The Big Book of Orgasms

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Does anyone notice that my position is just a bit off as I strive to have my suddenly needy clit make contact with the seat? Probably not; everyone is focused on his or her own ride. Plus, it’s a task so surprisingly simple that it makes me ponder if the allure of the always-packed spin room is actually fitness. Perhaps it’s fitness with benefits. I stop my brain from going off on tangents and focus on the sensation that travels from my cunt to my throbbing clit every time I contract my muscles. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Sigh. Hell, it’s still exercise—it’s a Kegel. I take a moment between sweating from my dual exertions to marvel at my complex anatomy, so capable of bringing me the most intense pleasure with just a touch in that special spot or an obscenity whispered in a low, gravelly tone into my ear or this, the rapidly increasing tempo with which I squeeze my muscles tight and release them, all while imagining a thick, hard cock pulsating in synch deep within me.

  Sensing my need for stress relief today, I’ve packed my gym bag thinking how good it would feel to partake of the gym’s usually underutilized steam room after spin class. Now, I gaze at the clock and pick up my pace, as if exerting myself more will make the time pass faster. I could get off my bike, slip out, and no one would beat me up for it, but I persevere. I’m rewarded when the instructor says, “Two minutes to the finish line, let’s all finish strong.” I fully intend to do just that.

  Hopping off my bike, I take the time to stretch, loving the feeling of the tensed muscles in my calves, hamstrings and quads releasing. A deep breath in, a hard exhale and I lean more into the final stretch, sighing out loud before I grab my towel, wipe down my bike and make my way to the ladies’ locker room.

  I head to the childfree zone; my tolerance for noisy kids, cute as they may be, is markedly low. I strip down in the empty room, grab a few still-warm towels, press them to my face and inhale the unique scent of freshness that only comes from repeated bleaching. It’s a scent that I love, one that conveys cleanliness in a way nothing else does—or perhaps I’ve simply seen one too many Clorox commercials. Slipping on my flip-flops, I head to the steam room.

  Opening the door, I’m instantly enveloped in a lush, rich mist so thick it takes a moment before I realize I’m not alone. Another woman lies sprawled on the tile bench. I pause and orient myself before finding a place. Laying out one towel, I roll another into a pillow and open the one that was hugging me, letting the steam caress the curves and planes of my body. Breathing deeply, I let the eucalyptus-scented vapor fill my nostrils with a welcome astringent twinge. I settle in, letting my body melt into the towel. Through closed eyes I sense movement. I open them to see the woman headed toward the door. She opens it and the air cools momentarily, but the steam vent quickly starts up again, making the room seem alive with swirling swaths of mist.

  I’m quick to take advantage of this reprieve. My hands make their way over the swell of my large breasts, lingering on my hardening nipples. My palms slide smoothly over my slick skin, making me shiver despite the heat. The dual feeling is sublime. As my nipples respond to the grazing of my palms, so do my palms tingle as the stiffening skin prods at them. I slowly let my hands fall lower, cupping the underside of my breasts, enjoying their heft and suppleness. Slick palms glide over flesh decorated with pearls of moisture that drip down my lush curves, over the swell of my belly, a belly I can’t decide whether to embrace or abhor depending on how kind I’m being to myself. Today I embrace the voluptuousness of my body, consciously choosing to revel in the pleasure it gives me.

  My hand moves lower and lingers over the convex contours of my hips and ass. Each new touch makes my breath come a little faster and I allow a soft groan to escape my lips as my nails roughly grip and scourge my sensitive flesh. Parting my thighs as much as I dare in a place that with the opening of a door can go from private to public, my fingers are softer and gentler. Another hiss from the vent deepens the illusion of privacy and makes it seem safe to sink my fingers into my pussy. The warm, moist walls of my cunt echo my surroundings; the dual heat makes me light-headed and woozy. I squeeze my muscles tightly; my ass tightens and raises slightly off the bench, my cunt pulsating and throbbing around my fingers.

