by Sacchi Green
“What was wrong with the yellow one?”
“It bunched up in all the wrong places and made you look like scrambled eggs.”
“I like scrambled eggs.”
“Stop sniveling. The dress won’t kill you. I’m not Medea.”
Dom makes out like I’ve never worn a dress before. I have. But I prefer to dress down and not up. Dominique, on the other hand, is the girliest girl I know. Even the suit she’s wearing for the show is fitted and feminine. I’m sure the judges will deduct some serious points for that. Then again, maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll appreciate the way it suits her curves.
“You’re staring,” Dominique says. “I may have to hose you down.” She plucks a pair of nylons from her dresser drawer. I’ve mutilated most of the tights she’s bought. Not…maliciously. They’re just too complicated. The only stockings I like are the kind you hang over the fireplace at Christmas.
Dom kneels at my feet, a rare treat. She rolls the panty hose over my toes, draws them up my calves, stretches them between my thighs. The tights make me itch and twitch and bitch. Ah, the trappings of femininity.
“Get in here,” Dom orders, and I maneuver my feet into the gaping mouth of the dress.
Now the skirt is crawling up my legs and the bodice is creeping along my torso and Dominique is zipping it up like a sleeping bag. I take a moment to adjust to the sensations. The dress is close fitting and sticky and I feel like a papier-mâché project. But I also feel kind of… subversive, like I’m shaking up the system. More than shaking it up—sabotaging it. If I walked outside right now, most people wouldn’t suspect for a second that I’m as gay as a dildo is long. That’s got to be so fun for Dom, putting one over on people all the time.
Dom’s arms form a belt around my waist. “Freaky Friday, meet Some Like It Hot,” she remarks. “And I’m thinking of the Marilyn Monroe character, FYI.”
“I can see the resemblance,” I quip, stooping to pick up a pair of dismembered stockings. I head toward the wastebasket but never make it that far. “Remember on our first date, when you told me you didn’t want to be tied down?” I query, twisting the hosiery between my hands.
Dominique blushes. “Why are you bringing that up?”
“I thought you meant that you didn’t want to be tied down to anyone, but clearly that’s not the case. So maybe you meant that you didn’t want to be tied down by anyone?” The blush brightens until it looks like a sunburn. “Oh, you didn’t mean that, either?”
“I…”
I snatch her up and kiss her, the deep sweep of my tongue making Dom shudder.
“We need to leave,” she murmurs. But she doesn’t protest when I whip down her slacks, nor does she struggle when I wrap the lacerated lace around her wrists. And she accuses me of not being able to exercise restraint where she’s concerned. Shows what she knows.
“Don’t worry.” I bend Dom over the vanity table. “It’ll be touch and go.” I give her backside a couple of caresses, followed by a few rough rubs. This can’t be that hard, unless I do it correctly.
Dominique watches herself in the mirror. Naturally—it’s a vanity table. It’s quite a sight, actually: me dressed up, her trussed up.
She flexes her wrist. “They’re tight.”
I flex mine. “They’re tights.” Little Miss Do-as-I-Say-Knot-as-I-Do never cuts me any slack when she ties me up.
Wham, bam!
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I grin, my hand hot on her tail. It bounces off her ass, causing the flesh to fidget.
I continue to lash out until Dominique’s rump is princess-pink and glowing like a firefly. Why give a spanking if you’re going to do it half-assed?
I peer under her posterior. Her pussy is shiny with desire. I fondle her with my nondominant hand because the other one is sore from all that spanking.
Dom moans.
“Don’t come.” I clutch her arm. “Get off.”
Dom groans. “Do you want me to climax or not?”
I help her off the vanity, then out of the restraints. “You aren’t the only one who needs a good licking,” I inform her, perching on the tabletop, feet on the bench, heels squishing the seat cushion. Dominique shoves her hands up my dress. My tights get ripped. I can’t get blamed this time.
Dom’s on the floor now, trapped between my pussy and the panty hose, which, along with my underwear, are stretched tight across my knees.
