by Sacchi Green
“Stand up.”
As she scrambled to her feet, I pushed her against the desk and kicked her legs open. I rubbed the cock against her slippery lips and thrust into her with one movement. She cried out, but bent until she was flat against the desktop, giving me full access to her dripping hole.
I wasn’t gentle, pulling at her hips as I pounded into her, but she pushed back against me, her muffled grunts propelling me closer and closer to orgasm.
“Come for me, baby.” I reached for her clit with one hand, the other sliding under her shirt until I found a nipple. “Come on.”
I brushed my lips against the back of her neck, feeling her tremble beneath me, trying to keep my own orgasm at bay. Then finally, she stiffened and came against me, her release triggering mine.
When we could stand, we adjusted our now-rumpled clothes. “So, officer, what’s my sentence?”
“Looked like an accident to me.”
She winked before leaving. I waited a beat before rejoining the party. Mina probably thought she’d won, but she was getting a hell of a surprise Monday at work.
AN EXPLANATION
Sharon Wachsler
I wake up in pain, of course—but wet. Do I ask Geena, my personal care assistant, to bring me an oxycodone, or attempt to access nature’s painkiller instead? My joints unlock just enough for me to slide a hand under the covers and stroke my clit. Endorphins it is.
There’s a knock at the door. Shit! I yank my hand away, groaning as fire bursts in my shoulder. Where’s a tissue? I need to wipe my fingers before Geena… Too late. The door opens—to Holly.
“Hi, cuteness,” she says.
I hiss, “Come in. And shut the door!”
She does, sitting on the chair next to my bed, her eyebrows raised.
“I was diddling,” I say. “I thought you were Geena.”
“No, she just left for the post office. She’ll be back in fifteen minutes. She asked me to check on you if you woke.”
I grin. “So you’re here to see to my needs?”
“I’m not on duty long,” Holly teases.
“Do we need ‘long’?”
“I don’t know. Do we?” Holly hops onto the bed. I wince at the mattress’s movement jarring my bones. Holly ignores my grimace. I’m grateful. I want to have fun, not be Sick Girl.
Super quick, she whips back the covers and slides her hand under my panties, her middle finger parting my lips.
I moan. I’d forgotten how good that feels. We almost never touch because of my pain.
“Wow,” Holly murmurs. “You did start without me.”
I can’t manage actual words after that, just sounds: A gasp when she dips her index finger into my cunt, a moan when she pulls it right back out. A melting sigh as she brings my juice to my clit and makes small circles.
Back and forth she moves from cunt to clit, dipping and circling. I’m lost in pleasure. She slides closer so she can reach my breast with her other hand, jostling me. I flinch.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Holly pulls her hand away. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Shut up,” I mumble. “Keep going.”
Holly chuckles and fumbles under my T-shirt, finding my nipple and gently squeezing it. The heat zings right down to my clit. “Oh, fuck, yeah,” I murmur. Holly’s hands go still.
“Hey!” I whine. Does she want me to beg?
Holly is frowning at my bedside clock. “Geena’s gonna be back soon.”
“Fuck me now!” I say.
She doesn’t need telling twice.
She slides her already-wet index and middle fingers into my cunt, and pumps in and out, using her thumb to ride my clit. It’s exquisite, and I just hang in that bliss for as long as I can, until the waves become too strong. My cunt starts to flutter, and Holly squeezes my nipple, hard.
I give way, screaming and squirting, shoving away the thoughts about how I’ll handle the aftermath with Geena. I buck against Holly’s hand, dimly aware that normally such gymnastics would require massive pharmaceutical intervention. I know I’ll pay for this later, but I don’t care. I feel so damn good, so happy—for once—to be in this body.
Holly is still going, trying for a second round, but I can feel the spasms starting—the unfun kind elsewhere in my body. The immobilizing pain is coming.
“Stop, stop,” I say weakly. I crab-walk a hand to cover hers on my breast. I beam at her. “That was great, but I need to stop.”
“How about a cuddle—for afters?” She gives me puppy-dog eyes because we both know what my answer has to be.
