by Violet Blue
For a moment, I almost came to my senses, and a voice that didn’t sound like mine murmured, “Gill’s on her own in there. Won’t she start wondering where we’ve got to?”
“Let her wonder,” Ian replied. “She’s a big girl, she can look after herself. What are you hoping, Stella, that she might have some problem with a punter and come out here looking for me?”
An image flashed through my mind: Gill’s freckled face peering through the French door, in the moment before she framed some question. I knew she wouldn’t see too much; though I was as good as topless, my semi-naked state was obscured by Ian’s broad back. And yet a small, shameful part of me hoped she would realize what was happening, and come closer to take a look at my small, uptilted tits with their unmistakably erect nipples. Maybe she would even reach out and pinch one, just as Ian had done—
His next words made even that image seem strangely innocent. “Let’s give her something to see if she does come out. Something that’ll make her realize just how long you’ve been starved of cock for.”
I heard the metallic rasp of his zip being undone and looked down to see him freeing his cock from his fly. It stood out pale against the black shirt and jeans he wore, long and slender but stiffening as he stroked it. Watching him made me want to reach out and take over, but he was setting the agenda here, so I settled for caressing my own bare breasts.
Ian reached up my skirt and tugged at my knickers. They snagged against my bum and I lifted it slightly, conscious of my precarious position on the balcony rail. The limp white cotton came away in Ian’s hand, smelling so strongly of my juices that my cheeks flushed with shame. He let my sodden underwear fall from his grasp, fluttering down like a flag of surrender to land on the picnic table below.
“Oh, Stella, you’re so easy,” he crooned. “You’ll let me do anything, won’t you?” As he spoke, his fingers were pushing up into the furnace that was my cunt. His thumb settled on my clit and began to rub. I groaned, no longer caring if anyone heard me.
“Please, Ian, fuck me.” The despairing words were so close to all the dirty fantasies I’d woven around him, though I had never pictured myself quite like this, naked except for a couple of rucked-up strips of cloth and my sandals, my legs splayed to give him access to every intimate part of me as I begged for his cock.
He pulled his fingers out of my sex, leaving it gaping and desperately empty. And then I felt a juice-slicked fingertip pressing at the entrance to my arse, and whimpered. Martin had never touched me there—it hadn’t been part of our nice, safe sex life—and I wondered how it would feel if Ian decided to thrust up past the tight ring of muscle.
I didn’t get the chance to find out. Tired of toying with me, of seeing how willingly I was responding to his depraved little games, he just took hold of his cock and guided it up into my pussy, hard. My cry at being filled to the hilt rang out in the still night air, and I felt sure someone would come out to see what was going on.
My hands were clasped tight round Ian’s neck as he began to thrust, my bum slithering on the varnished wood beneath me, even though he was holding my bare cheeks in his hands. With all the tension, all the need that had been building up between us, I was prepared for it to be quick. I wasn’t expecting Ian’s next words.
“Do you trust me, Stella?” he panted.
“What?” I replied.
“It’s a simple question. Do you trust me?”
“I…” The honest answer was no. I didn’t trust him; I didn’t even like him, and yet he was buried up to the balls in me, fucking me with a purpose and a skill my husband had shown all too rarely over the years of our marriage. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to.” And with that, he reached up a hand and prised my fingers apart. Startled, I found myself falling backward into nothing, and yelped. “It’s all right,” Ian soothed. “I’ve got hold of you.”
And he had. He was still gripping me tightly, my legs were still wrapped round him and I was still balanced on the balcony rail but my head was pointing down toward the flag-stones on which the picnic table stood, thirty feet below. He wouldn’t let me drop, I told myself. He couldn’t. I felt sick, I felt scared, but most of all I felt horny. The blood was rushing to my head, intensifying every sensation I felt as Ian’s hot, thick length continued to pound into me. The situation must have been getting to Ian, too, because his thrusts were faster, less coordinated, and he was grunting with effort.
