptibly, trying not to draw attention from those around us. My shoulder is pressed against the back of the woman next to me, so I have to move slowly. I know, given the sexual electricity in this place, that we will be discovered if I am not careful. Yet I can feel your frustration as your body demands a quick resolution, and I give way to your begging eyes, locked on mine in the mirror.

  Oh Jesus, fuck don’t stop. I’m about to lose my load right here—oh, please—I start rocking a little harder...fuck if anyone can see me...I don’t care, let ’em watch you jerk me off. The motion pushes and pulls my stone hard-on through your fingers. Oh yeah, yeah—that’ll do it. You’re gonna jerk me off right—

  You slide into me, stalling the come for a second and driving me even higher. I moan out a hot breath against your neck, my body trembling against your back. You roll my clit under your thumb as you fill me up, fuck me deep. You’re gonna make me come. Come so hard, come so deep—

  You’re stone hard as I roll your clit beneath my thumb. You jerk and clamp down tight around my fingers when I quickly flick the tip of my thumb across your clit. I know you’re getting close, I can feel it, and I lick my lips imagining the taste of you against my tongue.

  I can feel the pounding of your heart against my back as your thrusts quicken and become more demanding. Nonchalantly, I bring the glass to my mouth and drink, driving any suspicion away from your movement behind me as you draw closer to the release you seek. Casually, I look into the mirror and our eyes meet. My clit jerks in response to the desperate need etched upon your face, and I know that I could come just from watching your release. I know because I have before, many times, as you’ve teased
me, driven me to release without ever touching me.

  I find your eyes in the mirror—I want to see you see me come. I know when I go off on your fingers, in your hand, pumping against your ass, you’ll almost come too—just from seeing my face the instant I come, pleasure and pain and...I’m coming baby, feel my clit get big, hard...I’m clamping down on your hand and I can’t hold on and I’m screaming inside and it’s everywheresogood...

  I smile at your reflection and feel your clit swell even more just an instant before you explode. You bite the flesh of my neck to stifle the scream that rises from your throat as you come on a long, moaning sigh. I still my hand and feel your body tremble against me as you spasm around my fingers, drenching me with your come, and I watch your eyes dilate and become unfocused while you ride the wave of your orgasm.

  Slowly, your body relaxes against me, and even before I remove my hand and turn around, I am aching to touch you again. I press my lips against your sweat-dampened forehead before leaning back against the bar and looking into your eyes. “Hey.”

  Your arms circle my waist, and your lips seek out the tender flesh of my neck before you answer.

  “Hey, yourself.” I give you my most innocent smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Your fingers snake back under my jacket to pinch my aching nipples. “Yeah, well, I got an interesting message this afternoon suggesting that tonight might be a good time for me to visit the club.” My body jerks as you slide your leg between mine and press hard against my swollen clit. My words are whispered and broken as a wave of desire and need burns deep within my belly. “And you know I’m always up for an adventure.”

  “Really?” I smile again.

  “Really.”

  “How was it?”

  “Worth the wait.”

  “Good to hear.” I should be wiped out, but once is never enough with you. I am still hard, still aching. I pull your hand between my thighs, press your fingers to the wet denim, pump on them a little.

  “But I’m not done yet. You’d better have a cock inside those hot leather pants, because I want to lay you down on your back and take you inside. I want you to watch my face while you fuck me. I want you to watch my hands while I ride your cock and jerk off my clit and come all over your clit. You ready for another dance?”

  I take your hand in mine, press it against the front of my leathers, and smile when your eyes widen with excitement at the feel of the hard bulge. “With you? Always.”

  OFF THE METER

  It was ten minutes to one. Ten minutes until I was officially off the meter. I’d started work at eleven the previous day. That’s eleven a.m. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d circumvented Manhattan, north-south, east-west, around and around. But I couldn’t complain; I’d been busy all day and had a pocket full of neatly folded bills, my tips, to show for it. There was a lot of money to be made driving a cab in New York City, if you were faster and more fearless than the other cabbies. And I was.

  Still, I was feeling the effects of the long hours of fighting the traffic, hyped on adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough food. I should’ve passed up the last fare, but there was something about the way she stood under the awning of the Waldorf-Astoria, clearly in need of a cab but too aloof and sophisticated to flag one down, that caught my eye. No unseemly show of waving arms and shouting in the streets for her. Despite the fact that I’d already lit the off-duty sign on my roof box, signaling that I was out of service, and was headed back to the barn, I swerved across three lanes of traffic and screeched to a halt in front of the slender redhead in the sleek black dress and stiletto heels.

