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Men In Shorts: An Erotic Anthology A Ravenous Romance™ Real Man Romance™ Original Publication Edited by Lori Perkins
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A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication www.ravenousromance.com Men In Shorts: An Erotic Anthology Copyright © 2008 by Ravenous Romance™ Ravenous Romance™ 100 Cummings Center Suite 125G Beverly, MA 01915 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-060-2 This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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For Dave
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Introduction
I am ashamed to confess I didn’t know I was a leg woman until recently.
I find that I look forward to the men in their summer shorts. I love the look of a
well-defined calf, and a hard, well-muscled thigh, coupled with a nice, round hard ass.
This is not the kind of thing that comes up in polite or even Sex in the City
conversation among girlfriends. Women just don’t seem to sit around and talk about their favorite male body parts, so it’s an art of appreciation that too often remains unexplored.
Then I started dating a letter carrier, who wore shorts most of the year. And
walked ten miles a day. I discovered I just loved looking at his legs.
They made me remember all the hairy legs I had appreciated over the years. I
found myself thinking about those much shorter basketball shorts of the Knicks in the ’70s. Once they changed the uniforms to longer, baggier shorts, I lost total interest in the sport.
I remembered my brother’s weight-lifting buddies who shaved their legs and
glistened them up with vegetable oil on competition day.
I remembered all those winter vacations in Miami Beach with my folks while I
spent hours starring at the calves of tanned pool boys,
Yes, a man in shorts is a delight.
Enjoy! Lori Perkins October 2008
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Table of Contents
The Special Gift by Barbara Elsborg Why’d It Have To Be Shorts? by Dawn Jackson Hot, Hot, Hot by Adam Carpenter Board Shorts by Neve Black Ranger Danger by C. Margery Kempe Coffee Break by Lisa Lane Laundry Day by Heidi Champa Try Him On For Size by Katy Sirls What Counts Is How You Play The Game by Brandi Woodlawn A Secret Night in Grouse Woods by Karen Sutow Dirty Little Boxer Boy by Ryan Field Special Delivery by Savannah Chase Until Next Week by Lisa Lane Sweet Savage by Lexi Ryan
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The Special Gift By Barbara Elsborg
Kate’s jaw ached. The last time it hurt like this had been after a mammoth smooching session with her first boyfriend. Ten years ago. She’d been fifteen and they’d been hiding behind the bike sheds of their London school. Sadly, the current ache had nothing to do with kissing. The moment she’d been levered into the orange monstrosity that masqueraded as a bridesmaid’s dress, she’d been forced to smile. Her hair had been tweaked into a style she hated. Smile. Her shoes pinched her toes. Smile. She hadn’t smiled nine months ago when her boyfriend Pete had been bewitched by her friend Jennifer – the definition of friend was still under review. But the smile was back in place today while the pair married. Kate even smiled when bastard Pete thanked her in his speech for bringing him and Jennifer together. She’d smiled harder when Pete caught her alone in the corridor and tried to give her a drunken kiss. Laughing it off didn’t work. The knee in the crotch did. As the other five bridesmaids cooed over their gifts of jewelry, Jennifer handed Kate a foot-long narrow package. “A special gift for you.” Kate forced a laugh from somewhere when she saw what was inside. Then Jennifer gave her one of her looks, one that made Kate feel there was an undercurrent she hadn’t quite grasped. “Now you’ll have a man in your life,” Jennifer said. Kate stared at the toy in her hands: a dark-haired male doll wearing nothing but a pair of denim shorts. Exactly what Pete had been wearing when he’d opened Kate’s apartment door to find Jennifer prancing around in her underwear. “It’s the best I can do,” Jennifer said and smiled. Kate’s jaw was locked into an inane grin. She couldn’t even let her smile drop in the cab on the way home to Lewisham. The
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driver was a relative of Pete’s. Only after she’d slammed the door of her apartment and shut out the world did Kate let her shoulders drop and her head fall. She kicked off her shoes and sighed. It was over. She’d promised long ago she’d be Jennifer’s bridesmaid and she’d kept her word. If only Jennifer had kept the promise they’d made about not stealing each other’s guys. Kate looked at the doll in her hand. GI Joe. He was cute. Square jaw, dark eyes, strong nose and an impressive ripped physique, if a little cold and stiff. The only imperfection was a scar under his right eye. Kate rubbed his shorts with her thumb, impressed with the miniature stitching and the little studs. She wondered if he was anatomically correct. Unfastening tiny buttons, she eased the shorts over his firm backside and smiled. The first genuine one of the day. A smooth mound. No wedding tackle. Poor asexual Joe. Not the sort of guy she needed. She opened her closet and tossed him inside. Kate needed to fix the light in there. Maybe Joe would do it for her. She threw herself back on her bed, beat down the suffocating layers of orange netting that flew up and closed her eyes. She wished she had a guy to come home to, wished she’d had one at the wedding to sit next to, wished– The thump was so loud Kate jolted upright. She held herself taut, waiting for another sound but heard only the clock ticking her life away. It sounded as though the noise had come from inside her closet. Maybe a rail had broken or a shelf had given way and tossed her clothes to the carpet. The end to a perfect day. Kate flung open the closet door. A man lay on the floor. A dark-haired guy wearing denim shorts and nothing else. Kate laughed. That extra glass of champagne had not been a good idea. She slammed the door. She needed to drink coffee. A lot of it. **** Joe Kendrick blinked. He didn’t think he recognized the tall, slender blonde, but she’d gone too fast for him to be sure. What was she doing in his apartment? Joe dropped his head back and stared up at the panel hanging from the ceiling. Ah, now he remembered. The fall had rattled his brain. Not his closet. The one on the floor
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below. He could see part of his through the gap in the ceiling. He’d cut a hole and been checking to see if the floor was strong enough to support a safe. Well, guess he knew the answer to that. Joe also knew he shouldn’t move. He could have broken something in the fall. There was a horrible pain in the middle of his back. Only logic told him if he’d done something catastrophic to his spine, he wouldn’t be able to feel it. Joe worked in risk assessment. He took a risk and sat up. He’d been lying on a doll. He laughed and tossed it aside onto a pile of shoes. Even in the dim light shining down from above he saw they were women’s. Strappy high heels. Pointy toes. Flowers. Bows. Black. Blue. Ohh, red. His cock unfurled and pressed against the buttons of his shorts. He undid the snap and one button. His gaze fell on the doll. She had a kid? And a husband? His cock deflated. Joe pushed himself to his feet and stretched. No bones broken. He reached to check out the panel he’d fallen through and it slotted into place. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. He could pull himself back up to his apartment and no one would ever know. The woman who’d looked in must not have seen him, probably couldn’t believe her eyes. Though he wasn’t too happy about the way this building had been constructed. Had they followed safety regs? The closet door opened and he turned. “Fucking hell. I mean, oh, my goodness,” she blurted. Joe stifled a laugh. “You’re real. I threw that doll in here, wishing it was a guy. So dreams do come true?” Joe opened his mouth to tell her he’d fallen through from upstairs and she smiled. In that instant he was lost and the damn yoyo in his shorts shot up. Cute heart-shaped face with the most kissable lips he’d seen since he’d arrived in England. She had curves in all the right places. And she wasn’t freaking out at the sight of a stranger in her closet. “The doll didn’t have anything in his shorts, but I can see you do,” she whispered. Joe’s face heated up. He opened his mouth again to speak and she closed in to kiss
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him. Her soft hands cupped his face and her tongue pressed against the seam of his lips. Of course, now I keep my mouth shut. Joe opened to let her inside and she almost dove into his throat. He tried to chuckle but it came out more like a choked groan. That was fine. She was fine. The kiss was more than fine. Seductive lips pressed against his. A hot tongue snaked around his mouth, an intrepid explorer of a new world and he hoped she liked what she found. “Beer.” She sighed. “I love your taste.” His balls tightened. He loved her taste too. Something sweet. Cake? His hands slid onto her waist. Her dress was…there was too much of her dress. How was he supposed to get his hands on her through miles of scratchy material. And orange? Too soon for Halloween. Then he lost his mind inside her mouth and did what he should have done several minutes ago. He kissed her back. Joe rimmed the soft inner recesses of her mouth, nipped the fleshy pad inside her lower lip, teased with the tip of his tongue and felt her melt. Her hands roamed his back, pulled him closer, her body arching into the kiss as Joe found himself rocking his hips into hers. “Rip the damn dress off,” she pleaded. Joe would have loved to have done just that but he was a cautious guy. What if this was some designer creation and he was going to end up with a bill for thousands of dollars? “Please. I hate it,” she said. He slipped his hands into the back and pulled the material hard, heard it tear, kept tugging until the dress sagged on her shoulders. He let her go, she gave a little shimmy and layers of orange dropped to the floor. The bulge in Joe’s shorts became more of a problem. He wore no underwear to protect him from the pressure of his fly buttons and the larger his cock grew, the greater his discomfort. He needed a few more buttons undone, but he wanted her to do the undoing. She wore underwear, but might as well have not bothered. A strapless black lace
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bra that pushed her breasts into a dining table, place set for one. The piece of silky black string wrapped around her hips and passing between her legs could in no way be described as a pair of panties. Natural blond, then. He grinned. He bet her ass was beautiful but he didn’t dare look in case his cock made a successful escape attempt. Joe dropped his head to her shoulder, nibbled his way to the top of her bra, then licked along the edge of the material. She gulped little throaty breaths that made his cock sing and forget the press of the buttons. His pulse rate soared. One flip of his fingers and her bra fell off. His vision blurred for a moment. Raspberry-tipped nipples, like little erasers. Blond curls at the apex of her body. Sugar lips. What to focus on? He was spoilt for choice. **** When his hot mouth hovered over one nipple and his fingers poised over the other, Kate’s muscles clenched and unclenched between her thighs, anticipation heightening her desire. Then his soft, wet lips settled on her breast and sucked while his fingers teased the other nipple, tracing a lazy circle around the tip. Kate unraveled in his arms with a throaty gasp. She’d never come so fast before. He caught her to him, held her as she shot upward on a geyser of sensation, flaming arrows shooting through her body, burning paths of pleasure that slipped into shimmering ripples before they faded away. More, screamed her brain. “Wow, hot stuff,” he whispered. “You can talk?” He smiled and stroked her cheek. “Think you had to pull one of those strings at the back of my neck?” She laughed. “I love your American accent, Joe.” “How do you know my name?” She looked puzzled. “You’re GI Joe.” She touched the scar under his eye. He smiled. “And you are?” “Kate.”
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“Nice to meet you, Kate.” “How did you get here? Where did you come from?” “Why, one minute I was sitting on a shelf in Toys R’ Us next to a plush pussycat, the next thing I knew, I was here.” She laughed. “You sure have beautiful breasts.” Heat flooded Kate’s face and she looked down. Ooh, too tempting. She slid a finger into the opening at the top of his shorts, twirled it around a curl of black hair and heard the hitch in his breath. He reached up and slotted his fingers through the wire shelving above her head. When her fingers brushed his cock, Joe sucked in his cheeks. Kate was torn between gazing into his gorgeous dark eyes and looking down at the pulsing heat source next to her hand. “Touch me,” he croaked. Kate unfastened the last three buttons on his shorts and his engorged cock popped out like a jack in the box and made her jump. Oh God, he was big. A dark, thick, uncut shaft bobbed in front of her. “Like what you see?” Joe asked. “Not much I like better than a guy in shorts. Except maybe a guy out of shorts.” Kate eased the denim over his hips and the shorts fell to the floor. He kicked them aside. Oh God, she had a six-foot-three naked hunk with broad, muscled shoulders and long strong legs in her closet and she didn’t want to wake up. “I like what I see,” Joe said in a whisper. “You’re gorgeous.” A little flame flickered in Kate’s chest. His hands were still wrapped around the shelving and she had a feeling he was letting her set the pace. She dropped to her knees and caressed the tops of his feet, ran her palms up the back of his calves and felt his muscles ripple. When she stroked the back of his knees, Joe wobbled and laughed. She licked a warm path up his thighs moving from one to the other as his cock pulsed inches from her face. Kate spread her hands over his butt
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cheeks and gulped. Small, hard and firm. One slow lick from the root of his cock to the velvety crest to gather up the tiny pearl of precum and he growled. Kate showed him the salty blob sitting on her tongue before she smeared it over her lips. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. Kate traced the thick vein at the back of his cock with the tip of her tongue and brought her hands around to stroke his angular hip bones before she touched his shaft. She loved the way the silky outer skin of his cock slid over the rigid core, loved the musky smell, his taste, loved best of all the way he held himself rigid while little gasps and pants kept lurching from his mouth. Kate trailed her tongue over the dark seam down the middle of his heavy sac and gently took his balls into her mouth. She felt the fragile centers dance around her tongue and hummed. “Kate, Kate,” he groaned. “You’re killing me.” She let him loose. “You’re a soldier. Suck it up.” He shook as he laughed. “That’s what I’d hoped you were going to do.” A swoop over the head of his cock engulfing as much as she could, which frankly wasn’t a lot, and his laughter came to a choked end. Kate moved one hand to the base of his shaft and squeezed as she wrapped her mouth around the silky crown. Short, fast sucks. Long, slow swallows. Strong, hard pumps. His hands threaded her hair as he rocked into her and groaned. “Oh God, that feels so good. Your hot little mouth…oh fuck.” Kate twisted as she pumped, licked as she sucked, varied every action to prolong the sensation of his thick length surging into her, filling her. Her pussy clenched in time with each swallow. His hands dropped to her throat and his thumbs rested there as he fucked her mouth. “I can feel my cock inside you. Oh Christ, I’m going to come. You want me to pull out?” Kate tightened her lips in answer. She’d never swallowed before, but she wanted to now. One deep thrust and his cock bottomed out in her throat. She felt his balls tighten
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and separate, his cock grow larger, warmer and then it pulsed. He cried out as his hips jerked and he jetted into the back of her mouth. Kate swallowed every salty spurt, reveled in each breathy gasp he uttered. She looked up and saw him staring down at her as the spasms died away. He smiled through his panting breaths. A hand reached to brush the hair from her eyes and he withdrew from her mouth. “Come here, sweet lips,” he said and pulled her to her feet. Kate wasn’t sure whether he’d kiss her, whether he’d want to taste himself but his mouth homed in on hers and he consumed her like he was starving. Joe’s head was spinning. Had he knocked himself out when he’d fallen through the floor of his closet? Killed himself? Was he dreaming some angel had just given him the blow job of a lifetime? Only he was the one she thought wasn’t real. She thought he was GI Joe, some toy soldier come to life. She plastered her hot body against his and Joe wondered why he was wasting time thinking. He had to turn off his analytical brain and go with the flow. One twist of the band around her hips and the thing broke. Her ass was so cute, all soft and curvy. He pressed her against him as he kissed her and his cock perked up. Damn, that was fast. Not that he was complaining. Joe pushed his knee between hers so she’d open her legs and he slid his hand to paradise. Hot, wet heaven. She clutched him tighter, kissed him harder as he played with her swollen folds, letting them slide between his fingers, taking care not to touch her clit no matter how much she squirmed against him. Joe pulled back from her mouth to grab some air. Hard to remember they needed to breathe when the flames were so intense. “Steady, sweet thing,” he whispered. He slid one finger deep inside her as he stared into her eyes. She trembled and chewed on her bottom lip. She felt like velvet, liquid heat and so wet she dripped down his hand. Joe pulled his finger back, touched the tight nub of her clit and she came apart in his arms, her legs giving way. If he hadn’t been holding her, she’d have fallen. He adored that he’d done that, adored her. He wanted her on a bed, wanted to sink himself
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deep inside her and fuck her again and again. His cock was nudging between her legs when he came back to his senses. No condom. Damn his fucking shorts. Condom in his wallet but his wallet was in his pants hanging a few inaccessible feet above his head. He could pull out at the last minute, but it only needed one little breaststroker to make it through and turn him into a daddy. Joe knew the odds. Calculating odds was his life. “I’m on the pill.” Pop. The sound of his willpower evaporating. “I’m clean. I…I’ve never not…” Joe gave up. The words weren’t coming out right. Kate grabbed the wire shelf behind her head and hoisted her legs around his hips. Joe hoped the shelves were firmly fixed, then caught sight of her pussy and stopped worrying. He slipped one hand under her backside and used the other to guide his cock into place. He looked so big and she looked so small. Christ. His cockhead nudged against her wet folds and he dipped in and out. “Joe,” she pleaded. With one push he watched his cock slide deep inside her, her blonde hair snug against his black and his lungs locked. “That’s so good,” he gasped. He put his other hand under her backside to support her and she wrapped her legs around his hips and dragged him deeper. She was tight and hot and Joe wanted to keep pushing, wanted more than his cock inside her. He wanted his entire body to be inside her. He dropped his head to her breast and licked her nipple. A lick turned to a suck and as he began to canter his hips into her, he pulled on her nipple in time to the thrust of his cock. A little cry fluttered from her mouth as he let her breast go, but he needed to move in firm, swift strokes now, his orgasm building. “Hold tight, sweet thing.” He watched her hands clutch harder at the shelf, knuckles whitening under the strain.
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Joe pounded into her, the friction around his cock winding him towards oblivion. It was the flush across her breasts that tipped him over the brink. Her muscles clenched around his cock as he came. Ah God, how could he be this lucky? The ache in his balls vanished in a wild rush of pleasure as come boiled out of him and spurted into her pussy. He wrenched her away from the rail and she flung her arms around his neck for the last moments of the ride. Joe wished he could stay inside her forever. He pulled her into his arms as her legs slid down his body, then rained kisses all over her face, her forehead, down her nose, along her chin. “Sweetheart, you’re straight out of my dreams,” he whispered. “Will you come again?” He laughed. “Give me a moment.” Kate frowned. “I mean, if I put the doll in the closet.” “Ah, yeah, sure.” “It isn’t just magic for one night?” His heart began to thump. “Not if you don’t want it to be.” She smiled and pulled away. “See you tomorrow night, Joe.” The closet door closed and Joe exhaled. He grabbed his shorts and pulled them on. The doll lay where he’d thrown it and he put it on top of her black bra before he hoisted himself up back through the ceiling. He lay on the floor of his closet to replace the panel and the square of wood he’d cut out for the safe. Then he sat with his back to the closet door and ran his fingers through his hair. What the hell had that been about? Did she really think he was a doll come to life? Was she crazy? With sex like that, did he care? **** Joe couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. He stood in the pub having a drink with his friend Ken and told him everything. Ken’s jaw dropped to his shoes. “Fuck a duck,” he gasped. “So she thinks you’re a action figure come to life.” Joe nodded.
