Adults Only

by Bebe Wilde

  I decided to change positions.

  I wiggled between his legs and unzipped his pants. The sound the zipper made hung in the room for a moment as we stared at each other. Zoop! The sound almost made us crack up but we didn’t. We were too into it for humor.

  I concentrated on getting his dick out of his pants and he concentrated on where my mouth was headed. His dick was rather large, which was one reason I stayed with him. It was long and wide. Thick. Nice. I remembered my best friend saying that God’s gift to women were men with big dicks. I had replied, “Well, that must mean they’re all God’s gift.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Because they all think they’ve got the biggest one,” I had replied and she had agreed.

  I giggled at the thought, looked up at God’s gift and let out a long, hot breath and felt him tense with anticipation. I stuck out my tongue and stroked the tip, just the tip.

  “Ahh, good,” he moaned.

  He always said “good.” I rolled my eyes slightly, wishing he wasn’t so damned predictable and took his member into my mouth, all the way in until I felt it tickle the back of my throat. He liked that best. Not that he ever said he did, but he always held the sides of my face firmly when I did it. I grinned up at him. He was just like a wind-up toy.

  I pressed my lips around his cock and pulled it back out sucking gently and then with more pressure as I moved my tongue along the length of his cock, keeping it in my mouth at all times. I wiggled in closer and grasped his balls gently, tugging at them a little. He held my head firmly and I could tell he was about to come. At least three more strokes, Edward. Come on baby. Three more. Ahh, there was one. I opened my eyes and saw his flushed face. I listened to his heavy breathing. Yes, I was doing it right. He liked it. Eddie was a good boy. I told him this and he nodded.

  “Put it back in,” he moaned. “Put it back in.”

  I hand-stroked him as I sucked up and down his cock, up and down quickly. He was about to come. I felt the first drop of cum on the tip of my tongue. I took his cock out of my mouth and rubbed it all over my face as he shot out. His semen ran down the sides of my cheeks, dripped off of the tip of my nose. I licked at it, swallowing what I could until he had no more to give.

  He bent down to me and our lips touched lightly.

  “You’re something,” he said.

  I smiled and got up off the floor, found a roll of paper towels and wet a few in the laundry sink. I wiped my face off.

  “Do you have any breath mints?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said and zipped up. He reached into his jacket and handed them to me.

  “Do you want to—?”

  I was cut off by the sound of the door opening. We looked at each other, then at the door. I almost fainted when I saw it was the guy from the car. What was his name? I don’t think he ever told me.

  He grinned mischievously and said, “I think you forgot these.”

  I caught my panties with my left hand and watched him close the door behind him. I heard him snickering as he made his grand exit. The little shit.

  I didn’t dare look at Edward.

  He sighed loudly, went to the door and while holding on to the frame said, “I don’t want an explanation.”

  The door closed softly behind him. All I could do was nod. I didn’t blame him.

  STRIKE TWO.

  Candidate #3

  After I called a cab, I went across the street to an all-night coffee shop where I sat in a booth and lit a cigarette.

  A bright red-headed woman in a waitress uniform came to take my order but not before saying, “What are you, crazy? There’s no smoking in here!”

  “Oh, man, sorry,” I said and looked around somewhere to put it out. She stared at me. I rolled my eyes, jumped up and raced to the door, threw out the cigarette then went back to my booth. “Too many mai tai’s,” I explained.

  “You kids today,” she said and shook her head, then took out a little notepad and a pen. “What do you want?”

  “Coffee, black,” I told her and wished I could smoke.

  She wrote something down swiftly and stared at me. “That all?”

  I realized her meaning as I watched her chomp on her gum.

  “Oh, pie, anything,” I said.

  Her gum popped. “What kind?”

  I stared up at her, wondering why this was so important to her. I asked, “What kind do you have?”

  “Apple ... Cherry ... Coconut...”

  “Uh, apple,” I said hurriedly. “Heated.”

  “Heated?” she asked, one penciled eyebrow arching.

