Girl Fever

by Sacchi Green

  She looked at me then, the hurt expression in her eyes enough to make me feel bad. Not bad enough to backtrack—I still thought she was bonkers—but enough for me to want to make her feel better.

  I took Izzy’s hand and tugged her with me into the alcove, slipping behind the statue. From there, of course, we could see the statue’s perfectly molded asscheeks, and the beautiful arch of her back.

  “Come on, Izz,” I said, indicating what I was admiring, “don’t you think she’s beautiful?”

  Slipping an arm around my girl’s waist and pulling her tightly to me, I murmured in her ear, “Wouldn’t you like to grip those asscheeks as you kissed her? Feel those tits pressing against yours?”

  I drew closer still and flicked my tongue in Izzy’s ear, making her squirm in my grasp. “Wouldn’t you like to pull her hand away and replace it with yours? Stroke her clit, her pussy? Slip your fingers inside her hot, wet hole and pump her until she came?”

  By now, the arm I’d had around her waist had moved, my hand slipping down my girl’s back, over her ass and between her legs. I flipped up the hem of her pretty summer dress, cupping her crotch through her panties. I could feel the delicious heat of her pussy through the cotton underwear, and when I rubbed my flattened hand against her vulva, Izzy moaned.

  The sound sent an insane shock of want zipping through my body. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t the time or the place to get frisky, but when Izzy rocked her hips, trying to get more friction from my hand, I couldn’t help myself.

  I grabbed Izzy and pulled her to me, pressing my lips forcefully to hers. She opened her mouth immediately, eager to deepen our kiss. I responded, my tongue exploring my girl’s beautiful mouth until she suddenly yanked away, murmuring a single word.

  “More…”

  I pushed her backward until her body was pressed up against the statue’s plinth. Then I dropped to my knees in the gravel, pushing her dress up. I lightly slapped the insides of her calves, indicating she should open her legs.

  Obeying, Izzy moved her feet apart a little. I caught the scent of her arousal and immediately had to taste it. There was no time for teasing. I was determined to lick my girl’s pussy until she came on my face. I pulled her knickers roughly to one side and pushed my face between her thighs. My mouth went to where she needed it most, the soft skin already slick with juices. I slipped my tongue between her labia, moans and groans issuing from above as I pleasured my girl with my lips, teeth and tongue. I grinned inwardly at the sounds she was making; it appeared she was so lost to lust she’d completely forgotten where she was. I just hoped I could make her come before we got caught.

  I alternately flicked and sucked at Izzy’s clit, every now and again dipping my tongue down to slurp up the sweet juices that slid from her hot pussy. Before long, the telltale signs of her approaching orgasm became apparent. Her thighs tensed and she bucked against my face, silently urging me to go faster. I obliged, pulling her distended clit into my mouth and sucking it for all I was worth.

  Izzy stiffened. Her back arched as she edged toward the precipice, then toppled off, her fall indicated by her wail of ecstasy and the way her hands suddenly gripped my hair and held my face tightly to her cunt. I could do nothing but let her ride it out, my tongue delving in her folds as her pussy twitched and spasmed and her cream ran into my eager mouth.

  Soon, Izzy calmed down enough to release me. I wiped her juices from my face with the back of my hand, looked up at her, and said, “Not such a Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes now, are you?”

  SUBMISSION LETTER

  Tara Young

  I’ve read your stories about the MILF next door begging her twentysomething mistress for release as she’s tied to the bed, a strap-on filling her completely. About the college coed being ordered to strip and crawl naked across the floor to taste the passion between her roommate’s legs. About the softball coach who trains the catcher to take a dildo in the ass.

  I ache to be them. To bring your sexy scenarios to life. I long to please your pussy like you’ve pleased mine over the last three months since I discovered your work. You’ve fucked me senseless with your raw words and vivid imagery, giving me orgasm after delicious orgasm. You’ve left me breathless but always craving more of you.

  I want to return the favor.

