Anything for You

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  But I couldn’t tell what was going to happen. I couldn’t quite get a grasp on the conversation; I sometimes felt like the third wheel. I’d bring the conversation around to sex, but it didn’t take long for Kristen and Gabrielle to start talking about other things, like the socioeconomic makeup of the cities in which they lived, or queer community friend politics.

  I didn’t try too hard. The conversation was interesting; I jumped in occasionally. Mostly, it was fun to watch them banter back and forth.

  Kristen had just made a pie, so we had a good excuse to take Gabrielle back to our place for a slice of it. They talked more. It was getting late. Finally, they started making out on the couch. Gabrielle pushed Kristen down and worked her hand between Kristen’s legs. Kristen grasped at her back and shoulders and came once, twice.

  “Can I take this off of you?” Kristen asked her, pulling at Gabrielle’s dress.

  “Somewhere darker,” she answered, so we went into the bedroom.

  They continued playing on the bed, stripping off their clothes. I wasn’t exactly sure of my move…should I join? That would feel a little bit like forcing myself into the situation. Plus, I was really enjoying watching. I am usually so much closer to Kristen when she gets aroused, watching her skin flush while my hands are already on her body, and watching someone else do it was interesting, both puzzling and a thrill. They were adorable together, passionate in their kissing and grabbing handfuls of thigh and ass and tits.

  I tried to be casual as I got out my favorite cock and slid off my jeans, still watching them kissing, touching, fucking on the bed. I stood against the wall, one hand on my cock, and watched as Kristen lay back on the pillows, one hand gripping the bars of the black headboard as she opened her thighs and pushed against Gabrielle’s hand inside of her, as Gabrielle knelt between her knees.

  I moved to sit on the edge of the bed up near the headboard, next to Kristen. Gabrielle’s whole hand was inside of her, disappearing at the wrist. I reached for the lube and offered it to Gabrielle. She noticed my cock, ready, and laughed. Kristen noticed it too, and reached for it with her hands, stroking it while I lowered my mouth and kissed her. We managed a whispery check-in: “You okay?”

  “So great.” She told me she wanted my cock in her mouth.

  Gabrielle pulled out and Kristen shifted forward onto her knees, still on the bed. My bed is on risers, which makes the side of it at an almost perfect hip-height. I stood beside it as Kristen eagerly swallowed the length of me, sucking eagerly, mouth wet and wanting, making those little gulping sounds as she swallowed and sucked. Her back arched high as she was on her hands and knees, low enough to get to my cock at hip-level as I stood at the side, her knees apart, exposing her pussy to Gabrielle, who was behind her now, gripping her ass with both hands, smacking it a little, rubbing, until finally lowering her mouth down to Kristen’s pussy.

  Kristen moaned. She is one of those people who is not so good at the famous sixty-nine position, for example, because she gets too distracted by what’s happening to her pussy to concentrate on what’s in front of her mouth. I also know, however, that sometimes she doesn’t have to concentrate on her mouth—I can just slide my cock in and out and use it like another hole to fuck. And so I did. Slid it in and out, gripped the back of her head gently while I pumped my hips, and Kristen went even more limp, relaxing, her body opening.

  It didn’t take long before she was shaking and crying out, muffled behind her full mouth, pressing her body back against Gabrielle and sputtering as she came. I lifted her mouth up to mine and she sat up high on her knees, kissing me.

  “Get down,” I told her. She shifted, knees still shaky, off of the bed so she stood next to it with me. I kissed her again and then quickly turned her around and bent her over the side of it, pressing her back with my hand and opening up her pussy with my other hand, guiding my cock in, so wet and easy, and started fucking her.

  Gabrielle was on the other side of the bed, watching. A nice show for our guest.

  I started slow with a few strokes to get my cock nice and wet, then went for it, thrusting hard, not stopping, not too fast yet but hard, deeper, listening to her cry out, hands grasping for the bed, gripping the sheets and thrashing as I sped up, harder, moving the bed inches across the hardwood floor. I took a firm hold on her hips, then brought one hand around to her clit and she exploded, coming hard, squirting all over the side of the bed, down my legs, onto the floor.