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“You lucky bastard.” Joe nodded harder. Ken smiled. “Think I should buy a Barbie and throw her in my closet?” Joe glared. “I’m serious. The problem is she doesn’t think I exist outside the closet.” “You sure that’s what she thinks? She hasn’t seen you in the building, knows you live above her and is pulling your leg?” “I’ve never seen her before. She really believes I’m GI Joe. I’ve got the denim shorts, hair, same little scar under my eye. Only while his was no doubt inflicted in a fight with some enemy soldier, I got mine when I took a nose dive on a building site I was inspecting. God, she’s gorgeous. Breasts I could drown in, a pussy I have drowned in, eyes I don’t want to stop looking into.” “So what’s the problem?” The problem is I’m not GI Joe. I’m Joe Jarvis, risk assessor from Boulder, Colorado. I didn’t step off a shelf in a toy store. I’ve got a past and I’d like a future with her.” “Go knock on her door.” Joe felt all the blood drain from his head. “But what if she only wants the dream?” Ken rolled his eyes. “Take a risk, Joe.” **** Kate had opened and closed the door of her closet so many times the following day she made the hinges creak. The action figure remained where she’d left it with shorts unbuttoned and posed next to one of her stilettos. She closed the door and sighed. So he wasn’t going to come. Kate had gone through so many theories as to how he’d got inside her apartment and dismissed all but one. He was a burglar. Of course that left her with the difficulty of explaining his lack of clothes apart from the shorts, but what other explanation could there be? Unless he really was GI Joe and this was magic. Ha! Was Jennifer that weird? But Joe had the same scar, the same muscular body, the same shorts as the doll. Kate slammed the heel of her hand against
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her head. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing including today’s aching muscles. Only one way to find out. One flight of stairs away, she’d find the answer. Kate stood outside the door of the apartment immediately above hers with a hand poised to knock. In her other hand, she clutched GI Joe. Before thinking too hard sent her back downstairs, she banged on the door. A woman answered. Small, petite, long dark hair. Wedding ring on her finger. Kate turned to ice. “Yes?” the woman asked. “Sorry. Wrong apartment.” Kate turned and returned to the stairs. She went down and kept walking. ****
Joe stood outside Kate’s apartment, his heart pounding. Before he could knock,
the door opened and a harassed looking guy came out. “What?” he snapped. “Do…do you live here?” “Yes.” Joe took in the Are you a moron? glare and backed off. “Sorry. Wrong apartment.” He paused at the stairs and instead of going up to his apartment, he walked down in a daze. Outside on the street, he took a deep breath. His hands were shaking. Joe didn’t know what he was thinking. Anger that she’d tricked him? Or regret? He jolted as the guy he’d seen upstairs emerged behind him with a woman and a little boy. The woman wasn’t Kate. Had she moved out? Joe started to follow them and stopped. He didn’t need a fist in his face. He needed Kate. Almost as though thinking her name had brought her into his line of sight, Joe saw her. She stood outside the door of the building across the street, holding GI Joe by the arm. Joe forgot to look both ways. Forgot to check again just in case. Forgot he wasn’t supposed to be a real man. He rushed across the street and then froze in front of her. “I went to your apartment.” They spoke at the same time and then laughed.
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“You live over there?” she whispered. “And you live over here?” Kate gulped. “Once I’d convinced myself you weren’t a burglar holding a spare set of keys, I decided you’d come through the ceiling of my closet from the floor of yours.” “I did. This is impossible.” He reached up to rake his fingers through his hair and Kate caught hold of his hand. “Does it matter?” she asked, anxiety written all over her lovely face. Joe smiled. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, the doll pressed between them. His erection grew larger by the second. “Come upstairs to my place,” Kate whispered. “Do you think we can get to yours through mine?” She tugged him by the hand, up the stairs, into her apartment and over to her closet. Somehow Joe wasn’t surprised to find the ceiling panel firmly fixed in place and the beams above untouched. “Not going to work anymore, hot lips,” he said. Kate pouted. “Damn, and I was going to see what happened if I put two action figures in here.” Joe laughed. “Does this mean the magic’s gone out of our relationship?” She smiled. “Take off those shorts and let’s see.”
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Why’d It Have To Be Shorts? By Dawn Jackson
“If you show up this weekend, you pass.” Professor Garner continued writing on the chalkboard, his back turned. “Don’t, and you’ll have wasted your time as much as you’ve wasted mine.” His hands are huge. Cecilia blinked, watching him stroke the chalk up and down the board. If only he could lose the suit, she could see if the rest of him measured up to the wet dreams she’d been having for the last month and a half, involving those hands. “This isn’t a social gathering, folks. We’re going there to work and work hard. You’re going to get your hands dirty.” Did he just read my mind? She snapped her pencil in two and gave her roommate a nasty look. Six weeks. She’d sat through every lecture. Radiocarbon dating, the fascinating world of fire pits and yes, identifying food sources by analyzing scat. Shit. Whatever. Okay, so it pointed toward what they consumed. Who cared? He didn’t even know she existed. She huffed and blew her bangs off her forehead. An outing. If she’d been paying attention, she just might know where. Wherever it was, it was screwing up her life for the next two weeks. She had to take vacation from her full-time job. This class was supposed to be a nighttime commitment only. An easy grade, easy credits she needed to wrap up her degree and a little time for fantasizing about the teacher. Even if it was the only sex she’d had in the last nine months, fictional was better than nothing. Now she’d be around him night and day for two weeks. Her libido would go haywire. Damn. Megan said she wouldn’t regret taking this class. Anthropology 101. Yeah, okay. The teacher proved to be a major distraction, regardless that she couldn’t see much of him in what he wore. It was a wonder he didn’t drop dead from the heat. Cecilia shifted in her seat and yawned. Just looking at him in the tweed made her itch. She wanted to rip it off in the
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worst way. “Are we keeping you up, Ms. Thompson?” “No, professor.” “This is an extremely exciting discovery. The caves were only recently uncovered by an earthquake. We’ve received a green light that it’s safe to proceed. You’ll be one of the first people to set foot inside in ten thousand years.” His eyes practically sparkled with excitement. “The paintings on the walls are so fresh they look like they were created yesterday. We’ll have a better understanding of these people and where they came from, how they evolved socially. I’m told some of the pictures hint at a landbridge crossing. A team of archeologists has been on site for the last two months.” “Thrilling,” Cecilia mumbled. It is.” Damn, he has great hearing. “The team has representatives from several major museums and universities throughout the world to excavate and document. Some of the top archeologists and anthropologists in the country will be there. You’ll get to rub elbows, eat and camp with them. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ve paired each of you up with one of them. Your job will be to observe them and help them with whatever they need.” Cecilia could picture the wrinkly old geezers they’d be assisting. Oh yeah, just who she wanted to crawl into a cave with. Her love life sucked. She hated camping and hated dark, cramped places. There was little that could happen to change her view on that. She shivered when she thought of the other things that might be crawling around in the cave with her, namely spiders and snakes. If he noticed her lack of interest, it didn’t show. He continued on, the excitement in his voice building. “I’m passing out a list. Make sure you bring warm-weather clothing, sunscreen and a jacket. It’s hot and dry on the surface, but down in the caves, it can get a bit nippy. When they’re done, the caves are being sealed up to preserve them. We
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could very well be the last eyes to view these fantastic works of art.” Okay, so a caveman slapped bloody handprints all over the walls and she was supposed to get excited about it? Cecilia sighed. She had to pass this class. If she failed, she could kiss the easy credits goodbye and spend more time and money to finish what she’d started. That would be the last time she took advice from a twenty-two-year-old who thought it was a good idea to “let her hair down” and take a class for reasons other than to learn. “Every year, I choose a personal assistant. This year for our dig, Ms. Thompson will accompany me.” Cecilia sat up straight. He what? Did he just say what she thought he said? Now the torture would be right next to her, a constant reminder of her serious lack of nookie. Why the hell did he want her help? He hadn’t so much as looked her in the eye before today. Two weeks paired up with a man who didn’t even see her, not at the top of her list of things to do. No matter if she had a thing for him. “Professor, I’m not sure I’m the right person for this—honor.” “I picked the right person.” “Yeah.” She fiddled with her pencil on the desk. Get out of it, you’ll go into meltdown. “I have claustrophobia.” “Then that won’t be a problem. The cave is massive. There’s an entire village inside the main chamber, separate adobe rooms. All like they just moved out. It surrounds a dried lake bed. The mineral deposits, suggest it was geo-thermal at one time. An indoor heated city. You won’t feel the least bit crowded and your art expertise will be invaluable in the section we’re working.” The professor strolled down the aisle toward her. Expertise? Who told him she could draw? He snatched the doodle off the desk, glanced down at a caricature of himself and back into her eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Invaluable.” ****
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I can’t believe I listened to you.” Cecilia dropped her bags on the hot asphalt and lifted her hair off her neck. They hadn’t even entered the desert yet and she was already melting. And to make matters worse, Megan kept going on about how hot her partner was. The last thing Cecilia wanted to think about was anything hot. Staying focused on passing was her goal. “I’m telling you, he’s hot. Omigod! We’re both lucky.” Megan shoved her elbow into Cecilia’s ribs. “Look at teacher. Who’d have thunk?” Cecilia followed Megan’s gaze across the parking lot where Professor Garner was tossing equipment into the back of a vehicle. Hiking boots, T-shirt. Rugged. Unexpected. Hot. Khaki shorts exposed a great set of calves and an ass normally covered by his stuffy, politically correct professorial attire. The temperature outside rose another twenty degrees and Cecile broke into a sweat. “Sweet mother. When did teachers start looking like that?” “Brooke told me he rock climbs on the weekends. Look at those legs. I think I just creamed myself.” Brooke? What would Brooke know? The little rumormonger. Cecilia shot Megan a crusty look. “Keep it down, he’ll hear you.” “At his age, he’s lucky to hear anything.” “He’s not that old. Forty, forty-five. And he’s got fantastic hearing.” “For someone of your advanced age, no.” “I’m not that old. God, you’d think I was a spinster the way you and Brooke go on about me.” Cecilia cocked her head to the side, studying her suddenly more provocative teacher. “What’s the chance the rest of him looks that good? He’s got great legs, I’ll give him that, but look what he does for a living. You know he can’t have the total package. He’s a teacher. Probably flabby under that shirt,” Cecilia mumbled, hoping she was right. Pretending he was old and unattractive was the only way she’d kept focus in class to date. His hands were distracting enough. Now she had to add his ass and legs to the list. If the rest of him looked like what she had her gaze glued to, she was in trouble.
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She’d bomb the class for sure. Then to prove her wrong, Professor Garner turned around and lifted his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing a well muscled set of abs and washboard stomach. Cecilia blinked. “Christ.” “No, but I’d say he’s definitely blessed. You have to get him naked and report back to me.” “What?” Cecilia turned back to Megan. “What in the hell are you talking about?” “Don’t tell me you don’t want to get him naked. Even a young woman could appreciate that. I appreciate that. Half the class is appreciating that. Besides, it’s not like there’s that much difference in your age.” “I’m not an old lady.” She was thirty-two. Not a kid, but that hardly qualified her for AARP. She could appreciate a hot teacher as much as the next young student. He lifted his head and looked straight at her. Her heart jumped into her throat. He started toward them. “I… Oh shit, here he comes.” Megan started laughing. “Come on, take one for the team.” “Take what for the team?” Professor Garner walked up, pulling off his sunglasses. Lapis eyes. Cecilia shut her mouth hoping her tongue hadn’t been hanging out. His gaze was so much more intense without his thick frames. Sexier. Cecilia’s body reacted to him. Thighs tightened, stomach constricted and she squeezed her cell phone tight, almost cracking the case. Dear God. That wasn’t the man in the tweed suit from the classroom. That was a walking orgasm waiting to happen. Cecilia swallowed and forced a smile to her face, glancing down at her phone. An excuse. Thank god. “A camera. I’m going to take a picture of the class.” A lame excuse. For some reason it sounded better in her head. “A picture.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Cecilia’s stomach rolled. The things a man could do with a mouth like that. His body was one thing, his eyes electrifying, but that mouth made her think of a multitude of naughty things. And those hands. Dear God, those hands. She’d always had a thing
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for large hands. His were exceptional. He could cup her ass perfectly, wrap them around her waist, stroke her in ways she’d only dreamed about for the last six weeks. It was a wonder she was passing the class. All she could think about was sex when the man was in the same room. All because of those hands. Cecilia’s gaze swept down to his groin and the zipper on his khaki shorts or what was under the zipper. Were other parts as…? He cleared his throat and her eyes snapped back to his. No, no, no. He caught me ogling. Don’t say anything, stay calm. Maybe he didn’t notice. He raised a brow and her face flooded with heat. Oh shit. He saw me. “Not inside the caves. The tribe on the reservation won’t allow photographs. All paintings will have to be hand drawn and documented. It’s part of the agreement to get access. It’s on sacred land.” He nodded to her phone. “If that has a camera attached, you can’t bring it.” “Yes, but I won’t take it in the caves.” “You won’t bring it at all.” A loud bang sounded behind them and Professor Garner spun on his heel yelling at a couple of students tossing a crate into the back of the truck. “Hey. That’s delicate equipment.” Megan snagged the phone from Cecilia’s hand and snapped a picture of his ass as he strode away. “A souvenir.” Now that she’d seen him in the damn shorts, she’d be thinking about a hell of a lot more than those hands. Cecilia snatched it back. “What are you doing? He might catch you.” “If you take a picture, it lasts longer.” Cecilia stared at the screen and smiled. “Never mind. Nice shot.” **** “So, Ms. Thompson, what are you doing in my class?” Professor Garner downshifted the pickup, taking the corner a little faster than necessary. The back of the truck fishtailed across the ruts in the road, bouncing her across the seat toward dangerous territory.
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Cecilia tightened her grip on the door and tugged, putting more space between them. The last thing she needed was to bounce into his lap. She glanced out the side. No rail, big drop, narrow road. Her skin twitched and the overwhelming urge to scoot back over, hit. Along with spiders and snakes, she hated heights. A lot. “Well?” “What?” “I wondered why you took my class. You don’t seem the least bit interested in the curriculum.” “I thought…” She tightened her grip as the truck moved closer to the drop-off. The dust from the vehicle in front created a cloud, hiding everything but the edge and the smoking hot man next to her. Better to keep eyes on the edge. Less dangerous. “You thought what?” “It would be interesting.” She glanced down at his hand, capping the ball end of the stick shift and visualized his fingers engaged in another activity. He caught her staring again and lifted his hand off the stick. “You keep staring at my hand. Is there something wrong with it?” “No,” she squeaked. Nothing wrong, other than it could be otherwise engaged. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her thoughts on anything but his hand and the bulge in his shorts. She sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. They gravitated back to his hand then slid lower. Why’d he have to wear shorts? She could handle him in the suit. “Interesting?” He steered away from the edge and snorted, shifting into a lower gear as they began their descent into Turkey Creek canyon. “For a second I thought you might have taken the class to get to know me.” “Where’d you get an idea like that?” Oh, she knew where he got the idea. She couldn’t keep her damn eyes off him or her mouth closed. For all she knew, she’d been drooling. Liar. You’re such a bad liar. Originally she’d been told the hot guys hung out in his class. Being single and not getting any younger, it seemed like a good idea at the time. She hadn’t anticipated the teacher being one of them. Damn. She had it bad. Heat
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washed across her face and moisture beaded on her forehead. “The way you watch me in class, the way you were looking me over in the parking lot. You still have that picture on your cell phone?” Cecilia blushed a deeper scarlet. “Oh God. You saw that?” The corner of his mouth curled. I don’t miss much. I’ve been dying to have some one-on-one time with you, Ms. Thompson.” “Cecilia.” “Cecilia. You can call me Devin.” “Devin. You don’t look like a Devin.” A Devin seemed smaller, with perhaps blond hair and green eyes. He didn’t have coffee colored hair and sinful lapis eyes. Cecilia shifted on her seat, tightening her grip and trying to slow her heart beat before he noticed. Devin was a lot more personal than Professor. “Why did you really take my class, Cecilia?” Why didn’t they call his class interrogation 101? Crap. Give him something, anything. “I was told it was easy.” Her face felt as though it would melt from the heat burning under her skin. “Honesty. I like that.” He shifted again, slowing the pickup further. “I’d like to get to know you. When you’re done with my class, would you like to go out to dinner sometime?” “A date? I don’t know.” He was interested in her? She’d have never known. “It’s almost over. Two more weeks.” “Don’t you think that will raise a few eyebrows?” “It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school. We’re two adults.Yes?” He glanced sideways at her. “Do your homework and you’ll pass. I won’t treat you any differently than any of the other students. But I have to admit, since I first met you, I’ve felt this pull, this need to get to know you better.” Time to change the subject. “So what do you do for fun?” “All kinds of stuff. And you—what do you like to do, Cecilia?” His voice stroked
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her between the thighs, making her already soaked panties, wetter. I’d like to ride you hard. Cecilia drew in a breath. “I like to dance, hike, paint—ride horseback.” Yee-hah. “Anything else?” The tone of his voice fell between a growl that made her stomach flip and one that said he knew there was something more she hadn’t revealed. He did say he didn’t miss much. “No.” He down-shifted. “We’re coming to the bottom. You sure there isn’t something else you want to say?” “Are there spiders and snakes in the cave?” “Yup.” “Damn.” ****
“Ms. Thompson and I are going to document the chamber standing alone off
to the left. I want the rest of you in the main to assist in documenting everything. The layout, the art. I want every fire pit mapped. Dr. Smith is in charge, if you have any questions.” The group proceeded ahead and Devin grabbed her elbow. “This way.” He lifted his lantern and turned down a passageway to the left.
