by Lynn, KT
The answering smile on Mallinaga’s face told me that he, too, had found something more from our love-making than mere physical gratification.
“It’s not a matter of what they believe,” he said, half to me, half to himself, standing naked in the room with a pensive look on his face. “I know in myself that I am correct, that I hold the key to something real. You felt it too, didn’t you?”
“I did,” I agreed. “I felt it.”
“Right! There is much to do! I’ll complete my work, if not for others then for myself and for generations of the future. What you’ve given me tonight – not only yourself, but your faith in me - thank you!”
I took his hand, feeling calm and at peace.
“Perhaps you could name it after me,” I joked.
He smiled. “I would love to do you that honour – but my work already has a name – the bond of sexual desire – the Kama Sutra.”
Too Hot to Handle
by Harriet Lovelace
Themes: rough sex
I smiled over the room at my fiancé as I applied a final coat of gloss over my lipstick. I was excited – I was about to go to the launch party of a new line of perfume, completely free of charge, dress paid for, drinks free, and my complimentary bottle of perfume sitting in front of me on my dressing table. I loved my job. Events planning sounded glamorous – and it was. But it was hard work. I’d been organizing this event for weeks, and finally, I was going to sit back and enjoy it.
“Have fun tonight, darling. Don’t forget to wear your ring – I’m sure there’ll be a lot of attractive young men there, and I want them to know that you’re taken,” Finn teased me.
“Silly – like I’m interested in any other men. Of course I’m wearing my ring.” I held up my left hand, displaying the glittering diamond on my fourth finger – proof of yet another event I would be planning in the near future – my wedding! I wanted to say I love my fiancé more than anything, and I did, but what I was feeling right now was, I love my job. And I couldn’t wait for my wedding! I already had a color theme picked out, and was deciding between coconut and raspberry cream or rum and vanilla for the wedding cake.
There was just one fly in my ointment, and I knew he was going to be there tonight: Max Adler. He was a new guy, who had sauntered into the office with confidence and charisma, devastatingly attractive and, I had been informed by the grapevine within hours of his arrival, he was single.
If I had been single too I’d have snapped him up the second our paths crossed. As it was, avoiding his flirtations was the most painful thing I had ever experienced. The first time I met him, I knew there was a spark between us.
“You’re looking cute today,” he’d drawled in his delicious Boston accent as we had been introduced. “That dress suits your figure perfectly.”
“I’m going to report you for sexual harassment,” I quipped at him, sending him a charming smile.
“Mmm, I like a woman who knows her own mind,” he smiled back. “I’m going to enjoy working with you.”
Things had got more dangerous, though, as the weeks had passed. Alone in the lift together, it was all I could do not to at least give him my trademark beaming smile. I tried to stay cool and distant, because what I really wanted to do was unzip his trousers and give my lips something better to do – and that was unacceptable for an engaged woman.
Still, even if I was never going to let anything happen between us, it did not stop me from dressing extra-carefully for the perfume launch in a perfectly-fitting sea blue cocktail dress, which sloped down in a gentle V to accentuate the line of my breasts, whilst sporting a slightly naughty slit up to mid-thigh. I knew that, paired with strappy silver stilettos, I looked stunning. And it was not flirting if I avoided him the entire night. Even if our eyes occasionally met across the room.
“I love you,” I told my fiancé as I went downstairs to get into the private limo the company had sent. That was the last I thought of him that night.
The champagne flowed, the dance floor was always buzzing with activity, the canapés were delicious and the company was entertaining. It wasn’t until the night was getting on that Max and I crossed paths, my boss picking him out of the crowd as we chatted about the success of the launch.
“I’ve decided to put you together for the next project,” he smiled at us. “It’s a wedding – right up your street, Laura.”
“But-” I didn’t know what I was going to say, only I knew it was dangerous to be on a project with Max. “I already have a wedding to plan.”
“Two birds with one stone,” my boss smiled. “And I daresay Max will do a lot more to help you out than your fiancé will.”