  Shaky, we disentangled and she climbed back up onto the bed where Gabrielle was waiting. I wiped down my legs quickly as they kissed again, curled up with each other.

  What happened next is a little bit of a blur. Gabrielle relaxed a little, by which I mean she relaxed out of her toppy-ness and let us both touch her a bit more. I kissed Gabrielle, unhooked her bra and pulled off her panties as she lay on the bed next to Kristen. She seemed a little self-conscious, but I loved the sight of the curves of her, her small round belly, her thighs, her tits, a little larger than Kristen’s but still close to the same size, both of them smaller than me but not exactly skinny. Enough flesh to grab on to, enough to grip, enough so that there was padding between us and I wasn’t worried about being too heavy and accidentally doing some damage. I worry enough about damage as it is; I want to fuck a girl who, I can tell, can hold her own.

  After I took Gabrielle’s last pieces of clothing off, she lay back on the bed next to Kristen again and they kissed, touching each other, as I worked my fingers in Gabrielle’s cunt, softly at first, just exploring, to see if she wanted to be touched, then harder and deeper as she opened up and spread her legs, breathing heavier and still kissing Kristen. She gasped a little as I worked in two fingers, then three. Kristen started writhing in response to Gabrielle: flushed, hips pushing against my hand. Kristen moaned, rubbing her thighs together and pressing closer to Gabrielle, stealing glances at me, which I took as an invitation and brought my left hand up to Kristen, too, finding her wet, happy to get touched again. Fingers in both of them, working in and out, slowly, easily, as Gabrielle gasped and they kept kissing, hands on each other everywhere, tongues in and out of each other’s mouths.

  “I think I want her to fuck me,” Gabrielle finally said to Kristen.

  “Oh?” Kristen asked back. “She is pretty good at that. I recommend it.”

  (This is the kind of banter we’d had all night.)

  “That’s how it seems!”

  “You could ask for it.”

  “How?”

  (You guys, I’m sitting right here. Also, holy shit.)

  “You could say…‘I want your cock.’ Or you could say, ‘Please fuck me.’ Or you could say, ‘Would you pretty please put that cock in my pussy?’”

  Gabrielle finally turned to me. I was barely holding myself up on my knees and had leaned back against the footboard of the bed. “Would you please…fuck me?” she asked.

  I tried to maintain my cool. “Uh, yes, of course.”

  “Would you use a different one? That one is too much.”

  “Sure.” I was thinking I’d change cocks regardless; it’s not so smart to share toys. I swapped out the harness and cock for a slightly smaller cock and rubber harness, which is easier to clean. I went over to the side of the bed Gabrielle was on and kissed her again, pulled her against me, ran my hands along her body to get used to touching her. Kristen watched. Gabrielle put one hand to my cock and looked at it, then looked up at me, and I pushed her back and pressed open her thighs, then slid inside her easily.

  “Go slow,” she urged. She doesn’t get penetrated too often. She’s usually a top, I’d found out. That made more sense regarding why she was seducing Kristen, and why I was a little confused earlier. But she was the kind of top who liked to get fucked after topping, she said. Made for the best orgasms that way. I went slow. Gabrielle turned and embraced Kristen again, kissing more, their hands on each other’s bodies, breasts, skin, as I knelt and grabbed Gabrielle’s inner thighs, pulling us together and apart as I worke
d inside of her, lubed up my thumb and touched her clit.

  “Fuck,” she moaned, still kissing Kristen. I guessed I had the right spot. I didn’t know her body, I couldn’t quite tell. Soft, but a little faster, I kept going. “Fuck, fuck,” she breathed, faster, swearing, “Oh, god, oh, god, oh,” as I flicked my fingers against her clit and my hips against her, until she yelled a string of “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” and let go of Kristen to grip the headboard, pushing against me, harder, laughing and flushed, skin pink with a thin layer of sweat.