  “Or cold, whatever,” I said, then got agitated. “Why are you making me order pie?”

  “It’s just that,” she said, leaning against the table. “You kids from the club have to buy something besides coffee.”

  What was her deal? You kids? Please. Kids? Excuse me, but I was almost thirty. I was not a kid. Please. But then I thought about it. Maybe I was immature. Maybe that’s what all this business had been about tonight. Maybe it was just immaturity or a fear of getting older, getting complacent, missing out on life and sex with other guys. Maybe that’s what it was all about. I thought about it. Maybe.

  “Or you’d be out of business, right?” I asked.

  “Something like that,” she said slyly and sauntered off.

  I looked around impatiently as I waited on my coffee and pie, which both arrived cold. I pushed the pie away and sipped the lukewarm coffee. I wondered what the hell had gotten into me tonight. Normally, I’m not such a slut. I looked outside at the moon. It was bright and full. At least I hadn’t turned into a werewolf. But that had to be it—the moon. It causes so much damned trouble.

  I heard the bell at the door jingle and glanced up for a moment.

  Oh ... My ... God!

  It was the really, really good looking guy!

  From the club!

  He was here.!

  It must be fate!

  It might be that he wanted a cup of coffee.

  It might be that he wanted me.

  Nah. He was headed for the bathroom. I decided to pay up and wait for the taxi outside. I threw a ten on the table and gathered my jacket and purse.

  “You forgot to eat you pie,” he said.

  He was right behind me! I nearly jumped out of my skin for the second time that night. But instead, I turned to him. He was gorgeous. Oh, my God, he was so handsome! Handsome in a late 1940s actor handsome way. Mysterious. A little aloof. Yet, he had this gorgeous but roughing it for the night in well-worn, faded and perfectly fitted blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. Oh, and the black motorcycle vintage looking boots, which I could tell cost an absolute fortune, only added to the allure. The guy had looks and taste. He was a knight in red flannel with pale blue eyes and jet-black hair and a beard. A full, thick beard. I liked that.

  He would look good in a pinstripe suit, too. Or nothing at all.

  “No,” I said. “You can have it.”

  His name was Daniel. He took the cab home with me without much persuasion on my part. He practically volunteered to fuck me.

  As the cab pulled in front of my building, my heart began to race with anticipation. He was here! He was coming home with me! Was I crazy? Maybe. Should I? Probably not. But I had to have him. He was behind me, following me up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, where he commented on my photographic equipment.

  “You’re a photographer?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “With models and stuff?”

  “Yup. Catalogues mostly.”

  “You could be a model,” he said

  I was only five-foot four. I shook my head.“I don’t think so.”

  “Yes,” he muttered. “You could. You’re beautiful.”

  What a line. Maybe I should kick his ass out right now. But, no. I wanted to fuck. I’d lost Edward and for that, I deserved him.

  “You really, really are,” he said and stepped in front of me.

  I blus
hed in spite of myself. A good line could do that, especially if it were spoken by the right guy. But what a bullshitter. I shrugged and he stepped in closer.

  Now I could feel his hot breath on the top of my head.

  He lifted my face towards him and I suddenly wanted to run off, into the other room, him, but I feared his reaction. He might leave if I did something like that. But I wanted to run, yet I didn’t want him to leave. But the situation was too intense and gave me that fight or flight sensation. Should I stay or should I leave? What was going to happen? I didn’t know and it was making my nerves all jittery.

  But, because of the intensity of the situation and because of my overwhelming attraction to him, I took his kiss, that first wet, blazing kiss, the sides of his beard scratching up against my soft cheek. I felt him go hard, extremely hard inside of his jeans, wanting me, only me.

  At this moment, anyway.

  He was a good kisser, stroking my face with the back of his hand lightly as we kissed, as his tongue went inside of my mouth, as I received it, then I pushed mine inside his mouth, tasting him, tasting beer and cigarettes.