“My afters is going to be a couple of Percocet.” I try to offer some hope. “I might be up for cuddling later.”
“Okay,” she says, still looking sad.
“C’mere,” I say.
She moves closer.
“No, closer!” If I had the strength, I’d pull her right against me.
When our noses are an inch apart, I take her chin and guide her in for a kiss. A long kiss.
“My goodness,” she says, when we draw breath. “How forward of you!” She bats her eyelashes.
“I thought I owed you that much, considering.”
“Considering I just gave you a screaming, ejaculating orgasm?”
“Yes, that.”
“Okay.” Holly stands up, looking out my window. “Here’s Geena. I’ll go tell her you just woke up in pain and to bring you your pills.”
“Wait!”
Holly pauses at the door, staring bemusedly at the big, wet cum stains on my underwear and sheets. She lifts her nose and sniffs like a rabbit. “Gosh,” she says, wide-eyed. “Did you know it reeks of sex in here? I’ll ask Geena to turn on the air filter.”
“No, please!” Can she really be so vengeful? “Tell her to bring me a towel because, um…” I look wildly around the room.
Holly picks the water bottle off my nightstand and dumps it on my lap.
“Hey!” I shriek.
“Oh, dear,” she says, and slaps her cheek. “You knocked your water bottle over when you woke up! Should I tell her you need help changing and making the bed?”
“Ye-es,” my teeth chatter. “Th-thank you s-s-s-so much.”
“No problem,” she says sweetly, her hand on the doorknob.
“Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll have to earn your ‘afters’—again—after that little stunt.”
“I’m counting on it.” She steps out the door, calling, “Geena, you’re back!”
FLOATING IN SPACE
Dena Hankins
The airlock hatch bumps my shoulder, trying to close.
I swallow at the sight of Cyfal’s asscheeks, bisected by the safety harness’s straps.
She is naked and I already want her so badly that my breathing hitches.
The harness holds each thigh, her hips, ribs and shoulders. The single side of a Y-strap attaches to the bulkhead and the double side is clipped to her shoulder rings.
Cyfal started without me. Her hand is between her legs; her elbow moves in jagged circles. Perhaps she thought I’d chicken out. She is brash, volatile. Her come-on made my pulse pound in my cunt. I may be quiet and steady, but I want to see her explode when I fuck her.
I push into the airlock and float to her attachment point. The air lock auto-seals behind me and Cyfal jolts at the clang. When she turns, I unzip my jumpsuit from neck to crotch, exposing the safety harness against my skin, as instructed. The slick webbing slides against me, warm, when I reach for a tether.
Before I can clip in, Cyfal tugs her tether and shoots toward me. I catch her and absorb most of the impact. She settles into me, arms around my shoulders and one leg between mine, while the rest of her energy rebounds us toward the middle of the air lock. I restrain the impulse to grab for the attachment handle.
The girl is good in zero gee. We end up floating near the end of her tether. With her face above mine, I can tuck my lips into the hollow of her collarbone and inhale her smell, unmasked by perfu
me. It glows from her heated pores and floats, concentrated, from her cunt.
Cyfal says, “You came.” Her voice carries excitement and vibrates my lips as I kiss my way across her throat.
“Of course. I want you.”
“Have you ever been naked in vacuum?”
I lift her breast into my mouth and scrape her areola with my teeth, then suck. Scrape, then suck. Cyfal hums and stretches her arms above her head. My hand slides down the floating curve of her breast to her ribs and waist while I create a slow rhythm, pulling on her nipples. When she shivers and contracts, her hands shove at the shoulders of my jumpsuit.
I release her to pull my arms out of the suit. Cyfal scrapes her nails across my back and I purr against her sternum. At the sound, she turns them edge-on and scratches me hard. I grunt at the sudden pain and bite the side of her breast.
Cyfal turns wild in my arms. She runs her hands and nails over my shoulders, around my waist, across my belly. She clamps her legs around my thigh so I can’t drift off, thrusts one hand into my jumpsuit, and digs through my pubic hair to seek out my clit. The other hand pinches and twists my nipples. I twitch and moan. Too much, too hard, too quickly.
