by Alison Tyler
She snatched her hand away before he could respond, and drove them home. As soon as they were parked outside the house Nikki said, “I’m going to change into my new lingerie. I’ll see you in the bedroom.” Unable to resist, she pressed her mouth against his. They enjoyed a long and lingering kiss. Her fingers fell to his groin as their tongues intertwined. His hand slipped slowly up her thigh, stroking smoldering fire against her pussy lips.
She pulled herself from him before the contact could prove too tempting.
In the bathroom she pushed the new bundles of towels onto their shelves. Then she stripped and stepped into the thong.
“Wow!” Josh marveled.
He was naked and waiting for her on the bed as she stepped out of the en suite.
“Do you like my new lingerie?”
He grinned. “You’ll have to bring it closer so I can get a good look before I make up my mind.”
She couldn’t decide if it was the thrill of the successful deception, the taste of him that still lingered on her lips or simply the excitement of being near Josh. Whatever the reason, she was dripping with desire when he plunged into her. Her labia parted easily as his length slipped into her sex. She was in the throes of orgasm before he had managed to thrust three times. Because he had already climaxed, Josh’s stamina seemed invigorated. When she climaxed for the final time of that session, it felt like she was collapsing into a bed of soft and luxuriant towels.
She drifted into a content and satisfied doze.
“Nikki?”
She was alone in the bedroom. Josh’s voice came from the en suite.
“Do you remember those towels my aunt gave us?”
She blushed. “I remember them. What about them?”
“I don’t think they were as good a quality as Auntie claimed. The damned things aren’t drying me properly and they’re leaving fibers all over my body. I can’t believe she’s tried passing off inferior-quality towels as top of the range gear.”
Nikki forced a false chuckle. “Leave it with me. I’ll put them through the wash again tomorrow. Maybe that will help.”
He stepped into the bedroom, his body still glistening with a shiny memory of the shower’s spray. “It’s only a bale of towels,” he grinned. “If they don’t come right with another wash, we’ll go out and buy some quality ones from Sampsons.”
ONE SLEEP
Maria See
You are in San Francisco on a business trip. You arrived today. We’re having dinner and I’m looking at you from across the table like it’s the only thing in the way of my devouring you.
I will not see you again until… We’re here to talk about until.
Your stay will last four nights. Each night you will sleep naked and will not lock any additional locks on your door aside from the one that requires the room’s key card to open.
I ask you if you want me to be me, or someone else, a stranger, perhaps with a hood on to help you forget that I am me. “I want you to rape me,” you tell me. You give me a copy of the key card. I won’t do it tonight. It’s too likely that with our arrangement fresh in your mind you will sleep lightly, too likely that you’d easily awake if I enter in the middle of the night. I will not do it on the third night, because, should the second night go by without a visit from me, you will assume I’ll come on the third night, and for very good reason: if I did not show on night three, you will know to expect me on night four. This is also why I will not do it on night four: you will know I am coming; I will be out of options. I will do it tomorrow. Tomorrow night I will arrive at your hotel at approximately 3:00 a.m. I know from meeting you in your room prior to coming to the restaurant that the halls are carpeted and that your room is nowhere near an elevator, so I worry little that you will hear me coming. I will quietly insert and remove the key card and open the door to your room. You won’t hear me enter, or you will hear me enter and you will pretend you do not. I’ll bet that you will be on your stomach, your usual sleeping position. I will slide the covers off of you and have a knife to your neck before you fully wake.
CRAWLING THROUGH TEMPTATION
Elise Hepner
We’re almost there.” His scratchy, low drawl carried through the craggy tunnel.
A bead of water dripped along her nose and she shivered. The quiet buried deep down into her being was only interrupted by the minute shuffling through the small, dripping cave passage. Who’d have thought a first-year anniversary could be so romantic? There could have been sarcasm there—but there wasn’t. For two people who’d met on an online caving site this was perfection. Or their end destination would be, once Max got his gorgeous, well-toned ass out of her headlamp. Beneath the stink of sulpher and earthier, muddy things, Lela breathed in the thread of her lover’s spicy cologne.