Dominique’s head moves beneath my skirt. Her tongue swirls along my folds, unfurls inside my cunt, twirls around my clit. Her movements are graceful and skillful, and it isn’t long before I’m arching like the bow of an arrow, shoving my snatch into her mouth.
“Get off.” Dominique’s head emerges. She rams her hand between her legs. “Your knees,” I clarify, and she sighs but complies.
I pack my digits into her pussy, stuffing her like a cannoli. My fingers slip and slide through her sex until she comes, crushing my digits.
I pull my hand free, spread my middle and index fingers into a V-shape, and we lick the lust from them.
“Let’s hit it,” I suggest. “The road, this time.”
Dominique answers with a scoff, an eye roll and a smile—in that order. I hoist the hosiery to my waist. Now that they’re disfigured, they’re almost comfy.
“Just so you know,” Dom says, her tone tart and her smile suddenly sinister, “you didn’t take control.” She strokes my face, her nails chafing my cheek. “I gave it to you.”
IN THE SCULPTURE GARDEN
Cha Cha White
Yo Cath, check out the hooters on this one.” Todd stopped in front of a female nude sculpted in flawless white marble.
Inside the museum it hadn’t been so bad, but once outside in the sculpture garden Catherine was finding Todd intolerable. The brilliant sunshine seemed to increase his ugliness, exposing his unsuitability for this place. Amid the graceful rows of marble nudes and neat gravel paths lined with olive trees, he stood out, garish and discolored, like a livid bruise on a lovely face.
Catherine crossed a cool arcade to stand beside him in front of the “hooters” in question, feeling offended in spite of herself.
“You’re so one-dimensional, Todd,” she said, hating herself for taking the bait. “You can calculate the forward volatility on a group of foreign currencies in your head, but you can’t appreciate art to save your life.”
“Nobody ever got rich appreciating art, babe.”
Belatedly recalling that the only wise course was to ignore her obnoxious friend—and reminding herself never to drag him to a museum again—Catherine bent forward to read the tiny engraved brass plaque that identified the nude. The statue’s breasts were indeed beautiful. Todd was right about that, she had to admit.
VENUS said the plaque, and then in smaller letters underneath, GODDESS OF LOVE.
With protective tenderness, as though to shield the goddess from Todd’s uncomprehending eyes, Catherine reached out and cupped her hand around the exposed marble breast, not quite touching it. Venus’s form was sculpted so skillfully Catherine felt that if she hefted the perfect roundness in her palm she’d sense the weight of flesh, not stone.
The afternoon sun must have warmed the marble, for it reflected a calming, comforting heat.
“Hey,” said Todd, sounding uncertain. “You’re not supposed to touch the art.”
Rebellious, and triumphant at having shocked him, Catherine closed the slight distance between her hand and Venus’s breast. The polished surface glittered, scattering tiny flecks of brilliant light that dazzled Catherine’s eyes. The white marble nipple stood erect. Had it been that way before? Had the stone responded to her caress?
Catherine thought of taking the perfect nipple in her mouth. She leaned closer, taking sensuous joy in measuring the form beneath her fingers, marveling at the beauty of Venus’s hips; her narrow, supple waist; her white, sculpted hands with their tiny oblong nails.
“Don’t tease me,” breathed a voice in her ear. Ca
therine glanced up, startled.
“Please,” the nude Venus whispered. White marble lips moved, the only possible source of the words. The voice was urgent, passionate, but regal rather than pleading—the voice of a goddess who expected to be obeyed. “Touch me, kiss me, put your mouth on me, now! Quickly… before anyone comes.”
Catherine stared into the beautiful marble eyes, then lowered her head obediently. Who was she to question the Goddess of Love? White marble eyelids fluttered as Catherine’s mouth drew closer, but a sudden thought stopped her.
“What about him?” She inclined her head toward Todd, who stood behind them, his mouth open, looking slightly ridiculous.
Venus raised her glance to scan the ranks of white sculptures on the opposite side of the path. She gave an imperious nod. Silently, two muscular male nudes—their brass plaques identified them as ROMAN SLAVES—stepped forward and grabbed Todd by the wrists and elbows.