  Withdrawing my fingers, I bring them to my lips and lick off the salty sweetness before letting them slide down to the sensitive spot where my thigh meets my sex. The slight prickle of hair starting to poke through the skin reminds me to shave once I hit the shower, a thought that’s quickly pushed out of my head as my fingers alight on my swollen clit and with just that touch, my need escalates. Another blast of steam swallows me in its embrace, caressing my entire being while my fingers alternate from pinching and pulling at my silky, smooth labia to circling my slippery clit. As my desire increases, my fingers dwell on my clit, focusing on the one spot that is just a tad more sensitive than any other.

  Hips rise and fall, breath comes shallower, faster, muscles tense, teeth clamp onto lower lip too hard, a giant wave tosses me high and then higher. Muffled yet ecstatic sounds escape before I tumble down, spent yet bathed in serenity. The glow I feel is no longer just from the hot, steamy room.

  I stay there a bit longer, afraid that the combination of heat, mist and orgasm has left me too unsteady to walk. When I finally hit the shower, turned as cold as I can stand it, the tension between the chilled water and my hot skin arouses me yet again. Greedy girl that I am, I’m happy to linger in the shower and come once more.

  PAYBACK

  Emerald

  I drove by slowly, running my eyes over the nine-story hotel less than six months old. Its staunch exterior brimmed with newness, solidity, progress. My gaze dropped to the ground floor, the foundation of the building that covered the worn abandoned parking lot where I’d sucked him off so many times those years ago, on my knees on the pavement as he panted in the driver’s seat.

  Before I knew better, I thought.

  It had been six years. Six years in which a lot had happened.

  I’d been eighteen then, in almost no possession at all of any understanding of what I wanted sexually…much less that I had the right to ask for it. It wasn’t that I hadn’t enjoyed our one-sided exploration—still today, giving head is one of my favorite activities.

  No, what struck me as I pulled my gaze back to the road was that it hadn’t occurred to me to even want any more. Wistfulness tinged with sadness flitted over me as I ached for that girl I’d been, who didn’t know enough to demand her part in the rendezvous pattern that summer. Who instead jumped out of her car night after summer night and ran giggling over to his, dutifully sucking him off as he moaned blissfully, his heavy hands tangled in her hair.

  Phillip had been more experienced than I at that time. Whether my own pleasure hadn’t occurred to him or he exploited my lack of knowing, I didn’t know. It had occurred to me since then that it was probably the latter. Looking back, it admittedly fit the rest of the impression I had of him.

  I knew his voice even before I turned.

  “Hello, Phillip.”

  I knew I would see him while I was here—it was too small a place to avoid it. Granted, the parking lot of the ice-cream shop directly across the street from a certain new hotel wasn’t the most inconspicuous place I could have hidden, had I wanted to hide.

  “I heard you were in town. Glad I ran into you.” Phillip’s eyes flicked to the building I’d just been staring at, and I could hardly imagine he wasn’t recalling the same things I had when I’d driven by the night before.

  He was still hot, though the swaggering “bad boy” demeanor didn’t do as much for me now as it had back then. His dark hair fell almost to his eyes, and the athletic frame he’d sported in high school was still intact.

  His gaze ran up and down me as his grin grew a little wider. He walked in front of me and leaned against the wooden fence along the edge of parking lot, resting his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.

  “So. How’ve you been?”

  I suspected his thoughts were on something other than the question as I j
oined him against the fence and faced out toward the hotel. I felt a strange relief standing near him, an absence of the needy pull I had experienced back then that had made me feel powerless whenever someone wanted something from me—even if it was something I was willing to give. I tossed the question back at him and noticed as he adjusted the crotch of his jeans. I couldn’t help a tiny smile as I wondered if it was because of me.

  Phillip turned around to look across the street with me. Deep blue was replacing the pink-orange shades of dusk in real-time increments. It would be dark in a matter of minutes.

  “They plowed over our place,” he said.

  I almost laughed. “Yep.”

  And I had plowed over a lot of who I had been then. The poignancy of the realization probably showed on my face, and I was glad he wasn’t looking at me.