“The people who lived in this cave worshipped a fertility idol. I’ve been told
the chamber we’re about to enter is dedicated to her. The goddess. Don’t be surprised at anything you see.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Devin ducked his head and stepped into a chamber that opened up to a fifteen-foot ceiling. “Oh boy. My forward observer didn’t exaggerate. Maybe you’d better wait.” He blocked her from entering. Cecilia shoved him out of the way and squeezed by. “I’m a big girl. There isn’t anything I can’t handle. Well, as long as the room isn’t full of spiders and snakes.” “No spiders and snakes.”
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“Oh.” Cecilia gasped upon entering True, she could handle just about anything, but a six-foot penis standing sentinel before her was not expected and about the last thing a girl would want to encounter alone in a dark room with the man of her dreams. He lifted his lantern higher illuminating everything. “Phallic symbols,” he said. Understatement. Ginormous penises. Somebody overcompensated. Everywhere around her, they stood. Some straight, others twisty and deformed, but all were erect, screaming look at me. And what else could she do? Was this what a slut acid trip looked like? Salivating Dali? Regardless what it was, it cranked the tension higher between them. Cecilia closed her eyes and counted down from ten, taking calming breaths. She could handle this and she’d be damned if she let on it bothered her. She opened her eyes and tried to take it in from an artist’s perspective, doing her best to forget what it was she really studied. Her eyes swept the walls and came to rest on the Neanderthal version of the Kama Sutra. Graphic detailed drawings of Fred, Wilma and Barney getting it on in every position imaginable. “Dear God.” Forget it. There was no way she could hide her reaction to that. “Actually, she was a goddess.” He pointed to a statue in a niche in the wall of a fat woman with huge breasts and thighs. Not exactly a pin-up model. “They were hunters and gatherers. They had to rely on each other to survive. The more children a woman produced, the more value she held to her people. You did bring your sketchbook?” Cecilia’s mouth dropped open. She was supposed to sketch giant penises all day? That, and people fucking. In detail? She’d be so horny she wouldn’t be able to think straight. Two weeks of this, next to him drawing erections and she’d fry her vibrator for sure. “I…” “Can you believe the detail?” Detail? She stared in horror. They’d even colored in the pubic hair and the cocks
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and testicles on the paintings had veins. He really wanted her to sketch this room? He slipped up behind her and whispered in her ear. “Look up. You’ve got to see the ceiling.” Cecilia swallowed and for a second, squeezed her eyes shut. Unable to resist, she opened them and followed to where he pointed, coming face to face with a Neanderthal orgy. “Looks like the whole tribe got in on the ceremony.” Some cave girl was sucking a massive cock and getting another from behind. “That’s—interesting.” “You wanted interesting.” Devin laughed. “And it’s our job to document it.” He pulled out a notebook and set the lantern down on the tip of one of the huge erections. He strode across the room and dropped to the sandy floor. Crossing his legs, he began to scan the walls and take notes. Well, wasn’t he all business? Cecilia huffed and sank to the sand. She flipped her notebook open and tipped her chin up. “Should I start with the giant penises or the sex show on the ceiling?” “They’re not going anywhere. It might be easier to start with the phallic symbols and work your way up.” She hadn’t been asking him. It was more a conversation with herself. His comment only reminded her of her situation and the last thing she wanted to look at, was a huge penis. She dropped to her back and stared up, taking it all in. In the center, a man with coffee-colored hair and a petite woman. She straddled him in a squat and they were face to face. The artist had elaborated on the man’s cock. The woman was half on the gigantic… Cecilia blinked. Devin stood over her, smiling down. “I wouldn’t lie down if you don’t like spiders.” “I don’t see any spiders.” He dropped to a knee beside her and reached for her hair. His hand came away with a spider covering the back. “Tarantula. Not poisonous, but they do have a nasty bite.” He stood and moved
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away with the hairy brown monstrosity. Cecilia screamed and vaulted to her feet, shaking her hair and jumping in place. The professor transferred the spider to a penis and she leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, not wanting contact with any part of the cave or anywhere any spider could be lurking. “I said I’d like to get to know you, but this is a bit sudden.” His hands slid under her ass, holding her up and against him, but he didn’t move to put her down. She froze. What was she doing? Yeah, real professional there, Cecilia. She started to loosen her grip and he tightened his. “Where are you going?” Nowhere, now. His hard body against hers—an unexpected side effect of her panic attack, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to do away with. She shifted her gaze to his. “Sorry, I…” He spun her around and pressed her back against one of the stone erections.“Oh hell, when in Rome.” He lowered his mouth and kissed her, sending energy zipping through her blood. Her stomach flipped and she arched into him, needing him closer. Wanting him naked, skin to skin. Inside her. Then again, half the university was in the next room… “I think perhaps we should stop.” It wasn’t a good idea, no matter how tempting. “Don’t think,” he murmured against her lips. Truth was, she hadn’t been able to think about anything but sex since she’d walked into the room with him. All the pictures and cocks all over the room made it damn near impossible. “What was this room used for?” “Hmm.” He continued to nibble on her lips. Pressing a very obvious erection against her. Heat poured through her body. Resist, resist, resist. Cecilia pulled her mouth away. There had to be something very wrong about doing this here, besides the very obvious reason they could get caught.
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“What was this room used for?” “Fertility. See the surfaces on the penises. They’ve been worn smooth by hands running over them.” “Let’s not tempt fate.” He pulled back. “I’ve got protection.” His eyes sparked with humor. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious?” She shook her head. “This gives me the heebie-jeebies. Like touching this shit could get me pregnant. I don’t think so.” He released her and stepped back. “Your call.” Cecilia nodded. “Thanks for taking care of that spider.” He shook his head and smiled. “I’d do it again if you’d jump on me like that one more time.” She smiled, stepped around him and grabbed her sketchbook, flipping it open. She found a perch on a rock and plopped down. He leaned against the six-foot penis and watched her. She tried to ignore him, avoid glancing his way, but her attention kept drifting back to him in those damn shorts with his arms crossed over that hard chest. Stop looking at me. Burning heat moved through her. She turned around on the rock and examined a different part of the cave, still feeling his eyes on her back, then lower as he checked out her ass. “Paint a picture. It will last longer.” She heard him chuckle behind her and felt his eyes leave her. “You are aware you’re sitting on a penis?” **** Cecilia paced back and forth in front of his tent. She stopped and stared across the camp where a group sat around a fire, roasting marshmallows and talking about the excavation. “Just knock or something.” The tent sat in a dark nook. No one would know she was here. She glanced at the canvas door. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. You can’t knock. Call
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out his name. Tell him you have a question. That’s stupid. He’s going to know you came here to jump him.” Cecilia sighed. “Fucking giant penises. I have to get a life.” She spun and ran head on into Devin’s chest. Hot, hard, delicious. He grabbed her arms to steady her, holding her tight against him. Cecilia tipped her head back and sucked in a breath. “Lurking outside my tent, Ms. Thompson?” “I wasn’t lurking. I, I…” “I heard your entire conversation. Quite entertaining. Would you like to come in?” “No, I…” She broke from his hold and stepped away. “You sure about that?” He brushed her shoulder with his hand as he walked by. Electrical current zinged through her blood, igniting a well stoked fire. “I know why you’re here.” “Why’s that?” “For the same reason I was over at your tent, looking for you.” He pulled the flap back and motioned for her to step through. Cecilia entered and glanced around the tent. A cot sat off to the side, along with a table, chairs and laptop. Lots of open space in the middle. A tarp covered the sandy soil, soft, perfect for rolling on and not a spider in sight. Devin strode over to a cooler and pulled it open, bending over in his shorts. Cecilia sucked in a breath. “Would you like a beer, or do you just want to get to the jumping part?” Cecilia shook her head and he dropped the lid on the cooler. “I think I’d like to skip the beer.” She launched herself on him, taking him to the ground. They rolled across the space until he was on top, pinning her down. “What, no beer?” “If I have to stare at one more giant penis without scratching this itch, I’m going to lose it,” she said. “That makes two of us.” He lowered his mouth and devoured her lips, taking the
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air from her lungs. Cecilia slid her fingers into his hair and opened to him, letting his tongue dip inside her mouth. His lips trailed along her jaw, nipping kissing the lobe of her ear. Warm breath tickled the nape of her neck, sending shivers racing through her body. Inside the fire exploded. “I’ve wanted to put my hands on you all day. God, you make me crazy.” “Hands. Please.” He pushed her thighs open with his knee and snaked a hand under her shirt. His thumb slipped under her bra and brushed her nipple. It popped up, hard as a pebble. Cecilia groaned and he fed on it, intensifying the kiss, grinding his hips into hers. He shoved her bra and shirt up, cupping her breast, continuing to work the pad of his thumb over her nipple. He dipped his head and sucked her beaded nipple between his lips. Cecilia grabbed his waistband, pulling him tighter into her. “Now. I need you inside me.” His hand left her shirt and dropped to the button of her denim shorts, tugging them open. It stroked up and down her mound, rubbing, petting her through the fabric. Cecilia groaned and grabbed his hand, pushing him inside her open zipper, working his fingers under the sheer lace of her thong. “There. Touch me there.” Fingers slid between her lips and Cecilia cried out, arching into them. Wet heat flooded from her, coating his fingers with cream. Slick fingers brushed over her clit. She thrashed her head side to side, biting her lip. “Oh God. I love your hands.” She shaved herself thinking about his fingers doing what they were doing now. Only dreaming at the time. A fantasy come to life, but better. “I love your bare pussy. Smooth. Slick. Hot. Do you have any idea what that does to me?” “Whatever it does, make me feel it. Just don’t stop touching me.” A throaty growl rolled from her throat as he slid his fingers deeper, hitting the right spot, the right nerve. Inside she exploded with pleasure.
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“That’s it, sweetheart. I want to feel you come around my fingers.” Two of his fingers pushed inside her. Cecilia gasped and bucked into them. He worked them deeper, sliding in and out, fucking her, stroking her until she was ready to weep. Cecilia raised her hand and bit down on her palm, muffling a scream. Faster his fingers moved, in and out, stroking her core. More heat and her pussy squeezed around them, pulsing with wave after wave of orgasm, throbbing, pulling his fingers deeper. “Fuck me. Fuck me.” He shifted to another spot and Cecilia whimpered. “There. Oh God, yes. Right there.” She came again. Lights exploded around her as the second orgasm busted loose, twice as powerful as the first. She screamed out and he leaned over, pressing his mouth to hers, burying the sound. He whispered against her lips. “Easy baby. We don’t need visitors.” How could she stay quiet with six weeks of built-up tension slamming through her? “I have to taste you.” “You can’t…You’ll kill me.” His hand pulled away and he yanked on her shorts and panties, tugging them down her legs, leaving her bare to his heated gaze. He balled them up and threw them against the side of the tent and rolled to his back. “Straddle my face.” On shaky limbs, Cecilia climbed over his body, dripping wet, so horny she could barely hold herself upright. She slipped over his face and he grabbed her hips, locking her against his lips, licking her, flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue. She whimpered and he pushed his tongue inside her, licking along the tender flesh. His tongue retreated and a soft breath washed over her clit. “Oh,” Cecilia panted. “Oh, fuck.” The combination of his rough whiskers and lips pushed her into madness. He licked her between the folds and sucked her clit between his teeth, scraping it lightly. She tried to buck, but he held her immobile, making love to her with his mouth, harder, faster until she couldn’t think. His tongue pushed inside her again and she came, dropping forward, throwing her arms out and catching herself
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before she collapsed. He didn’t stop, but continued until she wept, panting, not knowing where one orgasm stopped and the other started. “Please!” she screamed and he released her, sliding from under her. The next thing she knew he was behind her, his shorts undone, his hard cock pressed against her swollen lips. “Don’t worry, I’m covered.” He yanked back on her hips and rocked her up on her knees, then drove into her. Balls slapped against her ass, as his cock sank to her cervix. “Sorry this isn’t going to last long.” Was he kidding? Any more and she’d fracture to a thousand pieces. He pumped into her, slow at first, each stroke getting harder, faster, until Cecilia buried her face into her forearm to muffle the howl. He gripped her hips with those hands, pulling her back into each thrust. Over and over. Harder and faster. Flesh pounding flesh. Drunk on the pleasure, Cecilia’s world began to spin. “Oh God, I’m going to come again.” “Perfect,” he growled and buried himself to the hilt, coming with her. A groan rolled from his chest and he held her tight, pulsing inside her as she spasmed around him. His lips brushed hers neck as he leaned over. “Do you want to stay in my tent tonight?” “Are we going to sleep?” She felt him grow hard again, still inside her. “What do you think?” “I think I might be changing my major to anthropology and taking more of your classes.” **** “Tell us about the release of your new book on the cave paintings of Turkey Creek Canyon,” the reporter said and scrawled in his notebook. The release coincided with the kickoff of the traveling exhibit that would criss-cross the globe. A major international buzz.
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“It’s a collaborative effort. My husband analyzed and interpreted all the paintings and I illustrated. It’s been an ongoing project for several years. Of course, the cave was sealed off six years ago to protect the integrity of the paintings and preserve the history, so the only way the public can see these amazing works of art are through the eyes of the artists who painted them from life.” “Why did you choose ‘The Cave of a Thousand Pleasures’ for the title?” “Read the book. It speaks for itself.” Cecilia smiled at Devin, who sat across the room. “Rumor has it you met your husband at the caves.” “I knew him from class, but didn’t fall in love ’til I saw him in shorts.” “Shorts?” “He’s got great legs.” “Speaking of love, did the cave inspire romance?” “It didn’t hurt.”
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Hot, Hot, Hot By Adam Carpenter There they were, in the window, the most perfect pair of shorts he’d ever laid eyes on. They weren’t ordinary beach shorts or cargo shorts or even those ridiculously tacky plaid Bermuda ones. Nope, these shorts were made of leather and adorned with shiny metal and other glistening items…and they were hot, hot, hot. That’s even what he said, a direct quote. “OMG, those are hot, hot, hot.” Erik had a habit of sending far too many text messages and as a result his speak had gotten noticeably “text-y” over the years. His friends were used to it, especially Tim, who was right now standing beside Erik, thoroughly unimpressed with the leather shorts they were gazing at. “What’s the big deal? There’s barely any material to them—I mean, they’re real short.” “Hello? That’s the point! More skin.” “Why not just go naked?” Erik grinned. “Baby steps, Tim, baby steps. Come on, let’s go in and check them out.” “We’re gonna be late. Erik, I think you’re stalling.” “No, I’m not. And don’t mention…him.” And with that little bit of denial, Erik made his way inside. The NightLife Boutique on Santa Monica Boulevard was busy for late night, but then again, it was Friday night and things didn’t really get going in West Hollywood until the sky truly darkened. The bars obviously knew this pattern, and so too did some of the specialty stores that lined the busy boulevard. The NightLife, purveyors of sexy clothes, condoms and toys, movies and other such items, was a bustling hive on cool October evening. The midnight hour was fast approaching and guys were either getting
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ready for a long night of partying—or were picking up supplies for an early night in. Tim reluctantly followed his friends inside; the front door was open already and accommodating. Wasting little time, Erik wound his way toward the far wall like a man on a mission, where a few racks of clothing were waiting for someone to show some interest. Erik’s eyes were wide as he flipped through some other styles of shorts, looking for black leather shorts he’d seen in the window. First rack, nothing. Second rack, same result. “WTF?” Erik asked, his fingers doing the talking through row after row of randy clothes. Tim, standing impatiently at the top of the aisle, suggested he ask the sales guy for help. “Geez, give me a sec, Tim, there’s like, four more racks and lots of leather to look through. This ain’t exactly a Laura Ashley shop, you know.” “Now, that I’d pay to see,” Tim remarked. “Be-itch!” Erik then ignored his friend and went back to his search and still, he was coming up with a big fat zilch. Where were those shorts? Honestly, why advertise something in a window when the item that dragged you in was nowhere to be seen? Effing sales clerks, they were CTs just like the boys in every bar in WeHo. Just like…well, never mind, we’re not talking about him. Besides, Erik should know all about being a tease. He’d been called one on more than one occasion. Finally, he came to the last racks of clothes, but they were all leather jackets with chains and other heavy metal items. Seventy-five degrees in the evening and what’s this store pushing? Leather jackets. Sure, they were nice and Erik would no doubt look HHH in any one of them, but what would really complete the outfit was no shirt and dammit…those sexy little black leather shorts. That would show that son of a bitch. Stop it, he reminded himself. This night was about fresh starts, the bloom of new romance or at least temporary, mind-blowing sex.