I really hoped he wasn’t right. But the smile on Max’s face and the way his eyes slid appreciatively over my figure told me that I was being pretty optimistic in my hopes. I should have worn a less sexy outfit – what was it that made me so weak when it came to Max?
***
From the beginning the sexual tension between us was way too high.
“Right here,” Max indicated a gorgeous promenade in the latest venue we were scouting out. “We’d have the band. And over there,” he indicated a wide area girdled with roses, “the dance floor. The couple can have their first dance here,” he gestured to the small plinth we were standing on.
“I’m not sure there’s room to dance up here,” I said doubtfully.
“Of course there is. Here.” Max gently took my hands and placed one on his shoulder, one on his waist, and began rotating me slowly on the spot in a perfect waltz. It felt so good, having my hand on his broad shoulders, feeling his strong chest only an inch away from me. I wanted so badly to lean into him and inhale his scent. But I pulled away, feeling guilty – those were things I should be feeling about my fiancé, not Max.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked, frowning at me.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Let’s check out the inside.”
But the crisis wasn’t averted. Our next stop was the cake decorators, and the taste-testing. We were each given a plate with perhaps a dozen samples, all different so we could get through as many as possible. First I simply concentrated on chocolate and hazelnut, coffee crème, lemon syrup, but I found my eyes being drawn to Max as he parted his lips and drew in a spoonful of honey and walnut cake, darting his tongue out to sweep in a few crumbs. It was addictive, watching his face light up with appreciation. Suddenly he looked across and caught my eye, and he winked at me. I flushed scarlet.
“Seen anything you like?” he asked mischievously.
“I’m not sure,” I mumbled, pretending he was just talking about cakes. “You?”
“There are a few things I think I’d like to taste,” he said meaningfully. “But first – try this one. Strawberry and basil.”
“It sounds awful.”
“It’s amazing – try it.” He cut a piece of cake with his fork, and held it across the table to me, pressing it to my lips. Unthinkingly, I opened them, and our eyes caught as my lips closed around the fork he had been using. Quickly I pulled away again, breaking the moment.
“I don’t like it,” I said abruptly.
“No? You look like you enjoyed it,” Max teased.
“Well I didn’t,” I snapped. “And I’d appreciate it if you were a little more professional.”
Decided on spiced carrot and orange cake for the event, we got back into the company-hired limo in silence, waiting to be taken back to the office. The drive would take an hour, and I was internally counting down the minutes, frustrated at myself for getting sucked into the flirtation Max was clearly setting up. From now on, I vowed to be only professional and nothing else.
The limo was warm and comfortable after a long day of trekking around what seemed like half the hotels and chateaus in the state, and I found myself drifting off as the trees flashed past the windows.
When I awoke, it was from a pleasant dream – my body was warm and relaxed, and Max was planting soft, ardent kisses all over my face, pressing
his gentle lips to my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. It felt amazing, so real, so romantic. I could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne – spicy with a slight hint of musk. I could even feel his warm breath tickling my sensitive skin, raising goose bumps along my arms.
I awoke properly with a jolt. Max was really leaning over me, giving me light, beautiful kisses. Instinctively I pushed him off, shoving him hard across the leather seats of the limo.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” I shouted.
“You looked so beautiful asleep – I couldn’t resist,” Max said softly. My heart almost melted, but my ring was weighing heavy on my finger, plain to see. He knew I was engaged. How dare he treat me like this, when I was unable to resist?
“Don’t come near me,” I warned him. “You had no right to do that. I’m taken.”
“I know you feel it too,” Max said quietly. “Laura –“
“Just shut up,” I yelled. “Don’t you dare do something like that again if you have the least bit of respect for my wishes.”
His quiet, serious attitude suddenly lifted, and Max laughed at me.
“I know more about your wishes than you do,” he said mockingly.
