Road Games

by Road Games [Bold Strokes FF] (retail) (epub)

  “No way!” I protested. “Baby, I can’t. I gave it all I had.”

  “Come on,” she pouted, tracing the outline of my tiger tattoo.

  I could barely lift my arms, let alone lift anything else, and despite her protests, I managed to get dressed. She asked me to drop her at an all-night club where I later found out she went home with two other women. One of them, Carrie, was a regular at Geraldine’s, and she told me the blow by blow. Turns out, the brunette was insatiable and needed sex like I need to breathe. Carrie said she couldn’t walk for a week. I knew the feeling.

  The backseat of my car was never the same either. Three different springs in that old couch in the back had unfurled and strained to poke through the fabric. No one could sit back there without getting hurt, and it cost me big bucks to get it fixed. But you know, it was okay. I didn’t mind, really. I figured I got away easy.

  Driven to Distraction

  Eva Vandetuin

  It's past midnight when my flight comes in, and I stumble off the plane exhausted, but with nerves buzzing excitedly. It's been months since I've seen her. Being that we live on opposite sides of the country, our hands are often tied by busy work schedules, or, more often, doomed short-term relationships that lack the spark we have when we're together.

  I admit it. I am here to fuck. I am here for the bed frame–breaking, nail-gouging, screaming, sweating, thrashing, all-out debauchery that I never get at home. This would be uncomplicated if we didn't love each other too, and if we weren't so devoted to our separate careers that neither of us is yet willing to move. And so I am here again, smelling like airplane under my perfume, dragging my roller bag behind me through the mostly deserted airport.

  She's standing by the baggage carousel, turned away from me but instantly recognizable from her broad shoulders and the explosion of dark, wild curls barely contained in her ponytail. My stomach tingles in anticipation, not unpleasantly. Walking toward her, I wonder if I'll be able to sneak up on her. Her smell is already in my nostrils, earthy and oddly intoxicating.

  One of the ironies of our highly physical relationship is that she's such a perfect gentleman. We met while I was in town for a conference and made a date for a local pub, where I, as the poster child for lightweights, managed to get staggeringly drunk on two beers. She walked me back to my hotel and I invited her up, not prepared to get naked but not wanting the evening to end. Maybe I was tipsy, and maybe I just had her read right: we talked, she gave me a foot rub, kissed me on the cheek, and went home.

  After that I could hardly wait to fuck her. And after I had, I just wanted to do it again.

  Is it still an addiction if it's good for you?

  A year later we're still on opposite coasts, working jobs we love, trying and discarding girlfriends that leave us both dissatisfied. And so here I am, my eyes fixed intently on the back of her head, my lower lip between my teeth, coming closer, closer to coming.

  I'm still a few yards away when, as if she felt my eyes boring into her, she spins around and returns my look. As I close the distance between us, she opens the laptop she's holding. A cheerful graphic of fireworks and brightly colored text lights the screen. "Marianne”— she taps a key—“you were missed."

  She looks at me, half smiling, her eyes intense, but almost shy. "Geek," I mutter inappropriately, and my voice comes out breathy with lust. Her smile broadens as I slide my fingers into her hair and lean in to kiss her.

  She keeps her lips closed and chuckles when I squawk with frustration. "All in good time, my dear," she says, taking my bag and offering her arm. Her half-rimmed glasses have slipped down to the end of her blunt nose, and she shoots me a look full of wry and mildly wicked humor. I know that look. She intends to tease me mercilessly. I want to kill her. No, I want to throw her onto the cheap airport carpet and tear off her clothes. Then she'll regret this "all in good time" nonsense.

  Instead, I allow her to lead me to the parking garage, docilely enough, I suppose. She asks after my cat and my mother and my best friend who just got married, and I answer, my eyes still drilling into her head as she loads my bag into the trunk and opens the passenger door of her car. I get in and tuck my skirt in behind me, and a moment later she swings into the driver's seat. She adjusts the rearview mirror and I lean closer to her. Our eyes meet in the reflection. Putting my hand on her thigh, I caress her through the fabric. "Come on, Robbie, baby," I purr, and turn to look at her directly. The scent of her body mixes with the hint of jasmine perfume I splashed on in the airplane bathroom; out of the corner of my eye I can see her smooth hand resting on the wheel, and the memory of what those fingers have done to me makes me long to rock back and forth in my seat. My cunt swells comfortably against the cushion. I reach for her and maneuver her hand under my skirt. "It's a long drive home, honey. C'mon. No one will see."