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By now, fifteen minutes had elapsed since they’d entered the store, and Tim was getting noticeably antsy. The plan had been to hit the bars with a couple of friends, have a few beers, end the night down at the Abbey, maybe meet someone for a quick, meaningful L.A. fuck, then laze around the rest of the weekend in their underwear. Tim decided to remind Erik of the plan. “Yeah, I know. Brad and Simon can just wait for us. And look, I know this was your way of getting me back out and forgetting about that a-hole.” Even mad, he spoke text-y. “Hey, just text them, say we’re running late, that I’ve fallen in love already. They’re half expecting that anyway. Besides, I want those shorts. Wait, change that. I need those shorts.” “Whatever happened to plain old Calvins?” “So last decade, so last boyfriend,” Erik replied. “Okay, I’m gonna go ask one of those snotty clerks where the eff they’re hiding them.” “Good approach,” Tim remarked dryly. Erik found one clerk behind the counter, just to the right of the window display. He was busy checking out a customer—and by that, he was taking his money and then watching his ass as the boy-toy retreated back outside. Erik had to wait a beat before the guy’s attention was focused on his new customer. “Oh, hey, sorry…you find something you like?” “Sort of. I like those shorts that are in the window. But I can’t find them in the store.” “Oh…those. Yeah, that’s the last pair.” “I’ll take ’em.” “Honey, they’re kinda…pricy.” Erik blanched. Was this guy assuming Erik didn’t have the money for the shorts? What, were they made of fricking diamonds and gold? It was just leather, and not a lot of it, for that matter. How much could they cost, anyway? Not that he really cared what they cost. When you needed something this badly, cost was hardly a concern. As though
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the lower your self-esteem, the higher the bill. “Two hundred fifty.” “Two hundred fifty what? Pennies?” Tim asked, stepping in between his friend and the greedy store employee. He realized he needed to calm his friend down. Why this sudden fascination for these shorts, he couldn’t be sure. A substitute for Dan? Dan who dumped him, Dan who cheated on him, Dan who broke his heart? The clerk’s smile was effete but pointed. “Dollars.” “For a pair of shorts?” Erik jumped in again, pushing Tim aside. “Look, can I see them…touch them? Then I’ll know whether I want to spend the money on them.” But he already knew they had to be his. The clerk paused, clearly weighing the time spent and the prognosis for purchase. But Erik was adamant and he wasn’t leaving. That’s just what he said. Soon the mannequin had been stripped bare, much to the pleasure of some drunken juvenile fools out on the sidewalk, and Erik was holding in his hands his dream shorts. Up close, they were beautiful. The leather was the softest he’d ever felt, and along the seams on the side he noticed little crystal beads which gleamed, even in the awful florescent lighting of the store. Under real light they would glisten, and Erik would too. At the crotch was a mesh-like window, which would give his package room to breathe. He liked that. Ooh, he liked that a lot. But what he really liked was the metal belt that ran along the top of the shorts. It added weight to the fabric as well as an extra-special sex appeal. “Like butter—not rubber, and that fresh leather smell, it’s… “I know, I know, hot hot hot.” Erik ignored the sarcasm, instead concentrated on running his thumb along the fabric. He imagined himself slipping inside the shorts, his body curving nicely to its contours. The way his cock would feel brushing against the inside material, both the leather and the mesh. Desire started to flood through him, and for a moment he grew
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lightheaded. God, it was like he was having sex right here and now – and not with that fucker Dan – everyone watching him, waiting for the feel of the leather to bring him to the heights of absolute ecstasy. For a moment he closed his eyes and let the fantasy wash over him. To hell with what others thought. This was Los Angeles, where weird was normal and passion was craved. Just then his eyes blinked wide. A current of fear hit him as he wondered what if they were the wrong size. They were the last pair in the store. What if they were a medium or…horrors, a large? He hated to think of the body needed to fill a large pair of these shorts. Kind of defeated their purpose. They had to be small, but who put small in the window? In a town like this, everyone was borderline anorexic and small always went fast. He was almost afraid to look. But then there it was, on the white label attached to the back of the shorts. S. Erik breathed easily, almost a sexual release. “Can I try them on?” he asked. The clerk gave him a dubious look. “Does it look like we have a dressing room?” “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, his mind racing with thoughts, possibilities, scenarios. Revenge fantasies. Finally, he said, “I’ll take them.” Tim, buttoned-up, preppy, and growing visibly frustrated, said, “Erik, you’re going to spend two hundred and fifty dollars on a scrap of clothing the size of a handkerchief? Come on, I know why you’re doing this. But they’re just shorts…nothing more.” Erik set the shorts down, briefly, turning to his friend and holding him at the shoulders. “See, Tim, that’s where you and I differ. These shorts represent something new, fresh, a way to awaken me and let me know I’m sexy. I’m a man of impulse and desire, I can go with the flow. You need everything planned down to the last second.” “I’m not arguing spontaneity here, Erik—I’m talking next month’s rent.” “That why we have credit cards,” Erik said, and as if to prove his point he whipped his out and slapped it down on the counter. The clerk quickly slid the card through his machine, waiting for an approval from Visa. Authorization came through, Erik signed
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the slip, the clerk put the shorts in the bag, and at last the transaction was finalized. Once back out on Santa Monica, Tim grabbed hold of Erik’s hand and said it was time for them to hustle, that there was probably a line already outside the bar and he hated waiting, it looked so needy “And trust me, if you need something to further deflate your ego, you stand on line while hot guys are swirling inside like they’ve been pre-approved.” “You go ahead, I’m going home.” “Erik!” “What, you don’t expect me to walk around WeHo all night with these shorts! What if I misplace the bag or someone steals them or…a spaceship lands in the center of the Abbey and they need leather as fuel to get back to their home planet?” Despite himself, Tim laughed. “Okay, Mr. Wild Imagination, what do you propose?” “Just meet up with Brad and Simon. I’ll be along in about an hour.” “And where are you going?” “Home.” “No, no, it’s taken me three weeks to convince you go out again, and finally you’ve agreed. He won’t be out…and even if he is, you’ve got us at your side.” “I know. But I’ve got to try these on.” Tim knew his friend. Knew there was no changing his mind. “Fine. Call me later. But don’t fall asleep.” “I won’t. I’ll text you.” “Of course you will. LOL.” Erik gave his best friend a quick peck on the cheek, said, “Thanks,” then went dashing between the crowded sidewalks of Santa Monica in search of his car. He had a date tonight, a hotter one than even he could have imagined. God, these effing shorts were going to look so hot on him. Hot, hot, hot. Fuck Dan. ****
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There was a reason he’d bought a floor-length mirror. As loyal a friend as Erik was, vanity had its place in his heart as well and as bad as he felt about ditching Tim, he knew there would be no quieting the voice in his head if he didn’t rush home and try these shorts on. So there he stood before the oval mirror, staring at his dressed-toparty outfit, which he would quickly shed, like a snake does its skin, and reveal his new, desirous look. Even when casually undressing, Erik thought there was something wildly erotic about exposing your skin and your self to whomever was watching. A close friend, a new lover, or just your own being and whatever fantasies that lived inside you. The past few weeks, he’d been alone with those fantasies, remembering lovers from before Dan had entered his life. His current fantasy certainly involved the beautiful pair of shorts he’d just spent his hard-earned money on, and so without further ado, his own party began. At twenty-seven, Erik was in great shape, not one of those gym-toned bodies but more naturally slim that he further benefited from with a thrice-weekly jog through Laurel Canyon. His clothes clung tightly to his body, often leaving little to the imagination. Still, there was nothing like the real thing, peeling away layers to reveal it all. So he shed himself first of his shirt, one button at a time, choosing to go from bottom to top. In the mirror he watched as his flat stomach was exposed, his blip of a belly button and above. At last the final button was released, he slid the shirt off his shoulders, watching the reflection in the mirror as it billowed to the ground behind him. His nipples were already hardened, but then again, he thought they had been since the moment he’d touched the shorts. Gazing at his chest, his strong pecs, the silky smooth skin, he knew he was all that and more. God, it felt good to think of himself this way, positively. Like someone could find him attractive again. His hands wound their way down his chest, his fingers further teasing his nipples into submission. Twisting them ever-so slightly, he winced at the first sign of pain,
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then pushed just a bit further. Biting his lip, closing his crystal blue eyes, he imagined his hands now belonged to a dark sexy lover with gentle hands and rough intentions, gliding down the center of his chest. His touch sent shivers of desire throughout his body, beyond a tickle but not quite an orgasm. His breath was short, nearly a pant. Just then his fingers came to rest on the snap of his jeans, and with a quick one-two motion, not only did the snap come undone but the zipper slid open to reveal a pair of black underwear. His thought? Boring! Removing the jeans from the rest of his body took a bit more effort. They were his super-skinny ones and he wore them like paint. Again, his mind flashed an image of clothes fitting tight against his body, this time he was clad in his newly gained shorts. A stirring in his shorts brought him back to the moment. Dressed now only in his undies, Erik took to the mirror like a model getting a first look at his latest outfit. He swirled, he turned, he gazed, then he slapped his butt for fun, the impact coming harder than he even expected. Dan had been a plain lover, never taking things to an edgy level. It felt good to hear the smack of skin against skin, hand against ass. Again, his cock stirred, beginning to rise now from its dormant position and into a more prominent role in this ever-deepening fantasy. Once again, Erik’s hand did the talking, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of his shorts and gently easing them off his slim hips until the force of gravity took control and did the rest. At last, the final garment lay at his feet, and with a playful twirl he kicked his foot into the air and watched as the shorts went sailing across the room. They landed on the lamp by his bedside, immediately sending the room into darker shadows. He looked around, and it was almost as though there were three of him in the room. “Ooh, a threesome. Kink-o-rama,” he said, laughing. The sound of his voice echoed in the room. It felt unfamiliar, as though it had disappeared a while ago and only now returned. By now his cock was fully extended, and he stole another lingering look into the mirror. Being a gay man in his late twenties, it wasn’t as though what stood before him
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was much of a stranger,to him or to others, but still he felt the heat, the anticipation, of what was to come. He’d always been a sexual being, and even though he was cute and had a nice body and most nights had more offers for sex than he could handle, it didn’t mean he shied away from the idea of self-pleasure. Toward the end with Dan, sometimes it was better. Face it, Erik, you’re a sexy dude, time to remember that. The hair at his cock was decidedly trimmed, and just a hint of treasure wound its way up toward his belly. He had considered removing that trail altogether but tonight he was glad for it, ooh how it would look sneaking out from beneath the rim of the shorts. That’s what he said to the mirror, and the smile he received back was devilish. This was fun. Clothes on, he knew his smile was one of his stronger selling points. Shed of society’s skin now, he knew there were other attributes he brought to the game, but really, when you got to this point weren’t you pretty much playing already? Reaching down, Erik stroked his cock, watching as the thick head grew just a bit more in size. He rubbed the tip, already beginning to feel the presence of pre-come. Yes, with what was about to happen, it wouldn’t be long before satisfaction found it way back into his heart. Not long at all. See, he knew himself and he knew his limit and he knew his boiling point, and so he was right to tell Tim he’d meet them all at the bar in an hour. The moment of truth had finally arrived. The leather shorts, which had called to him from the store window and had ridden shotgun in the car, and had watched his strip show from inside the paper bag from NightLife. It was now his turn to reveal all. Erik moved back to the bed, and took hold of the bag as he would a first kiss from a new lover. Then he slid his hands inside the hungry mouth of the bag, emitting a sharp cry of desire as his fingers made initial contact with the soft leather. He waited a moment for the feeling to wash over him, coming to rest in the tips of his toes, the sensation orgasmic in nature. But no, he cautioned himself, not yet. He withdrew the tiny shorts from the bag, brought them over to the mirror. Spread
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between his hands, he at last drank in their appeal, growing thirsty at the thought of their appeal. His mouth dry, his fingers sweaty, Erik was suddenly a mix of tastes and emotions, the idea that what you most wanted was in close range and you feared they couldn’t possibly live up to the expectation. But he knew these shorts would, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. He knew exactly how they would feel. Bending down, Erik lifted one leg, then the other, and at last his skin had made contact with the silk-like, buttery leather. As he slowly slid the shorts up his legs, he watched in the mirror as the feathery hair on his legs bristled at the disturbance of the foreign material. But he kept going, the teasing sensation ratcheting up the temptation level. His cock bounced and flounced, as though realizing it was soon to be encased in a prison that threatened to keep it from its desperate, desired outcome. The leather shorts were making their way closer, over the knees and up the thighs, stretching its limits as tight material clung to muscular skin. Erik could feel his legs buckle, and for a moment he thought he might need to sit, to kneel, anything to secure his footing. But the wave passed, and once again the shorts were nearly at their destination. Just a few more inches and the ultimate in pleasure would be all his. The look, the feel, the delicate wonderful enticing touch of the most fabulous piece of clothing he’d ever owned, ever worn. Finally, he pulled the shorts up against his waist and he watched in the mirror as the tight fabric secured itself around his ass, gazed at his cock as it was swallowed up whole by the mesh pouch in the front. Running his hands against the material, he could almost feel the heat of the leather sink into his pores, burn away the sweat of his palms. The cloying, wonderful smell of leather invaded his olfactory senses, wafting down his throat and settling inside him. He opened his mouth to breathe, and damn if he didn’t see smoke escape, the heat coming off his body now. He fingered the mesh of the shorts, realized there was an opening there, and with careful precision, he guided his thickened cock through the mesh. His engorged penis nearly touched the mirror now, its shaft held in place by the tight leather. A gentle
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stroke led to another, and then another, and Erik watched in the mirror as the twin cocks—the real and the image—interacted, played, taunted. With his other hand he rubbed the leather shorts, running his thumb again around the thin belt. The cool touch of metal counter-acted with the heat of the leather and Erik could feel the pressure mounting deep within himself. This was the moment he’d craved, the attention he’d sought, the knowledge that he still had it, that it really didn’t matter what you wore, it was how you felt. But sometimes in life you needed a little extra help, and damn damn damn if these shorts hadn’t pushed him over the edge… His cock erupted with a power he could scarcely remember, and for a few moments his breath escaped him and his lungs constricted. Erik closed his eyes and pumped, pumped again, not stopping until every last drop had left him. He shuddered once, twice, and again, and finally, at last, willingly, he opened his eyes and let his lungs take their first deep breath in minutes. He was woozy, lightheaded, but in the mirror was a reflection he hadn’t seen in weeks. “Erik, you’re back. And from the looks of it, better than ever.” Stuffing his cock back inside the mesh weave of the shorts, Erik decided it was time to rejoin his friends. Time to rejoin the dating pool. He tossed on his jeans and his shirt quickly, he was anxious now to hit the bar scene. On his floor those old Calvins remained. Erik kept the shorts on. Tonight, he hoped to show them off to someone else. As he left his apartment, he reached for his phone and tapped away a text message to Tim. “On my way. R y ready fr axtion? Shorts? HHH? Like me.” Erik grinned widely. He’d felt like himself again. Man, that felt good. Then again, damn, so did those leather shorts.
