by Violet Blue
I’m not sure how I managed to pull away from him long enough to retrieve a condom from the tailoring box, but when I returned he was seated, leaning back on the center platform. He had pushed his thong aside to let his cock stand proud. I knelt down and stroked it, savoring the feel of his thin, slippery skin—softer and more supple than any fabric.
Before I slid the condom on, I straddled him and pressed his cock against my panties, pulsing my hips so he could feel the folded strips of mesh. His eyes were closed and his breaths were short, staccato rasps. With the ridges of crimped tulle dragging against my clit, I knew exactly how he felt.
It just seemed wrong for us to fuck with no underwear, so I pushed my soggy cotton crotch aside and fed his length into my body. Heat spread its creeping fingers from his cock out to the farthest reaches of my body. I was so giddy with the feel of him that I would have let my body swallow him whole if it could.
Rocking gently, with the satin of his thong chafing against the mesh of my panties, we fucked ourselves into a swirling oblivion of limbs and heat and silk. Oh, god, the silk. There were times I wasn’t sure whether it was Marcus or his corset that was lifting me, shifting my position, consuming me with satin desire.
At one point I glanced up at the wall to see hundreds of startled, flushed women with their dark sweaty hair askew, staring wide-eyed and disoriented at me and each other. That’s fitting, I thought vaguely as we all slipped back into our hazy joy—a joy that felt too immense to be contained in one single body.
Back in a straddle position, my pelvis began to tremble with an excitement of its own, separate and above our grinding hips. This expanding ball of energy pulled me from my reverie and my full attention turned to Marcus. I couldn’t stop staring at him and he grinned back, looking slightly self-conscious. Suddenly, the corset didn’t matter to me; all that mattered was the beautiful man in it.
With our fingers locked, I leaned down to touch his forehead to mine and let my body convulse in blissful, ecstatic spasms. His nails dug into the backs of my hands and a few minutes later his measured thrusts grew into a fierce hammering. I sat up and rode his shuddering pulses through to the last twinge.
Muscles twitching and chests heaving, we sat on the pedestal for several minutes while the wondrous surprise of finding each other soaked in. The clothes we had brought to “try on” lay in a heap on the floor, forgotten.
“That’s going to have to be dry-cleaned,” I said apologetically, touching the saturated hem of his corset. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I bit my lip and let my eyes wander nervously. “So, what are you doing next Tuesday? We have this shipment coming in from Milan….”
AMY
Heidi Champa
I turned the mailbox key expectantly. I always loved getting mail. The box was full, packed with bills and junk. It was amazing what had accumulated in three days. The brown padded envelope caught my eye as I sorted through my mail. It had been a while since one had made its way to my door. I could barely think as I ran my fingers over the scratchy brown paper. My pulse raced, my heart pounding like I had been running for hours. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. I turned the envelope over and over in my hands. It was the same as all the others, no return address, my name scrawled in your thick black writing. I could almost picture you holding the marker in your hand, a smirk on your face as you wrote my address. I pulled the envelope open, and saw the plastic case inside. The DVD was blank except for the name Amy, in the same black marker as the envelope. Amy. There had been Beth, Tammie and Jane. Now, it was Amy. I fumbled slightly as I set the DVD on the tray of my machine, my throat tightening with expectation. My hands shook as I pressed PLAY and the black of my television screen suddenly erupted into color. A young blonde came into view, the camera moving erratically at first, until it stopped suddenly on a close-up of her face.
There she was: Amy. A ball gag was stretching her mouth open, little trails of slobber running onto her chin. I could almost taste the rubber on my tongue, feel the harsh pinch of its latch behind my head. Amy’s black mascara had started to run down her cheeks. Her big, blue eyes pleaded with the camera lens. She had the same look on her face as all the others. I knew it well. I had worn it myself many times. I couldn’t see you, but I heard your voice, running through my speakers like honey. You were asking Amy if she was ready to take her punishment. Her nodding made her small breasts sway back and forth. I heard a chuckle from you; that satisfied laugh you had perfected long ago. I shifted in my seat, as I was already wet. Amy looked into the camera, lust and anxiety mixing in her eyes. Her small hands were tied to the foot of the bed, which was dressed in familiar-looking blue sheets. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the sheets under my knees. She was in my favorite position, the one you put me in all the time: knees spread, ass high, my ultimate submissive pose. Now it was Amy’s turn to submit to you.
