“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were entertaining,” the stranger said, surprised to find Donald there.
“It’s okay, we were just leaving,” Carla announced, dragging him by the hand and back among the cats.
“I need to get over to the Rialto now,” she said, once they were back on the street.
His mind still reeled but he was sentient enough now to realize she was saying goodbye.
“Will I see you again?”
She laughed and pulled him toward her by his collar. “I should say so. You owe me an orgasm.” She stuffed something in his pants pocket and sprinted away.
He walked the streets of Manhattan for a long time before heading home. He had no desire to be home, where even the air felt oppressive. Carla had left him with her business card: Carla Capozzi, Dancer, Singer, Actress. 212–459–2221. He ducked into the nearest phone booth and dialed the number, just to hear her voice on her answering machine. He left no message because he wasn’t at all certain he could be coherent.
“What did you buy your father?” his mother said in greeting as he entered the front door.
“It’s a surprise,” he muttered, heading for his room, cursing the fact that he’d now have to make another shopping trip to buy a damn gift.
He dialed her phone number again, this time from his room. On the train, he’d decided what he was going to say.
“Hi, Carla. This is Donald. I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful time I had today. It was just fantastic.” Move along, Donald. Don’t be so grateful. Act like a man. “And I want to return the favor, so why don’t you come over to my place after your show tomorrow?”
She’d know soon enough that it wasn’t really his place, but he liked the way it sounded on the phone. He left her the address. He knew his parents had their bridge club meeting tomorrow night and, if memory served, it was scheduled to happen at the Edelstein’s. The house would be his.
Predictably, she teased him about the house when she arrived, fingering doilies and pointing at china cabinets accusingly. “You’ve got such feminine taste, young man. Have you ever thought of going into interior design? Or theater?”
He laughed off her jokes. His goal was to get her into his bedroom. Once that mission was accomplished, he knew hormones would do the rest.
“So,” she said, flopping her beautifully toned body onto the living room sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “You wanted me on your turf this time. Thinking that will give you some kind of home court advantage?”
He loved her eyes. They always looked as if indescribable fun was about to burst from them.
“Maybe.” Actually, he hadn’t thought of that at all. This was just the only place he could think of where they could be alone. If he had enough money, he would’ve gotten a hotel room.
“Then I’ll need to reassert my power somehow, won’t I?” She wore no leggings or other dancer clothing today – just a white cotton blouse tied at her waist and a full, peasant-style skirt. She unbuttoned the blouse, revealing a stripe of flawless skin from neck to sternum. He could see the darker spots where her nipples lurked under the fabric.
He didn’t answer her question. He knew she was going to make his response unnecessary, so he waited for her next move.
“When’s the last time somebody took you over their knee to spank you?”
“It’s been a while,” he grinned.
“Then you’re due. Take off your pants and come here.” She patted her lap.
He wondered why he was bemused rather than mortified. He stripped as she asked and lay his mid-section over her thighs. The cool air taunted his upturned ass for a few seconds before her hand made contact with it. The playful slap stiffened his cock with unexpected efficiency and as it pressed against her thigh, she groaned.
“Mmmm, Donald. I see you take punishment very well . . .”
He slid off her lap and onto his knees, where he instantly slipped a hand under her skirt. Following the smooth contours of her calf, the back of her knee, and the underside of her thigh, he could feel the waves of heat from her pussy. She spread her legs to give him better access. He expected to find panties, but his hand brushed against soft pubic hair instead.
He disappeared under her skirt before she could object or even comment. With his face buried between her legs, he inhaled the tantalizing scent of her pussy before he put his lips to her swollen, slippery ones. Though he had little idea whether what he was doing was proper form (he hadn’t read the oral sex chapter of The Joy of Sex as thoroughly as the penetration sections), he let her moans guide him. He found her clit easily and tongued it with exploratory tenderness. She seemed to like it.