She’d follow Max to the end of the earth. Literally. Beneath her fleece underwear her nipples pebbled as she took another shuffling pace on her hands and knees. Barely enough room to breathe. Each movement constricted as she took in air through small sips, tasting the depth of ozone.
Almost there. What surprises did Max have in store for them?
A shake of her head sent her beam skittering across the darkness. A slip of her tongue across her lips. Eagerness for whatever grand finale awaited them pumped adrenaline through her veins that skittered goose bumps along her upper arms. Her stomach tightened. Only one lifeline—a primal directive drawing them closer to their conclusion—and the sexy sway of her boyfriend’s ass.
No way back. Only forward now.
These caves held secrets. Half the fun was not knowing whether they’d ever come out again or if they’d be swallowed whole by a place that came before time and man. Her hands fisted in her thick rubber gloves. Her pulse thrummed inside her head. Max grunted in front of her and their passage grew narrower. She ducked her head. He wouldn’t leave her behind. She needed to concentrate on the one-two step of clawing through the mud—ankles and wrists thick with it. It’d be all over her fingers except for her gloves.
Like the sensual, fun finger painting they’d done on each other’s bodies two nights ago.
Anticipation. It was a twisting, twining mind fuck and a half. She loved every damn second. Every hand forward pressed her jeans tight against her naked pussy with the roll of her hips. While darkness snaked around her ankles, she crawled deeper, anxious for her final reward.
“Here.”
Gruff excitement in his voice pushed her harder. She tightened her tingling lips as the cave’s narrow back pressed against her spine in a caress that directly translated into her brain as sheer terror. Not wanting to get stuck there. Max was gone. He must have stood and doused his headlamp. All ready for her to follow next. The sense of pure, complete darkness—not seeing even a hand an inch away from her face—was a spike of lust.
At her back the space widened. Almost there. Her beam illuminated an entrance big enough for three people to stand on each other’s shoulders and still make it through without much fuss. A small sigh. A pump of triumph making her palms tingle as Max’s hand shot down cutting through the light to help her up. Even through the thick rubber and muck, his contact was a conductor for her smile. But before she’d gained her footing, his hand brushed by her hair, dousing the light from her helmet.
Inescapable darkness engulfed them plunging in from all sides. They were small, meaningless. His large, rough, gloveless fingers tugged through her tied-back hair. A shudder dipped her sore back. His other hand dug through the layers of her clothing to find the scant line of skin above her hip, tracing with the barest touch that made everything come to a standstill. How she wanted his bruising mouth. A lifeline in all the dark. Damp, small swallows through her mouth. A shift of air against her exposed flesh. Before she could react his large hands gripped her hips, manhandled her and slammed her against the rock face. A less than subtle pain swiped up her cheek—but Max knew she liked that.
His satisfied laugh made her mute.
Rough palms forced off her pack, frisk
ing over her curves, while she was blind. His body heat anchored her while her fingers gripped the rocks. Tremors shook her knees. A loud yank of her zipper. He might as well have ripped her pants in half with the force of his grip. Not one breath passed her lips as he forced the whole bundle of her sticky, muddy clothing to her ankles. Trapped. Exposed. A beat.
Not a sound but the soft ping of water and her galloping heart.
She shifted, nipples scraping against the rocks. A current of pleasure tightened her pussy muscles. Her bare ass was caught between the frigid cold and Max’s heat less than an inch away. But so far it might as well have been a chasm. A shock of sound jerked through her body before the enveloping pain of his hand making contact with her asscheek. Warmth spread through her tired, aching muscles even as she clenched for another.
Another.
Pain unfurled through her limbs.
Another.
The warmth of her soft moan lingered against her face.
“Again,” she breathed.
“Like you make the rules.”