I recognized the room as well as I would my own. I recalled the countless hours I spent there, in front of you, and the lens of your camera. I sometimes wondered how many DVDs of me were out there, being watched by other women. How many people have sat and watched you dominate and pleasure me? The thought of it made my pussy even wetter. As much as I secretly loved watching the DVDs, knowing I had been watched was even more intense. It was comforting to know I wasn’t alone in my dependence on you. How many other girls are there in the world, watching another go through the same fate as them?
I heard your hand hit Amy square on the ass almost before I saw it. Two more blows followed immediately, the sound echoing through the little room. Her cries died quickly behind the gag, a fresh batch of tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Despite her pain, I could tell there was pleasure there too. You asked her if she wanted more. When she didn’t nod fast enough for you, you grabbed her blonde hair in your fist and asked again. She nodded fervently this time and was rewarded with two more hard smacks on her already red ass. This time, her muted moans gave her away. She loved it. She wanted to tell you so, but her voice was choked off. I could make out her teeth digging into the hard rubber between her dry lips. I knew the feeling well. I had done my fair share of biting my gag too. Suddenly the camera moved, showing me that you had two fingers teasing her cunt, trying to dampen the pain with pleasure. You fucked her slowly, but hard. If I tried, I could almost feel the rough texture of your skin sliding past my wet cunt lips, the way you would twist as you forced them deeper, pressing into my G-spot with ease. It had been too long since I’d felt you like that. I missed you, even though I didn’t want to. Your hold on me was still powerful, even though it was no longer physical.
Amy must have been getting the same treatment from you, as her cries of pain had turned into muffled squeals and moans. I could hear how wet she was every time your fingers came out of her pussy. The wetness shone on your fingers, gleaming in the camera’s spotlight. You got on your knees behind her and ran your tongue up the back of her thigh. Your pace increased, as did the moisture running out of her cunt. I saw her tremble, just as I did when you teased me that way. The whimper as you pulled your fingers from her was audible, even with the impediment. She was soon placated by your tongue on her cunt. I missed that sweet, salty tongue, the one that I had sucked on when I couldn’t touch any other part of you. You dug into her ripe flesh, releasing another wash of juices from her cunt. You really had this one worked up. She wasn’t indifferent like some others had been. Some of them had managed to stay so strong, trying to resist you. But not Amy. Was she as hot and wet as I used to be with you? I wanted to believe she wasn’t. I still wanted to be your favorite, your perfect little submissive doll. But I knew I was no longer special to you.
You abruptly stopped what you were doing and the camera again focused on Amy’s face. I heard you off camera, your tone harsh. Did she want to suck your cock? Did she want that gag out? She was nodding before you even finished the questions. She wanted you in her mouth, just like I had back then, back when you asked me the same questions. Your hand released the b
uckle behind her head. Amy sighed and cried all at once as the air hit her stretched, tired mouth.
Let me hear you say it. I spoke the words myself, in the privacy of my own living room: I want to suck your cock. I willed you to hear me through the television, to bring me back to you for one more chance.
God, your voice could unnerve anyone. She replied. Her voice was high pitched, squeaky. She wanted to suck your cock right now. Thankfully, you didn’t let her talk anymore. The tip of your cock came into view. It looked just as I remembered it, thick and slightly purple. My breath caught in my throat. God, it made my mouth water just looking at it. I wondered if it felt the same to her as it had to me. Her cherry tongue rubbed against it, leaving a wet trail over the flesh I longed to taste again. You let her go on for a bit longer, but I knew what was coming. Before another swipe of Amy’s amateur tongue was finished, you grabbed her head and forced the full length of your cock into her mouth. Her shock was overwhelmed by your insistence, and she had no choice but to take it. I could hear her gagging; I remembered the feeling well. Tears left her eyes in hot lines as your thick cock pushed into her throat again and again. The sounds of her moans were again muffled, and a little saliva started running down her chin. Soon, she had loosened up and was sucking as hard as you were fucking. God, you still had a way with women. You taught me how to deep-throat. Your new student was doing even better than I had. My jealousy shocked me and made me wetter.