  When she didn’t move, I thought at first that I’d been mistaken about her needs. Illuminated by the lights of the grand hotel’s entrance, her face was elegantly made up. A diamond choker nestled in the hollow of her throat, and her eyes as they swept over me without the slightest sign of interest were remote. She looked more the type to be waiting for a limo than a yellow cab. Then, although she hadn’t made the slightest movement, I suddenly knew exactly why she waited. Slamming the transmission into park, I bounded from the front seat, having totally forgotten that five minutes earlier I had been reeling with exhaustion and nerves, and hurried around the front of my vehicle.

  “Taxi, madam?” Don’t ask me why I said that. She just looked the part. Regal. Yes, that was it, as if the ordinary worlds of ordinary people revolved in some parallel universe from which she was far removed. I wished for a crimson-lined cape to spread over the littered sidewalk. Bowing slightly and feeling not the least bit foolish, I indicated the slightly battered vehicle with a sweep of my arm and an open hand, presenting it as if it were a gleaming coach with four white steeds.

  She tilted her head and nodded with a faint smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Don’t ask me either why I opened the front door and not the rear, or why she slid in without the slightest hesitation. But thirty seconds later I was settled behind the wheel, and she was only inches away, angled slightly to face me, her knees pressed demurely together and pulled partway up onto the seat.

  “Where may I take you?” My throat was dry and my voice sounded unusually deep to my own ears. Carefully, I placed my hands at two and ten on the familiar wheel, its warm, smooth surface imprinted on my palms from years of intimacy. Suddenly self-conscious in my well-worn work khakis and white cotton T-shirt, I felt like a peasant in the presence of a noblewoman.

  “Would you mind very much opening the windows?” Her voice was silky smooth and honey rich. “I dislike air-conditioning.”

  “It’s too hot outside to do much for you,” I replied as I dutifully lowered both front windows. The August night was thick and humid and immediately settled around us like fog.

  “I find a breath of air on my skin refreshing, especially when it’s warm.”

  I turned my head and met her eyes. They were large, long lashed, and deep, deep blue. Ocean-drowning blue. I never even considered not going under. “I forgot where you said you wanted to go.”

  She laughed, a surprisingly full and enormously sensuous sound. She leaned forward, her hand inches from my thigh, and flipped off the air-conditioning. “That’s because I didn’t tell you.”

  “Just say where.” Now I understood how monarchies survived for centuries. Being the recipient of her smile was better than gold. Allow me to serve you.

  “Take me for a ride.”

  My mind went completely blank, my stomach turned somersaults, and a ball of fire ignited between my thighs. Command me, I’m yours.

  “How far...” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “How far did you have in mind?”

  She rested her fingertips ever so gently on the top of my right hand, which was now clenched around the gearshift. “How much time do you have?”

  The muscles in my forearm quivered uncontrollably as I nodded to the blank face of the rectangular fare box mounted to my dash. “I’m done for the day.”

  “Well then,” she said, her fingers insinuating between mine, “it’s up to you, isn’t it?”

  Carefully, fearful that I would dislodge her hand from mine, I maneuvered the gearshift into drive, flicked my eyes to the side-view mirror, and eased into the late-night traffic. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

  “You honor me,” she murmured, sliding infinitesimally closer, leaving only a sliver of space between her thigh and mine. Her fingers left my hand and brushed with mesmerizing frequency up and down my bare arm. “Pretend I’m a tourist and show me the sights.”

  “Are you? A tourist?” I had no idea why it felt completely natural for the stranger to caress me. Her touch was gentle, but possessive. And it felt exactly right.

  “In a way.” She sighed quietly and rested her cheek against my shoulder, her breast gently cushioned against my upper arm.

  I did the only thing I could. I took her on a slow tour of Manhattan, pointing out the sights as I drove: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the theater district, Times Square. Now and then
she inclined her head to look up through the windshield or leaned forward to peer out the driver’s window for a better view. Each small movement of her body against mine caused my heart to race and my nerves to jangle. Somehow, I kept my eyes on the streets even as my awareness dissolved into sensations of her. Her scent, delicate and mysterious, stirred my blood; her voice, a mellifluous murmur, sent chills down my spine; her body, firm and warm and enticing, aroused mine.

  “There.” I raised my free hand, the one where her fingers still rested on my wrist, and pointed briefly. “The Empire State Building.”

  “Mmm, very phallic.” One hand drifted to my thigh as she caught my right hand in the other and drew it down to her lap, linking our fingers once again.

  I laughed with surprise at the comment and pleasure at the unexpected touch on my leg. “Seems to be a theme with monuments. I guess it’s all about the power.”

  “Too obvious,” she murmured. She moved closer and rested the tip of her chin on the point of my shoulder. I felt her gaze hot against my cheek. “I prefer a subtler kind of power.”

  “And what would that be?” My voice was barely a whisper because I was finding it hard to move air in and out of my chest. Her palm rested on the inside of my leg, less than an inch from my crotch. I knew without looking that there was a damp spot soaked through the material stretched between my thighs, and if she touched me there even by accident, she would know without doubt what she had done to me.