Beneath the shock of sensation her heightened pleasure climbed through the darkness.
Please, let it never stop. Arms and legs braced for the zing. Every fiber pulsating as his next smack jostled her breasts making her cry out from the rough friction. Cool air taunted her wet, tight cunt. His rough palm bruised her when his latest smack ended with his tight grip cupped along her stung flesh.
She lived for these primal explorations—seconds before release—on the cusp of the unknown.
TICKTOCK
Rita Winchester
He always yells ticktock when he comes home on lunch break. Christopher will burst through the door, yanking his tie loose and calling out to me as he bolts past. I work from home; I’m always here up to my eyebrows in paperwork on any given day.
I see the blur of gray suit as he rushes past and his footfalls echo on our steps. He’s heading toward the bedroom. Once in a great while, when the traffic is heavy and delays hold him up, he comes home yelling his magic words and then just attacks me in the living room.
Not today.
I shove my pile of papers away and stand, smoothing my yoga pants like I’m wearing a skirt. My eyes shoot to the small dining room mirror and I see my hair, in two blonde braids, has actually fared pretty well today. No makeup but for lipstick, but hey, it’s just the way he likes me. Undone.
“Ticktock, Georgie,” he yells again, and I scurry.
I hit the stairs at a good clip, heart pounding. My head is a little swimmy and my stomach abuzz. I always worry, will I get him off? Will I get off? Do we have time? But these questions and worries are all part of the excitement of lunchtime at home.
On the landing, I hear him a split second before he grabs me and hauls me into the bedroom. He’s taken off the tie and the jacket. His pants are simply undone and his cock stands out poker straight, begging to be touched or stroked or, yes, I realize as he kisses me once before putting pressure on my shoulders so I kneel…sucked. His cock needs to be sucked.
He slides the smooth tip of his cock along my lower lip and then drags it across my upper. A slip-slide of moisture flows out of me and I shiver. “Go on, Georgie. Give it just a taste,” he says.
I do. I lick with only the tip of my tongue so that he grabs my braids like reins and tugs just enough. He’s being a gentleman. Knowing he’s restraining himself is enough fodder to prompt more moisture between my thighs.
He knows I love this. He knows it gets me off. It is, in fact, the fastest way to get me wet.
“Pop that first button for Daddy,” he chuckles. It’s our joke, he knows the whole daddy thing does nothing for me.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, smiling around his cock as he slips into my mouth deeper and I feel that slight tremor of my gag reflex. A single tear escapes my eye from my efforts and Christopher thumbs it away.
“Just a few seconds more,” he says, eyes growing dark after glancing at the bedside alarm clock. He takes my braids more firmly, using them for real this time. Pulling my mouth onto his cock at the speed and tempo he desires. When I gag again, he pulls free of me and gives me his hand so I can stand.
I’m only standing for so long, because Christopher is a big guy and in three big stagger-steps he’s walked me back to the bed. With tented fingers, he pushes me back onto the mattress, as easy as if he’s felling a tree made of feathers.
“Hips up.” His voice has gone down to an urgent whisper and that is more serious than his big, booming, hurry-up-woman voice. This voice makes my nipples spike as if they’re made of iron instead of warm, pink flesh.
I shoot my hips up and he peels off my pants. I’m bare underneath. I had nowhere to be today. Just home slogging through tax forms. And here I am now, bare assed and splayed on our big navy-blue bedspread. “Spread ’em.”
He tosses me a wink and takes a moment to torture me as he folds—yes, folds—my yoga pants and sets them on the settee by the door.
I spread my legs as he turns, his big blue eyes eating up the sight of me. My belly bare because my top’s shoved up some, my hip bones jutting up just a bit, the bare swell of my mound and I can only assume the flushed sweetness of my pussy. I let my thighs fall open just a bit more to make him come to me.
It works.