  And his mouth, open and wet, was on my throat. His tongue stroked me there lightly at first, then with more fever and he held my head still as his mouth found a spot, the right spot on my neck that drove me wild, sending blades of fire up my spine, down my belly, and into my panties. I shivered with passion.

  My legs opened and he stepped between them and onto the floor we fell, soundlessly, holding on tight to the other, getting in as close as we could. My shirt was suddenly over my head then on the floor, followed by my bra.

  Half-naked I knelt in front of him and watched as his eyes took in my breasts, all of them, all of me, then on to my flat belly resting for a moment on my belly button, then back up to my nipple, where his eyes, then his mouth, finally settled. His hand on was on the small of my back, squeezing me into him. I moaned as he ate at my breast, as he sucked it like no other had ever sucked at it, taking it into his mouth, stroking the nipple with his tongue.

  I began to kiss his neck, then went to his nipple, down his stomach and tugged at the top of his jeans with my teeth.

  “Uh huh,” he said and nodded.

  I nodded back and unzipped his pants, pulling them off along with his boxers. Next came his shirt and then he was completely naked. Just the way I wanted him. I stroked his body with my hands, feeling his muscles flex until my hand rested on his dick, which I cupped and bent to kiss.

  He pulled me back up, tugging at my arm until I stood and he unzipped my jeans and pulled them off me. He buried his entire face into my crotch; his tongue flicked out and stroked my clit. I thrust my leg over his shoulder so he could bury his entire face in my pussy. His mouth opened and covered all of me, all of my pussy, and he sucked at it like he sucked at my breast, sending bolts and shocks throughout my entire body until I began to shiver and pant and…

  Not so soon. You always need to have dinner before the desert.

  I pushed him on his back and straddled his body, squeezing him between my legs, rising up and placing his hard cock into me, into my pussy and I rode it for a moment, feeling it inside of me and making me a part of him. I fell to his chest and grabbed his head, forcing my tongue into his mouth and we began to fuck, really fuck like we were meant to fuck each other. As a woman is meant to fuck a man, I fucked him, squeezing his cock into my cunt as far as it would go, feeling it touch me way down deep, inside of a place I could never see, but he could touch.

  It felt so good, so hard and hot, aching even.

  We began to move quickly, him rising up from the floor so we could bump against each other. All of our anticipation, our work together, lay in wait of relinquishment, our prize for a job well done.

  We were having a really good time.

  We were so tight that it was almost as if we were one person. Us fucking on the floor, fucking our brains away because all that mattered at that point was the throb between my legs, inside of my cunt.

  “Oooh,” escaped from my lips and I couldn’t contain it any longer. I had to let it go. I had to release it. We held hands as we began to really, really fuck. All this hot, sweaty lust came out of us and we could barely contain ourselves. I wanted to scream with the pleasure. It was so good, it was almost painful. We were panting as I came and as I came, I felt him come, too. I felt his hot cum erupt inside me as his whole body tensed with the pleasure of release.

  Then it was over and I lay on his chest for a few minutes, listening to his heart thump wildly. We were both out of breath and couldn’t speak. When you can’t talk, you know it’s that good. And it was that good. So good, I wanted a repeat. As soon as he was able, that is.

  He said, “You sure are a good fuck,” and kissed my forehead.

  I cracked up but managed to say, “Not too bad yourself.”

  There was a silence for a moment. Ah, this was nice. He was so good in the sack, I knew I’d have to have more. And more and more. I wondered how long it would take him to recover. But then I thought about how nice it was to just snuggle like this after a good hot fuck session. And that’s what it had been, more or less.

  He patted my ass, then stroked it.

  “Hey,” he said. “Do you mind if I spend the night? My girlfriend just kicked me out.”

  My eyes popped open as I was jerked out of fantasy land. The red alert flag went up just after the best fuck of my life. I groaned.

  STRIKE THREE. I give up.