  She's absolutely getting wet, I know it, but she's restraining herself. Robyn takes her hand away from me and caresses one of my small breasts, squeezing the nipple. I moan, and she chuckles, maddeningly. I give her an accusatory look. "Robyyyyn—” I start, and she puts her fingers to my mouth.

  "Shh. It'll be more comfortable at home. You can wait." The corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles. I vow silently that she'll be walking funny tomorrow. She's older than me and I can outlast her. No mercy. None.

  We pull out of the parking garage and get on the road, heading away from the city. The roads are almost deserted at this time of night, and through the car’s sunroof I can see the faint twinkling of the stars, muted by the bright face of the waxing moon. Robyn flips on the radio and turns it down low, and the faint sound of jazz saxophone floats from the speakers as she coaxes small talk from me. I can't help it; she makes me laugh.

  After about fifteen minutes there's a lull in the conversation and I sit back silently, watching her drive. Outside, the dim outlines of trees whip by; a car passes us on the opposite side of the road, and the thick silver rings on Robyn's fingers glimmer suddenly in the momentary flash of headlights. She takes a sip of coffee from a travel mug, and I watch the movement of her mouth, the swell of her throat as she swallows.

  I hate waiting. And suddenly I have a lovely, terrible, wicked idea.

  I settle myself back in my seat and slide down, letting my legs fall open as I gaze casually out the window. Moving slowly so as not to attract her attention, I work my hand under my skirt and into my panties. The hard nub of my clit is pushed out to meet my fingertips. I dip a finger into myself and spread the moisture over my clit as I begin to rub in slow, rhythmic circles. My head falls sideways, my temple resting against the coolness of the car window. One, two, three, four. Little currents of pleasure shudder down my thighs, up the small of my back, and I suppress a moan, breathing more quickly, waiting for her to notice.

  "Annie, you asleep, honey?" she asks after a minute. I don't answer but watch her from under lowered lids. The smell of my cunt is noticeable now, and I see her nostrils flare. I hold back a giggle. She's glancing over at me but still trying to keep her eyes on the road. I thrust into my cunt, letting out a telltale squelch and a choked sound of pleasure. Oh yes. Now I can see the whites of her eyes. "Baby, I'm driving here."

  "Yes, I can see that." Smirking, I flick my clit faster and writhe a little in the seat, sighing and then catching my breath with a gasp. Her hands tighten on the wheel. "Don't worry, we'll be there soon. You can wait." Robyn groans and chews her lower lip in frustration. "Oooh, I'm so wet tonight. My cunt's been aching and aching, I had to give it a little attention. And it's so lovely and warm." Smiling at Robyn, who is still watching me out of the corner of her eye, I put a finger in my mouth and deliberately suck off my juices with a satisfied slurp. Then I brace a knee against the dashboard and start to fuck myself methodically, fingers plunging in and out of my cunt with a sucking sound. The radio has changed over to some kind of electronic dance music, and I moan softly to the beat, arching my back against the seat as my pleasure builds.

  Robyn is sweating. I
can see beads of moisture forming at her hairline, though the air in the car is cool. Her fingers flex on the wheel as she accelerates, five miles per hour over the speed limit, then ten. I laugh in my throat, pulling my shirt up over my breast to fondle one nipple as the car hugs a tight curve. Robyn mumbles what sounds like imprecations under her breath. Fifteen miles per hour. "Don't you dare come," she says, pinning me with her eyes for a split second before looking back at the road. This time I laugh outright, delighted with my own naughtiness, as we speed down the final stretch of road toward Robyn's house.