Cyfal squeezes my clit between two fingers and makes small, fast circles. An unexpected rush convulses me, a quick and dirty orgasm that flattens me with amazement. I push Cyfal down on my thigh, hard, both hands on her waist, and she lowers her head for a deep, sudden kiss. Our first.
We get to know each other’s mouths until my back bumps gently against the air lock bulkhead. Cyfal pulls a double tether from an attachment point and clips it to her hip rings. “So. Are you a vacuum virgin?”
I had forgotten the question. “Naked?”
Cyfal’s lips curl. “That’s a yes.”
She clips the other ends to my shoulder rings and takes up most of the slack. I hold her to me by the strap around her hips and we press our lips together again. Breaking the soft suction, Cyfal raises her head. She rocks her clit against my thigh muscle, writhing in slow motion. I can smell my cunt on the hand she grips my shoulder with. It mixes with her cunt’s smell soaking the nubby fabric of my suit. The blend makes me breathe deeply, intoxicated.
“I’m going to start the purge cycle.”
Vacuum can be survived for about ninety seconds, but consciousness only lasts about ten. The biggest danger is bursting a lung trying to hold my breath, but that’s a rookie move. I won’t make that mistake.
I don’t know this woman, really. We’ve worked on this ship together for six weeks and been dancing around the sexual tension since we met. Adrenaline rushes through my body. I’m alive and alert, brilliantly lit inside, and I want to do this with Cyfal. She could need an hour of stimulation to reach orgasm, but I have a feeling that she’s actually very close.
She stares at me, intent on my reaction, and I say, “Set a five-minute delay.”
Cyfal punches the command buttons. I massage her breasts while sucking on her nipples. Her moans change to cries and I move down her body, biting and sucking as I go, panting with excitement I don’t try to hide.
When I reach her pubic bone, Cyfal sighs and lets her legs flow up and part in front of my face. I move in and draw my tongue up her cunt lips from back to front. Licking and sucking, I gnaw on her thick outer lips and spread them. Her smell is salt water, but her texture is cream and I moan against her cunt. I want to exhibit some finesse, but Cyfal responds strongly when I burrow in, when I suck her clit into my mouth and move my head in tight circles, nearly out of control.
The air lock opens.
Air rushes out, pulling us hard against the tethers, making my jumpsuit slide down my legs. It is replaced by silence and a pressure inside as we realize that we are full, stuffed with blood and guts, tight with need and desire. I release my breath and Cyfal makes one last gasp, but my mouth is still full of her taste and I do not stop.
Cyfal shivers, shakes. Her legs tense and she drums my back with her heels. I plunge two fingers into Cyfal’s cunt, searching for the spot. When her belly jumps, I know I’ve found it. I pull down and press up against her clit with my tongue, as though licking my fingers. As my body begins to shake with its need for oxygen, I pull more and more desperately until, deep in fear and burning with arousal, I feel Cyfal freeze, then push.
Holding tightly against her muscle’s spasms, I know only her cunt, her clit, her orgasm. It devours me and I feed on it.
The air lock closes.
Sweet air blows and we both gasp and cough. The spasms force us apart. I pull myself back to her by the tether and hold her close, thigh to thigh, cheek to cheek, our hearts pounding together. When I pull away, Cyfal is smiling. “Where is your jumpsuit?”
I look out the air-lock window and, sure enough, there it is: floating in space.
FREEWAY FALLING
Cal Gimpelevich
Late night on the freeway, headed home, tightening my thighs. I’m checking to see if my clit’s still sore from last night. Yeah. Definitely feeling it. The sensation is closer to raw than painful. Nerve endings feel exposed so just the friction from my jeans makes me wet.
Or maybe that’s the woman sitting next to me whose body I’m getting to know. She’s got long, curly hair tied back, loose strands framing her face and one hand traveling lazily from my knee up toward my crotch. She is a little older, a little taller and a little more optimistic than I am. An ethnic mutt who looks black Irish. Yesterday she met my parents. Does that make us a couple? Two months ago I didn’t know her name.