We pulled up outside the office before I could retort and, still chuckling infuriatingly, Max got out of the limo, slamming the door behind him before I had the chance to follow. Furious, I wrenched the door back open and stalked into the office after his retreating back.
***
I was still brimming with indignation as I entered the office, looking round to see that Max’s desk was empty. I didn’t think before approaching another colleague to ask whether he had seen Max.
“Yeah, he just went to the bathroom. Why?”
“I’ve got something to tell him about the cake decorator’s,” I lied, and marched off in the direction of the men’s bathroom.
It was a stupid decision, I knew, but my emotions had been running high, and part of me had to convince myself that I had not enjoyed it, hadn’t wanted it, that it had been forced upon me. I opened the door of the men’s bathroom and made a beeline for Max, who was calmly washing his hands.
“Don’t walk away from me like that,” I told him angrily. “If we’re going to be working on this project together then I want you to treat me with respect.”
“Like a man?” Max asked, eyebrows raised.
“What?” Confused, it took me a moment to realize he was referring to the fact that I was standing in the middle of the men’s bathroom. His relaxed, mocking attitude made me even madder. Without thinking, I made a move as if to lunge at him.
But before I even knew what was happening, I had been stopped mid-lunge. Max grabbed my wrists – hard – and crushed my body between his own solid form and the wall of the bathroom. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his passionate, emotion-filled eyes meeting my own wide, surprised ones. It seemed like he hesitated for a very brief moment before crashing his lips against mine, demanding my submission, the bruising force of his hungry mouth making my teeth cut into the delicate flesh of my lips. I tasted the acrid flavour of my own blood, and it was that which jolted me out of my initial shock. Fighting against his iron-clad grip, I struggled beneath him, trying to shout out, to free myself.
Max let me go – for a moment I just stood there – and then he grabbed me again, pushing my hands over my head, slamming me with even more force than before against the bathroom door. Breathing heavily and holding both my wrists in one broad, vice-like hand, he locked the bathroom door, and leaned in to kiss me again, just as hard and as passionately as the first time, but slightly less uncomfortably. It was a dominating kiss, designed to mould my lips to his, to destroy every inch of resistance I had. At first I struggled once more, trying to bite at his lips, to make him flinch away, but he only took advantage of my open mouth to force his tongue inside, licking and sucking at my lips, my teeth, my tongue, until I could barely breathe.
Finally, I stopped trying to break free – the kiss was breathtaking, powerful and hot and demanding, and I allowed it to happen, allowed the desperate, forceful pressure of his lips to press against mine, allowed his hot, slick tongue to tangle in my mouth, exploring every inch, claiming me. Without warning a rush of burning lust was coursing through me, and I was kissing back with every bit as much passion and desire as he was, biting his lip, sucking it into my mouth, tasting the blood which I drew with relish.
We were both beyond control, beyond reason. Letting my wrists go, he began tearing frantically at my blouse, almost shredding the garment in his urgency to feel my skin. My own hands were trembling so badly that I couldn’t do more than fumble at his buttons, tugging his shirt uselessly. Impatiently, he ripped it open, sending buttons scattering everywhere, the only sound in the room apart from the heavy, labored breathing. I gasped and moaned as he pressed his enflamed skin against my heaving breasts, revelling in the warmth, the smoothness, and the barely concealed strength. I was trembling with suppressed desire, my entire body quivering with lust, my skin heated, my cheeks flushed, and my panties soaked with the guilty evidence of my arousal.
I had never needed anything as much in my life as I needed him to be inside me, thrusting into me, driving me hard and fast, delighting in that wonderful, miraculous friction. I was moaning and panting as he passionately kissed my face, my neck, my breasts, the attentions frantic, hungry, and forceful, nips and bites intermingled with kisses and licks, almost devouring my flesh with his hot, eager mouth.
I could barely contain my desire for him; my sex was throbbing with need and I could feel his solid hardness, fully erect through his pants, pressing against my thigh. Unthinking, only needing to feel more, to take this farther, I pressed my hand against his crotch.
