Other titles by Cassandra Court include:
You've Got Dick!
Ricki never thought she'd have anything to do with cocks - until following a mysterious pop-up ad gave her one of her very own! What's a lesbian to do with a brand-new cock - and what will her girlfriend Leslie think? #1 in the Magic Pop-Up series! Warning: This story contains explicit f/f sex, oral sex, and transformation, and is not for readers under 18 years!
What a Mindfuck!
Married woman Kelly has a fetish for hypnosis, but she's never been able to be hypnotized - until now! When a mysterious ad makes Kelly's wish to be hypnotized come true, she and her husband Martin start on a journey of erotic hypnosis, limited only by Martin's imagination...
About the Author
TWITTER: @CassandraCourt
AMAZON BIO PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/author/cassandracourt
SMASHWORDS BIO PAGE: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cassandracourt
* * * * *
Fuck on the Wild Side
By
Jessi Bond
Copyright © 2012 by Jessi Bond
* * * * *
“No.”
“But -”
“No, no, no. And again…”
“Matt…”
“…no.”
Matt was already halfway out the door when Glenn jumped out of his chair and ran after him, grabbing his arm. “Come on. There’s got to be something that would make it worth your while.”
“Absolutely fucking not. No way. Not if he were the last writer on earth and I could never edit anything ever again; no. I will not work with that lunatic. Also, get the fuck off me.”
He managed to shake off Glenn’s grip and escape further out into the office, but Glenn was relentless. “Try to see things from my point of view. I need a bestseller. You two can give me a bestseller, guaranteed. I know he’s not your favorite person in the world, but if you can find it in your heart -”
“No.”
“- Amy needs braces -”
“No.”
“- Christmas is coming -”
“It’s March.”
“It’s still coming.”
“No.”
“That’s not really a disputable fact, Matt. Comes every year. Like clockwork.”
“Fuck off.”
“You owe me.”
Something in Glenn’s tone made Matt stop and turn.
He lowered his voice. “Don’t do this.”
Glenn’s face was as firm and impassible as a brick wall. All around them, the other employees of the publishing house tap-tap-tapped on their keyboards and all tried desperately to look like they weren’t straining to hear.
Matt clenched his jaw until it hurt.
“Fine,” he gritted out. “But this is it.”
-
“This was not part of the deal,” Matt snarled into his cell phone. He was standing outside of the fifth dive bar he’d had to hunt through tonight, stinking of beer and cigarettes, and Glenn sounded completely unsympathetic.
“I don’t believe we addressed this specifically at all. Would you like me to send someone else to find him?”
“No,” Matt forced himself to reply. There was no point in anyone else looking. Jack Archer wouldn’t allow himself to be found if he didn’t want to be. “I just made the crazy assumption that you had, you know, any idea where he is right now. In the entire world.”
“We’re pretty sure he’s within the city,” Glenn replied, sounding distracted. “I don’t think he’s got a valid passport.”
“You don’t need a passport to leave the city, Glenn.”
“You sure? I haven’t been above forty-fifth street since Jillian was born.”
“You’ve been a great help, as always. Thanks.”
Matt hung up and raked a hand through his hair. There were only so many places a guy like Archer would be found, and most of them were even more dark, dirty and depressing than those he’d already visited. After another hour of fruitless searching, he gave up and headed back to his apartment.
He was on the phone with Glenn, delivering the bad news, as he walked through the door. In that moment, two things happened simultaneously. He looked into his living room and saw that Archer was lounging on the sofa, feet up on the very expensive end-table, T.V. remote in hand. And he realized that he was relieved - no, even glad - to see him.
“…you’re sorry that…what?” Glenn prompted him, after he’d stopped talking mid-sentence.
“Nothing,” said Matt, as Archer looked up and waved. “Never mind.” He hung up.
“Good evening,” said Archer. “I ordered pizza.”
“How did you get…you know what? Never mind.”
Archer reached into his pocket and held up a set of keys. “Remember when I watered your plants while you were in Cannes?”
“Two years ago? And you gave those back.”
“I gave you some keys back.”
“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of engaging you in a conversation about why you’d even want a copy of my keys. I’m really not. What kind of pizza?”
“Thin crust, pesto and artichoke, extra cheese. I was thinking to myself - my God, Jack, why don’t you do a nice thing for him for once? Make a copy of his keys and then he won’t have to loan you his anymore when you need your plants watered. I was fairly drunk at the time.”
“They all died,” said Matt, around a mouthful of pizza. “See if I ever ask you for another favor.”
“Normally I revel in low expectations, but I really am sorry about that. I sort of got wrapped up in my work.”
“Right. And what work is that, exactly? What do you have to show for it?”
“Absolutely nothing. It was rubbish, I chucked it in the bin.”
“Well, that’s all going to change. Glenn needs a bestseller.”
“Glenn always needs a bestseller.”
“Glenn always wants a bestseller,” Matt corrected him, settling down on the sofa with a pad and pencil in hand. “But now he needs a bestseller. And he thinks you’re just the one to produce it, given the proper encouragement.”
