The Big Book of Orgasms

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Hot?” The word was murmured in my ear, warm breath brushing against my neck, and I knew from the tone alone exactly who was speaking.

  It took effort to turn around to face him, swinging my legs out from inside the pub bench, trying not to wince as the flesh of my thighs stuck to the wood. “Isn’t everybody?”

  The temperatures had been off the charts for weeks, a pervasive, mind-dulling heat. Really, the only thing for it was to head to the pub for a few icy drinks in the beer garden.

  Paul dropped down onto the bench beside me, leaning back against the table, looking unfairly cool in his jeans and T-shirt. Here I was in a flimsy little sundress, and I could still feel the sweat pooling at the base of my spine.

  Really attractive.

  He smiled at me, his eyes starting at mine, but soon swaying downward, lingering at my breasts pressing against the cotton of my dress, and my thighs, exposed by the skimpy skirt and the need to feel as much fresh air on my skin as I could. Not that there was much in the beer garden; too many people had clearly had exactly the same idea as us.

  “Where’s everyone else?”

  I motioned toward the inside of the pub. “Joined the crush at the bar.”

  The heat was just boring now. I needed something to wake me up.

  Paul could be very good at that.

  “Let’s head over there,” he said, waving a hand toward the wall at the end of the garden. “It might be cooler.”

  I bit my lip. We’d lose the table, for sure, and the crush over at the wall looked as hot and annoying as over here. But Paul had that look in his eye, so…

  “Sure,” I said, and got to my feet.

  The side of the wall facing into the beer garden remained shaded for most of the day, so the bricks were blissfully cool against my back. Paul rested his shoulder against mine, his body turned in toward me, too near really, for the weather. But a shiver ran through me at his closeness, at the feel of his skin against my own, damp and clammy. What the hell was he planning?

  “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I think it might actually be too hot for sex.” My eyes widened at his words, and he smiled. “Which leaves me with a bit of a dilemma.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. You see, I really want to watch you come for me tonight.”

  I swallowed. No one around us seemed to have heard him, or if they had they were politely ignoring us. But my body was certainly paying attention. And the pulse that had started up between my legs wanted to hear more.

  “It might get cooler later. We could go back to my—”

  But Paul was shaking his head. “Too long. I’ve been staring at you in that tiny sundress all afternoon. I can’t wait any longer.”

  The blood was beating hotter and faster around my body now. Suddenly, the heat of the day wasn’t nearly as much of a problem as the fire Paul had started inside me. “My car,” I said desperately. “I parked it—”

  “No.” Paul leaned in closer as he cut me off, and when he spoke again I felt his breath hot against my overheated skin. “I want to watch you come right here. Now.”

  Oh god. My knees felt weak at the very idea, but I knew I couldn’t. “Everyone’s watching. They’ll have us thrown out for indecent exposure.”

  Paul’s smile was secretive. “No, they won’t. No one will notice a thing, as long as you’re quiet. Trust me.”

  There was a slight question in his last words, and I looked up to meet his eyes, hot and wanting but never cruel. I nodded.

  Shifting his body again so he shielded me almost entirely from the crowd, he placed a kiss against my neck, making my skin tingle. “Now, I need you to imagine for me, okay?”

  “Okay.” The word felt thick in my throat. Whatever he had planned, I wanted it so damn much.

  “Imagine I’ve got my hands on you right now. They’re sliding up your sides, up to your shoulders. My fingers are running across your collarbone, under the straps of your dress. And you know where they’re going next.”

  It was impossible, but I could feel it. Just his words, and the heat in his eyes, were enough to make my nipples harden. The ache between my legs was growing, and my knickers were already drenched. Did he really plan to make me come just by talking?

  “They’re pushing your dress down now, freeing your breasts, brushing across your nipples.” I knew what that felt like, from past experience, and my body relived the firm touch of Paul’s fingers over it. “And now my mouth is at your nipple, swirling my tongue around it, making it harder.”