  We’ve never met, but you already own me, Mistress. My body responds only to you. Just thinking your name makes me wet. Your passionate prose hardens my nipples and clit, leaving me in a constant state of arousal.

  Before you, I masturbated about once or twice a day. Now it’s more like ten times…at least. You dominate my every thought and fantasy. When my hand circles my clit, it’s you I see in my mind’s eye. It’s your words echoing in my head, pushing me closer to the edge.

  I imagine you’re like the respectable math teacher you write about, and I’m the principal who needs to be taught a lesson. You’re all business in your glasses and power suit. But after school, your navy-blue skirt is hiked up and your thong pushed aside while I give in to your demands. You sit in my chair and I’m under my desk furiously sucking on your lips and clit until you come so hard your body shakes. You tell me what a good girl I am and pat my head before you pull your skirt back down and go on your way.

  I climax thinking that one day you’ll make me yours, and it won’t be a fantasy anymore.

  I feel like I already know you and what makes you happy. You write about women who seem hesitant to accept their submissive roles. That would never be me. I would never require your punishment or discipline—or resist it.

  I know you like to be in control. I want to submit to your every command. Allow my body to be used in any way you desire. My mouth, hands, tits and cunt are yours to do with—and to—what you want.

  Blindfold and handcuff me. Fuck me with your toys. Finger me, suck me, lick me till I can’t take any more. Make me plead for every touch.

  I know you like a woman who is willing to please you no matter the circumstance. Please let me taste you in your car, at work, in the shower. Please cover my face and hands with your juices while I’m on my knees before you.

  I know you like an audience and you like to share. I want your friends to watch while you take me to new heights of ecstasy. My body is tense with wanting as I see the lust in their eyes. I want them all to devour me as you have, and I want to lick each pussy in thanks.

  I know you’ve awakened my libido like no one ever has. I want to be yours.

  Please, Mistress.

  STACKED

  Reina Sobin

  This is so wrong.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I gestured at the seller’s T-shirt. STACKED FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE. The row of books across each of her breasts had immediately drawn my gaze. I distracted myself by thumbing through the book closest to me, trying not to stare at the way her fingers slid over a novel’s thick spine.

  “Ah, well, nothing like a double entendre to make the kids drool.” She handed an old man his purchase and a few singles. “There you go, sir.”

  A young man stepped up, his eyes glued to the woman’s breasts.

  “Okay, three graphic novels. That’ll be twenty dollars, just for you.” She gave him a coy smile but otherwise didn’t react to his leering.

  “Uh, okay.” The kid shoved the money at her and darted away, comics in hand.

  “I think that guy was drooling all right.”

  She laughed and flipped a dark strand of hair out of her eyes. “Whatever gets them buying. The men come to stare and the dykes come to ask me out. It’s fun for both parties so I don’t mind.”

  She tapped the book I was holding. “Are you interested in that one? Chapter eight is particularly interesting.”

  I hadn’t looked at the title until now: Banging Your Way through History: A Tale of Two Women. Oh, god. I flipped to chapter eight. “Private Acts in a Public Forum?”

  “I remember one story in there where a woman dressed as a man, fake cock and all, and proceeded t
o seduce as many women as she could—wives, sisters, prostitutes—in alleys, at parties, you name it. Supposedly, she was never revealed until a relative found her journal after her death.”

  I stared at the cover. “Is that true?”

  “I have no clue, but it does give a person fun ideas.” She tapped the book. “Tell you what, I’m due for a break. How about we get a bite to eat and we can discuss your prurient taste in literature a bit longer?”

  “Share a meal with a beautiful woman with wit and brains? You may have to drag me kicking and screaming.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She turned to the girl next to her. “Hey, Sarah, can you watch the booth? I’m taking a break.”

  “No problem. I’m going when you get back though.”

  “All right. Thanks.” She clasped my free arm and ushered me toward the makeshift café in the back of the convention hall. Lucky for us, it was quiet, since most of our fellow book-lovers chose the fried-food cart next door.