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Board Shorts by Neve Black
As the summer sun begins to burn through the thick gray marine layer; affectionately referred to as June gloom in Southern California, it also begins warming the ocean and surfers hang up their wetsuits in favor of light, comfortable board shorts. Board shorts are made from nylon-like material that dries quickly and can be found in a myriad of appealingly bright colors like succulent clementine orange, rich Russian red, zesty lime green and cheerful sunflower yellow. The male surfers tend to have godlike bodies, akin to Michelangelo’s David, possessing the quintessential triangulated body: broad, well-developed shoulders and trapezoids, strong, muscular arms and flat, six-pack abdominals that taper down to their narrow, sexy hips. I enjoy the way board shorts curve around a man’s tight, round ass, especially when the material gets wet from the ocean’s ebb and flow, accentuating each taut muscle. The legs of surfers are rock hard and each sinewy muscle is exquisitely defined. Surfers often wear their board shorts past their belly buttons, hugging on their jutting hips. To me, a surfer’s board shorts are like brightly colored presents begging to be opened. Once you unwrap the present, you’ll find the most delicious cock inside. It was a typical early summer evening in Southern California – a little chilly – and I opted to wear my eye-catching turquoise board shorts and long-sleeved black rashguard, which hugged my well-toned body in all the best places. “Jitterbug? Is that you? Damn. You’ve grown up since the last time I saw you,” a vaguely familiar voice called out as I approached my surfing crew, my surfboard under my arm since I was meeting the guys for a session. I replied, “John Quinones? Wow. Long time no see. How are you?” I first met John Quinones when I was a curious thirteen-year-old realizing I had some kind of power between my legs but clueless about how it worked or how to use it. He was a confident, seemingly experienced sixteen-year-old. Even then, I had a feeling
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he’d know exactly what to do with my power. I had a huge and completely impure crush on him the instant we met and he took a liking to me, as well. At that time, his interest in me was more like an older brother. I was simply too young for him. His pet name for me was “Jitterbug.” I’m not sure why he called me that, but it stuck and everyone stopped calling me Kathleen and began calling me Jitterbug. Some things had not changed for me since the last time I saw John, but then again, some things were very different. I was still surfing with the same harmlessly horny guys I’d known since I was eleven years old, but I’d long since moved on from primary school. I had just graduated from college, and I was considering graduate school in the fall while working a full-time job. When John had moved away to go off to college, he left behind a lusty young girl who was just beginning her journey into womanhood. Over the years of John’s absence, my body had started changing. I can remember when my mom sat me down and counseled me on wearing a bathing suit top under my rashguard because my hardened nipples and budding breasts were beginning to show through the white sheer material when wet. I also had to wear my bathing suit bottoms under my board shorts in order to hide the pubic hair that clung to the crotch of my sheer, nylon shorts. Embarrassing, but empowering, too. “I’m great, Jitterbug. I’m great. You really look amazing,” John said with both hands resting casually on his hips. His intense gaze told me his primal self was on high alert. Standing in the slightly chilly caress of the ocean breeze, my blond hair was cut into a bob framing my high cheekbones and delicate jawline. I was still slender, as I was the last time John had laid eyes on me, which was more than ten years ago. Now, however, instead of having the body of a tomboy, I was a woman with stop-’em-dead curves. My figure had filled out from being skinny and awkward to sleek, slender and athletic. A body made for long, hot nights grinding and bucking under an ardent partner. My skin was golden brown, the amber color of a kelp bed, and ripples easily under the touch. My eyes were round, dark blue like the deepest part of the Pacific, and they’re usually
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filled with mischief – daring to take on a bigger wave, or stay out for one more set, even when my skin is goose-pimpled and my teeth are chattering from the cold. I had long, graceful arms and muscular legs. My hips and breasts complemented one another and I had a high, firm ass that I was proud to show off. The swell of my small but well-shaped breasts, the natural indentation of my waistline, the sway of my hips greeted John for the first time since kissing virginal childhood behind. “You look great too, John.” I purred, flicking my eyes over him. I could feel my heartbeat thumping in my chest and my stomach flip-flop the way it used to whenever I got close to John Quinones in my wanton wayward youth. John hadn’t changed very much. He had wavy, jet black hair and the very ends kissed the tops of his broad shoulders – shoulders to hold on to. Shoulders meant to grip while straining in the throes of climax. He had lickable mocha brown skin washed with golden honey from the sun, the ocean and the sand. His eyes were round and appraising, the color of warm, melted milk chocolate. His body was compact and muscular. I stared at his firmly developed chest and muscular arms, wondering what it might feel like to be enveloped inside his warm embrace. His smooth chest drifted enticingly down into his flat, rippled stomach and narrow hips. Today, he wore a pair of jet black board shorts that hit him just above his knees and sat along the ridge of his hips. His hipbones were fingers beckoning me to come closer. A ridge of silky black hair ran tantalizingly from his belly button down into the front of his shorts. I wanted to trace that dark ebony line of hair with my fingertips, follow it into the front of his board shorts, let my fingers stroke his excited cock lying hidden inside. Slick black hair covered his sinewy calves and quadriceps. His legs reminded me of the base of a palm tree: Strong, solid and firmly planted into the sand. “Yeah. Jitterbug grew up to be a hottie while you’ve been gone, John,” one of the appreciative guys in the group said. ****
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That evening, John and I surfed together and it was much different from when I was an awkward young girl, eager but unable to shed her innocence and totally infatuated with him. We both sat on our boards beyond the breakwater. Our boards drifted together with the ocean current and our legs grazed against the other’s legs, sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout my body. I was in heaven. I was laughing, talking and flirting with my greatest crush of all time and this time I was old enough to do something about my feelings. I had to pinch myself as a reminder that this was really happening to me. As we both straddled our boards, bobbing up and down to the ebb and flow of the swells, our legs swayed with the ocean’s movement below. I couldn’t help but wonder euphorically what it might be like to straddle John and bob up and down with his movements. I blushed at my depravity and diverted my eyes away from his gorgeous body, following the waves as they made their way onto the beach. I focused on the sandpipers as they skimmed along the wet sand while trying to avoid the frothy surf as it spread against the shore. As my eyes drifted up, I could see the cliff widows scattered throughout the rocks above the beach looking out toward me. They were waiting for the perfect waves to form too, the wave that would bring their surfer back into shore, into their lusty embraces. “Jitterbug, I always hoped we’d surf together again when our age mattered less.” “John, you know my real name is Kathleen, right?” We continued bobbing up and down in the swells. “I know. I like Jitterbug, though. Did I mention how great you look?” John mused. “Yes. You too.” I said, smiling and staving off the butterflies flitting in my stomach. “Oh yeah? Can I kiss you?” John boldly asked, while he squeezed the top of my thigh and smiled winningly. The reckless gleam in his eyes told me he already knew the answer. “Um. Um…um…” I stuttered, completely thrown by John’s cocksure request. The
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touch of his hand on my thigh sent more electric voltage up my spine, then nestling between my legs – and it wasn’t because I was getting cold. I stayed calm. Surfing with a bunch of guys over the years taught me how to remain cool and collected in most situations, even though I felt prickled and anxious, like I’d just swallowed a jellyfish. John wanted to kiss me. The exquisitely sexy man I dreamed about for years wanted to kiss me. “Yes… I’d like that.” I heard the words escape my lips. The sun was starting to set over the horizon and John and I were essentially alone now. He pulled my board closer to his, while he tilted his head toward mine. His wet, dark eyelashes framed his deep, compelling brown eyes before he closed them and pressed his soft, wet sea-salt lips onto mine. He kissed me tenderly and sweetly. I moaned and felt the juices inside my pussy start to loosen and flow. I had waited so long for this moment. John pulled his lips from mine, only to plunge them insistently forward again, darting his demanding tongue inside my mouth; probing and tickling my tongue with his. I wanted to feel John’s solid arms around me. I imagined our bodies melding together on the wet sand as he made love to me while the waves crashed over us. John’s strong arms reached down to my waist and lifted me up and onto his board. We both straddled his board now, each staring at the other and his board became submerged a little deeper into the water from our weight. My surf board started to drift away, but it was leashed to my ankle, so I knew it couldn’t escape. I lifted my arms up and around John’s broad, toned shoulders and carefully scooted my butt closer to him. I could feel the surfboard wax sticking to my board shorts, thwarting my movements. John placed his hands under the cheeks of my ass and lifted me to him. My ass was hot and tingly from his touch. Our lips locked again and we both moaned with pleasure as the ocean water sloshed around us. Our bodies bobbed up and down on the board with the current and the ocean was quiet below us as our bodies clamored and tore precariously at each other. John’s lips
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made a fervent journey from my lips to other desperately wanton areas of my body. He began suckling my ears, neck and shoulders, playfully biting me like a sea lion does when courting a mate. I threw my head back and let John inhale me in. I smelled of raspberry soap from my shower earlier, the sea, salt and lust. He grazed his lips across my face and neck. The sun had set and it was beginning to get cold and dark. John was relentless. He lifted my rashguard up, exposing my belly, and pushed my bikini top to one side, sucking on my hardened nipples. Instinctively, I reached for the waistband of his board shorts and the Velcro swatch that opened and closed his shorts. I pulled the band and heard the delightful sound of the wet Velcro ripping open. I pushed my hand inside the front of his board shorts and wrapped my fingers around his pleasantly endowed, semi-hardened cock. He looked at me, blinking back the saltwater from his eyelashes and then arching his back as his hips bucked toward my hand. Steadying myself with one hand behind me on the surfboard, I used the other hand to pull his cock out of his shorts and I slid my hand up and down along the perfect shaft. John in turn, reached for the Velcro fastener of my shorts and ripped it open. He pushed his free hand down the front of my shorts and inside my bathing suit bottoms. His fingertips moved across my clit. I moaned at his touch, throwing my head back and desperately grinding my pussy downward. Our floating oasis was rocking from side to side and the waves smacked against the Fiberglas surf board, threatening to topple us. John moaned as I moved my hand faster up and down his hard, smooth cock. We both wanted to flail about from the pleasure we felt, but of course we couldn’t or we’d both end up in the sea, losing the moment and lessening our odds of reaching orgasm. I continued to rub his cock passionately up and down as his fingers found their way inside my wet, engorged pussy. He found my G-spot and began massaging, pushing me closer to exploding. I felt his cock gather force and start to spasm and it sent the first waves of orgasm over my impatient body. I shuddered and felt my pussy contract and pulsate as John yelled out into the darkness and his cock spewed hot come into my hand.
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We both held each other as we bopped up and down in the ocean, catching our breath, our bodies humming gratefully. That summer, John and I spent nearly every day together until he moved away for a career opportunity and I was accepted into a graduate school far from Southern California’s beaches. I do go back to visit that place and try and get in a session or two of surfing from time to time. The sun, the sea and, more specifically, the men that wear board shorts still make my knees weak.
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Ranger Danger By C. Margery Kempe “This lovely lady is the barred owl,” the young ranger said, flashing a grin that melted Christine’s heart—or maybe it was just her knees. The bird seemed to look right at her with those giant-sized eyes as she reached up gingerly to stroke its feathers. What a wonderful sensation. She’d never felt anything quite like it. “What does she eat?” Barb produced her highest wattage smile for the ranger, Christine noticed. Was it just out of habit or had she decided that she was interested in this one as well? It was not out of the question that her fellow Junior Leaguer would be stirred by competition as much as lust. Taking in the boyish but chiseled features of the ranger, Christine knew there was a lot to lust for. “Well, mostly she eats voles, some moles and deer mice as well. But when it comes down to it, barred owls will eat a wide variety of things.” He was smiling, but only at the bird. Christine could sense Barb’s irritation that her first line of offense had failed to register. “They’ll go for large insects or even frogs and fish if they’re hungry enough,” he continued. “Hunger makes you do strange things,” Christine murmured, rewarded at once with a flashing grin from Ranger Tom Rafferty, according to his name tag. “I suppose you can’t be too picky if you want to survive.” His chuckle was warm and friendly and she felt her knees tingle again. Oh, come on, Christine scolded herself. He’s got to be at least ten years younger than you. Never mind that her tennis-toned body easily negated that difference. She usually didn’t have time for younger men. But from the first glance at those powerful thighs as he walked into the education center, the thought had been there in her mind. Ah, summer uniforms. Whether it was the FedEx guy or the college kids in their baggies, Christine enjoyed seeing all those bronzed legs walking around her, drawing her gaze to the curve of their asses, leading
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her into idle daydreams. As Ranger Rafferty walked around sharing the ruffled owl with the others in the group, Christine admired the play of his muscles. He must do a lot of hiking. The hair on his legs had bleached as much as that on his head. There was a scab on the back of his left calf that looked like a scrape from a fall. She wondered what those legs would feel like wrapped around her. Christine felt the familiar rise of lust along her spine and grinned. Sneaking a look at Barb, she saw a similarly hungry look on her rival’s face. A flush of irritation filled Christine’s thoughts, but she pushed it away. It was all in her head anyway. But after the informational session ended, Christine found herself lingering to try to chat with the dishy ranger. Unfortunately, so did Barb. The two did not allow their glances to meet, but both were aware of the other’s interest. “My nephew is thinking of working for the park system,” Christine lied. “Is there some kind of internship program?” “Yes, there is,” Rafferty answered as he handed the beautiful bird to the wrangler. “If you can wait a few minutes, we can go to the main office and get you an application form and a brochure. It’s really great training.” “Oh,” Barb piped up. “Could I get one, too?” Christine winced. Would she not be able to get this guy alone for a minute? They waited patiently and then trooped behind him to the office where, friendly as ever, Rafferty recalled his own experiences as an intern. “There’s great camaraderie, as well as a fantastic learning experience. You make a lot of friends and see amazing beauty everywhere.” Christine saw some amazing beauty as he bent over to shuffle through the low file drawer for the forms. She knew without looking that Barb was enjoying the show as well. He did have a near perfect ass that made her long to run her hands over the twin cheeks. She wondered if her neck was visibly pink as he handed her the papers and decided it didn’t matter. “Oh, thanks so much. My nephew will be pleased.” “I was wondering,” Barb cut in when Christine ran out of inventions. “Could I get
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you to identify some plants for me? I was inspired to make over our garden with more indigenous plants and there were a couple I thought might be good, but I’m not sure what they are.” She didn’t quite bat her lashes at him, but Christine was sure the intent was clear, “Oh, sure, sure,” Ranger Rafferty said affably, gesturing for Barb to lead the way. The two of them waved a farewell to Christine and walked off on the western path. Christine sighed, shrugged and turned her steps toward the car park. As the path wound upward, she kicked herself for letting the opportunity slip through her fingers so easily. Surely those well-muscled thighs were worth more of a fight. She paused to lean against the path’s railing and cool her thoughts. It’s silly really, she told herself with a shake. Plenty of fish in the sea, always a pool boy or a delivery guy around the next corner. She heard a noise below her and looked down expecting to see a deer or a rabbit. Instead she saw Barb and Ranger Rafferty appearing from between a bank of small firs. They both looked around surreptitiously and then Barb grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a big rock screened from the path they had just left by the pines. He plopped down onto the rock and Barb moved in between his knees with deliberation. A flush of heat rose up from Christine’s chest. Catching their secretiveness, she, too, looked around. No one was coming up the path at present, but she moved closer to the lone bush that might hide her from the pair below. Christine felt a bit like a predator poised for the attack as she gazed down on the scene, but she didn’t care. Barb’s hands were on his shoulders. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could imagine well enough. In a fluid motion, Barb sank to her knees and reached up for the ranger’s belt. Christine could already anticipate those short falling to the ground, released by Barb’s quick fingers, so she was surprised when he stood and pushed Barb gently, but firmly away. From his downcast eyes, she guessed that he was feeling embarrassed, but Barb seemed to take her failure in stride. She brushed off her knees, slung her Prada bag over
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her shoulder and walked away as if untouched by what had happened. Ranger Rafferty shook his head a little, as if in disbelief, then parted the firs and disappeared. Christine smiled to herself and decided she might walk back toward the ranger station. It was important to look like she was just wandering, so she dawdled by the display on indigenous creatures of the region. The cougar pelt looked deliciously lush, which probably was not the message the conservators had in mind. But aroused by the dalliance Barb initiated, all she could think of was spreading a few skins on the floor of a secluded cabin and slowly undressing Ranger Rafferty in front of a roaring fire. “Impressive, isn’t it?” She jumped at the sudden sound, not expecting to find the object of her fantasy beside her. Covering her surprise, Christine nodded vigorously, “Oh my, yes, certainly is,” even as she wondered what he was referring to with the comment. “That was one of the largest cougars ever seen here. A pity they shot it, but you know how the farmers are. They always see a beautiful creature like that as a predator.” “I suppose it has a lot to do with expectations,” Christine murmured, using the moment to reassess Rafferty’s face. Tanned from the sun, he was more wrinkled than she expected, but his eyes crinkled above his easy smile. The summer-bleached hair framed a face whose features were not individually perfect but somehow assembled into a pleasing neighborhood, the sharpness of his nose softened by the apples of his cheeks. The slightly pointy chin giving an mischievous elfin look to his face. “I was sorry you ran off before,” he continued, a slight flush creeping up his neck. Christine tried to smother the grin that wanted to spring to her lips. “I thought you might like a little more detail about the, ah, internship program.” Christine, whose nephew was as likely to apply for the internship as he was to win a Nobel Prize this year, nonetheless answered, “I would. That would be really helpful.” “Well, uh,” he coughed, “Have you been to the Roundhouse? It’s a bit rough looking, but the food is fresh and I think it’s going to be a beautiful night. We could eat out on the terrace.”
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“Sounds perfect,” Christine said, allowing herself to smile a little, but holding back from grinning like an idiot, which is what her mouth wanted to do—that and fasten itself on his lips to see how he tasted. The Roundhouse was on the north end of the park, a popular spot despite its rustic ambience. “What time?” “Seven?” She nodded. “Looking forward to it.” He touched her arm, but said no more but she could see the glow on his face. He waved and walked away. Christine enjoyed watching him go, his strong legs striding across the path and up the slope toward the ranger station. She hoped he wasn’t going to change out of the uniform before seven and deprive her of those blonded knees. Christine, however, did change her clothes after a dreamy session with her Hitachi, picturing that shy smile and those bronzed legs thrusting between her own, and a nice warm shower that left her feeling a pleasant languor. She made sure to be early so she could order a martini in the tiny bar and see him arrive. Christine wore a simple Land’s End blouse and skirt, figuring it would be the best choice. Somehow Rafferty didn’t look like the dress-up type, which was just as well. She saw him through the window as he arrived, still clad in his work wear. Christine felt a thrill of excitement as she raised her hand in a wave. He smiled and stepped into the bar, laying his hand on her arm in a kind of greeting. “Sorry if I’m late!” he apologized a little breathlessly but with a dazzling smile. “There was a group of teens that proved to be a real handful. We only just got them all back on the bus and headed home. I didn’t have time to change,” he complained, picking at the front of his green shirt. Christine laughed. “Not to worry. I don’t think there’s a dress code here and anyway, I think you look great.” She let her eyes drift down to his dusty shorts and back up to that singular face. Rafferty seemed to be pleased by her interest. “Shall we see if we can be seated now?” He took her elbow in his arm, a gesture that surprised her in someone his young age. He must have a great mother, Christine mused. A pleasurable sense of anticipation
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grew with the heat of his hand on her arm, so it was a jarring moment when she realized Barb was waving excitedly at her as they walked up to the maître d’s podium. “Christine—and Ranger Rafferty! How funny to see you both here.” Barb’s voice betrayed a tang of bitterness, but Christine saw Rafferty blanch a little at her effusiveness. “Join us! Oh, you must!” “Us” turned out to include another of Barb’s boy toys, a taciturn young man named Tad. Christine tried to demur, but Barb was insistent and the four of them sat down together at a choice table. Over hors d’œuvres and a bottle of too-sweet Chablis – Barb’s choice – conversation flagged frequently despite Barb’s attempts to dig into Rafferty’s life. Christine admired the way he sidestepped her persistence, deflecting a question about girlfriends with claims of being too busy with his work. “Oh, I can’t believe that,” Barb insisted. “You must meet so many women ready to share the wild life with you.” “No, never happens,” Rafferty said, trying not to betray the growing irritation that Christine shared. “Well, it’s nice that you’re willing to spend an evening with a mature woman,” Barb said, laying extra emphasis on the final two words. Christine nearly spit out her wine when Rafferty answered coolly, “I’m flattered that you invited us to share your table, ma’am. I’m sure we’ll benefit from your wisdom.” Barb’s eyes flashed her anger, but Christine had to admire her ability to maintain the polite expression otherwise. She made sure to order a tangy Shiraz to drink with the entrees, although Barb tutted about drinking red with trout. There was no way Christine was going to swill another insipid white with the fresh catch. Sure enough, the waiter delivered the tray before her with a flourish and a heavenly aroma rose up to tantalize her senses. “Wow, I should have ordered that,” Rafferty said, although his frittata looked excellent as well, stuffed with fresh mushrooms and sweet red peppers. “Try some,” Christine offered, gesturing with her fork.