  It was already so hard it hurt. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t care who was watching, I had to touch them. My eyes closed. I let my hands brush over my aching breasts, squeezing just for a moment.

  “Good girl,” Paul murmured, and when I opened my eyes he was standing right in front of me, hiding me completely from the people around us.

  “Now, I run my hands down your body, down your thighs, then up between them.” My eyes still on his as he spoke, I let my hands slide lower, my fingers pressing against the hot flesh of my legs. I bit my lip and, when he nodded, trailed them higher.

  The heat from my pussy was incredible, and I could feel my own juices on my inner thighs. I held my fingers there, waiting for my next instruction.

  “Finally, finally, I reach your clit, sweeping my fingers around it before I plunge them inside you, filling you. My thumb presses against your clit as I pump them in and out, working you higher, closer…”

  I couldn’t think about the fact that I was touching myself in public, and I sure as hell couldn’t stop now. My body jolted forward against his as I touched my clit, and I started to shudder as soon as my fingers pushed inside me. Paul was holding my hips now, his body still hiding mine, and I rested my forehead against his shoulder as I brought myself closer to the edge.

  “Come for me, Ellie,” he murmured, and I did, hard and fast, my whole body jerking with the sensation as I fell apart.

  It took long moments for me to get my breath back, but eventually I raised my head and looked up. Around us, people chatted and drank and laughed as if nothing unusual had happened at all. It hadn’t for them, I supposed.

  “That what you wanted?” I asked, my voice husky.

  Paul smiled. “It’ll do for starters.”

  SCARECROW

  Giselle Renarde

  They’d tried everything.

  They’d bought everything, every lotion, every toy—and still no luck.

  Anisha sometimes wondered if they were doing it wrong. Everything seemed so easy for other couples, like the pleasure bled from their minds to their bodies. Maybe marrying your best friend wasn’t as brilliant an idea as she and Kyle had led each other to believe.

  “That little garden center is closing,” she told him as he helped unload supplies from the trunk. “At the end of the month. They can’t compete with the big-box mall in Westbrook.”

  “Damn.” Kyle shook his head. “We moved out to the middle of nowhere to get away from that shit.”

  They’d had this conversation before and more than just once. They’d probably discussed their mutual dislike of big-box stores hundreds of times since the one in Westbrook went up—not so much because the disappearance of Main Street was a focus of their energies and attentions, but because they had very little contact with other human beings. They lived alone together in this fixed-up farmhouse, operating several online businesses between them. No neighbors for miles around. Just each other.

  Barely thirty-five years old, and already they’d run out of things to say. They recycled stories like old newspapers, holding back from saying, “You’ve told me that a million times.” They were polite about it, but every day the repetition grew even more irritating. Every time Kyle started into that stupid story about seeing Donny Osmond at the airport, Anisha had to sit on her hands to keep from smacking him.

  They were too young to be this old.

  “See what I picked up?” Anisha pulled bamboo rods from the trunk. “The garden center was throwing them
away. Got some twine, too. Thought we could tie up the sweet peas.”

  “Sure, why not?” Kyle closed the trunk and headed around the house. “Let’s do it.”

  Anisha felt silly for being so excited, but it was nice to break from routine. She followed Kyle like a puppy as he headed down the hill and through the lightly wooded pathway, carrying bamboo rods and the mallet he’d picked up from the shed. They didn’t talk, and she was glad for that. It gave them a chance to appreciate the birdsongs.

  Beyond the pathway was a clearing that looked out over rolling farmlands, long disused. They couldn’t see their house from here, or anybody else’s for that matter. The old jackleg fence marked the property line, and it was overrun with a thick cascade of sweet peas.

  In sunny silence, they hammered bamboo stakes into the soft earth. Kyle used the twine to tie on bamboo crossbeams at the knee level and up near his shoulders for the more ambitious peas. Meanwhile, Anisha wove growing plants up the rods, tying them in place here and there. She couldn’t stop smiling, and she didn’t know why.