  The menu was limited—simple soups and breads—quick to serve, without being messy to eat. We sat close to each other, at a table barely designed for two.

  “I’m Erin, by the way.” She held out a hand.

  “Rachel.”

  I met her clasp and took a spoonful of soup.

  “Have you always had an interest in fucking women in public?”

  I coughed and somehow avoided spitting bits of clam across the table. “I, um…no.”

  “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

  “Well, I’ve never tried—”

  “Honey, we need to broaden your horizons.” She tilted her cup and drained it. “Let’s get back to your book. The woman I told you about—Anne—would strap on a faux cock, get dressed up in all her male finery, and attend one of the many dances that her town held. She would see a young woman that interested her and ask her to dance. While the woman was in her arms, Anne would use nothing but words and casual touch to seduce her. She must have said something right because there were several times when she was caught pleasing her dance partner right outside in the gardens.”

  My food forgotten, I scooted my chair closer. “Was she using her…cock…on them?”

  Erin bit her cheek. “Sometimes, although she wrote, ‘I enjoy climbing under my lover’s skirt, putting my mouth to her until she screams her woman’s pleasure.’ ‘Their joy filled my lips and often my clothes were wet from their excitement long after I had returned to the dance.’”

  “Have you ever done that?” I was immediately embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  “I don’t mind.” Her hand touched my knee under the tablecloth. “Are you asking because you want to know or because you want the experience?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  I shifted in my seat at the knowing tone.

  “I bet your panties are wet just thinking about what I could do to you.”

  I looked around to see if anyone could hear her, but no one was close enough to listen in. “I don’t—”

  Her fingers eased up my skirt. “You don’t what? Want me to touch you? Tell me that you don’t want this and we’ll go back to our boring little meal.”

  “No, I want you to…touch me.”

  Erin reached my panties and I spread my legs a little to accommodate her. She teased me through the fabric, her fingers light and quick against my center. “My, my, you are wet.”

  I bit my lip and rested my head on one hand, focused on the table as if it were of particular interest. My other hand pulled my panties aside so she could stroke me.

  “This is so wrong.”

  “Yet so delightfully right.”

  One finger dipped into my moisture and spread it over my clit. She circled me, delicate strokes designed to torment me. “Anne’s journals were published, you know. The graphic detail was quite astonishing the first time I read it.”

  I kept my head down, afraid that someone would see my arousal. “Harder.”

  I pressed closer, seeking a firmer touch, but her fingers pulled away and continued to fondle me lightly.

  “Let’s see if I can paraphrase. ‘I climbed under her long skirts and touched that most willing body. My tongue tasted her heat and I knew rapture.’”

  “Oh, god.” I panted shallowly, hoping no one would notice my state.

  “Shhh…” Erin continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “‘The lady spread her limbs across the bench as a man would, her wetness covering my chin and cheeks as I lapped at her. She gripped my head in a gloved hand and pulled me tight against her womanhood. She whimpered as I pleased her, my fingers deep where few had been.’”

  I gripped the table with both hands now, sweat along my hairline and the warning tingle of my climax in my belly. Erin’s movement against my clit turned rough, the slippery juices of my sex smearing across my thighs.

  “‘I ate the lady as I would a fine feast, savoring the sweet dessert under my tongue. Her thighs closed about my head, trembling in her need for release. I had thoughts of sending her to heaven and brought her center into my mouth.’”

  I came under those delicious fingers, her words doing just as much to bring me over. Somehow I managed not to cry out, not to shake apart at the seams. Erin grinned at my reaction as her hand eased away.

  She stood, wiped her hand on a napkin, and pushed the book toward me.

  “Come back when you get to chapter eleven.”

  SNOWBOUND

  Sacchi Green

  Will we be able to breathe?”

  “You’d better hope so. Keep digging.”