She liked it so much, in fact, that her thighs soon clutched his head and her love button got noticeably harder. He dared not stop licking, even when she bucked her hips into his face and let out a series of gasps. His cock was now a bone, immovable and hard – he’d given a woman an orgasm!
When he came out from under her skirts, her head lay against the back of the sofa and her eyes were half-closed as she panted her recovery.
“Don’t you have a bedroom?” she whispered, her face glowing with satisfaction.
He reminded himself not to let his jaw drop. He’d rehearsed all kinds of suave lines in the hopes of coercing her to his bedroom, and now to realize that he didn’t need them made his head spin.
He escorted her upstairs and closed the door behind him. She slipped into his arms and he took the opportunity to slide her blouse off her shoulders until he heard it swoosh to the floor. They kissed in a long, slow burn of affection until she stepped away from him and slipped out of her skirt. She stood before him naked, skin beautifully taut, nipples erect, and her scent filling his room.
“Being naked by myself isn’t much fun, you know,” she commented, grinning at him with raised eyebrows.
He was naked faster than even he could have imagined and she wasted no time laying him down on his bed. His cock had assumed possession of his body – everything he was, everything he thought, resided in that seven-inch rod of volatile flesh. He feared that he’d explode the moment she touched him.
She kissed his aching member delicately and whisked away his pre-cum with her tongue. Her dark hair tumbled forward, brushing his abdomen.
“I’m going to fuck you, Donald,” she purred as she straddled him. She slid her wet snatch along the length of him. “Would you like that?”
“Yes,” he rasped, incredulous at the question. “Yes, fuck me. Please.”
He wasn’t likely to ever forget the sight of this delightful vixen, riding his cock with the kind of wild abandon he’d only dreamed of. Her small tits jiggled as she bounced on his ecstatic meat, which was accustomed to the tepid warmth of his hand as opposed to the fiery tropics of her pussy.
He bent his knees so he could thrust up into her. The moment he was as deep inside her steamy pussy as he could possibly get, the come in his balls shot feverishly up and out, filling her with what was surely pints. The walls of her cunt squeezed and massaged the last drops of joy from his cock. She leaned her body forward and rested her head on his chest. They both savored the glorious quiet of the moment.
His eyes shot open at the sound of his parents’ voices downstairs. “Oh, shit!” He hissed. “My parents are home!”
She laughed and climbed off him. “Great! I can’t wait to meet them!” She was already dressing.
He panicked. They’d never understand. They’d sense his happiness and know something had happened. They’d give him endless grief for seeing a woman Carla’s age. But how could he ask her to leave? And how would he sneak her out?
She stood at the window and peered out. “Ever used that fire escape?” she asked him, nodding toward it.
“Well, no . . .”
“I’ll let you know how sturdy it is. Call me tomorrow, okay?” She winked at him, opened the window, and climbed out. Seconds later, she was gone.
When his parents would later check in on him,
they’d see their son napping. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, strains of the Blues in the Night overture swimming in his head.
The Wedding Dress
Don Rasner
All I could do was stare at the judge’s cock. At my own wedding, standing next to my future husband.
That sounds horrible, I know. But don’t blame me. Blame my mom; it was her wedding dress. Blame the judge, too. His erection was huge.
The trouble started because I promised my mom I’d wear her wedding dress when I finally got married. That wasn’t the best idea. My mom and I don’t have a lot in common, and that goes for our figures, too. My mom is petite. Me? I’m what you’d call curvy. And, as any guy will tell you, my breasts are my best feature.
I was in trouble as soon as Molly, my maid of honor, tried to wrap that dress around my monsters. My tits aren’t just big; they’re amazing. Giant. Juggernauts. Whatever word you want to use. When it’s cold my nipples poke through the thickest sweaters. When I go swimming I can’t put my head underwater. When I get my vision tested the doctor can’t ever remember the color of my eyes. And in my mom’s wedding dress – built for her flat, flat chest – my tits looked like over-pumped basketballs.