  “Looks pretty sturdy,” Kyle said, stepping back to admire their accomplishment.

  Anisha nodded, gazing at those vibrant little flowers—pink, purple, white. She imagined their softness against her skin, those delicate petals brushing her knees, her bum, her thighs. Before she knew it, she was staring at Kyle.

  “What?” he asked. His grin was at once amused and perplexed.

  She imagined Kyle as part of that bamboo structure, wild peas winding up his thighs, covering his chest with flowers, growing in his hair.

  “What?” he asked again, but by then Anisha was turning him around, pushing him back against the bamboo grid, kissing his surprised lips and touching him all over.

  “Put your hands up,” she told him. When he stuck them straight over his head she said, “No, more like… Jesus.”

  “Like a scarecrow?” He gave her an odd look, but when he lowered his arms he looked just like Christ on a bamboo cross. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Sunstroke?” Smirking, she bound his wrists to the rods at shoulder level and then secured his ankles to the ones jutting vertically from the ground.

  And he let her.

  “What now?” he asked when she stepped back to appreciate her handiwork. He looked good strung up against a backdrop of naked nature, but he’d look better without clothes.

  “Buttons,” she mumbled, undoing his shirt, letting it hang open in the afternoon breeze. “And we’ll drop these.” She unzipped his cargo shorts and they slumped around his bound ankles. Boxers followed, and Anisha watched his exposed cock twitch uncertainly, like it didn’t know where it was or how it got there.

  Without stealing her eyes from Kyle’s cock, she peeled off her clothes. Sunlight kissed her naked breasts, and his dick took notice. She’d never felt so warm or so desirable. Temperate breezes rustled the dark thatch at the apex of her thighs, and her fingers followed, parting her lips, striking juice. She touched her clit, melting into herself while Kyle’s erection strained toward her.

  “Anisha?”

  Gazing up from his cock, she met her husband’s look without guile. His perplexed lust drew her to him.

  “You look really good like that.” She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Tied up, strung up.”

  When she touched his cock, he gasped, watching from above, both arms stretched at his sides and tied to bamboo. His erection strained so hard it pulled his satin skin taut across the steel heat of his dick. She cupped his balls and he whimpered, and she whimpered, too, because the sweet peas underneath her were teasing her slit, toying gently with her pussy lips, lapping her clit like a dozen little tongues.

  Anisha moved forward and wrapped her mouth around Kyle’s cockhead. She gripped his shaft harder than she thought wise, but it made him groan, so she stroked him in that vise grip, sucking his tip, savoring the precome spilling into her mouth.

  As her tongue lolled around his dick, Kyle shook so hard he rattled the bamboo grid.

  “I won’t last long,” he warned her.

  The sentiment made her smile around the girth of his cock. Concentrating her efforts, she sucked hard and pumped his shaft in her fist.

  He strained, bucking into her mouth, moaning, “God, I’m gonna come if you keep that up.”

  She swallowed his dick, taking in as much as she could bear, and he groaned like an animal in pain. When she grasped his balls, all bets were off. He jerked against her face, driving his erection down her throat as she stroked and sucked and squeezed, beckoning his orgasm.

  With a hollow growl, he gave it up. He spilled his seed all over Anisha’s tongue and she swallowed spurt after spurt, feeling the warmth in her belly, relishing the taste she’d all but forgotten.

  Releasing Kyle’s spent cock, Anisha sat back in the soft grass, stretching her legs out into the sweet-pea flowers, letting them dance across her skin. She looked at her husband strung up like a vegetable plant, and she smiled. And even if Kyle didn’t know why she was so amused by the sight of him trained to that grid, he smiled, too.

  IN HER HANDS

  Tenille Brown

  Randall was different. And it was more than the clean clothes and hair and brushed teeth.

  It was the strut. He didn’t just walk anymore like the rest of them.

  Yes, Randall Freeman was getting fucked and fucked well.

  It had all happened around the time he made friends with that woman at the local hotel. Simone was her name.