Amy had her rhythm now and she appeared to be enjoying herself. You quickly put a stop to her pleasure with a hard pinch of her swinging nipple. She winced at the pressure and your cock left her mouth just in time for a shocked “Ouch!” to leave her mouth. You squeezed again, and twisted, just like I liked it. Amy didn’t seem to like it as much as I had. I wondered if that was for me. I wondered if you still thought about me, about what I was willing to do for you. Everything you were doing to Amy, you had done to me. Things that I had loved and begged for, you were giving to her for me to see. You barely made her ask for anything. I had spent hours begging you, pleading with you for my release. I learned to love it, to need your permission. Even though I didn’t need it anymore, I still wanted it. My hand was in my pants gently teasing my clit as I thought of the last time your fingers held my nipples like that.
Amy bit her lip to take the pain, until you eased up and gave her a break. Her nipple was hard and bright red when you let it go. Another yank on her hair, and her full lips managed a quick yelp before you covered her mouth with yours, sucking the air and what was left of her fight right out of her. As you sweetly stroked her nipple, she purred into your mouth, thrusting and wiggling her hips back into the air. I had never gotten a sweet kiss from you. You took my mouth like you took the rest of me, with force.
You want to get fucked, don’t you? It was an absurd question, but one you asked without a hint of irony. Wasn’t that why we were all there in the first place? But you asked, and we had to respond. She responded with the only answer that made any sense. So did I. We almost spoke in unison, choosing the same words to respond to you. Only she was the only one getting what she wanted.
Yes, fuck me please.
With her desperate plea, I knew you had hooked another one. One more soul who couldn’t get enough of you, willing to let you document her pleasure and pain, as long as you gave her one more taste. One more earth-shattering, mind-erasing twist of pleasure from you. I had been replaced, just like she would be someday. But for now, Amy could feel the unabashed desire that forced her back into your room again and again. The searing heat of knowing you were there, ready to do your best and your worst. The giving up of dignity, of common sense, of time and space, just to feel your cock in her cunt until she couldn’t think straight. I still wanted it, all of it. Maybe someday, when you tired of all of them, you would come back to me. It was my secret hope. But I knew my dream would never come to pass.
I envied Amy, just as I had all the others. I wanted to be her and hated her at the same time. The camera showed her face crumpled into a mass of relief and desire as you finally gave in and filled her cunt. The camera went back to its usual position watching your stiff cock enter and leave Amy’s wet and waiting cunt, over and over. My fingers dove into my own empty, lonely cunt. I tried to remember the last time I was with you. The last time I got to be like Amy.
Was it really a year ago? A whole year since I cried out into the darkness of that room, just like Amy, begging for a hard, deep fucking. Needing you so bad that I was willing to let you tie me down, turn my ass bright red and keep my pain, fear and lust all on a convenient disk forever. It had been a long, long year. My desperate cunt craved, like Amy’s, to be filled. There didn’t seem to be a finger or dildo big enough to fill the void you left when you told me you were through with me.
You promised to keep in touch. The first DVD arrived months later. Another girl, another Amy on your bed, taking your cock deep inside her. Right now, Amy began begging you to fuck her faster, but your pace stayed steady and slow, teasing her with every swirl of your hips. My hatred for her grew as my pussy got wetter. I needed you again. I wanted you again, just like the last four times the DVDs invaded my life. You still managed to turn my life upside down, even though you wouldn’t take my calls.
I’m going to come.
