She was on me then, in a moment, kissing me like she would devour me. I wrapped my arms and legs around her, holding her muscled, wiry body against mine. There was no doubt in my mind she could get away from me if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to, and that excited me almost as much as kissing her. I groped her rock-hard ass, anchoring her against my crotch and grinding against her. The seam of my jeans pressed into my cunt, driving me crazy. I wanted more.
“Show me your tattoo,” I breathed into her ear. “You promised.”
She stood up without a word and turned around, stripping off her T-shirt and sports bra. There it was again, that magnificent dragon. She flexed for me, making the dragon ripple across the canvas of her back.
It wasn’t enough to look anymore; I had to touch. I got to my knees and traced my fingertips over the outline of the dragon’s body. She shivered under my touch, and I smiled. I crossed her back with my fingertips, then stretched to her shoulder to trace the dragon’s head.
“It’s incredible,” I whispered.
“You’re making me fucking crazy.”
“Just wait.”
I hooked my thumbs in her sweatpants and pulled them down, along with the plain cotton underwear she wore underneath. I dragged them down to her ankles, and she kicked off her sneakers so I could finish undressing her. Then she was naked before me, her body as chiseled as a sculpture, but not nearly as unyielding or cold. I retraced my path along the outline of the dragon, starting with the head. By the time I reached the wing that was inked between her shoulder blades, she was trembling under my touch. Around I went, to the bicep where the tail curled, then across her back once more. The opposite wing drew my hand down to dip into the crevice of her perfect ass.
She quivered again, and I could have sworn I heard her growl. “Don’t make me wait much longer, sweetheart.”
I replaced my fingertips with my tongue, swirling it along the base of her spine. I went lower, where the tattoo didn’t go, licking the shadowy cleft that taunted me. She clenched her ass as if my touch tickled, but I wasn’t letting her off that easily. I reached between her legs and cupped her mound, sliding my finger between her cunt lips and into wetness.
She moaned, a sound so full of desire and longing I moaned in response. My open mouth was against her ass, my hand on her soaking wet cunt, my own pussy on fire with the need for release.
She spun around, putting her crotch directly in my face. “Lick it,” she demanded.
I knew better than to argue with the Dragon Lady. I used my thumbs to spread her lips away from her engorged clit, baring it to my view. It was beautiful and red and glistening with her arousal like a berry on the vine, ripe for picking. I licked it with the flat of my tongue, slowly, so slowly I could feel her juices trickling to the back of my throat.
She gasped and grabbed the back of my head, pulling me into her. Gripping my long hair in her fists as I licked her, her fingers massaged my scalp in the same rhythm as my tongue on her clit. She was gentle—far gentler than I would have imagined and much less aggressive than what I wanted from my Dragon Lady right now.
I slid two fingers inside her, twisting them in her wet cunt so that they made a slurping noise. Her soothing head massage turned into rough hair pulling as she caught my mane up in her fist and tugged hard enough to make me arch my neck. I whimpered as I looked up and met her gaze. My submissive posture belied the fact that I was in control. For the moment.
“What are you doing to me, powder puff?” she growled as I worked my fingers into her, all the while staring up into her eyes like an adoring fan.
I rotated my neck to get her to release some of the tension in my hair. Then I slowly licked her cunt, my tongue starting where my fingers went into, and lazily gliding up to her clit. I looked up into her eyes. “I’m fucking you, Dragon Lady.”
I twisted my fingers inside her again to emphasize my point, stroking her G-spot as I nibbled her labia and used my thumb on her swollen clit. I wanted her to come and come hard—and she did when I thrust another finger inside her and sucked her clit between my lips. She came, practically straddling my face in the process, riding my tongue as I got her off.
Finally, slowly, her orgasm subsided and her moans gave way to breathless gasps. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re good.”
I licked my lips, tasting her arousal and sweat. I couldn’t remember tasting anything quite so good in a long, long time. “Thanks.”
She tumbled me down to the floor, her naked body sprawled across me. “Want me to return the favor?”