Molly and I have been friends for life. She looked great, her long blonde hair shimmering under the courthouse lights, the purple bridesmaid dress hugging her hips, the slit in its side showing off her strong legs. I’d never had any leanings toward the ladies, but Molly was hot that day.
And as she pulled my dress tighter and tighter, grunting with the effort of closing its back, I got a bit turned on. Well, that’s not entirely true. I got totally turned on.
“Jesus, Suzanne, I can’t get this thing shut,” Molly said.
“Pull harder.”
Molly did. Stretched tight against my tits, the fabric rubbed against my already erect nipples. I must’ve gasped, because Molly suddenly stopped.
“You okay?”
“I’m nervous, that’s all. Just get me into this thing.”
Molly tugged even harder, nearly knocking me to the ground. Another gasp. And this time I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed my tits, pressing hard against my nipples.
“Harder,” I said through clenched teeth.
Molly hesitated. “What are you doing, Suze?”
“Pull harder,” I repeated.
I knew it was wrong, this being my wedding day and all, but, like I said, blame it on that dress. I just couldn’t help but reach my hand behind me and rub it – just a bit – along the swell of my bridesmaid’s ass. I’d always been jealous of Molly’s firm, muscular butt. Mine tended to be a bit on the “generous” side.
My touch shocked the shit out of Molly. She let go of my dress and tried to jump away, but by this time my little touch had become a choke-hold on those fine cheeks.
“Christ, Suzanne, what the fuck are you doing?” Molly asked.
I didn’t answer. I just squeezed her ass harder, and then let my other hand run between her thighs. My mom’s dress must’ve been doing something for her, too, because her underwear was already wet.
“Suzanne!” Molly hissed. “My God!”
“Shut up,” I said. “It’s this fucking dress.” I pressed my hand hard against her crotch hard enough to make Molly groan. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it,” I said.
Then I took the next step: I started stroking her cunt. She was getting wetter by the second. I could smell her. I swear, her turn-on scented the entire room. Outside, I could hear people milling about. My mom and dad were out there, and the judge who was performing the ceremony. The best man, too. And, of course, Greg, my husband-to-be.
I let go of Molly just long enough to spin her around so that our faces were inches apart. “You have to be quiet,” I said. “I don’t know how thick these walls are.”
Molly’s eyes were bugging. I shut her protests up by dropping the top of my dress. My tits rejoiced as they surged free of the frilly material. Molly stared, her mouth hanging open. She seemed in shock, so I sped things along by placing her hand on my tit. The feel of her palm against my nipple popped goose-bumps along my arms.
“Shit, I must be hornier than hell,” I said. “My knees are fucking knocking.”
Molly didn’t try to step away this time, I noticed, so I pulled her other hand to my other tit. And then, before she could say a word, I slipped my hand back between her legs. I wiggled my fingers past her underwear and into her wet slit, and then immediately slid to her clit. I didn’t have time to fuck around; the wedding was in ten minutes. She gasped, but then squeezed both tits, tight. It hurt, and it felt good, real good. “Keep doing that,” I said. “That dress makes my tits so fucking sensitive.”
Molly wasn’t resisting any more. She leaned against me, pushing me hard into the wall. I opened my mouth to tease her but she slapped her lips over me before I could get out a word. Our tongues touched. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt her body twitching as I flicked her clit with my fingers.
She pulled her mouth away. “Suzanne, this is so wrong. You’re getting married – today.”
I let my fingers trace slowly along the inside of her thigh. “I need it, baby. I can’t be all horny during the ceremony. Just get me off, sweetie. Then I’ll be fine.”
I don’t know how logical that argument was, but Molly was willing enough to buy it. Without another peep she knelt and yanked my dress down to my ankles. Then she did the same with my frilly lace underwear.
“Wow,” I said, “you work fast.”