With a snarl, he grabbed my thighs, yanking me roughly off the ground as if I weighed as much as a child, so it was all I could do to anchor myself, hooking my ankles around his muscular waist as he shoved my skirt as far as he could up my thighs, revealing my soaked panties.
Dragging my thighs from his waist and over his shoulders and supporting the rest of my body partly with his arms, partly against the door, I was practically suspended in mid-air but he held me effortlessly, his enormous strength astonishing me, the fact that he could so completely overpower me sending renewed waves of arousal crashing through me.
I could feel his hot breath on my sex, and I almost cried out as he tasted me, pushing my underwear aside with his mouth, penetrating me with his tongue, stroking it roughly across my wet, sensitive folds. I wanted to feel his warm, flexible tongue, the coarse texture creating amazing friction against the slick sides of my walls, his teeth nipping playfully at my clitoris. But he had had his taste, and that was enough for him.
Dropping me suddenly and catching me in his arms, I was breathless with fear, exhilaration and lust as he tore off my underwear and fumbled impatiently with his own pants, unbuttoning and unzipping his fly hastily to reveal his dripping, fully erect cock. He was swollen and red, so aroused that his erection bobbed up to his stomach, pleading to be engulfed in my warm, welcoming heat.
He thrust in so quickly that I had to bite back a scream. I was throbbing with desire, my flesh slick with arousal and trembling with need, and the sensation of his thick, rock hard cock filling me, expanding my walls, stroking every inch of me with a furious passion was almost enough to send me over the edge immediately.
The next thrust was harder and rougher than the first, followed by another, and another, pounding my delicate flesh, bruising me at the same time it transported me into blinding ecstasy. The pace was demanding and frantic, penetrating me hard and fast, sending my body slamming against the wall, my head hitting uncomfortably against the tiles until one broad palm protected it, shielding it from harm, one gentle gesture in the middle of a rough, brutal act of raw, undiluted need.
Slamming into me again and again, I could feel his slick, hard cock stretching me, hitting all the spots designed to radiate pleasure, sending me spinning into an inten
se, dizzying climax.
I knew from the jerky, uneven rhythm of his thrusts that he was close too. He crushed his mouth desperately to mine as he came, biting down on my lip hard as he released inside me, sending warm jets of liquid pulsing into me.
And then it was over. The passion had come to its climax and we were in the slippery aftermath of our wild, urgent lovemaking. I was aching where he had slammed me into the wall, and I was sure there would be a lump on my head.
There were no words between us. Neither of us was quite sure how to act. Wordlessly Max passed me my torn blouse, and I smoothed it and my skirt as best I could. Max shrugged his jacket on over his ruined shirt, and quickly unlocked and left the bathroom, not even looking at me.
I looked in the mirror. My face was slightly flushed, my lip a little swollen, my hair wild but not beyond help. I combed my fingers through it quickly, and splashed some cold water on my face. It was almost like nothing had ever happened, but the ache in my loins reminded me that it had. Not glancing down at my engagement ring, I checked the tear in my blouse was unnoticeable, and went back to the office.
The Journalist: Part I - Darren
by Stephanie Silvers
Themes: BDSM; M/f
I’m already regretting not bringing a camera. Alright, it might give the game away a bit, but considering what’s on offer it’s going to be hard to get across what I’m seeing any other way. Bodies and flesh, sinuously pressed together, barely clothed. Silk gliding over breasts, caught on hardened nipples; erect members straining against their confines or, elsewhere, free and thrusting against bare hips. I’m over-dressed – conspicuously over-dressed. There are men dressed in loincloths, or nothing at all.
I had expected … something. Not this. A company like Brooks and Holt had to be having dirty dealings, which would naturally be discussed at their parties which had become infamous among the fat cat elite. Some hard drugs would have been appropriate, or evidence of money laundering; even hookers soliciting on the fringes, something normally immoral. What I’ve walked into is some kind of orgy.