  Barely realizing it, we had left the fence and started across the street, none of the rush that used to accompany our sneaking out there six years prior accompanying us. The street was unoccupied as we crossed it slowly, almost automatically, not stopping until we reached the far side of the hotel. There we stood, behind a new structure hidden in old shadows.

  Phillip stepped toward me, his eyes darkening with an oh-so-familiar desire. “So what do you say?” His voice was low, tight with lust. “One more for old times’ sake?”

  This time I let the laugh out. “Old times’ sake, Phillip?” The words came without hesitation, no part of me feeling unsure about what I said, what I was about to do. How he responded, of course, was up to him. “How about payback?” I planted my hands on his shoulders and pushed him abruptly to his knees. Phillip blinked up at me in surprise, a response I ignored as I slid up my skirt and pulled my panties off to the side. My eyes stayed on his.

  After a pause Phillip leaned forward, lifting his hands tentatively to my thighs as his warm breath joined the coolness of the night that surrounded my naked pussy. I sighed as his lips touched me, holding back a groan as his tongue slid its way over my clit. In short order I forgot anything but sensation as he delved into me, his earnestness rivaling that which I had shown him years before.

  My casual air disappeared as I started to care what he did, the heat in my core eliciting a fervent hope that he wouldn’t stop, that he’d finish this job as well as I had always finished it for him. Every nerve ending in my body fixated on little more than his tongue as I realized just how much power someone in his position really had.

  He squeezed my ass hard as my body began to contract. I bit back a scream and came against his tongue, grabbing the back of his head and grinding against him with animalistic abandon, a true reversal of roles.

  I panted as I came back down, regaining the wherewithal to drop my skirt and square my shoulders as he stood up.

  “Thanks.” I smiled and turned to walk away, just like he had all those times after I’d given him what he wanted.

  “Melissa.”

  I turned. His demeanor was tentative and vulnerable, a tempered version of the thoughtless cockiness that had infused him the summer I’d last seen him. I realized suddenly that he’d seen six years of experience since then, too—and like his ignorance of mine, I had no idea what any of it was.

  With a crooked smile, he said, “You’d need a couple dozen more to make it even.”

  I met his eyes. Something more than heat and desire lay behind the gaze that lingered on mine, and I realized he was saying he was sorry.

  My lips pulled in another smile—involuntarily this time. I shrugged, a gesture of acknowledgment, of agreement, of surprise and interest and assent. I gave him a nod as I pulled out my keys.

  “Fair enough. See you tomorrow.”

  COME ON

  Raziel Moore

  I want you to come on me.”

  Nica knew how to put things in my ear to make me hard.

  “You want what?” I’d heard her clearly enough, but this was new, strange. I pulled back from our embrace to look at her. Nica looked back, eyes hooded and lusty. She tugged on my stiffening cock.

  “I want you to jack yourself off. And when you come, I want you to come on me.”

  Stereotypical bad porn scenes flashed through my mind.

  “Isn’t that…degrading?”

  She gave me her you’ve got to be kidding look.

  “If I ask you to do it, do you think I’d think that?”

  If I didn’t know her, I wouldn’t have guessed an answer. After six months, did I yet know her well enough? When do the surprises in a relationship stop? They’re never supposed to, are they? Still, I had to ask: “Why?”

  Her expression grew, if anything, more carnal. Hungry.

  “Because, Daniel, I want to feel you on my skin. Because I want to see you do it. Because I want to be the one you do it to—the one who makes you want to.”

  I still didn’t really understand. My favorite thing in the world, quite literally, was coming in Nica. It was the holiest of pleasures to let myself go deep inside her cunt, the darkest of thrills when she swallowed me down her throat or, when we were feeling truly bestial, I took her ass. This seemed…such a waste. Like jerking off with her there.

  Maybe that was it—or part of it. She said she wanted to watch me, but it seemed unequal, objectifying. If that was something Nica got off on…I didn’t know how I felt about that. Not yet, anyway. Frankly, however, any objections would be empty protests. I couldn’t deny her request. She’d made me curious, after all, as well as turned on.

  “Okay.”