As Ian’s cock jerked inside me and my stomach clenched in the first spasms of orgasm, I let myself go. The rush was like nothing I had known; the blood was singing in my ears and my heels were beating a wild tattoo against the backs of his thighs. That should have been the moment at which the storm broke, fat raindrops beating down on us as we both came. But the thunderclouds continued to hang heavily above us, and as the pleasure began to ebb and reality kicked in, I was left feeling weak and dizzy. I flailed out a hand and grabbed on to the balcony, letting Ian help me to my feet.
As he zipped himself up again and I did my best to rearrange my hopelessly crumpled clothing, I looked for the spark in his eyes that would signify we’d reached some new kind of understanding. I didn’t see it. To be honest, I hadn’t really expected to.
“So does that pay for the breakages, then?” I asked, as he turned on his heel and stalked back into the bar.
When I turned up for work the next morning, Cameron and Jean were back. They gave no indication that they might have found a stray pair of knickers in the beer garden, so I reckoned Ian must have retrieved them sometime before he’d finally left the pub for good. I wondered if he’d kept them as some kind of warped souvenir, to wank into as he relived our fuck on the balcony. I couldn’t ask him: he’d left no note for me, no message of gratitude for the hard work Gill and I had put in for him, no phone number.
I don’t know where he’s working now, but the brewery owns several pubs in the area, and it’s safe to assume he will eventually find himself filling in for the landlord in one of them. I’m not a barmaid at the Red Mill anymore; I finally got my act together and went back into retail management, and now I have a staff of six working beneath me, a respectable, responsible woman once more. And yet on Friday nights I frequent the pubs where Ian might be working, my skirt a little shorter than is decent, and my tight top making it clear I have no bra on beneath it, in the hope that one day I will bump into him. God knows I don’t need the aggravation he brings with him, but it seems there’s no one else who can quell the heat he left raging in my pussy….
CONSUELA
Alicia Wag
We courted over a checkerboard table for two, Consuela and I, she licking the brown head of her chocolate cone, me slurping the pure white of my cherry vanilla, plucking out the fruity, burgundy nuggets with my teeth.
Our class—Political Science 101—had been meeting since the semester began in cold, frigid, snowy January. It wasn’t until March that I noticed Consuela watching me from across the lecture hall, her dark eyes peering up through the flutter of her lashes, her face shrouded by her long hair, falling like black silk curtains around her head.
At first I’d only peek back when I knew she wasn’t looking, when she was frantically scribbling notes, or when she was walking out of the room, her round ass resplendent in red corduroys. But after a while I got bolder and met her eyes. She’d cock her lips sideways in a lopsided almost-smile, and her eyes would change, the irises turning darker and shinier, flaring up as if lit from within.
We played like that for weeks, until she was winking at me and blowing kisses. All I could do was smile in return, but that must have told her how much I wanted it. I found myself fantasizing about her; perusing the Internet for pictures of women doing it, looking for information on how to eat pussy, fist, all that stuff I thought lesbians did.
May came. We were getting ready for finals. Consuela came up to me after class. “Hey,” she said, tossing her mane behind her shoulder, sleek skin peeking out of the
edge of her blue tank top.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Let’s go out,” she said.
“Now?”
“Yeah,” she said. I followed her like a puppy dog. Consuela liked to be in charge. It was to be the basis for our relationship, and something that elicited the most excruciatingly wonderful orgasms I’d ever had, while eventually getting tiresome and frustrating. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
That warm day in May, Consuela led me to the ice cream shop, where she ordered a chocolate cone for herself and a cherry vanilla one for me. She carried both to a table and nodded at the chair I was to use. I parked my hot ass down. Consuela took the seat across from me. When she handed me my cone, I was salivating.
I held it, waiting for her to tell me what to do. I was already with the program, without even knowing what the program was. Consuela told me later I was a natural, whispered it wetly into my ear, biting vigorously on my earlobe, after fucking my brains out with the biggest dildo she could find.