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“I’d really like to try some of that,” he said looking into her eyes rather than at her plate. Christine felt a thrill of excitement in her chest and a matching twinge in her thighs. He took a healthy bite and closed his eyes with delight. “Wonderful, just wonderful.” “Yes, it is,” Christine said. “Can I try some of yours?” “Of course, of course!” His grin made her sure that he knew exactly what she was thinking. She speared a piece that had a big hunk of mushroom that felt like flesh between her teeth. While Barb tried to get the two of them engaged in discussing the local zoning issues, Christine found herself stealing looks at Rafferty, who was quick to pour more wine when her glass got low, or quickly pass her a condiment or a piece of bread whenever she reached for something. When he finished his meal, Rafferty laid his silverware on the plate and leaned back in his seat with a happy sigh. Christine was leaning forward for another spoonful of pilaf when she felt the weight of his hand resting tentatively on her thigh. She managed to not drop the spoon, but Barb’s words flew right through her head and out the other ear. “What was that, Barb?” she said while she slowly dropped her own hand to cover his and give it a squeeze of encouragement. “I just think the town council had better get there priorities straight if they want Main Street to stay vibrant!” Barb said with a trace of indignation, though it was hard to tell whether it was aimed at Christine, the morose Tad, or the town counselors themselves. Christine was too distracted to care as Rafferty’s hand began tracing circles on her thigh, creeping toward her panties that were already getting sodden with her excitement. His pinkie brushed her against the soft fabric and Christine tried to hide her gasp with a cough, throwing a glance sideways to Rafferty, but he was looking across the table and smiling at Barb. Wicked boy! That pinkie was getting insistent now, wiggling between her thighs and stroking in search of her swelling clitoris. Christine was glad the wine had already given a shine to her cheeks, but it was going to be difficult to hide the climax that was beginning
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to work its way up from her knees even now. She brought the napkin to her face and cleared her throat as he applied more pressure and more fingers and suddenly the stars were bursting in her vision and her empty vaginal walls clutched wetly as the waves of pleasure overwhelmed her. “Are you all right, Christine?” Barb actually sounded concerned. Christine continued coughing, trying to recover without laughing her glee. A glance at Rafferty revealed he was looking suitably concerned, but there was a twinkle in his eye that seemed appreciative. “Gosh, I’m not sure, but I think something may have gone down wrong. You know,” she said with sudden inspiration, “I think maybe I better go home. I feel a bit unwell. Hope I’m not coming down with something.” Barb seemed to regard her as a plague carrier after that and was only too happy to let her go. “You can get the check next time,” she said, waving away Christine’s feeble attempt to make amends. But she still had enough venom to glare at the way Rafferty slipped his arm solicitously into hers. They were barely out in the parking lot before he spun her around and pulled her into a deep probing kiss that reminded her just how wet her bunched panties were. “You naughty boy! You were lucky I didn’t shriek.” “Oh, I want you to shriek,” he said, eyes big and shiny. “You want to go for a walk in the park?” “But I’m so ill,” Christine said, bringing a hand to her forehead. “Shouldn’t I go home?” “I know exactly what you need,” Rafferty replied, letting his hands slip down to massage the cheeks of her ass. “I need the same thing. To get to know you better. You’re so beautiful, Christine. You’re like a model.” “I’m old enough to be your…mother’s friend,” Christine chuckled. “I was always hot for my mom’s friends. She knows some amazing women. Come on,” he tugged at her arms. “If we stay here we’re going to have to see Barb again.” “I suppose she doesn’t need to know that I didn’t go home.”
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“She’s going to know you didn’t when she sees your car still in the lot. Do you care?” “No,” Christine answered honestly. “Let’s go.” Once they were out of the lights of the parking lot, Rafferty paused long enough to pull her into another swooning kiss. Christine took the opportunity to give him a feel as well, reaching for the smooth curves of his tight ass, as muscled as the strong legs below it. Rafferty pulled her close and she could feel his hard dick poke into her belly. Oh, this was going to be good. Laughing, he led her along the darkened path for a few more minutes, then without warning led her off the path between trees. Christine had to trust his superb sense of direction, which never faltered for a moment. She could smell pines and when he suddenly stopped, they were surrounded by the tall silent sentinels. Rafferty turned and put his hands on her cheeks and the moonlight caught his eyes. “Christine, you wowed me from the minute I saw you, but you know what got me?” “What?” She could hardly believe the delight she felt. “The way you touched the owl,” his teeth were bright in the darkness as he smiled. “You were so incredibly sensual, I could tell from the way you touched her. So intelligent, too. Your curiosity was genuine. I just wanted you right away.” “I—I didn’t know. I was checking you out in your ranger uniform, you know.” He laughed and pulled her down to sit on the soft pine needle blanket. “You were checking out my legs. Who knew you were a leg woman?” Christine laughed, a little embarrassed. “You knew?” “Yeah, and I was really pissed that your pal Barb kept horning in. You wouldn’t believe how persistent she was,” he continued, reaching up to toy with the buttons on her blouse. “I know,” Christine said. “I saw her try to get you.” His fingers paused. “You saw that?” “I was on the path up above,” Christine said, reaching her hand down to stroke
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his thigh. It was every bit as solid as it looked. She slid her hand up under his shorts to reach his boxer brief, slipping a finger under the leg band and giving him the same circles he had tried on her. “She was persistent,” he said, lying back and seeing what she would do. “But you didn’t seem too interested,” Christine continued, letting her hand continue its journey up, reaching for his pulsing erection and running her thumb over its length as he sighed happily. “Are you going to push me away if I try the same thing?” “Oh, no, not at all,” Rafferty said, eyes closed. “Please do.” Christine didn’t wait for a second invitation. She got on her knees and reached for the top of his shorts, popping the snap and sliding the zipper down. Grabbing the shorts and underwear, she pulled them down, freeing his waving cock to her hungry eyes. She enjoyed the sight for a moment before leaning forward to take him in her mouth and closing her eyes in ecstasy. “Hey, hey,” he said gently, reaching for his shorts to fish out a condom. “I think you might want this.” Christine took the packet and ripped it open, sliding the sheath over him and slowly rolling it down. Then she slipped him inside her mouth once more, enjoying the fruity blast of the lube. She reached her right hand down to tickle his balls and heard him sigh happily. After only a few more passes up and down the length of his cock, he groaned and begged her to stop. “I don’t want to come unless it’s inside you,” he explained panting. “I’m sorry, I’m just so excited, I don’t think I’m going to last too long the first time.” “It’s all right,” Christine said with a genuine smile. “I can’t wait to come again, with you this time. You got me so hot so quickly, I wanted to jump on you in the restaurant.” “Why don’t you jump on me now?” he said roughly, eyes shining bright in the glare of the gibbous moon. “I want to feel you astride me, I want to see you come when there’s no one to hear you but me. I want to hear you come with my hands on your breasts and my dick deep inside you.” “Well, all right,” Christine said, slipping off her sodden panties and climbing atop
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him, skirt hiked around her hips. She paused a wicked moment before slipping down onto him, taking his length inside her as they both sighed out loud. Even though she had another quick flashing climax as she felt his cock swipe her G-spot, Christine began to move slowly as he reached up to massage her breasts, thumbs raking her hardened nipples. She reached behind her to caress his balls and arched her back with pleasure. She could feel him beginning to stiffen for the final explosion and hastened her gyrations to anticipate it. In no time, he was moaning and calling out her name as he shot inside her, bucking up and striking her cervix. It was good. He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “God, you’re good. I can’t believe how good. I knew you would be.” “You’re not bad yourself,” Christine said, rubbing her hand across his belly, tanned too and well muscled, if not a rippling six-pack. Real work and not the gym had given him this body. It was a good body. “I like the nature lesson, ranger. Can you tell me any more about the mating habits of the species?” “Why don’t I show you?” he said, rolling the two of them over so he was on top. “There’s a variety of practices, and I think you need to see a good sampling to get the full picture.” “I’m here to learn, ranger. What have you got?” Instead of answering he stopped her mouth with his tongue, determined to show her all he had learned about wildlife.
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Coffee Break by Lisa Lane
Cindy sat at her desk, bored and restless despite the project she had due at the end of the week. She prided herself on her ability to meet even the most pressing deadline, even if that meant working late or missing the weekly girls’ cocktail night. She had developed a reputation in the office for her independent and no-nonsense attitude, making it clear to all who would cross her that she was, without a doubt, a strong and powerful woman. Because of that, however, most of the men who knew her steered clear of her on any romantic level. She rationalized her loneliness by telling herself that none of them was man enough to handle a woman like her, although privately she did have to admit that it left her forlorn and feeling somewhat rejected. Cindy looked over at the clock. The afternoon slowly yet steadily progressed toward evening, even though her boredom threatened to stop the clock altogether. Tonight was going to be another late one, she quickly realized, noting that most of her co-workers had already left for the day. She was burned out, she knew; she needed a vacation, or even just a short break from the mundane, daily repetition to which she had grown so accustomed. She desperately needed a change of pace, something to reset and revive her mind, so that she could approach her work from a fresh, new perspective. As well and consistently as she performed, she knew she had it in her to do better . . . and she had it in her to enjoy what she did the way that she used to, when marketing and design were still exciting and novel to her. Deciding that a short walk around the office and perhaps a fresh cup of coffee might give her the boost she needed to finish what she had set out for the day, she turned off her monitor and stepped away from her desk. She wasn’t doing herself or any of her clients any good by sitting idly at her desk, feeding into her boredom. She found the employee lounge completely deserted. Just as well, she thought; the last thing she needed was to get caught up in office gossip or some other unnecessary 67
waste of time. She found the coffee pot empty, and considered her options. Feeling too lazy to brew another pot, excusing her lack of motivation with the fact that the day was getting late and she would likely be the only person craving caffeine, she opted to move to the water cooler, instead. The water was ice cold and refreshing, and Cindy filled her paper cup twice before taking a seat by the window to look out over the city streets. Her office took up the entire fifth floor, offering the perfect vantage, when looking out, to see a good part of the hustle and bustle going on just outside. Even at this hour, people swarmed the streets, moving in and out of office buildings, going to the coffee shop just across the street, and shopping at the little boutiques that made the district so distinct. Traffic was backed up, a small fender bender creating a line-up of rubbernecks and the like, and a traffic cop had taken over a nearby intersection. Cindy moved to get a closer look, the cop wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt to compensate for the hot summer afternoon. He had his back to her, blocking his whistle and motioning on traffic with thick, muscular arms. He had a tight, round butt, and strong, solid legs, with contours that only a man who worked out on a regular basis might achieve. He turned around, changing the flow of traffic, and Cindy couldn’t help but stare at the complete package. He had a slim waist accentuated by his leather belt, badge, gun holster, and cuffs. As he moved, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he did his work, his muscles contracted and flexed almost artfully, as if he knew he was being watched. He wore dark glasses and a serious face, and Cindy felt herself melt into her seat as he turned once more to reprimand a driver attempting to move out of turn. No nonsense and serious about his job – just like her. Cindy wasn’t typically one to fall for a man in uniform, but there was something about the way this one so capriciously, yet so contemplatively, moved in his that caught her attention. It was as if he found the shorts to be a freeing compromise to an otherwise strict and stuffy job . . . and he seemed to enjoy every step, every shift, every turn he made in them. Perhaps he was fully aware of just how well endowed he
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appeared in them, his proportions nearly bordering perfection. Perhaps he just enjoyed his job. Either way, Cindy found him nothing short of breathtaking. She watched, her mind suddenly racing with the possibilities, as another cop relieved the man of his position. He looked around for a moment, as if undecided on what to do with the rest of his day, and then slowly he began toward the coffee shop across the street. Without another thought, Cindy raced for her purse and hurried to the elevator. She found him sitting alone at a small table, sipping at a black coffee, his eyes searching the room for something that she couldn’t quite place. She found herself going flush as she approached him, discreetly wiping her sweaty palms as she stood behind the empty chair across from him. “Is this seat taken?” she asked, her words airy and nervous. He looked around, seeming somewhat surprised at the advance, but then smiled and replied, “Actually, it isn’t.” Cindy sat down, crossing her long, slender legs off to the side, hoping he might notice them the way she noticed his. “I’m Cindy.” He gave an accepting nod. “Mike.” “I work in the office across the way,” she said, feeling the need to keep the silence to a minimum. Mike’s eyes began to wander, sizing her up, and he smiled once more. “Oh? What do you do?” “Marketing.” She swallowed hard. “Consultant.” He stared back, seemingly unsure of what either meant. “I bring designers and companies together,” she reiterated, her throat going dry. “Sounds interesting,” he said. Cindy nodded. “I enjoy it.” “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he finally asked. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I’d love a cup of coffee.”
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She watched as he got up from his seat, every bulge, arch, and contour suddenly taunting and tantalizing her from her new vantage as he moved to the counter and ordered a second coffee. He carefully carried it back to the table, setting it before her before returning to his seat. Cindy took a grateful sip. “So, I take it you don’t have any attachments?” she asked, cringing at her choice of words. “I just broke up with my girlfriend,” he said, and then quickly sipped at his coffee, as if suddenly guarding himself with his cup. “I’m so sorry,” she replied, her heart singing. “Oh, God . . . speak of the devil,” he said, hiding even further behind his cup. Cindy turned to look. A pretty blonde slid past the door and moved to a table near the door, watching them out of the corner of her eye. “That’s her?” Cindy asked. Mike took a deep breath, giving a subtle nod. “Do you want to get out of here?” “I’d love to,” Cindy answered, quickly remembering the work that still awaited her, “but I need to get back to the office.” He stood. “Let me walk you?” “With pleasure.” They passed the blonde on their way out, and Cindy did her best to ignore the woman’s jealous sneer. Cindy stayed a step behind Mike as they crossed the street, unable to help but watch the shifting of his muscles and the moving contour of his tight butt beneath his shorts. “Do you want to see my office?” Cindy asked, surprising both Mike and herself with the sudden question, as they approached the building. He paused for a moment, glancing across the street, and then quickly turning back to her. “Yes . . . yes, I would.” As they reached the elevator, finally finding themselves alone, a hot, weak feeling took over Cindy as it occurred to her that she was nothing but a rebound. Just the same,
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she made the first move, pressing him up against the wall and kissing him passionately, savoring the sensation of his muscles as she slid her hands down the back of his shorts. He ran his fingers through her hair, and all thoughts of circumstance and jealous exes washed out of her mind, immediately replaced by the passion of the moment. “You know, I’ve never invited a strange man back up to the office,” Cindy felt the need to say, lest he pass some kind of undue judgment against her. “There’s a first time for everything,” he said. The elevator door opened, and Cindy looked out over the quiet floor. “Looks like everyone else has gone home.” “Oh?” he asked, feigning his surprise. She led him through the desolate office. “I tend to work late,” she said nervously as they approached her desk. She leaned up against it suggestively. “I have a feeling I’m going to be here for the long haul tonight.” He leaned up against her. “Anything I can do to help?” “You might be able to make the night a little more interesting,” she said, finding his handcuffs. He snatched them from her with a smile. “You know it’s against the law to take an officer’s handcuffs, don’t you?” “And I suppose you’ll only increase the charges if I try to grab your gun?” she asked, raising a brow and feeling him through his shorts. The material went taut and hot against her hand as he grew erect, and he breathed hard as he took her by the wrist and slapped the cuff on it. “You’re under arrest,” he said, turning her onto her stomach and cuffing her hands behind her back. “You have the right to remain silent,” he added, his hands gently caressing her as he pressed her up against the desk. “And if I decide to go loudly?” she asked, suddenly painfully aroused as she tugged at the cuffs. “Either way, you’re going down.” He spread her legs, pretending to pat her down,
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moving his hands up and down her body, feeling her breasts, and then moving back down her shapely contour. He found her panties, tugging at them and feeling her, wet and swollen, beneath them. He pulled them down, raising her skirt up above her hips, and she felt a rush of excitement move through her as he unzipped his shorts and allowed them to drop to the floor. He pressed himself up against her, continuing to feel her with his fingers, caressing her and teasing her for a moment before sliding himself in. He was surprisingly large, filling her with little effort, sending another rush through her as he thrust and stroked, slowly and methodically, working himself in ever deeper. She spread her legs even wider, leaning up against her heels, pushing hard against him. The desk was cold and flat, in stark contrast to the hot body grinding and driving up from behind her. She felt her arousal build, her body growing tense, his thick, hot mass filling her and prompting her to moan and squirm in utter ecstasy. He continued his pace, somehow finding a deeper recess even she didn’t know was possible, and suddenly she couldn’t contain herself any longer. She screamed and squealed, unsure if she would be able to take much more, but he continued, responding to her cries by thrusting even harder. Her legs shook beneath her, her body hot with sweat, her arms fighting their restraints, the rest of her senses falling into a dark void, leaving only the intense pleasure that filled and drove into her. He stopped deep inside her, pulsating and moaning as he came, holding their bodies tightly against one another. He held himself there for what felt like a quick second and an eternity all at once, and then he pulled out, stepping back and finding his shorts. He helped her up, off the desk, his keys jingling as he moved to remove the handcuffs. “That was amazing,” she said, rubbing her wrists as the cold, sharp metal released and her arms went free. She turned to face him, still working to catch her breath. “Maybe we could do it again, sometime?” he asked, his eyes sincere. She nodded, pulling up her panties and adjusting her skirt. “I’d like that.”
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He moved to kiss her, warm and soft, his hands around her body, and she felt an excitement that had been lacking in her life for far too long. “I should get back to work,” she said, wishing she could spend the rest of the night in his embrace. Mike set his business card on her desk. “Call me.” “I will.” She watched him show himself out, and then she sat down at her desk, still hot and wet with the memory of what had just transpired. She shifted her attention to her computer, energized and excited, ready to tackle the task before her.