  She smiled and pirouetted out of our hug. She moved to the bed and methodically propped up some pillows, bending over with the obvious intention of giving me an eyeful. Watching her undress always made my hands itch for her, but then she reclined like a queen, bare and dusky on our white sheets. She opened her legs, planting her feet wide apart and patting the space between them.

  “Right here.” She said it sultry. Slutty even. I moved, kneeling on the bed. Nica drew her hands to her feet and slid fingertips up the insides of her legs. By the time she reached her knees, I had my cock in my hand. When she arrived at her inner thighs, I was jerking myself. When she traced the outside of her cunt and moaned, I echoed her.

  When I jerk off, usually, my eyes are closed. I’m usually imagining, well, Nica—her face looking something like it did right then. I imagine her sweet body open for me—like just then. I imagine, usually, fucking deep inside her. But there, then, fantasy and reality diverged. With open eyes shifting from juicy cunt to rising and falling chest, to the rising blush on her face, I wasn’t imagining anything. Nica’s living image laid waste the visions of fantasy.

  I wondered how I would keep myself from launching forward and fucking her brains out.

  “No touching, Dan. Not this time.”

  My eyes caught hers. Of course she knew what I was thinking. Her expression was pure heat; surely some part of her wanted me in her as badly as I wanted to be, but the rules were different this time.

  Nica tweaked her clit and cooed. My cock twitched in my hand, a shiver of pleasure flowing up my spine. I wasn’t going to have any problem doing this for her. Coming for her. On her. I found I liked the idea. A lot.

  “I’m…watching…you,” she said between breaths. My hand was much rougher than hers when she would sometimes jack me off. I think many women don’t know how rough a cock can take it. I made a mental note to show Nica. Later. Just then, that hot pooling began at the base of my spine.

  “Where?” I asked. The word was more of a bark—curt, bitten off. Nica let her knees fall farther open, stroked up her belly to her breasts and back down, drawing an outline with her wetness.

  “Here,” she said with a sigh, returning her hands to their work of self-pleasure. Every move she made was seduction. “Tell me,” she breathed.

  “Oh god, Nica, I…” I shuddered, cock as stiff in my own grip as I’d ever felt it.

  “Watch me,” she said.

  Nica arched, presenting herself to me, a perfect, wanton target. Her ey
es smoldered, boring into me like an imperious whore’s. I didn’t have time to think about that impression as my orgasm came fast and hard, nor did I have the presence of mind to aim. It was blind luck where I ended up pointing as pleasure took over; my first ejaculation made an audible splat just above her belly button.

  I’d never taken the effort to scientifically measure how much I come. There, then, I felt like the most clichéd fire hose, like a geyser. I jetted right onto her quivering stomach, the sound of liquid hitting skin quite clear. Spurt after spurt as the automatic reflex took over, landing higher and lower on her body, splashing thick over clean skin, some of it already dripping downward.

  “Yesss.”

  Nica’s eyes were half-closed as my pulsing cock ebbed, dripping its last onto her mound. Her hands slid up over her rib cage, smearing my stuff, pressing down to meet at her cunt, to push come-coated fingers inside. That’s when she went off.

  Nica cried out, back bending sharply, head snapping back. I couldn’t help myself; I laid my hands on her, feeling her shake, her muscles clench. I wiped my spunk over her like finger-paints; belly, breasts, pinching her nipples with sticky fingers as she screamed. I worked my cream into her skin. I don’t think I’d ever smelled my own ejaculate so strongly, but mixed with Nica’s sex it was dead hot.

  Nica beamed as she came down, lowering back to the bed. She was a fucking sexy mess.

  “Is that what you wanted?” I asked.

  “Mmm. Yes. It’s…hot on the skin when it first lands. Like lava. I think you scalded me.”

  I nearly said, “I’m sorry,” but she giggled maniacally. And hell, I wasn’t sorry. Watching her rub her coated skin, maybe I began to see a little more what she saw in it. My hands still caressed her slowly; her skin had a slippery-sticky quality to it now.

  “I’ve painted you with my own color, haven’t I?”

  “I think you liked it, too,” she said, moving a hand to my half-hard shaft and pulling gently. I growled.