  Icy pellets whipped across my face. Good. Pain prodded anger, and anger might distract Katy from panic. It was hard to stay mad as she burrowed into the white mound, her sweet little tail in stretch ski pants twitching like a chipmunk’s.

  As she scooped snow out behind her, I used it to extend our space. “Okay,” I shouted above the wind. “Enough! Now pack the inside surface as firmly as you can. Use your round butt for something besides flirting.” The storm stole the last words. Just as well.

  Three skis including her broken one leaned against the opening of our improvised cave, giving us a bit more room once I’d packed snow over them. The fourth, bright red, I planted upright for searchers to see, after the storm let up. Hollow ski poles, tips and handles hacked off with my utility knife, went through the walls at angles to keep them from being plugged by falling snow; we’d have a little air supply—unless the accumulation topped three more feet.

  “Coming in!” I wriggled through the remaining narrow slit. Katy curled to one side, making room. The space was wide enough to roll over in and high enough in the center to sit up.

  “Good job.” My tone was still brusque. “Help me spread this out.” Ski-patrol equipment around here includes one of those thin Mylar “space blankets,” big enough for one body to roll up in. Better now as a shield between us and the packed-snow floor.

  In the dim light I saw Katy eyeing my buttpack, probably wondering what else was in there. Better not to mention the energy bars and chocolate yet. She didn’t ask.

  “Raf, I’m really, really sorry I got you into this.”

  A sincere apology. No petulance, no sly flirting now. Might be more to her after all than a cute face, a tantalizing body and a rich Daddy.

  “What the hell were you doing taking off on a closed trail?”

  “I knew you’d follow. That was the plan, to get you off alone with me.” Katy lay back, an arm across her eyes. “I thought the trail would curve back to the base lodge eventually. I just didn’t know the storm would be so bad, so fast. Idiot!”

  “And you didn’t know you’d crash into the rocks.” That body crumpled on the ground when I’d found her… the broken ski… but she was okay. And mad enough at herself for both of us.

  I eased off. “The getting alone together part worked, anyway.”

  “There is that. For as long as we survive.” She couldn’t quite control a tr
emor.

  “We’ll survive. I’m an old hand at this.”

  Katy’s body language shifted subtly. “In that case, if you really think we’ll be okay…maybe I’m not so sorry after all.”

  “That’s the spirit.” When she’d asked for private lessons, skiing clearly hadn’t been the only sport she’d had in mind.

  “I suppose,” she said, “we’ll have to keep each other warm. Conserve body heat.”

  “Not yet. We’re still warm from digging. Wait until we need it.” Time for the distraction of an energy bar. Katy ate her half and kept still after a wriggle or two, even when I had us unzip our parkas and snuggle close. Even through my flannel shirt and her fleece one, her breasts against mine tempted me to wriggle, too, but I resisted, and after a while, she dozed.

  Snow rose above the entrance. Wind howled across the tops of the ski-pole tubes, its unearthly sounds becoming almost soothing. I dozed too.

  “Raf…” Katy woke shivering with more than the cold. “What time do you think it is?” Not quite panic.

  I checked my watch with a penlight. Midnight. “Only about seven hours until daylight. And the wind has died down. We’ll be fine.”

  “I could sure use more body heat now,” she said plaintively, panic subdued.

  “Show me where you’re cold.” I groped under her shirt and sports bra. “Pretty warm here.”

  She gasped. Her nipples reached out for more as I tweaked them, but she managed to pull one of my hands down to her crotch. “Don’t stop, but how about…how… ahhh!…how about…here?” She arched into my touch. I paused to pull her ski pants down for easy access.

  “Nope, regular steam bath here.” I slid my fingers along her warm tender flesh, then underneath her. She squealed in frustration. “Your poor little seat is definitely chilly, though. Too bad there isn’t room in here for the spanking you need.” I made do with a few firm pinches.

  “Ow! Can I have a rain check—a snow check—on that? Right now I need more, please. More!”