I pulled her down for a kiss, letting her taste herself on my mouth. “Sure. I’ll go another round with you, Dragon Lady.”
She sat up, straddling my body as she unfastened the buttons of my top. Her hands grazed the swell of my breasts, and I trembled under just that gentle touch. I arched off the floor to let her strip the shirt off and pop the clasp on my hot pink bra while I toed my sneakers off. I was quivering with need and anticipation, anxious to be naked with her again. Anxious to see if my Dragon Lady could do to me in real life what she had only done to me in my dreams.
My nipples were hard pink stones, and she flicked them with her tongue, teasing me with her mouth. I arched up again, urging her to suck my nipples. She ignored my silent plea and slid down my body, working my belt loose and unbuttoning my jeans. I cupped my breasts, palms over my engorged nipples to stave off the ache she had left.
I was squirming beneath her as she tugged my jeans and panties down my thighs, pausing to trail her tongue from my belly button down to the strip of red hair she exposed. I was whimpering already, and she hadn’t even licked my sweet spot yet.
Freeing me of my jeans, she pushed my knees apart and looked at me. I waited for the first touch, the first lick, anything, but still, she only looked. I watched her watching me. I made as if to close my legs, and she anchored them apart with her strong hands.
“Don’t move,” she growled at me. “You looked at my tattoo, now I want to look at you.”
I couldn’t deny her, but I was panting with need. “You can touch,” I offered. “You can do anything you want.”
She chuckled. “I know I can, baby.”
And then she slapped my pussy. One quick, stinging slap that left me gasping. So quick that she had her hand back on my knee, holding my legs apart, while my pussy throbbed from the shock.
“Ow!”
“That didn’t hurt,” she said.
I started to argue, then realized she was right. It had shocked me, and there had been a momentary sting, but now . . . I could feel the heat spreading through me, my cunt unfurling like a hothouse flower. The sensation made my entire body tingle, my nipples so hard and aching I didn’t realize I was pinching them.
“Do it again,” I breathed.
And she did. My Dragon Lady spanked my pussy while I kept my legs spread for her. The angle was funny because she was between my legs instead of to the side. She twisted her hand so that her palm landed with a wet smack against my open cunt, her pinky finger gliding across my clit on each stroke.
My whimpers turned to moans as she slapped my tender flesh. Every muscle in my body strained toward release, every slap bringing me closer to the edge. After every two or three slaps, she cupped my pussy with her other hand and squeezed hard, as if wringing every bit of sensation from me.
“Yes,” I moaned. “Do it!”
And she did.
Nothing I had ever experienced came close to this two-handed assault of my sensitive cunt. I was right on the edge, so close to orgasm I was barely able to breathe. I wanted to beg her for something, but I didn’t know what. Then she laid one more hard slap against my exposed flesh, and I screamed from the combination of pain and pleasure, arching up off the floor as she bent down and put her mouth on me. And there it was, my elusive orgasm, spiraling out from my core as she pressed her mouth to my open cunt, her upper lip pressed against my clit, her tongue snaking between my folds. She licked and sucked and slurped my engorged
flesh as I rolled in ecstatic climax.
She kept her mouth on me until the tension melted from my body and I was limp on the floor, a puddle of moisture—my arousal, her saliva, our sweat—beneath me. I let out a long, breathy sigh and reached for her, unable to form words just yet. She sensed my meaning and slid up beside me, her body lean and hard, but not nearly as hard as the floor.
“What do you want to do for round three?” she asked, nipping my jaw with her teeth.
“Round three? I’m exhausted!”
Her laugh dropped off to a low growl. “Boxing is all about stamina, powder puff. We’re going to have to work on your endurance.”
Incredibly, I felt the first flicker of returning desire. I cupped the back of her head and pulled her mouth to mine, tasting myself on her. At some point, I would get around to asking her real name. But not for another hour, at least.
HONEYMOON SUITE
Donna George Storey
I was still packing up my equipment when the groom slipped out of the bedroom. He positioned himself strategically between me and the main entrance to the suite and gave me a sheepish grin.