  “I come and you just keep going,” she breathed. She didn’t seem to mind, and wasn’t pushing me away, but rather keeping me right there, rocking against me, her hips working in rhythm with mine. I laughed and let up.

  Kristen was starry eyed, looking a little like someone had just thrown her a surprise birthday party, thrilled and thrown off. I detangled from Gabrielle and went over to the side of the bed where Kristen was and we three held each other, stroking our skin, laughing for a little while, until Gabrielle decided it was time to get going. We called a cab for her, walked her to the front door and called it a night.

  EXPOSURE

  Elizabeth Coldwell

  The room is comfortably warm, with nibbles and dips arranged in bowls on the table. A jug of mojitos, heavy with rum and mint, waits to be served. Jason’s tread is light as he descends the stairs barefoot. The stage is set.

  In minutes, I will have placed him in the most deliberately humiliating position of his life. His desires laid bare, he will submit to me in the way he has so long desired. My pussy, already slick with anticipation, lets loose another trickle of cream into my panties at the thought. I can’t wait for the game to begin.

  The first time I saw Jason, I knew he’d look good naked. He was bending over a weight machine, adjusting the amount to be pressed, and in that position he gave me the most marvelous view of his taut ass, cycling shorts clinging to it like they couldn’t bear to let go. If I hadn’t already signed up for a six-month membership at the gym, that display alone would have persuaded me to do so.

  Of course, I wasn’t the only client who lusted after Jason. All messy blond curls, bright white smile and easy charm, he was the only personal trainer at the gym with a waiting list for one-on-one sessions, and every single one of the names on that list was not only female, but a good fifteen years younger than I was. That’s why I was so surprised when he started taking an interest in how I was doing, encouraging me to put in one last mile on the treadmill when my legs felt like they didn’t have the strength to drag me any farther, or helping me with my stance as I worked on my arm muscles with the free weights. Why me? I wondered, as his professional courtesy turned into something more intimate. After all, he could take his pick of the clients, so why not choose one of the hard-bodied beauties closer to his own age?

  I didn’t know then about his worship of older women. Blame it on the friend of his mother who seduced him as an innocent eighteen-year-old, leaving him hungry for the pleasures provided by an experienced lover. Combine that with an inherently submissive nature, and it’s a blend few people can handle.

  Not that I considered myself to be one of those people. When Jason told me he was looking to be dominated, I immediately thought of leather-clad mistresses, and all the clichés of whips and chains that surround them. I didn’t realize then how the right words can be as cutting as any riding crop, how punishment doesn’t need to include pain. All I know is that he saw something in me I’d never seen in myself and slowly, gradually, he brought it out.

  The other reason he was so attracted to me was my feet. They’re so small I find it very hard to find suitable training shoes in adult sizes, and as Jason watched me pounding on the treadmill, he recognized immediately I’d been shopping for footwear in the children’s department. My dainty size-threes pushed all his foot-fetish buttons and gave him the perfect way to introduce me to the art of domination. It wasn’t long before he’d moved in with me.

  When I came home, hot and tired after a long shift on my feet behind the cupcake-bakery counter, Jason would offer to massage my sweaty, stockinged feet. Of course, I never refused, not when his fingers could so skillfully soothe away the aches of the day. One night, thumbs working on the soft pad just beneath my big toe, he made the casual comment, “Of course, you should be demanding I do this as soon as you walk through the door.”

  And that’s how I came to spend my evenings on the couch, Jason lying obediently on the floor while I rubbed my sweaty, stockinged feet all over his face. Being made to do this got him so hard his cock looked as though it might burst through the tight-fitting Lycra of his shorts. His reward for licking and sucking my nylon-clad soles was to be gently wanked between my feet until his come spurted all over my stockings—at which point, of course, he’d be ordered to clean them with his tongue.