  She reaches for the garage door opener before the house is even in sight. The car slides into the garage as the door is still going up, and she brakes neatly, just at the edge of safety. The headlights flick off before the car has even rocked to a complete stop. In the darkness, she says, "Oh…you…little…"

  And then she's on me, ignoring the cramped space of the car, the parking brake digging into her thigh as she pins me to the seat with my still-buckled seat belt and knocks my hands away from my body. Robyn's mouth is hard and demanding on mine; her tongue thrusts into my mouth as she inhales, taking my breath, then filling my lungs with hers.

  No longer laughing now, I shut my eyes and let her take over, giving myself to the darkness and to Robyn and the jumble of sensations contained by the awkward space. The seat belt releases with a click and then her hands are rough on my thighs, pulling me toward her across the middle of the car. Fingers pinch my nipples hard, and I feel her hand on my shoulder, pressing me back against the car door, my head propped against the window. Under my skirt, she finds my cotton panties pushed halfway down and rips them away. A groan of pleasure escapes me as I reach over my head to grip the discarded seat belt. I know I'll need to hold on when she—

  —pushes her hand into me suddenly and hard, and there's a bit of pain to it but I'm so wet and ready that pain is just a welcome spice. Is that two fingers, three? She tosses my skirt back and kisses my exposed belly, and I feel a finger plunge into my anus. Shuddering with the abrupt sensation of fullness, I cry out and buck against her hand. Her thumb claims my clit and I thrash helplessly in the uncomfortable car, in an impossible position, with my neck shoved miserably against the car door as her hand penetrates me expertly and her low voice rasps as she tells me, "Marianne, come!" A roaring starts in my belly and rushes out through my limbs, exploding out my feet and hands and the top of my head, and from far away I hear myself scream, the sound weirdly muffled by the upholstered interior. I come, and I come, and I come.

  I feel Robyn caress me, and as her hand withdraws I notice my cramped neck and reach up to find the door handle. The car door clicks open. I slide the rest of the way down in the seat, my head hanging over the edge and out the door. Out of my line of sight, Robyn opens the inner door of the garage and flicks on the kitchen light. Water runs in the sink. I breathe.

  A few minutes later, she returns and helps me from the car, her arm resting warmly around my waist as I make my trembling way to the living room. She guides me to the couch, then turns and gives me such a serious look that I'm afraid for a moment that I've actually upset her, but she pulls me against her and I can feel that she's packing. I tilt my pelvis and rub against her cock gently, pressing it into her clit, and she moans.

  "Am I wicked?" I ask her in my sweetest voice as I unzip her fly.

  "Oh, God, yes," she says, and takes me by the shoulders, forcing me face down over the arm of the sofa. I rest my cheek against the smooth leather of the cushions and smile as she yanks my skirt from my body and pushes the thick head of her cock against the lips of my cunt.

  "Good," I tell the cushions smugly. "Because I won't ever change."

  Night Train

  Stacia Seaman

  “Sleeping car, berths seventeen and eighteen. Have a pleasant journey,” the conductor said in her earthy Polish accent. She smiled and tipped her hat and the door clicked shut. Sarah and I turned to each other, grinning like idiots as the train pulled out of Prague’s Hlavní Station. We were on our way to Warsaw.

  We'd eaten at the little Indonesian place on the way to the train station, and now we split a beer and sat on the low seat, looking out the window at the fading lights of the city.

  Our sleeping compartment was designed for three people: three bunks along one wall, a small bathroom opposite, and a tiny sofa beneath the window. So far we’d been lucky that we had the room to ourselves, as we didn't particularly want to share. Of course, we could have avoided the whole issue by paying another five bucks each for a first-class double, but we were both money-conscious students and, as Sarah pointed out, who the hell went to Poland in late October anyway?

  "Those bunks look pretty solid," I said, looking around the small compartment.

  "Yeah, they do," Sarah replied, handing back the bottle and snuggling close.

  An hour later, the second beer was half gone. We turned off the compartment light; we were well north of the city and even through the clouds the moon and stars shone bright. Snow was beginning to accumulate on the fields and on the barn roofs.

  "I never thought I'd be happy to see snow in October," I said, Sarah's arm warm on my shoulder.

  "But you're right, it's so," her voice trailed off for a moment, "rural. Pastoral."