I was pretty sure what was coming next.
“Hey, Melody, uh, Kristina and I wanted to thank you again for the session. It was amazing.”
I smiled back, secretly admiring his smooth, muscular chest peeping through the hotel’s fluffy white robe. Such a perfect torso for photographs. “It was my pleasure, Jake. Give me a call when you two get back from Italy, and we’ll set up an appointment for the next step.”
Jake ran his hand through his tousled hair. “About that next step. Listen, I’ve never seen Kristina so seriously turned on. I heard you had a magic touch with the ladies, but that was incredible.”
I definitely knew what was coming next.
“So Kristina was wondering—and I was, too—if you’d be interested in hanging out with us for a little longer. You could help us finish that bottle of champagne.”
I glanced over at the half-open door to the bedroom. The bride was watching us from the bed, the sheet clutched over her naked breasts, which, under the circumstances, struck me as unnecessary modesty.
“I never drink on the job,” I replied.
“We don’t have to drink,” Jake said. “And actually we were thinking this would be pleasure. For all of us this time.”
I tilted my head as if I didn’t quite get what he was proposing.
I should have known a savvy young attorney like Jake wouldn’t buy it. “Come on, I saw that look in your eyes when you pointed your big, long camera lens at my naked wife.” His own eyes took on a predatory gleam.
Fortunately, I had my canned speech ready. “Well, Jake, it is true that I appreciate female beauty, but my interest is purely artistic. My only desire is to create a memento of the pleasure that two lovers share. Nothing more.”
He raised his eyebrows. “If your limit is two, I’m fine if it’s just you and Kristina—although I hope you’ll let me watch.”
I laughed. I really didn’t hold it against my clients when they propositioned me. Planning a wedding involves months, even years, of stress. The big day itself is exhausting. Follow that with kissing, fondling, and making love to your brand-new spouse in front of a stranger with a camera for a few hours, and the boundaries are sure to blur.
“It’s very tempting,” I lied, “but I’m afraid I have to decline the invitation. When I started this business, my partner made me promise her that I’d keep things professional. But I promise you, I’m going to make the two of you some beautiful images to commemorate your wedding night.”
Jake admitted defeat with a shrug. “Well, we wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your old lady. But, hey, it was fun while it lasted.”
I nodded, holding back a smile. Little did he know that, for me, the fun was just beginning.
PETER KNEW I WAS always famished after a honeymoon shoot, so he had dinner waiting—a hearty tofu curry and salad.
I took care of dessert.
My lips still tingling with spices, I hooked my camera up to the flat-screen television and joined Peter on the sofa. What we were doing was, strictly speaking, a breach of ethics, but since he ran the lab where I had my prints made, I knew he’d see it all in the end.
“She’s lovely,” Peter commented as the first photograph appeared on the screen: Kristina lounging on the bed in a matching robe and peignoir, the pale blue satin setting off her ivory skin beautifully.
“She is a work of art. And she really opened up for the camera. I expect I’ll have a few for the portfolio from this one.”
A few shots later, Jake joined her on the bed. He wore the terry cloth robe, casually tied to reveal plenty of rippling chest. In the next shot, he kissed his new wife’s shoulder. Then her neck. Her head arched back.
I felt a twinge between my legs. Just a few hours earlier, I was right there to urge them on. “Lovely, Kristina. Pull the robe down over her shoulders now, Jake. Show us your beautiful new bride.”
Beside me, I heard Peter’s breath quicken as, slide by slide, Jake proceeded to show us just how beautiful Kristina was. He bared her rose-tipped, white breasts, cupped them. Both robes and the nightgown came off—the couple was really into it by then—and we saw Jake slip a hand between his wife’s legs. Kristina’s labia were waxed smooth and glistened with a dewy sheen. In the next photo, Jake’s thick index finger dipped between her pink lips. I could still hear the clicking sound of her wetness, echoed by the clicks of my camera. My own pussy throbbed now in sympathy.