She didn’t waste time with foreplay, either. And what a touch. Her tongue immediately found my clit. She started at the base, then traveled slowly to its tip. There, she give a flick – just a tiny one – and moved back to the base. Then a kiss, gently puckering her lips over my clit. Like I said, Molly was a pro. Thank God I was leaning against the wall or I would’ve fallen on my ass.
I squeezed my rock-hard nipples. With my other hand I grabbed the back of Molly’s head and shoved her mouth harder onto me. “Yes, sweetie,” I whispered. “Suck it hard.”
She did, swallowing my clit, letting it go, then licking up and down its length. She waited for my thighs to start quivering, then started licking faster, until my pelvis thrust forward and I came. It was the kind of orgasm that I’d normally celebrate with a scream, but this time I clenched my mouth and clamped my hands over my lips, too, just in case.
One thing, though. The orgasm made me fall onto my “generous” ass. Holding my scream in turned out to be kind of useless – the thump my keester made when it hit the ground was loud enough so that someone – maybe my dad – immediately banged on the door. “Everything okay in there?”
I couldn’t answer. My breath was all ragged, like I’d been jogging. “It’s okay,” Molly hollered. Grinning, she added, “Just blowing off a little steam before the big moment.”
“Shit,” I whispered to her. “It was so hard not to scream. That was awesome, baby. Where’s that been my whole life?” I struggled to my feet and started pulling my dress back up. “I still have to get this fucker on, though.”
“Not so fast,” Molly said.
I looked up. She was bent over a chair, ass in the air, her perfect cheeks facing me. She’d hiked her dress up and pulled her underwear down around her ankles.
“My turn,” she said.
I looked at the clock. “Shit, Molly. The ceremony starts in five fucking minutes, and I still can’t get this damn dress on.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Molly said, rubbing that perfect ass. “Get your tongue over here or I tell everyone out there what just happened.”
“You cunt,” I hissed. But I was fucked and I knew it.
I had to make this fast. I pulled her legs apart and started licking. Pissed off? Sure, but Molly’s cunt did taste damn good. And I did feel a twinge of heat when her clit stiffened under my tongue. And when she started whispering my name, I felt my own cunt getting soppy again. I must’ve gotten that girl all wound up, too, because her
legs were shaking like two twigs in a tornado. In fact, she was too turned on: when I gave her a particularly good lick she let out a yelp.
Sure enough, someone pounded on the door again. “You girls all right in there?” This time it sounded like my mom.
I pulled my mouth away from Molly’s cunt to answer, but she hissed, “Don’t you stop for even a second.”
“Girls? Girls?” My mom’s voice for sure. But Molly’s cunt wouldn’t budge.
“We’re fine!” Molly yelled, way too forcefully. “Give us a second!”
“C’mon, you bitch,” Molly whispered, “finish me off.”
I’d never heard Molly talk like that. She was captain of the fucking debate squad in high school, for Christ’s sake. I’m sure she never used the word “cunt” arguing against nuclear weapons. When did she develop such a mouth?
That mystery would have to be tackled later. The clock was ticking. I needed to speed things up. That meant one thing: a little butt play. I slipped a finger into her asshole, surprised at how easily it slid in.
“God,” she grunted as my finger slid into her. “Another one.”
Who was I to argue? I slipped my index finger out, then put it and my middle finger in. This time Molly just leaned into the table. Good thing: the tabletop muffled her groans.
It was tough work. My neck hurt like hell, but I didn’t want to move. I had a good rhythm going. I couldn’t afford to lose my momentum.
Finally I hit the right spot – and Molly came. Boy, did she ever. The idiot screamed – on my wedding day! Not only that, she nearly sent the table flying across the room. What a huge fucking noise that made.
So it was no big surprise when someone came pounding again.
“Girls? What’s going on?” This time it was – uh-ho – my future hubby.
“Nothing, dear! Molly just slipped, that’s all. But she’s fine.”
She was. Actually, she seemed better than fine. She was lying on the floor, her dress still raised, eyes closed, and a huge smile across her face.
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