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Laundry Day by Heidi Champa I had just slammed the dryer shut when I heard him crash through the door. Just standing there for three seconds had created a puddle of mud and water. The rain hadn’t let up all day, but the team decided to practice anyway. Every inch of him was covered in filth. His shorts clung to his thighs, stuck there with clumps of the oval he was just playing on. He smiled at me like a happy little boy, clearly enjoying the mud that clung to every inch of him. He stepped towards me, trailing dirty water with him. “Stop! You’re making enough of a mess. I’ll get you a towel.” He just smiled and kept inching towards me, arms outstretched like Frankenstein. I backed away, but he kept moving. “Aww, come on. Just one hug. I’ve missed you.” He held out his muddy hands and I found myself out of room to back away. I stood in the doorway, his muddy face dripping just inches from my white carpet. I stared into his laughing eyes, trying to get him to be serious. But there seemed to be no chance of that. “It’s your choice. Let me hug you, or the carpet gets it.” “You’re crazy, you know that?” He eased forward, letting his fingers dangle over the carpet. I saw the drops of silt and water forming, clinging to the tips of each finger. One fat drop sat swollen, ready to fall from his thumb. He smiled as it splattered by my feet, leaving a reddish brown circle. Before he had the chance to do any more damage I stepped into his muddy arms and pushed him back. I could feel the water and mud warmed by his body seeping into my t-shirt. His hands ran down my back, enjoying the transfer of muddy streaks. He giggled to himself as his hands slid lower, grasping my ass. He slid his clammy palms up and over my arms, leaving filmy and grainy marks on my skin. With a wink, he touched his dirty thumb to my cheek, painting my face to look like his. I pulled away
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and he turned me around, admiring his handy work. I caught a glimpse in the door, and saw his smeared hand prints soaking into my jeans. “Okay, you’ve had your fun, now strip. Let me get this stuff in the wash.” “If you insist.” I hadn’t meant it to be a seductive statement, but suddenly as he pulled his jumper over his head, my breath was gone. My brain had been short-circuited by the sight of him. The mud that had soaked through the fabric clung to his chest hair, his arms still streaked with the soft ground. I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t help it. His cleats and socks hit the ground, sending ripples through the puddle he was standing in. He finally noticed me watching, staring at his brown and red smeared chest. He didn’t say anything when he put his hands to the waistband of his footy shorts. God, they were so short. Almost his entire leg was exposed, the hair making a convenient catch for the grass and earth. He was ready to inch them down, but I wrapped my hand around his wrist to stop him. I just stood there, holding him still. I saw the goose bumps forming on his skin as the water cooled him. He looked so damned good I couldn’t stand it. It was my turn to smile as I sank down in front of him. I didn’t even hesitate when I felt the knees of my jeans soak through with dirty water. He looked down at me in disbelief when I reached up to the elastic of his tiny, tiny shorts. “Let me help you.” I don’t know where my voice came from. He was already hard as I slid the wet fabric down his filthy thighs. I laughed inside, as his hard cock was the only clean part of him. Wrapping my lips around the soft velvet head, I sucked his cock deep into my throat. He smelled like a rainstorm, all earthy and moist. His grimy hands wound into my hair as he pushed himself deeper. I felt stray drops of water running down my back and hitting my skin as he fucked my face. I couldn’t resist rubbing my hands over his dirty legs, making my hands as dirty as his. Looking up at him, I could see his green eyes stare back at me through the haze of dirt. His mouth fell open as I pushed him into
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my throat as far as he would go. He loosened his grip on my hair, letting me set the pace for a while. He urged me to my feet and started pulling my clothes off. My once clean outfit now joined the scrum of mess on the wet floor. All that was left were my white, white panties. He smiled, unable to resist running his dirty fingers over the fabric, all over me. My nipples were suddenly dark brown, my body tattooed with more remnants of the practice pitch. Rubbing my clit through the cotton, he streaked them with the moist mud that remained on his hands. He pressed the wet fabric between my cunt lips, which I soaked again from the other side. When he kissed me, I could taste salty, gritty mud along with his sweet mouth. The dryer purred and tumbled behind us, as the rest of my body turned just as filthy as his. He turned me around, pushing me forward at the waist. My panties fell to the floor, and after a moment’s hesitation, he entered me. He slipped inside so easily, my pussy stretching over his cock with ease. Pressing his wet chest into my back, he grunted as he fucked me, both of us covered in mud and sweat. He pounded into me hard and fast, forcing me further forward over the dryer. Just as I got used to his pace, he pulled his cock all the way out of me, teasing my clit with the wet head. I eased back as he played with me, trying to get him back inside me. He made me wait, enjoying keeping me on edge. Without warning, he thrust his cock deep again. His fierceness knocked me off balance, my feet slipping on the wet floor. His hands wrapped around me, finding my breasts, my nipples slipping through slick fingers. I used my own messy hand to rub my clit, not wanting him to stop what he was doing. Pulling gently, my hard nipples ached under his touch, hardening more with each pass of his flesh on mine. The sound of our two wet bodies moving together; the smell of him, me and the dirt overwhelmed me. I moaned out against the sound of the rain, his teeth sinking into my neck as I came. His hands, now dry and sticky with dirt, clung to my hips, as I bucked against him. His own release followed, his forehead digging into my back as he grunted
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and sighed. I felt his full weight on my back, the dryer hummed below my chest. Slowly, we came back to earth and we stood amidst the damage. Mud and water had made their way everywhere, including, somehow, the walls. His smile was the same as it was before; that of a happy, messy boy. I just shook my head at him, surveying the scene. “I think it’s your turn to do the laundry.” I walked past him, leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the white carpet.
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Try Him on For Size by Katy Sirls Chloe wished the store was busier. If it had been, she might have been able to keep herself distracted by helping various customers into dressing rooms or assisting them in finding the perfect ensemble of athletic wear – distracted enough, at least, to keep her eyes safely averted from him. As it was, there were no other customers to assist, and she found herself merely folding and re-folding various articles of clothing, trying desperately to make herself look occupied so that hopefully he wouldn’t notice her continuous glances at him. He was looking at biking shorts. Slowly and carefully, he picked through them, almost as if the success of his next bike ride depended solely on him picking just the right shorts. He would glance at one pair and put them back, then scrutinize another. Had it been any other customer, Chloe would have walked right up and asked if he wanted to try a pair on. After all, wasn’t it her job as a sales associate to lead the customers down every possible path that could end in a purchase? This one, though, was different – she wasn’t sure if it was his athletic body, perfectly sculpted beneath his tight shirt and jeans, or perhaps the strands of hair that fell lightly over his dark eyes — but she couldn’t bring herself to even approach him, let alone speak to him. She was suddenly glad that the store manager was at lunch. Had she been here to witness Chloe becoming speechless at the sight of an attractive man sifting through biking shorts, she would have either laughed at her or verbally reprimanded her – or both, in which case Chloe would have felt like a bigger idiot than she already did. But, as luck would have it, it was just her and the handsome biker in the store, and so she continued the process of folding clothes that didn’t need folding, leaving her one and only customer to fend for himself. Inevitably, she caught herself looking up at him again only seconds later. He was examining a pair of blue shorts and a matching top. He glanced back and forth between
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the two, as if trying to figure out whether or not they really went together. In Chloe’s personal opinion, he didn’t need the shirt – she was quite sure he would look just fine in the biker shorts alone. She felt color rise to her cheeks as she thought of him bare-chested, clad only in close-fitting biker shorts. Once the image was in her mind, however, she let it expand. She could picture him on his bike, whatever bike he happened to own, his hair pulled back and every inch of his body visible except for what was hidden beneath his shorts. The shorts would be shimmering brightly in the sunlight, clinging tightly to his legs and accentuating his muscles. And the bulge between his legs, so carefully hidden by the spandex and yet, at the same time, outlined and on display, would be resting on the seat. Chloe nearly dropped the shirt she had been folding and immediately forced herself out of her reverie. Embarrassed, she hoped he wouldn’t to look up and see her blushing. To be on the safe side, she turned her back to him and did her best to erase the image from her mind, trying to think of other mindless tasks to keep her occupied. It wasn’t easy. It was almost a relief when the telephone rang, giving her an excuse to walk to the opposite side of the store from him. On her way, however, she couldn’t resist another look at him. This time, though, when her eyes casually shifted in his direction to take in his Greek-god-like perfection once again, she noticed something was different – this time, he was looking at her, too. Chloe stopped in her tracks, freezing like a deer caught in headlights. She internally chastised herself for not being able to play it cool, and willed her legs to move forward towards the incessantly ringing store telephone, but they wouldn’t budge. She stared at him, and he stared right back. Their eyes met, and for a moment Chloe’s world stopped in its tracks. She felt out of control of her own body – she was unable to move, her heart was racing, and she knew her face was flushed. Finally, he turned his attention back to the biking shorts and she was able to force herself forward to the telephone that was sitting by the cash register. It stopped ringing
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seconds before she reached it, and when she put it to her ear all she heard was a dial tone. Swearing softly to herself, she put the phone down. Maybe whoever it was would call back. Chloe decided it would be a good idea to stay by the phone for a minute or so. She would have, too, had it not been for the hand she felt on her shoulder only a moment later. Jumping slightly, she spun around and found herself face to face with him, her biking shorts customer who had, only seconds before, been on the other side of the store. Chloe felt her heart speed up again. She willed herself to say something. Can I help you? Is there something I can help you find? But nothing would come. She could only look up at him and admire everything she saw. He smiled at her, despite her silence. “I’d like to try these on.” Chloe saw he was holding two pairs of biking shorts. She wanted to smack herself. “Of course,” she said, fumbling for her keys to the dressing room. She used the excuse of finding the right key to keep her eyes on something other than him. “Right this way.” She walked quickly, leading the way around the corner to the dressing room stalls. She opened the largest one for him and he began to step inside. “Oh,” he said, as if a thought had suddenly struck him. “Would you mind grabbing me a top that I can try on with these? I’d like to see how it all fits together.” “Oh. . .okay,” Chloe answered, trying hard not to stumble over her words. She wondered why he hadn’t brought shirts with him in the first place, but if a shirt was what he wanted, she would get it for him. She took a minute or so to browse the shirts that matched the biking shorts. He hadn’t mentioned what size he wanted. She wasn’t good at guessing that kind of thing, either. With a small sigh, she finally took one of each size and headed back to the dressing rooms. She turned the corner and stopped on a dime. Standing right in front of her, taking in his reflection in the long mirror, was her stunningly handsome customer. He had shed
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his own clothing, and was now in a pair of biking shorts – and nothing else. They fit him perfectly, outlining his firm, toned thighs. Although she tried to stop herself, she couldn’t keep her eyes from focusing in on his crotch, where through the tight spandex she could perfectly make out the form of his cock and balls. He turned to greet her with a cordial smile. “Thanks,” he said, acknowledging the shirts she had brought for him. “How do you think the black one will look with these?” Chloe wished she had the nerve to tell him he looked better in the shorts alone, but the only response she could muster up was to offer up the black shirt he had pointed out. “Thank you,” he said, glancing quickly down at her name tag, “Chloe.” He began pulling the shirt over his head, not bothering to re-enter the dressing room. “I’m Aidan, by the way.” Chloe peeked around the corner to make sure no one else had entered the store. It was empty. “Nice to meet you, Aidan.” She let his name roll off her tongue slowly, savoring the sound of it coming from her own mouth. She let the moment last as long as she dared, but after he had the shirt on she regrettably knew she had to return to the store. At last, she took a deep breath. “If you need anything else…” She let her words trail off, letting him know she was there if he needed anything, and announcing her departure at the same time. “Actually,” Aidan piped up before she had a chance to leave the dressing room area, “I’m having trouble with this zipper.” He pointed to the small zipper near the back of his neck and smiled at her again. “Would you mind?” Mind? Chloe thought, taking a step towards him. “Of course not.” He turned around, causing Chloe to nearly gasp at the full sight of his butt so tightly clad in the biking shorts. Breathing slowly, her hands shaking slightly, she moved in close to him and reached up to finish zipping the shirt. She worked slowly, as slowly as she could, for she didn’t want it to end. Her hot breath bounced off his back, only
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inches from her face, and warmed her lips. Her hand brushed against the back of his neck, sending a tingling wave shooting down her arm. She was three-quarters of the way up when he turned suddenly, facing her. She kept her hand on the zipper, not willing to let it go. He inched closer to her, staring down into her eyes. Chloe felt herself tremble as he moved closer still, until their bodies were touching. She felt his unmistakable hardness on her leg, and she desperately wanted to reach down and grab it, her other hand free to reach around and grasp his butt. She didn’t, though – her hand remained firmly on the zipper. Slowly, she began zipping again, her eyes never leaving his. She reached the top, but he didn’t acknowledge her completion of the task he had given her. Instead, he stared intently into her eyes, almost as if to say, Would you really rather be folding shirts right now? Chloe hardly dared to believe this man, this sexy man whom she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since he entered the store, was standing before her now in tight biking shorts, rock hard and close up against her. Despite herself, she began to grow hot and shifted ever so slightly so that his erection, still tight beneath the shorts, was pressed against her crotch. As she did so, he took a deep gasp of air. She felt his hand on the small of her back, and the look in his eyes shifted ever so slightly, his gaze boring fixedly into her. Chloe felt as though he was asking, without words, Do you want this as much as I do? “Yes,” she whispered, though he had not spoken. She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted him, desperately wanted him, and felt herself grow swollen with longing. He leaned down, his mouth suddenly on hers, and they fervently embraced. Chloe found herself slowly grinding against the hardness of his cock, and Aidan pulled away ever so slightly, smiling down at her as if to say, Wait… just wait. And then his mouth was on her neck. He pulled the neckline of her shirt over her shoulder, and she felt his hot breath on her bare skin. She quivered in anticipation. All at once, his hands were under her shirt, unhooking her bra. He clutched her
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waist, moving his grasp up slowly until they were firmly on her breasts. Gracefully, he pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Chloe shivered for a moment as the cool air hit her back – or was his hands were slowly making their way down to her waist? – and, without the grace that Aidan had shown, reached behind him and feverishly began to undo the zipper she had just finished zipping up. In seconds, the shirt was over his head. She looked down at his shorts, and the outline of the throbbing cock within them. She traced her hand lightly down his chest and stomach until it was resting on his crotch. He trembled excitedly. “You know, now that I look at these,” she mused, “I don’t think they flatter you at all.” He grinned. “By all means, take them back.” She slid her fingers underneath the waistband and pulled the shorts down, until his cock finally sprang free. She grasped it firmly in her hand and slowly began stroking it. Aidan closed his eyes, his breath growing short. When he opened his eyes again a moment later, he grabbed zealously at the zipper to her jeans and swiftly pulled them off of her. Her panties were next, and then their two naked bodies were pressed together in eager anticipation. She wanted to beg him to enter her, to fuck her madly, but she couldn’t find her voice. All she could focus on was his body so near to hers. A moment later, though, Aidan pushed her against the wall and lifted one leg over his arm, positioning himself to disappear inside her. He thrust himself inside her deeply. He rocked himself into her, slowly at first, then building up speed. She clutched him to her, moving with his rhythms, almost unable to bear the bliss of his hot cock within her at last. Over his shoulder, she could see the mirror, and the image of him driving his hips forward, moving himself into her waiting body again and again. She thrust her own hips forward as much as she could, taking in as much of him as was possible. Chloe reached down and clutched his butt with both of her hands, pulling him in closer with each thrust. Then, suddenly, Aidan put his arms around her and picked her
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up. Still inside of her, he carried her over to the one chair that was in the dressing room area and sat her down on it. “Turn around,” he instructed eagerly, breathless. Letting him withdraw for the briefest of moments, Chloe turned herself around so that she was bent over the chair. She waited zealously for him, impatient to have him driving into her again, when all of a sudden she felt him enter her from behind. He didn’t begin slowly this time – this time, he pushed into her with passionate force, fucking her with such intensity that she could not keep a loud moan from escaping her. She pushed herself as far backwards as she could, trying to press herself against his body. Then, after one impossibly deep thrust, he paused inside of her as he came. At almost the same moment, Chloe felt her own body shake with the fervor of her climax. Together they shook, their bodies one, in a final moment of intimate passion. Afterwards, they rested in each other’s arms, breathing heavily. She stroked his back and he kissed her hair for countless minutes, and Chloe nearly forgot that she was at work, performing a forbidden act of desire. Nearly forgot – until, that is, they heard the back door slam. Aidan looked at her in alarm. “Someone’s in the store?” Chloe’s eyes grew wide. “My manager. She’s back from her lunch break.” At once, the two of them jumped up and grabbed their clothes, disappearing into a dressing room. They dressed themselves as quickly as they could, and Chloe did her best to smooth her hair out and remove the heat from her face. As soon as she felt she looked decent enough, she hurried out of the dressing room. She began to round the corner, and almost ran into her manager. “Sorry!” Chloe exclaimed, doing her best to act naturally. “Chloe, I was wondering where you were,” her manager replied, taking a second look at Chloe’s appearance. “Were there any customers while I was gone?” At that moment, Aidan stepped out of the dressing room, looking remarkably put
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together. He held up the pair of biking shorts that he had worn right before his moment with Chloe. “I’ll take these,” he said. Chloe looked at her manager. “Just one,” she answered. “Oh,” her manager responded, her eyes narrowing in light suspicion as she looked back and forth between Chloe and Aidan. “I take it you found everything you needed?” “Yes,” Aidan responded. “You can guarantee I’ll be back for more.” He winked at Chloe before turning and walking away.