“Okay,” said Archer, cracking his knuckles. “I have this idea. But it’s awful.”
Matt smiled down at the notepad in his lap. This was always how the best ones started.
-
Around two-thirty in the morning, when Matt woke up to use the bathroom and tripped over an antique typewriter in the hallway, he started to remember why he’d been so reluctant to work with Archer again. The man himself was nowhere to be found, but his paraphernalia had somehow multiplied and strewn itself throughout Matt’s normally well-organized apartment. Pens, paper, musty books in languages he didn’t even recognize - surveying his living room, Matt felt an irritated heat prickling up the back of his neck.
Oh.
Oh no.
Matt resolved to go back to sleep and try to ignore it, only to wake an hour later with that telltale dryness in his mouth and the heat spreading, spreading, all the way down his back…
A glass of water and a cool shower later, Matt left the bathroom only to catch a glimpse of Archer hunched over his typewriter in the living room, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. His mouth was downturned in a frown of concentration, a glass of brandy sitting forgotten at his elbow. He looked like he’d been warped through time, right from Gertrude Stein’s sitting-room. Matt stood there for far too long, just staring at him in the dim light of the reading lamp, before quietly returning to bed and contemplating his predicament.
The heat was coming. There would be no stopping it.
Already, he could feel the familiar tingle in his groin. Archer had looked good. Matt gritted his teeth and tried to remind himself that this was just a thing, just some weird hormonal thing, and he’d been dealing with it since he was a teenager and he knew damn well enough to just ignore the feelings and ignore the heat until it became unbearable. Then, he’d hit up some seedy gay bar in a different part o
f the city and get himself fucked raw, and he’d be fine for another month. Sex with friends, acquaintances, or co-workers was strictly out of the question. No matter how much they looked like a porno version of Ernest Hemingway.
Normally he could stave off the worst effects of this fever by avoiding sexual thoughts, but now Matt found himself unable to stop thinking about the way Archer’s forearms looked when his sleeves were rolled up, the sly curve of his mouth when he smiled -
Matt’s dick, which had begun to stir as soon as he’d looked at Archer, was now fully hard, creating an absurd tent out of the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. He threw it off and laid down on the floor, tucking his toes underneath the bed, to see how many crunches he could do before it would go away.
The answer, it turned out, was “not enough.”
All right. Okay. So his dick was absurdly hard, flushed red and angry-looking, his balls were aching, and his ass felt empty and neglected. And his abs were burning, but that was his own stupid fault for thinking he could ignore one of these feverish hard-ons by working out. But it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He’d just started this cycle; it was early enough yet that some vigorous masturbation could stave off the insanity and night sweats for a few more days.
Matt double-checked that his bedroom door was locked, then fumbled a bottle of lube out of the end-table drawer and knelt on the bed. His hands were trembling as he poured the lube onto his fingers and reached behind himself, pressing against his ass, unable to stop himself from bucking back against his own hand, so eager. His asshole was tingling, his dick throbbing, and he desperately needed to take care of both right fucking now. Through some feat of superhuman willpower, he kept his free hand off of his cock long enough to stretch himself open, long enough to get ready to accommodate the dildo he kept tucked behind his bed. He pushed it in slowly, clenching his thigh with his other hand to keep from jerking off, knowing that he’d come as soon as he touched his rigid, over-sensitized cock. He had to draw this out for a little longer, enough so that it would bring him some measure of satisfaction.
When the dildo nudged his prostate, he moaned out loud before he could stop himself. He wasn’t usually a noisy fuck, even when this fever took him, but something about tonight was sending him into even more of a frenzy than usual. Biting on the side of his hand to keep quiet, he continued fucking himself with the dildo, stretching his asshole just to the point of pain, each deep thrust simultaneously soothing and electrifying him. The thought of touching his dick didn’t even occur to him anymore, it felt so fucking good like this, just like this, a big plastic cock inside him and his dick spurting pre-cum like a leaking faucet. It was fucking peculiar. He didn’t even normally have it, not more than a few drops at least. Somehow he found room for this intellectual curiosity in the midst of all the sensations - and then, suddenly, he became aware that he was going to come.
He barely had time to register surprise before his toes curled, his dick surged, and his heart nearly stopped - he had hurtled past the point of no return, but his body still paused on the precipice, seeming as confused as he was. Then he was gone, lost in it, pleasure arcing through him from groin to chest and back again, the first few massive spurts shooting halfway across the room.
As he knelt there, panting, slowly coming back to himself, Matt hoped to God that Archer was too involved in his work to have heard anything.
The thing was, though - Matt had always enjoyed a dick in his ass, ever since he’d learned that it was a thing, but he’d never been able to climax that way. Not without touching his cock, or being touched, or rubbing off on something. This was a revelation. Maybe I should have been fucking myself to pictures of Archer the whole time, he thought to himself, chuckling, but that was a dangerous line of inquiry. Maybe the fevers were getting stronger as he got older, or…maybe there was something in the water. It couldn’t be Archer - what, did his mere presence inspire something that allowed Matt to achieve the elusive anal-sex orgasm, coming hard around a dildo like the fucking cockslut that he was?