  “What would people think if they could see us?” Jason would ask as he lay beneath my feet, naked from the waist down and cock pointing rigidly toward me. “What would they say if they walked in right now?” That was always the point where he came. Simply expressing his desire to be caught in the act was enough to tip him over the edge

  I don’t know when, if ever, Jason would have confessed on his own that his love of foot worship was only the entrée to the main course, that his desire to be humiliated and exposed ran deeper than I could ever have suspected. I saved him the bother by discovering his secret stash of porn.

  Searching on the PC in the room Jason used as his home office, looking for documents I needed to help me file my tax return, I noticed a folder labeled CFNM. The initials sounded vaguely financial, so without thinking twice, I opened it. Inside, I found a collection of pictures and stories that told me everything I needed to know about dominating Jason. Clothed Female, Naked Male: I’d never heard the acronym until now, but here the fetish was, laid out in fantasy after fantasy. In every case a young man was manipulated into stripping bare for a group of older women who reveled in humiliating him just as much as he reveled in their cruel, clever treatment of him and their blatant admiration of his naked body.

  I didn’t know what was getting me wetter: the stories themselves, or the thought of Jason in that position, naked and at the mercy of his erotic tormentors. Of course, there was a chance this was one of those fantasies he had no intention of making reality, like the one I had about being fucked in the ass by the two cute builders renovating the flats across from the bakery, but there was an easy way to find out.

  When I went downstairs, I took with me a basket full of dirty laundry. Jason was in the kitchen, pottering about in his workout gear.

  “Those things look like they could do with a wash,” I said. “Take them off and I’ll pop them in with this load.”

  “Sure,” he replied, “I’ll just nip upstairs and change.”

  My tone was stern, the one I had, until now, reserved for our foot-fetish games. “Undress here. And don’t think about putting anything else on.”

  Jason didn’t need to speak the words, You found them. His expression right before he reached for the hem of his grubby T-shirt told me everything. In moments, he was standing naked, cock already starting its upward rise.

  His eyes were downcast as he handed his discarded clothes to me. “Here you go, Ma’am.” The deference in his voice was truly delicious. I would hear it over and again in the months to come.

  But having him walk naked around the house, teasing him with the threat that one day he’d wake to find I’d locked all his clothes away and he’d only be allowed to dress when he went to work or out for the occasional drink with his friends, was one thing. Baring him in front of an appreciative female audience—which I quickly learned was the situation he longed for more than any other—was something else entirely. Until I thought of the perfect way to make it happen.

  He finds me in the kitchen, hunting for the paper cocktail umbrellas I’m sure lurk in the back of a drawer. Hair still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel knotted around
his waist, he looks so fuckable I almost wish we could cancel tonight’s little party.

  “Not dressed yet?” I ask. “You know the girls will be here any moment.”

  “I just came down to get my shirt.” He gestures to his favorite blue short-sleeved shirt, freshly ironed and waiting on a hanger for him. “Oh, and you haven’t seen my flip-flops, have you?”

  They’re on the floor by the washing machine, lying where he kicked them off earlier, but I tell him, “Yeah, I think they’re out by the back door.”

  “Thanks, Bev.” He nips out into the backyard to find them. When the kitchen door closes behind him, I silently drop the latch. It takes him a minute or so to realize his flip-flops are nowhere to be seen, and when he tries the door, it quickly becomes obvious he can’t get back inside.

  “Hey, could you let me in please, babe?” he calls through the half-open window.

  If he hasn’t realized I’ve locked him out deliberately, or that I’m gradually leading him into a predicament from which he can only escape on my terms, my next words make it clear. “Sure, Jason, but I want you to do something for me first. I want you to take your towel off and pass it through the window to me.”

  “Oh, Beverley. Sweetheart, no.” His tone is despairing, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his cock isn’t tenting out the towel. Jason has never been outside with nothing on before, never been led out of his usual comfort zone, but I know he can’t fail to be turned on at the thought.

  “Come on, hand it over,” I order him. “You don’t still want to be naked when the girls get here, do you?”

  His submissive heart must be telling him that’s exactly what he wants, but his head says otherwise. I hear rustling noises, then the damp towel is being thrust toward me. I almost snatch it from Jason’s hands and toss it into the washing machine.