  "It still throws me when I see a horse pulling a plow," I said. "I'm used to big old green John Deeres."

  We both laughed for a moment, then finished our drinks and got ready for bed.

  "It's nice to have our own bathroom," Sarah said, rubbing a white towel over the damp skin of her face and neck. "And not have to worry about bringing our own sheets," she added, slipping into the already turned-down lower bunk. "Unheard-of luxury."

  I got into the bunk with her, pulling her tight against my body. "I think this might be a bit wider than the dorm beds." My lips traced a path on her neck.

  "You think so?" Her hand wandered down the curve of my hip.

  "Definitely."

  “Did you lock the door?”

  I slid a hand into her flannel pajama bottoms and teased the skin at her waist. “Can’t.”

  “What?” She pulled back from me. “Why not?”

  “No locks,” I said.

  “But what if—”

  “Stop worrying.” I kissed her softly. “Nobody’s going to come in, and if they do, it’s too dark to see us anyway.”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Think of it as an adventure.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. I had always been the more impetuous one, though I appreciated her pragmatism, which had kept me out of trouble more than once. In fact, it was why we were on our way to Warsaw instead of Transylvania for Halloween weekend—she’d convinced me that no, two years after the fall of Ceausescu’s communist regime, the wilderness of western Romania was not yet a tourist mecca.

  I kissed her again, knowing she’d probably turn me down because of the unlocked door but wanting to see how far she was willing to go. I traced her lower lip with my tongue and when she opened her mouth, I slipped my tongue in, then pulled it back, making her come after me.

  She whimpered, putting her arms around my neck. “If you’re sure...”

  “I’m sure,” I said, trying not to sound surprised. “Now come here and kiss me.”

  She obliged, tentatively at first, then with more enthusiasm. Our mouths moved against each other, sometimes gentle, sometimes hungry, our tongues teasing and retreating, then teasing again.

  Sarah rolled onto her back, pulling me on top of her.

  Thump!

  "Ow."

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Thought that bunk was a little higher, is all."

  "Mmm." Sarah rubbed the back of my head. “Poor baby.”

  “I’m not sure this is going to work here,” I said, disappointed, as I rolled over onto my side with my back pressed against the wall. I hadn’t assumed that anything would happen between us tonight, but something had—it wasn’t much, I know, but now I wanted more. />
  Sarah moved into my arms. “Maybe we should just try to get some sleep.”

  “Don’t feel like sleeping.” I meant it. I’d never be able to sleep, not with Sarah so near and so warm, her body pressed against mine in this tiny space, not after those kisses. I traced a finger lightly along her upper arm before moving under her shirt and caressing her stomach. “Do you?” I dipped a finger into the waistband of her pajama bottoms.

  “No, I don’t,” she said, and I pushed her onto her back intending to kiss her, and this time slammed one foot into the wall at the foot of the bed.

  “Okay, this isn’t going to work,” I said, lying on top of her, stroking her long, silky hair with my right hand. “Why don’t we just move onto the sofa instead?”

  “That sofa?” Sarah asked doubtfully. “It’s, like, four feet long.”

  “We can work around that.” I pushed her hair away and kissed her neck, inhaling her bedtime scent—the soap and the Nivea cream she used every night.

  “And if anyone opens the door?”

  “Nobody’s going to open the door.” The faintest remnant of her perfume lingered at her pulse point. Sarah had the sexiest clavicles I’d ever seen, just barely visible under her skin. “Stop worrying.”

  I moved up again, into a soft, gentle play of lips—the kind of kiss that makes me melt—enjoying the feeling of her hands in my hair, on my shoulders, on my back. I could feel the pressure build between my legs, and suddenly kissing wasn’t enough anymore. Mindful of the small space, I maneuvered my way to the bottom of the bunk and curled up by Sarah’s feet.

  “Take off your top,” I said.

  She did, revealing small, perfect breasts. My mouth was suddenly dry.

  “Touch them,” I said. “Play with them for me.”

  She hesitated at first, but whether she was being coy or shy—the door was unlocked, after all—I couldn’t tell.