Oh, no.
Matt shook his head in an effort to clear it. When he started thinking of himself in terms like “cockslut,” it was never a good sign. The fever was building. He realized he was still as hard as ever, still with an ache lodged deep in his solar plexus, the kind that wouldn’t go away until he could get well and properly fucked. All the same, he took his stiff cock in hand and jerked it mercilessly until he came again, reveling in that moment of pure satisfaction before the want came back, stronger than before.
-
“Don’t you want to…I don’t know…go out somewhere?”
“What, do you want to go to a coffeeshop?” Archer blinked at him over the top of that infernal typewriter. “We can go.”
“No,” said Matt. “I mean, just you.”
“But I can’t go alone,” said Archer, wide-eyed. “I need to bounce ideas off you. I need you to read over my shoulder. I thought that’s why you went looking for me in the first place. We need to do this together.”
“But what if I need a break?”
“People who spend thirty-seven weeks on the New York Times bestseller list don’t take breaks.”
“Most people like to write alone, you know.”
“Well, I’m not most people.”
Matt was getting twitchy. There was no other way to describe it. He’d survived the last few days by fucking himself silly every night with the dildo, but it wasn’t the same. He needed the real thing, hot, hard flesh - no, he couldn’t be thinking like this, not in front of Archer. He seemed focused on his typing, but if Matt had learned anything about him in their previous work together, it was that Archer was always paying the most attention when he seemed to be paying the least.
“I didn’t mean to disrupt your personal life. I didn’t know you had a personal life, actually. Every time we’ve worked together you didn’t really seem to have a lot going on.”
“That’s because I can’t have anything going on while you’re around, you impossible prick.”
“Now, now,” said Archer mildly. “You don’t mean that.”
-
Archer was his most productive in the wee hours, so there was absolutely no chance of sneaking out to a club that night. Matt was going to have to find a way to arrange anonymous sex in the middle of the day, somewhere other than his apartment.
He posted on the local sleazy personals site the next morning, as soon as he’d figured out the wording.
Fit, experienced bottom looking for a good time this afternoon. Must host. Pics for pics.
Short, simple, and to the point. Matt hoped desperately that it would yield results; he was beginning to feel like his skin would crawl off if he didn’t get some dick.
He did get quite a few messages, but most of them never responded after he sent a hastily-snapped picture of his torso and his (by now) near-constant erection. He told himself it was just cold feet, but he was beginning to feel discouraged; he stood for a few minutes in front of the full-length mirror, naked, examining himself, trying to imagine what a potential one-night stand might find wanting. Well. One-afternoon stand.
He decided to go back into the listing and add the picture in directly. At least that way he wouldn’t be fielding messages only to be disappointed. After carefully cropping the background to remove any sense of place, he added it in and hastily jerked off to some of the listings before going back out into the living room to check on Archer.
He’d taken his pages of typewritten notes and was typing on his laptop now; it was all part of his mysterious artistic process, which Matt never questioned too deeply for fear of going insane. He ordered them some take-out from Archer’s favorite Chinese place without even having to ask, because that was how well he knew this asshole. It was upsetting if he thought about it too much. Over lunch, Archer shared some of what he’d been working on, and Matt made suggestions, leading to a lively discussion about a particular plot point that Archer loved, but Matt dismiss
ed as unrealistic. By the end Archer had completely revamped a section of the book, complaining the whole time, then finally admitting that it was better this way.
“Here’s to another successful collaboration,” said Archer, cracking open his fortune cookie. “I really appreciate your feedback, Matt. Have I ever told you?”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you? Did something fall on your head?”
“I just thought I’d let you know, is all. I was just kidding before, about you not having a life. I know you have a life. I know you put it on hold every time we have to work together, because I’m needy, and I’m sorry. And, you know, if you wanted to have someone over for anonymous sex…I don’t mind at all.”
Fuck.
“What?” Matt snapped, trying his best to look like he didn’t know exactly what Archer was talking about.
“Oh, you mean this isn’t you?” Archer spun his computer around. “I know you think I’m stupid but give me some credit. I can see that painting on your wall through the crook of your elbow.”
“Shit. Is it that recognizable?”
“Only to people who know what painting you’ve got in your bedroom. So…” Archer left this statement trailing, eyes fixed on Matt, absentmindedly chewing on the wrong end of a chopstick.
“And only to people who are trawling for gay sex on the internet,” Matt said, triumphantly.
“Research,” Archer responded immediately. “It’s all for the book.”
“Oh, really? Do tell me about this scintillating plot point that we haven’t discussed at all, which I’m sure will fit seamlessly into your magnum opus.”
“Fine. I was reading them for fun. Which is more than I can say for you, ‘experienced bottom.’”
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