Her words made my heart sink but sent a rush of heat and wetness to my cunt. I knew better than anyone her need. You wouldn’t make it easy for her. She didn’t know it yet, but I did. I saw your cock leave her cunt, and I heard her moans turn to protests. My fingers transmitted her pain into my pleasure. Two more hard whacks on her ass rang out of my television speakers and went straight to my clit. That was what I wanted to hear. Her cries only made my orgasm bigger and better. My clit throbbed as my cunt tightened around my fingers, all while Amy lamented her current state.
By the time you were back in her cunt, fucking her into oblivion, I was lying back on my couch stroking myself to a second climax. I looked up just in time to see Amy’s face twist into a knot and her cunt tighten around your cock. She wept as you made her come harder than she ever had before. She collapsed onto her stomach, her wrists rubbed raw by the scarf attaching her to the bed, the one I had given you so long ago.
Unlike on the other DVDs, this time you looked right into the camera. Your eyes were looking straight at me. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought you could see me right at that moment, my fingers wet from my own cunt, my body slowly returning to earth. But I did know better. You winked and the shot went to black. The familiar hiss of static filled the room. Finally, I pressed STOP.
IN A HANDBASKET
Alison Tyler
I think Prince said it best in “When Doves Cry.” You know? Except in our case, people weren’t digging the picture of Cal and me engaged in a kiss. They were digging, if you will, the vision of what we looked like in bed. That’s what brought those evil smiles to their lips, the heady scarlet glow to their eyes. Strangers saw us, slight little me and big built Caleb, and instantly imagined us fucking. Caleb turning me topsy-turvy in his huge baseball-mitt hands. Me, on my knees, or on a step stool, sucking him off. Because I’m small, five four in my highest heels. And Caleb’s huge, six eight when he slouches. I’ve got angel written all over my innocent features. He does double-duty for the devil with his shaved head and a barrel chest, muscles on his muscles.
Of course, there’s more.
More to make people’s heads turn when we stride by.
You see, we’re an interracial couple, the two of us. I’m not only white, but that whiter-shade-of-pale type of white. I can get a third-degree burn by looking at travel websites. Cal’s darkness seems to emphasize how fair I am, or my translucent complexion gives more polished depth to his.
We were friends, though, just friends; not “friends with benefits,” not friends who fuck. We were friends who could drink together, sure, talk about anything, smoke a little pot when one of us was lucky enough to score a joint. Why weren’t we making the bea
st with two backs, as Iago says, late at night, when nobody else was around? Because at least one of us always had someone steady, to sweep those dirty thoughts under the sofa of his or her mind.
Friends we were, and I was sure that’s all we ever would be, until I moved to L.A., and he decided to come visit one weekend. For the first time ever, we found ourselves single at the same time. Did Cal realize that when he hugged me at the airport, when he lifted me clear off the ground in his warm embrace so that my cork-soled espadrilles kicked up behind me? Or did those thoughts come later, put in our heads by other dirty-minded people?
From the moment we walked out of the airport together into the heat-crimped Southern-California-in-the-summertime air, I began noticing the looks. I’d never really been aware before of people giving us the evil eye; we’d usually hung out with a group. Now, everywhere we went, people looked at us.
“Is it you?” I asked him, because he is so intensely tall.
“It’s us,” he said quietly, patiently. Always patient, that’s Cal.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think, chicklet. What do you think they’re thinking?”
I didn’t answer that. But when I let my gaze fall on him, I started to, well, dig the picture. I started to imagine his hands on me—those big, palm-a-basketball hands. Fuck the step stool, I saw me on the edge of the bed, ruby-glossed lips parted, mouth open and hungry, waiting for the very first taste.
Clearly, I wasn’t alone.
After dropping off his suitcase, I took Caleb out for a walk in my favorite neighborhood in Hollywood, an area where anything is possible. Strolling down the street, you’ll pass happy-go-lucky transvestites, and young male prostitutes, and women who are so goddamn gorgeous you have no idea they have a dick between their legs until you get them home. And by that point, you just won’t care.