She stares ahead at the long stretch of road, her other hand draped casually over the steering wheel. The whole posture screams nonchalance, slouched back in her seat, looking like another zoned-out driver. Which I might believe except for the creeping fingers unbuttoning my fly and sliding under the elastic band to my briefs. With a Cheshire cat grin, those fingers pry me open and jump inside.
I spread my legs wide and push against her, wanting to get fucked and knowing this is nowhere near the right position. She circles my clit, teasing me where I’m tender. Little shots of pain mix with the pleasure, mingled enough that I can’t separate sensations into good and bad. Either way, I’m feeling something strong and my body’s response is to drench the whole area with lube, along with my clothes and possibly the seat. She manages to get a good angle and slips farther inside my cunt, fingers curled to hit my G-spot. I lose my cool and start to gasp, interrupting the conversation we’ve kept up throughout, pretending I’m not getting fucked.
She left her license at home, so we’re doubly screwed if we get pulled over. Hello, officer. Nice evening, isn’t it? What’s this? Well, you see I lost something in there and needed help getting it out. Nothing to worry about, a couple quarters is all. We need them for the toll. More likely she’d pull out real quick and we’d do our best to hold straight faces in a car reeking of lesbian sex.
She sneaks a glance from the highway and plants a kiss on my throat. Her eyes are hazel, playful. Sometimes they look black. Lashes dark like natural mascara. My hips are bucking against her touch, sparks from my cunt making me jump. She settles back into her relaxed pose, this time looking cocky, getting as butch as she ever does. The smile says: Yeah. I can fuck my girl in the car and outside the park and all over your house, if I want. Got a problem with it?
We’re talking about her job but I’m having trouble concentrating because the pressure’s building inside, getting faster and stronger along with her strokes. I really want to come. It won’t happen in this position, but I don’t care. I want her. I want last night again with one of her hands pumping me from behind and the other one playing steadily rougher with my clit. I want her naked with my hands running over every piece of flesh, tracing the tattoo stretched along her side, showing what’s inside. I want us filling each other at once and getting off on the reactions. These images stream through my mind: a mix of memory, hope and porn. She’s bitching about her manager when I lose those last shreds of focus and all thought gives way
to the action in my cunt. With final jolting, beautiful motions, she’s done. I’m not, but that’s okay.
She pulls out and wipes the excess lube against my thigh, squeezes. I shudder. It’s a sweet gesture, but I’m so turned on that every touch feels electric, pushing toward one end. Orgasm, for me, is rare, but I feel myself getting closer. Reaching the edges, even starting to come, but unable to finish. Getting this near, even, is strange.
Blue and yellow patches of light play across her face, illuminating pieces before passing back into shadow. Nose, eyes, chin, chest. I run the tips of my fingers along her skin, so light they barely touch. Gentle teasing drives her wild. I cup her pubis and travel east, unbuckling the seat belt for a better hold. She puts it back on—“This part’s harder”—but straps it over my hand so I can touch her. Her vulva’s soaked and it’s easy for me to slide into a sweet spot.
The car’s gotten slow and careful. “The faster we get home the faster we can do this for real,” she says.
“I’m having fun now.” She feels hot against me, hot and smooth. Easy to get lost in.
She switches lanes so we’re barely pushing sixty behind a big rig. “Besides, it’s illegal to drive without a seat belt. They’re a vital part of any car.”
“Is that so?” Subtle spasms erupt around my hand, the tremors growing steady into a full-blown quake. She’s trying hard to tell me why seat belts are important, but her voice cracks and the monologue fades into deep-throated noise.
“What was that again?” I ask.
“They’re important because—because, I, um, mmmm.” I go faster, vibrating one finger over her clit. “Okay,” she says. “Yeah.” Her hips buck against me, jerky. Straining against the car’s built-in bondage. “See, I can feel that in my feet, and one of my feet is on the accelerator.”