She rolled out her tongue first, showing it to me. Then she brought the cold, wet ice cream to it. Once she had it good and licked, she reached across the table and shoved it in my mouth, hard, so that I had to bite it to keep it from choking me. I laughed into the ice cream. I was loving it, even the shock of the cold in my mouth and the pain in my teeth.
We went to the ice cream parlor after class for the next three weeks. I practiced every technique I could on those cones, getting ready. A lot of them I copied from Consuela.
In the fourth week, Consuela’s bare foot found my pussy under the table. I was wearing a sundress with no underwear, as Consuela had instructed me to do the week before. I felt the ball of her foot sink into the warm wet of my cunt, rubbing all over. I closed my eyes and tried not to moan.
“Keep licking,” Consuela ordered, and I went back to my ice cream cone, pretending it was Consuela’s cunt, sucking and mouthing while her toes tickled my pussy. Her big toe found my hole, and I spread my legs wider to receive it, moving my ass back and forth gently on the chair. She fucked me like that for a minute, then brought her toes up to my clit, pressing hard in circular motions. I came in about a second. As I sat at the little checkerboard table panting, Consuela’s hand, the one holding her cone, reached underneath and planted the rounded, well-licked, freezing head of chocolate ice cream onto my steaming, juiced pussy.
I cried out so loudly the only two other people in the shop turned to look. Consuela laughed, and so did I.
It definitely wasn’t the last time she surprised me.
I took longer than Consuela did to finish our final, but when I entered the hallway, I found her waiting, leaning against the graffitied wall.
She made a cradle with her left elbow and put her books in it, while the index finger of her right hand curled around a belt loop in my jean shorts. She pulled me two blocks off campus to her apartment, a messy studio on the fourth floor. When we walked into the building, she made me go first, and alternated between pushing me up the stairs and squeezing and twisting my buttcheeks in her hand.
Her door was unlocked. Consuela dropped her books on the counter in the kitchenette. I put mine on a chair, and turned to look at the king-size futon that dominated the room. It was on the floor, covered with red satiny sheets, littered with glittery, sequined pillows of black and royal blue and mustard yellow, fraying tassels hanging from their corners. An upside-down wooden crate served as the night table, covered with an embroidered cloth. On it were a glass lamp, lord knows how many harnesses tangled up with each other, two tubes and one bottle of lube, and some other things I couldn’t identify.
Consuela went into the kitchen and lifted something out of a pot. When she came back out, I saw that it was a jet black dildo: a slightly curved, thick cock with a generous head. She smiled at me and kissed its head, then pointed to the bed. “Get on it,” she said. “On your knees.” I took off my sandals and went to the middle of the futon, which was much cushier than I expected. The satin felt smooth and luxurious under my bare knees. “Watch me,” said Consuela. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”
She put the base of the dildo between her teeth and held it there while she pulled both straps of her loose turquoise tank dress down until it was hanging on her like a skirt. Her breasts were big and firm, round like the rest of her, their brown middles dark with desire, the nipples as hard and erect as the cock in her mouth. She wiggled her hips until the dress fell in a pile at her feet. She was already wearing a harness, black leather wrapped around her hips, just underneath the luscious mound of her belly, her bush as shiny and black as her hair. It became the black cock’s bush as she took it out of her mouth, lowered it down with her hands, and strapped it on. She walked to the night table, ripped open a condom, and rolled it onto the dildo. She laughed and thrust it back and forth at me a few times, then said, “Strip, Kathy.”
I undid my shorts, pulled them off, and lifted my tank top over my head. I was in such a tizzy it got stuck around my neck, and I fiddled with it frantically for a few seconds before getting it all the way off. Consuela was coming toward me, her gorgeous lips that I hadn’t yet kissed, her delicious tits that I wanted to suck, her big black cock that was going to have its way with me. Somewhere underneath it all was the pussy I had been imagining.
As she walked, her hand wrapped around the dildo, fondling it, I thought about how I looked to her. I was nothing special. Where she had long, black, phenomenal hair, mine was mousy brown, short enough to show off the multiple piercings along the edges of my ears. Where her body was voluptuous and sexy, mine was thin and angular, with small boobs, the kind people like to refer to as perky. They were pink, though, and I found out later Consuela liked that, the way she liked my boniness, my pale skin, and especially my lack of pussy hair, which I’d been shaving since I discovered how much better cocks and tongues and fingers felt without it.