“Hey!” said Todd. “What the…”
“He can watch,” said Venus, and laughed, a lovely clear sound that rang out like a bell.
Catherine glanced from one end of the garden to the other. There was no one there, but the space was big and open. At any moment someone might wander out of one of the colonnades that encircled the garden. She felt giddy, intoxicated. They would just have to hurry, that was all.
She smiled at Venus’s long, shuddering gasp when her lips met white flesh, white stone, at last. She teased the nipples gently, flicking the point of her tongue from one to the other with soft, insistent pressure. Venus’s breasts were warm and yielding; they might have been flesh rather than stone; but when she drew her head back to look, Catherine still saw the dazzling white perfection of sculpted marble.
“Hurry,” whispered Venus again. “It’s been so long since anyone touched me. Oh, you smell good!” She buried her nose in Catherine’s hair.
“So do you,” murmured Catherine in surprise. Venus’s scent was like water from a well, mineral and clean, seasoned with resin and the tang of copper. Her taste held the faintest hint of fresh rain, the salt of the sea, an empty seashell scoured with sand and sun.
“Kiss me here,” Venus demanded, and her perfect white hands dropped, trembling, to her sex.
Still obedient, Catherine parted the sparkling white thighs, teasing and tasting the Goddess of Love with her lips and tongue until the marble back arched and the marble toes curled. Catherine wanted to stop and look, to appreciate the beauty of her Goddess in the moment of climax. She imagined the lovely face contorted with pleasure, the abundant hair tumbling loose over marble shoulders.
But she didn’t dare stop now. Venus’s cries of pleasure rang through the colonnades. Footsteps echoed in the hall with the fountain, but Catherine no longer cared if they were caught. She pursued the Goddess’s pleasure with the steady, maddening pressure of her tongue until Venus gave one final delirious cry and cradled Catherine’s head in languid arms, satisfied.
“Your turn,” said Venus, white shoulders rising and falling as she caught her breath. “But first… Escort him out,” she said to the Roman slaves.
Catherine twiddled her fingers at Todd. “Buh-bye,” she said, and turned her attention to her Venus.
“Last customer of the day ran outta here screaming his head off,” said one museum security guard to another as they made their rounds at closing time. “Real nut job.”
“I can top that one,” said the other guard. “Something’s different in the sculpture garden. Know the Goddess of Love?”
“Sure, the one with the gorgeous tits.”
“She’s got a friend. Come on, I’ll show you.” They walked out to the gravel path, where two marble nudes now stood, entwined, on Venus’s pedestal.
“Now where the hell did she come from?”
“Damned if I know.” The first guard shrugged. “Nice cans though.”
“Nice boobs on both of ’em,” the second agreed. “Man, I sure do appreciate art.”
WHEN LIFE IS INTERESTING
Leigh Wilder
When it came to Shel, Robin had learned to always expect the unexpected, so, though she got a little shock when she opened the door and Shel rushed in with a gun, she quickly recovered, slamming the door shut behind them. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” she accused. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You know how it is,” Shel said, crossing the living room at a sprint, jumping over the coffee table. “Life has been way too interesting for your tastes. And I respect you too much to get you in the middle of it all.” She threw open the bedroom door. The bedroom, to Robin’s displeasure, hadn’t seen much action lately due to Shel’s disappearance. She followed Shel and found her fighting with the window leading to the old fire escape. The window was next to impossible to open and Robin always kept a cast iron paperweight on the dresser nearby, just in case there was ever an actual fire.
“This looks like the middle of something to me,” Robin said, not caring about “interesting” at the moment.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Shel reached for the paperweight.
“Wait!” Robin cried, and managed to wrench it out of her hand. “You can’t come barging in here after not calling for weeks—with a gun—and expect me to just let you break my window and run off again.”
Shel danced on the balls of her feet and bit her bottom lip. “I’m kinda in a hurry here.” As she bounced Robin could hear the pockets of Shel’s heavy long coat rattle and clink.