  Button never could figure how Randall had lucked out on that deal, anyway, getting to sneak in and spend nights there, even get his clothes washed.

  That Simone had taken it a step further, though, that was obvious. Button didn’t want to come straight out and ask Randall if he was fucking the woman. That would seem too much like she cared. And fucking shouldn’t have been that high on Button’s list of priorities, anyway, seeing as how she rarely knew where her next meal was coming from.

  But Button was a proud woman, even under current circumstances, and she walked right up to Randall one day anyway and asked, “You fucking her?”

  Randall didn’t hesitate when he parted those pretty, thin lips of his and said, “Why, yes, Button, occasionally I do fuck Simone.”

  Button and Randall had never fucked, not even once. They hadn’t even met under the premise of fucking. It was simply good old friendship, built upon the hardship of Dumpster diving and looking for a place to lay your head.

  But there was nothing like watching someone else eat to make you realize how hungry you really were.

  Button didn’t do it often, but hearing Randall say those words, she thought back to two short years ago, when she was fresh out of college and had the world at her feet, when there was no thought of markets crashing and parents dying and life insurance lapsing. When Button was a beautiful, sheltered, fed, and cleaned woman who could fuck circles around Simone.

  She wished Randall had gotten just a glimpse of her then.

  Button bet Simone was fucking Randall all over that fancy hotel, from room to room, from bathtub to bidet. She was probably sucking all the semen right out of him.

  Randall probably couldn’t come right now if Button called him.

  So, standing there in front of him, naturally, she did.

  “Randy?” Button said, as sweetly as she could manage. “Can you walk with me a minute?”

  “Where to, Button?” Randall asked.

  “Just across the street. I want to sit in the park awhile, and I want you to sit with me,” she said.

  In the empty park in the late evening, they sat on top of a vacant bench in the back.

  “I want to know what’s gotten into you,” Button said, “since you’ve been staying at the hotel and all.”

  “Nothing’s gotten into me. It’s just a couple of nights a week of clean sheets and good sleep. That’s all,” Randall explained.

  “I know it’s none of my business, Randall, but good sleep and clean
sheets doesn’t have a man looking and walking like that.” Button hoped she sounded nonchalant.

  “Then what does, Button?”

  “A good fucking does.”

  Randall hung his head. Then he told Button bit by bit how it had happened one night between him and Simone. And he left no stone unturned.

  “So, you can understand how something like that can just happen,” he said. “I wasn’t looking for it. And anyway, you and I, we never established…and you never…”

  No, Button realized that she had never… She’d also never mentioned to Randall how good she was with her hands. How she used to mold pots and vases and any beautiful thing you could name, all with her small hands and nimble fingers.

  But she did mention now, “I’ve done my share of grinning and strutting, Randall. Walking bowlegged, barely being able to walk at all for that matter. I’ve been fucked like nobody’s business, in hotels, in bathrooms, in cabs. Ever had a two-minute orgasm, Randall? Can you even fathom what that feels like?”

  Yes, that. That was what Button had been looking for.

  That slight discomfort in his face from hearing Button talk about how well she had been fucked before, knowing he hadn’t been the one to do it because as long as she had known him, Randall had never had the balls to so much as touch her hand.

  But Randall regained his composure. He ran his hand over his coarse beard.

  “But you’re not going to see it firsthand. I’m not going to let you fuck me.”

  Yes, indeed. That was disappointment she saw in his face.

  Button cleared her throat. “I have another treat for you. Give me your cock.”

  She held out her hand, not giving Randall time to say a thing. She rubbed against the rough fabric of his jeans and gripped the silhouette of his cock, feeling it grow tight and hard in her hand. When she was satisfied at its status, Button unzipped Randall’s jeans and let his cock lie free, heavy and dark against his right thigh.

  Randall’s lips were parted in question, but no words surfaced between them.

  Button stepped down off the bench and planted herself directly between Randall’s thighs.