Consuela kept coming until the dildo was hitting me in the face. She whapped one cheek, then the other, then pushed me over with her knees. I lay on my back, my legs outspread, my mouth and my pussy watering. She put one foot on my belly, and reached to the side of the futon, where she found a pair of black leather studded bracelets held together by a silver chain.
Once she had them she kneeled over me, the cock resting happily in the space between my tits, grabbed my hands, and put one bracelet on, then the other. Once I was good and cuffed, I lay back, stretching my arms over my head and my legs out long and wide. Consuela kneeled beside me and whispered in my ear. “Are you ready for Mama?” she asked.
“Mmmmm,” I murmured, completely psyched about the luxury of being helplessly fucked.
“Mama’s going to take care of you,” Consuela whispered, licking my ear, running her tongue along the studs and hoops. She licked along my cheek to my mouth, her fleshy, tawny lips opening my thinner, pinker ones, kissing me long and deep, fucking my mouth with her tongue, sucking and biting my bottom lip. I started to tongue her back, but she pulled away and smacked my face. “Bad girl,” she said. “Don’t do that without permission.” I smiled and she smacked me again. Her tits were hanging low, dangling against my chin, driving me nuts. “Tell Mama you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I said, restraining myself from lifting my head and trying to nibble on one of her tits.
“That’s a good girl,” said Consuela, taking my nipples between her fingers, pinching and twisting. I moaned and she did it harder. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Does it hurt good?”
“It hurts fucking great,” I said, and moaned louder as she started sucking my nipples, nursing them with her teeth and lips and tongue until my whole body was hot and buzzing. She put her hand around my pussy, tickling my lips and clit with her long red fingernails. I moved my hips up and down, opened my legs wider, lifted my ass to open my cunt as far as it would go, let her swallow it up. She licked the smooth skin around my clit and lips until I thought I’d die fro
m anticipation. Then the darting tip of her tongue went inside me, and she sucked until I came in her open mouth.
She kept her mouth there for a minute, letting my cunt throb in it, then she got back onto her knees and grabbed a tube of lube. She juiced up the dildo and kneeled between my legs, grabbing my hips hard and pulling my ass and pussy up and into her, onto the black cock, thrusting so deeply I felt it all the way to my belly. She fucked me hard for a long time, bouncing me against her so fast I could feel my tits shake wildly. My first time with a woman, and I was getting fucked with a cock. It had been a long time since I’d gotten anything, but this was different than a flesh and blood dick. Consuela held my hips hard, her eyes rolled back in her head, lovely. It occurred to me that the dick was fucking her, too, that we were connected by it, that it was pleasuring both of us, an instrument of our mutual desire, the energy of our wanting fueling it, making it alive.
Consuela didn’t cry out, but I saw her shudder, her body shaking inwardly into orgasm, and my heart melted. Then she turned me over, grabbing my asscheeks in her fists, slapping them with her hands while she pumped me from behind.
After, she lay beside me, gently stroking my tits and my belly and my bald pussy for a few minutes, smiling. Within that calm, she unbuckled her harness, tossed it and the dick aside, freed me from the cuffs, and hugged me close. I put one of my hands on her breast, squeezed it and played with it just the way I wanted to. I knew she wasn’t Mama now, just Consuela, the hot, lovely, Consuela I’d been imagining for so long.
I laid her down on the red satin, among all the wet spots my come and hers had made, and spread her open to see her luscious pussy, brown along the edges, shining and pink and swollen inside, and I ate her like a cherry vanilla ice cream cone, until every drop, every crumb was finished.
The semester was over. I had a summer job interning at a newspaper. Consuela was working for a congressional candidate. We met for lunch, chatted about our work, our majors, our childhoods. Nights we spent on red satin, fucking.