“I locked the door,” Robin offered, pulling Shel away from the window by her pockets. Robin’s fingertips brushed cold metal. “No one knows you’re here, and I haven’t seen you in such a long time. Don’t you remember what happened the last time we were together?” Robin remembered it extremely well. Those memories, paired with her deft fingers, were the only things that made life bearable while waiting for Shel. Now that she had Shel in her bedroom again, she wasn’t going to let her go without a fight.
Robin leaned forward, pressing her large breasts against Shel’s small ones, and slid her hand down Shel’s arm until she touched the metal of the gun still in Shel’s hand. She grasped it and eased it carefully from Shel’s fingers, and she let her. Robin set the gun gently on the dresser and as soon as it was out of Shel’s hand she grabbed Robin and pulled her into a kiss so fast and so hard that Robin had a brief fear of whiplash.
Robin felt a flash of heat between her legs—it didn’t take much for Shel to set fire to her. She pushed the coat off of Shel’s slim shoulders and the weight of the pockets made it slide off her arms into a clinking pile on the floor. Shel pushed Robin backward so they fell in a tangle of limbs onto the bed. “I don’t really have time for this,” Shel said against Robin’s neck.
Robin pulled Shel’s head by the hair so she could speak into her ear. “Make time,” she hissed, and bit down hard on Shel’s earlobe, certain to get her point across.
Shel yelled out but didn’t pull away. Instead she pushed up Robin’s shirt and bra to free her round, perfect breasts, but didn’t take the time she usually did to admire before she took a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard. This time it was Robin’s turn to cry out as Shel flicked over the hard bud with her tongue while squeezing the other breast tightly, then moved her hand down to the button of Robin’s jeans.
Robin lifted her hips to help Shel yank the pants and underwear down her legs, but didn’t bother trying to kick them off her ankles. With only vital parts exposed and her clothes bunched up at either end of her body, Robin tried to reach for Shel’s T-shirt. Shel pulled away. “I only got time for one of us,” she explained, voice brisk.
Robin wanted to protest, but it was a little hard to do as Shel shoved her tongue into her mouth while at the same time pushing two fingers up inside her, meeting no resistance since Robin was so wet. Shel slid down Robin’s body, lips touching every part of her as she moved, until her mouth joined her fingers and she began to give Robin’s clit the same treatment as she had given her nipple.
S
hel pushed a third finger inside, knowing exactly what it would take to send Robin over the edge in a hurry. She picked up speed with her tongue, teasing Robin into a hip-bucking frenzy, and her orgasm slammed into her as fast as Shel had thrown herself into the apartment. Robin clutched at Shel’s head as she licked on, curving her fingers up against Robin’s G-spot until she came again, still shaking from the first orgasm.
She whimpered when Shel slid her fingers gently out of her, giving her a few last laps to send a few aftershocks through her limbs.
Shel was on her feet in a flash and pulling her coat back on. She retrieved her gun, checked the safety and slipped it into one of her crowded pockets. “Sorry about the window,” she said before picking up the paperweight and smashing through the glass.
Robin stumbled over to her, jeans hanging off of one ankle. Cold air blew in from the broken window as Shel slipped her hand into her sleeve and broke away the sharp edges of glass. “Call me when you can,” Robin said, knowing Shel would be out the window any second. “Promise me you will this time.”
“Of course.” Shel took something glittering out of a pocket and pressed it into Robin’s hand. “I’ll see you when life isn’t as interesting,” she promised, kissing Robin on the cheek before throwing a leg over the windowsill. Robin opened her hand—Shel had given her a diamond tennis bracelet. She looked up to thank her, but Shel was gone, and someone was knocking on her apartment door.
Robin clutched the bracelet tight in her hand as she struggled into her clothes and hurried to the door. A cop was standing there. “Um, hello, officer.”
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but a suspect was seen entering your building—female, about five foot five, short dark hair, wearing a long coat?”
Robin shook her head, holding the bracelet behind her back. “I haven’t seen anyone like that. What did she do?”