I pressed the pause button on the remote. Peter looked at me expectantly. I rested my hand on the bulge tenting his jeans. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and began to fondle my breast through my shirt, flicking the stiff nipple with his thumb. We both turned back to the screen.
Next came some arty close-ups: Jake’s hand stroking Kristina’s belly, his lips poised to close around her nipple, Kristina sitting at the edge of the bed with Jake kneeling between her legs.
“Crop out his head,” Peter suggested. “I think that would be great with just her torso and his hands on her breasts.”
I gave his boner a squeeze. “Good call.”
We moved on to shots of Jake eating Kristina, the curve of her neck a stunning study in vulnerability and abandon. I could still hear her cries and moans. At the time, I thought they had indeed forgotten I was there until Kristina gasped, “Stop. I’m too close. I want to come on your cock for Melody.”
And so she did.
The next series was taken from behind as she rode him: Kristina’s slim waist flaring into full hips, Jake’s hands squeezing her ass. She was grunting then, grinding herself into him. I found it fascinating that the deep sexual flush on her back and chest showed up only as a rosy glow on camera.
“Did she make a lot of noise?” Peter asked, arching up against my hand. His cock was so swollen, it threatened to burst through the zipper.
“She screamed like a banshee when she came.” I grinned.
He reached over to press the pause button.
Without a word, we stood, stripped, and lay down on the carpet parallel to the TV so we still had a good view of the action. I settled on top of Peter with a sigh, still clutching the remote.
He pinched my nipples roughly, the way I liked it when I was very aroused. Instinctively, I rocked my hips into him. I was so wet, even that subtle motion sent ripples of pleasure spiraling through my belly. When we reached the close-ups of Kristina’s orgasm, her head thrown back and mouth stretched wide, I started to pant, remembering how I had stood over her, the camera pulsing in my hand as if it were a living thing. I stabbed the pause button again.
“I want to come when they’re doing it doggy style.” My voice was choked, desperate.
“Should I take you from behind, too, you naughty little voyeur?”
“I want to be on top tonight.”
“You always are, baby,” Peter said, smiling.
I fast-forwarded throu
gh the next sequence, sweet postcoital kisses and marital snuggling. The mushy stuff. But before long, they were in the second round, Kristina on her hands and knees with Jake kneeling behind her. I used back lighting for the long shots, and they were lovely—her sinuous back and his solid torso forming a provocative right angle. You could see the movement of their hips even in the stills. The close-ups, however, focused only on Kristina; her breasts hanging low like ripe fruit; locks of hair pasted to her cheeks with sweat; and finally, her second climax, a twisted grimace that eloquently captured the rocketing pleasure exploding between her legs.
“I got it,” I gasped. “She’s coming right there. I made it happen.”
“That’s right, baby. It wasn’t his cock that made her come so hard. It was your camera,” Peter hissed, twisting my nipples hard.
“Fuck me,” I growled. “Make me come like her.”
Peter grabbed my ass and bucked up into me. I rammed my clit against his belly, the pent-up lust and frustration of the evening swelling, flowering, erupting in my cunt, my chest, my skull. All the while my eyes remained fixed on my image of Kristina’s contorted face. Peter came, too, but I barely noticed it.
“This might be your best session yet,” he told me when we were dressed and feasting on our “second dessert” of cookie-dough ice cream. “You have a real gift, Mel.”
I blushed, but I had to admit I’d made big strides since my first session. Had it been only eight months since my college roommate asked me to stay after the wedding party to do a “special” portrait session in their honeymoon suite? We started with a few discreet boudoir shots, but before I knew it Kendra and Connor were actually doing it. Too shy to focus on the action below, I turned my camera to her face. They bought thirty prints and told their friends. Now I was booked every weekend through July.
“By the way, did this pair invite you to bed afterward, too?”
“Of course. But I let the groom think I had a jealous dyke lover. That’s easier than convincing him that my true passion is my art.”
Nice Girls, Naughty Sex Page 21