Christopher’s making that ticktock noise of his that somehow works to amp up my arousal. We can fuck any time we want. A couple with no kids, the sky’s the limit. But god, the lunch-hour fucks are the best. Hours plump with excitement and need. We only have so much time to satisfy each other, and that is what makes it all the better.
He’s coming at me and I arch up, but he ticks and tocks at me, pressing my hips flat with his big hands. He slides his warm bulk along me but doesn’t try to enter me. His erection presses, urgent and bold, between my legs but only manages to ride the swollen knot of my clitoris. That is enough to make me dance and twist under him, but Christopher pins me flat.
“Stop being so fidgety, Georgie,” he laughs, burying his face in the crux of my neck. He drops gentle, heated kisses along the length of my neck and the flare of my shoulder like we have all the fucking time in the world. I fear I might go insane.
“Hurry,” I sigh, moving up to try and force more contact between his cock and my clit. He’s onto me, and he pulls back just enough.
“No hurry.” He kisses my cheeks, my nose, my eyelids, my lips. When he sticks the tip of his moist tongue in my mouth, I try to fight dirty and suck it like it’s his dick. Again, he chuckles and sucks my tongue in return. My plan has failed because he seems calm, cool and collected and I have turned into a raving lunatic. The pressure of him sucking my tongue shooting straight from mouth to breast to cunt.
“Oh, my dear god, Christopher, stick it in me!” I demand, and when he grins I have the sudden, sparkling urge to hit him.
He rocks his hips from side to side and I feel the brush and nudge of that hard shaft over the places I need it most. Over, not in. What is wrong with him?
My eyes go to the clock and I see our time is ticking away, running fast like salt water through a plastic sieve at the shore. “Hurry!” I hiss.
“No hurry,” he says again.
His mouth drags sensually down between my breasts. When he hits my rib cage my skin gallops and shimmies because it almost—but not quite—tickles. I stop complaining when he hits my navel because I know where he’s going. When he reaches my pussy, I almost give it up immediately. I’ve become such a slut for him and his rushed lunchtime fornication at this point. My nether lips are so flushed and sensitive that when he nips them gently, I surge up like he’s burning me. He settles his mouth on me, sealing his lips over my mound. The top row of his teeth press to that tender flesh and add just enough pain to amp up my pleasure. He gets in three swirls of his tongue and I come. Christopher laughs. “Boy, you’re a cheap date.”
Again I have the urge to swat him, but then he’s sliding that cock along my drenched hole only to slip inside of me, j
ust enough for me to feel the pressure but not enough to fill me.
“Please, please, please!” I gasp, finally swatting him on the arm to try and prompt him.
“Very well.” With a soft kiss, he drives into me. His cock stretching and filling me. I wrap my legs around him and open myself fully to his penetration. Each thrust bangs his pelvic bone to my clit and a jolt of pleasure fills me.
He’s teasing me again, but he doesn’t last long either. Christopher’s thrusts get frantic fast and when he kisses me deeply and pulls my braids hard, making my scalp sing, he comes. It’s easy to get off again after hearing his cries. Nothing does me in faster than a man coming undone.
I glance at the clock. “You’d better g—”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, smiling. “Oh, didn’t I mention that I have the rest of the day off?”
“I…what? What was with all the ticktock then?”
He kisses my nose. “Georgie, Georgie, Georgie. Do you have any idea how wet that noise makes you? It turns you into a sex maniac.”
This time I do hit him. But not very hard at all. After all, I have the rest of the day with him. I want him in perfect working order.
THROWING SUGAR
Jeremy Edwards
Sex was in the air the day I encountered Nina. I felt it as soon as the sweet June morning kissed my neck, when I emerged through my front door with my cheerful necktie proud on my chest and the short curls of my hair still damp from the shower.
The subway platform sizzled with the vitality of horny humans, frisky organisms who had bundled their hormones into workaday clothing but who nonetheless represented pure erogenous energy. The women’s thighs, bare below flirty summer dresses, sang desire to me, and their naked, friendly shoulders seemed to invite unseen lovers.