  Bad Girl, Dirty Talk

  I had always hated being a good girl. No one ever patted me on the head or gave me a cookie for it. But I kept it up for years and years, wondering exactly why I did it and what I had to gain for it. Mostly nothing. I came to realize that being good was a one-way ticket to nowhere. But I tried. I minded my manners and I ate my vegetable and I didn’t curse. That stuff was obvious but I also took it a step further and kept myself from really enjoying anything in life, especially sex. I mean, sure, I did enjoy it some. I wanted to please my man and I’d read one way to do that was to enjoy sex with him. However, I didn’t enjoy it like I should. Sure, I would come. I could have orgasms, but there was something inside of me that wouldn’t let me thoroughly enjoy myself. I wanted to like it more than I did. I just couldn’t.

  I didn’t masturbate, either. Doing something like that? Oh, no. Oh, no way. Why, who had ever heard of such a thing? Not for me. I was good. I was a good girl. If I had a lustful thought of some sort, I’d push it right back out of my head. No bad thoughts for me. If men looked at me, and they usually did, especially in the summer when I showed off my body in shorts and tank tops, I’d mutter under my breath, “Perverts.”

  Then one day, I got sick of it. I mean, who wouldn’t? What kind of life was that to lead? Why didn’t I just go buy myself a chastity belt, too? Sure, sure, I knew it was probably my strict upbringing that made me the goody-two-shoes that I had been. However, that lifestyle was getting old. Real old. It’s like I woke up one day and thought, “Why am I doing this?” I didn’t have an answer. And then I began to resent how I was, how constricted my life had become, how limiting this line of thinking had been to me. And then, when I looked over at my man, I knew he was suffering, too. He wanted me to let loose and turn into a bad girl. Most men do. They’re men; that’s just what they do! They want a woman who likes sex. And, deep down, even though I never let myself enjoy it, I didn’t just like sex, I loved sex. So, I thought, “Fuck this,” and suddenly I wanted to be bad, so bad that I’d say and do things in bed that might make him a little nervous, but very turned on.

  I had to start out slow, though. I couldn’t force myself to suggest a ménage a trios or anything like that. That wasn’t me anyway. For the time being, I had to keep it between my handsome man and myself. And, God, he was handsome. His blue eyes always seemed to smile at me, as though he was forever pleased I was his. (And I was.) His big hands always made me lust, thinking of the things they could do to me, the pleasure they could bring. And his br
oad and muscular shoulders were great to hang onto when I was bouncing up and down in his lap.

  He deserved better than I had been to him. He deserved to see a little of the slut I could be. I wanted to do something special for him so he could understand how special he was to me. He was so good to me, always telling me how beautiful I was, always telling me what a smokin’ body I had. Never once would he say a word about a little bitchiness or a pimple that might pop up on my chin from PMS. He only saw the good things about me. And that’s why I wanted to make sure to keep him pleased in the bedroom.

  I surprised the hell out of him when first I did it. In fact, I even surprised the hell out of myself. It just came out one night. He was just as unaware of my inner bad girl that was dying to come out as I was. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to be a bad and dirty girl.

  I knew doing it would really mix things up in the bedroom. But that was the point. It allowed the bad girl in me to come out and take over. But it wasn’t just about me. It was about him, too. But mostly it was about the dirty talk. Me talking dirty not only gave him an enormous hard-on, it also made him look at me differently. And I liked that. He looked at me with more lust after that than I’d ever experienced. And this made me feel strong. But the first time I did it, he looked at me with a mixture of awe and confusion. I liked that look. I liked it a lot. It allowed me to have the confidence I needed to proceed.

  I didn’t even know it was going to happen the night it did. We were in bed and almost ready to go to sleep. I was feeling it, feeling a little horny. I looked over at him and then felt myself lunge for him, grabbing his face and pulling his lips to mine. We kissed for a long time, playing with each other’s tongues, then I pulled back and said, “I want you to fuck me now.”

  “Okay,” he said, as if he were a little uncertain as to what had come over me.

  Had I done something wrong? Maybe I had been a little crass. Oh, no! I was so stupid! What had I been thinking?

  “What’s up with you?” he asked.