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What Counts Is How You Play The Game By Brandi Woodlawn Joe tapped his bat against the bottom of each cleat before stepping into the batter’s box. He held his right arm up, signaling for time, while he extended the bat in his left hand across home plate. I stood on the mound, amused by the ritual I’d seen hundreds of times in the years we’d been opponents. “Are you ready yet?” I said. “Almost,” he said. He took a few practice cuts. I couldn’t help but notice that he looked less encumbered today. When he lifted his lead foot off the ground to step into the swing, his shorts rode up. The increased fluidity was explained by the absence of sliding shorts and…underwear. I averted my eyes, but felt my cheeks blush. Joe always seemed to have trouble batting against me. I always thought it was because he was a power hitter. Guys who hit a lot of home runs tend to strike out more. Then I overheard one of his teammates razzing him about it once, telling Joe to stop looking at my tits and keep his eye on the ball. I have to admit, it was nice to know that my tits could throw off his game. But this method to level the playing field? The distraction seemed grossly unfair. It’s not often that a petite woman gets the chance to put a stud in his place. And I did enjoy getting him all flustered any chance I got. Maybe I deserved a little payback. When I started going braless to Joe’s games, maybe I went a little too far. It was too late to worry about that now. “Batter up,” the umpire called. For the first time in years, I was the one who was nervous about the outcome of Joe’s at bat. “Let’s go, slowpoke,” Joe teased. I put the ball in my glove and got into my stance. I tried to focus on home plate as I
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wound up, but somehow my eyes kept drifting back to his shorts. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact that the pitch brushed him back from the plate, coming in belt-high and inside. “Ball,” the umpire called. That was not the word I needed to hear. It caused another round of wandering thoughts. I looked at the plate, Joe’s cleats, his ankle, his calf, his knee, his thigh… ugh! I wanted to throw down my mitt and tackle him right then and there. But there are some things that just aren’t meant for public consumption and my love affair with Joe was one of them. The next pitch was perfect. Too perfect. A real meatball lobbed right down the middle. I wiggled my hips, thoroughly disgusted with myself for giving him the perfect opportunity to send the ball sailing into left field. My wiggling put a hitch in his stride. He sliced through nothing but air. “Strike,” the ump called. “Come on, Joe,” his teammates yelled. One threw his cap in the dirt. “We’re down by one. Get your head in the game.” I took a deep breath. Don’t let him get to you, I thought. A few more pitches and this will be over. I decided to throw the next one with a little backspin. Maybe I could get him to pop up. I threw the ball outside. Any other day, he would have chased it. Instead, he watched it sail by and smirked when the umpire indicated I’d missed. Bastard. Joe’s smile doubled in size. I decided to take a moment and get my bearings. I called for time, took off my mitt and wiped my sweaty hand with my T-shirt. I put the mitt back and resettled myself on the mound. There, that’s better, I thought. I put all thoughts of Joe out of my mind. I had to throw a great pitch now. I’m more competitive than I’d like to admit and the thought of losing made me shudder. I slowed down my delivery, a deliberate attempt to get confuse him with an off
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speed pitch. I knew as soon as I heard the crack of the ball meeting the bat, that I had made the wrong choice. The ball hung in the air longer than it should have, or maybe it just felt that way, as the dream of winning faded as Joe rounded the bases. He tipped his cap to me when he stepped on home plate. I frowned in disgust. “Thanks,” he said. We lined up to shake hands. As I went through the line repeating “Good game!” to each member of Joe’s team, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of contempt building as Joe’s turn approached. “Thanks for making me look good out there,” he said. “You’re not welcome,” I said. “Come on, don’t be that way,” he said. “You know how much I hate to lose,” I said. “Especially to you.” “Now, you know how I feel,” he said. “You think it’s easy getting razzed for letting you get the best of me?” “It’s not my fault you can’t keep your eyes off my tits,” I said. “And since when do you go commando to a game?” He laughed. “I’m sorry. Maybe that was a bit unfair. But you’re not easily distracted. I had to play to win.” “So, how are you going to make it up to me?” “Beer? I’m buying.” “That’s a good place to start.” “The bar or…” He hesitated. If we went somewhere other than the bar, then he’d have to admit this was a date. We’d spent the last few years getting to know one another on the field or in the bar, but had never spent any time truly alone. “…my place?” I offered. I liked the idea of being on my home turf. If things went south, I could come up with a reason to cut the evening short. ****
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Joe arrived with beer – good beer, not the dollar swill we would have been drinking had we gone to the bar. I invited him in and was happy that he didn’t go home to shower first. I would’ve felt like a dope if he had because I hadn’t showered yet, either. We both stank of dirt and sweat. But I didn’t mind. There’s something about that earthy scent that kind of turns me on. Maybe it reminds me of the game. Maybe it reminds me of another competition I’ve yet to win. Joe set the six-pack on the coffee table. He pulled a beer out of the cardboard container and used the bottle opener on his keychain to pop the cap off. He handed me the bottle. He opened another and I motioned for him to join me on the couch. “You want to watch the Sox game?” “Sure,” he said. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. After a few minutes of feigning interest in the game, I decided now would be as good a time as any to lay my feelings on the line. “How come it took you this long to find a reason to be alone with me?” Joe smiled, “It’s all your fault. How come it took you so long to let me win?” I punched him in the arm. “You’re a goof. I’ve really liked you for a long time. Couldn’t you tell?” “You could’ve asked me out.” “You’re right. I could have. I guess I was afraid that you might say no.” “Me too.” “We’ve wasted a lot of time worrying about what the other would think, huh?” “No reason we can’t make up for that now.” Joe leaned over and kissed me. He was gentle at first. But each subsequent kiss came with a little more force. Bursts of pent up passion escaped and the next thing I knew, his hand was under my shirt. As he caressed my nipples, I ran my hand along his thigh. His shorts were smooth and silky and surprisingly dry despite all the sweating we’d done. They must have been made of quick drying fabric. My shorts were made of cotton and before
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he had the chance to feel the damp spot near the small of my back, I decided that now might be a good time to take that shower. I tugged a little on his waistband. “Want to hit the shower?” He nodded. I tugged on his shorts again to get him up off the couch. “This way.” He followed me to the bathroom. We stripped each other of our clothing on the way. I turned the water on, waited a minute for it to heat up, and slid the door open so we could both step inside. We soaped each other up. He scrubbed me with a poofy sponge drenched in floral scented shower gel. I decided to lather him up the old fashioned way, with bar soap rubbed between my hands, enjoying every moment, memorizing each muscle as my fingers explored his arms, chest and legs. When I was done, I said, “Mind if I wash your hair? Or do you want to do it yourself?” “Turn down an offer for my own personal shampoo girl? No way.” I squirted a small dab of shampoo into my palm. I set the bottle back on the ledge and began working my fingers through his thick, brown hair. He closed his eyes and sighed as I massaged his scalp. “You’re good,” he said. “Can I hire you to come over and wash my hair every day?” “We’ll see. If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll do it for free.” “Your turn,” he said after he rinsed his hair. We switched places. I felt a lot sexier after washing off the dust that had accumulated during the game. As the water cascaded through my hair and down my back, I felt Joe’s hands slide down my rib cage. He kneeled down, steadying himself with his hands on my hips and said, “May I?” I nodded and parted my legs. I held my breath in anticipation of the moment when I’d feel his tongue inside me. I exhaled, moaning as he probed my labia before
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focusing his attention on my clit. My knees got weak and I had to brace myself against the corner so I wouldn’t fall. “Are you ok?” he asked. “Should I stop?” “No,” I shook my head, certain that my response wasn’t much louder than a whisper. I was having a hard time thinking about anything other than Joe’s tongue and the places it had just been. He went back to work. It wasn’t long before my thighs began to shake and I knew if he didn’t stop then, I was going to come. I didn’t want to, not then, not without him. “Stop,” I said as I pushed his head away. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I helped him up. I kissed him again. “Just want to do something else is all.” He didn’t protest when I slid my hand down and stroked his cock. He was already hard. I propped my foot on the ledge and guided him inside me. He grabbed my thigh with his right hand and put his left hand on the opposite hip, maximizing his leverage with each thrust. I shivered as his upstroke blocked the warm shower spray. On the next round, his cock pressed hard against my clit and suddenly I didn’t care anymore about being cold. “Harder,” I said. He pushed against my hip with the next stroke and my legs began to shake. “Faster,” I said. “I’m almost…” He moaned before I could say anything else. A few more short thrusts and we collapsed against each other, just in time to notice the water had gone ice cold. “Turn it off,” I said, trying to use him for a shield. He pulled the handle back to the right. The water stopped flowing. I slid the door open and grabbed Joe a towel before getting my own. “Thanks,” he said. “That was…refreshing.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.
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“You’re welcome,” I said. I grabbed a smaller towel from the rack and began to dry my hair. The towel I’d wrapped around my body kept coming undone. While Joe was amused with my struggle, he finally grabbed the smaller towel and said, “Let me get that for you.” He gently squeezed the water from my hair. He picked up my comb and was about to comb my hair, when he said, “Or would you rather do it yourself?” “Turn down my own personal hairstylist? No way.” He worked the comb through my tangled tresses with a skill that surprised me. I have a hard time not pulling my own hair. “There you go,” he said. “You’re good,” I said. “Maybe I can hire you to come over and comb my hair every day.” “Maybe if you keep throwing those nice meatball pitches, I’ll come over and do it for free.” “You going to stop going commando?” “Only when you start wearing a sports bra.” “I can’t give up my secret weapon. You know how much I hate losing to you.” Joe laughed. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? No matter who loses, if it ends up like this, we both win.” As much as I hated to admit it, watching Joe slip back into his silky, black softball shorts made me realize that sometimes it’s more fun not to win.
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A Secret Night in Grouse Woods by Karen Sutow
The autumn breeze kicked in through the door, bringing with it two men and a woman. I glanced up from my cappuccino, foam peppering my top lip. The taller of the men brushed past me, his thin hips nearly caressing my shoulder as he squeezed between the tables. His blue jeans hugged his ass and his white t-shirt accentuated the muscles on his back. He carried something black in his hands, though what I could not see, my view now obstructed by his friends, who had joined him at the counter. I turned to Lacy, noticed her eyes fixed on the men, and leaned into the table straining to see them. On the left stood the man in the jeans, his back still facing me. On his right was the woman, drink in hand, her eyes taking in the room. She was petite, not more than five-foot-two, maybe five-foot-three, with short, wavy black hair – sexy yet sleek. Deep brown eyes, sculpted face. Not a lick of make-up, yet attractive as hell. The guy on her right smiled before resting his hand on her shoulder, then said something to the other man, the one who held the black object. He shifted the object to his left hand, then ran his fingers through his short brown hair and smiled before returning his attention to the barista. “You ever see them before?” Lacy asked. “No. Where you figure they’re from?” “How would I know? Probably just passing through on their way to somewhere.” “On the way to where?” I said. “This town’s between here and nowhere.” Lacy laughed, and I laughed with her. Almedia, with its population of 1,683, was a blip on the map. It took a good two hours to drive through the rolling hills to the nearest town and four hours to Carlton City, if the weather was good and a landslide of rocks and mud hadn’t wiped out the road down the mountain. Life was simple – folks lived off the land, neighbors helped each other out, not that gruff mind-your-own-businessand-I’ll-mind-mine kind of thinking you get most everywhere else, especially in the big
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cities. Of course, young folks don’t stick around long – rushing off to find something new and exciting – and the population keeps dwindling. Lacy and I are pretty much the exception, though I don’t know how much longer that will last. I feel the city calling me and I’m desperate to experience adventure. Must be a mid-life crisis or something, although I don’t know how much it’s mid-life when you’re just hitting thirty. “What do you think they’re doing?” “How should I know?” The two men and the woman had moved to the far wall and stood facing the room. The one with the black box stared, first at Mrs. O’Leary, with her coifed grey hair and wrinkled face, then at Mabel Osterburch, whose head was buried in a book. Mabel licked her bottom lip, oblivious to the man watching her. His attention shifted to Mabel’s right and rested on Robin Koots, who sensed his gaze, looked up from her newspaper, and smiled so wide you’d have thought he offered her the world. He nodded ever so slightly, then looked at the box and gently ran his finger across the side, as if caressing a lover. I swallowed hard. Shifted my gaze from his finger to his face, locked my eyes on his piercing blues as he looked directly at me. Smiling. Teeth so white. I couldn’t help but smile back, my lips opening so far it was almost embarrassing. Lacy kicked me under the table as the man strode toward me. The other man and the woman remained in place. It took him only moments to cross the room, but it felt like forever. When he spoke, it was as if his deep voice broke the silence, yet noise surrounded us. “For you,” he said, holding out the box. It was velvet, approximately five inches by three inches. No markings. Just pure black velvet contrasting his deeply tanned hand. Strong fingers. No ring. Small scar across the knuckle on his thumb. “What…what is it?” “Just take it. You won’t be sorry.” I hesitated, then reached for the box, felt his warm skin against mine. Lingered to savor the moment. He touched his free hand to my cheek – it felt like fire branded
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my skin – then he left the coffeehouse without saying another word and his friends followed. I tracked them through the window until they passed out of sight. “Hurry up. Open it,” Lacy said. “What do you think’s inside?” “How the hell should I know? Just open it.” “What if it’s a bomb or something?” “You got to be kidding me, right? Besides, it’s too small. If you don’t open it, Samantha, I will.” Gently, I flipped up the small metal latch on the side then eased off the lid to find red silk lining the inside of the box. A shiny piece of paper sat on top of the silk. It resembled a theater ticket and said: “For you – our special customer – one extraordinary night only – this Saturday – eight p.m. – Be prepared for the experience of a lifetime. Free admission to the Mystery Theater with this ticket. Good only for the bearer. No exceptions. Go to the clearing in the middle of Grouse Woods and be on time. No late entry permitted. Park at the Conestoga Spring.” “Let me see that,” Lacy said as she grabbed the ticket from my hand. “I don’t believe it. You’re so lucky.” “What do you mean?” “He gave you a ticket to the Mystery Theater.” “I never heard of it.” “You got to be kidding me, right?” I shook my head. Lacy leaned forward and whispered. “It’s this secret traveling theater that goes all over the country. No one knows where it’s going or what exactly it’s about, but it’s supposed to be the most incredible experience you’ll ever have in your life.” I took the ticket back from Lacy. “If it’s so secret, how do you know about it? And if no one knows what it’s about, then how do you know it’s so incredible?” “I read about it on the Internet, but they swear you to secrecy when you leave the
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theater.” “You mean to tell me no one’s ever broken their promise? I find that hard to believe.” Lacy took a sip of coffee. “Believe what you want, but I’m telling you that everyone who has gone says it’s absolutely fantastic…if you don’t want to go, I’d be happy to take the ticket off your hands.” I considered the idea for a moment and then remembered the man’s touch. Even if I could just get a glimpse of him again, it would be worth it. “No…I’ll go. What do I have to lose?” “You’re so lucky,” Lacy said, smiling. “You do realize that, don’t you?” I shook my head. **** The hike into the woods took a good fifteen minutes from where I was parked with three other cars. The evening air smelled of pine and that clean water smell I love. Electric lanterns lined a path into the woods. Near silence greeted me, broken only by scattered twigs and leaves crunching underfoot. For an instant, I considered climbing back into my car and heading home, but a nagging feeling ate at my gut and told me to risk it. I figured I had nothing to lose. Hell, here I ‘d been complaining I wanted adventure, and when it stared me in the face, I hesitated. No, that wasn’t the way I wanted to live my life, and I’d be damned if my fear would get the best of me. I took a step forward, followed by another, until I found myself in the middle of a clearing facing a towering black tent. No sign. No people. No lights. Nothing. I heard music from inside, soothing but with an upbeat undertone to it – the melody inviting, yet erotic in some way I couldn’t quite figure out. I pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside. A soft female voice spoke in my ear. “May I see your ticket please?” I turned and looked at her but was unable to see anything in the pitch black. I handed her my ticket. She flicked on a penlight; the minute amount of light revealed
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nothing more than the tight-fitting one-piece black outfit the woman wore. “This way, please.” She turned off the penlight, took hold of my hand, and led me through the tent. I could not imagine how she found her way without anything to guide her. I heard breathing and the rustling of clothes as we passed someone on my left. “Here you are,” the woman said as she turned my shoulders and helped me into a plush recliner. “We’ll be starting shortly. Just relax and enjoy the music.” It was five minutes, maybe ten or twenty. It was difficult to tell with nothing to guide me but unending music. The notes increased in tempo and volume until they vibrated and danced off the walls of the tent, encasing me in a cocoon of joy. Drums joined the fervor as did a guitar, then a soft voice eased in under the music singing a melody that drew the notes to an ever-increasing quiet and steady beat until they were no more, leaving only the woman’s voice to gently fill the air. It felt as if she were singing to me and no other, the darkness my only companion. Upon the last note, a cool breeze swept my skin, raising goose bumps across my arms, the sensation again magnified. Then, the chair began to warm, ever so slightly, and I felt something soft caress my skin – feathers maybe or cotton. My breath caught in my throat as the object moved across my cheeks and down my arms, stopping at my fingers before making its way back up to my face. I struggled between my desire to experience the sensation and my need to see who provided it, although I knew I wouldn’t be able to see a thing. Another cool breeze followed, then nothing. All I could do was anticipate what would come next – my senses were on fire. Again, it felt like a long time until something happened, but the wait only increased my pleasure. Five soft pink spotlights now bathed five gorgeous men, each dressed in nothing but identical shorts, cut high and tight. Bare, muscular chests glistening in the light, smiles plastering their faces, hands planted on hips. I could see the shadows of lounge chairs near each man and assumed a sixth man stood near me. I wondered what he looked like. How he felt. How he smelled. How he tasted. I turned my head to look, but the lights extinguished before I had a chance.
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Something soft pushed against my lips and juice ran down my chin. I opened my mouth to take it in, the strawberry so sweet and exhilarating, as if I were tasting one for the first time. His breath warmed my skin and then his tongue licked the juice clean in one full, drawn-out stroke. I ached. Every bit of me. And I craved more and more of these wonderful sensations. I didn’t know it could feel so good…that I could feel so good. Fingers found the buttons on my shirt, opened them, and gently spread the fabric to my sides. Again, I felt warm breath on my skin, then hands swept across my nipples, not stopping to satisfy the aching buds on the way down to my thighs and to my ankles and back up again. But this time, fingers pushed aside my bra strap and freed my breasts. A short beat, then ice on my nipples. I moaned. The cold was delicious against my heat. I reached out for him in the dark, barely able to stay still, but he pushed my arms against the chair and held them there for a moment. I dared not move again, not wanting to give him reason to stop. A soft, high-pitched bell clanged once, twice, followed by a warm shower from above. The water drizzled against my skin, each drop like needles yet so invigorating. After about a minute, the bell clanged again and the water stopped, leaving my saturated clothes plastered against my skin. The pink spotlights turned back on, this time casting a wider swath of light that illuminated each chair in addition to the men standing next to them, the men’s bodies now glistening from the water, their shorts clinging to their skin. I turned my head again, but the man ducked behind my chair and pushed my face forward. “Watch them and enjoy,” he said into my ear, his voice creamy and smooth. I recognized his voice from the coffee shop – the man who gave me the ticket – and my stomach felt like it rushed into my throat but then quickly settled. “But…what?” “Life is not to question why, but to enjoy.” With those words, he pushed me upright, removed my shirt, and unhooked my bra, all the time caressing the back of my neck with his lips. I knew the other women in the room watched me. I felt their eyes, their
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stares, didn’t care – only focused on the men in shorts attending to them and on the man attending to me. His mouth found my waiting nipple and sucked, then he bit it gently with his teeth as his hand teased my other nipple. His tongue trailed down my stomach, paused at my waist, then made its way back to my breast. I watched another man do the same thing to a woman directly across from me, turned my attention to the side and saw the same thing again. It only served to increase my excitement. I wanted him to take me right then and there. I didn’t care who watched. All I could focus on was the burning ache and wetness between my legs. The tent went dark again. I shivered, but not because I was cold. I felt hands on my hips pushing my pants to my ankles and over my feet. A finger pushed under my panties, teased me for a second, then disappeared. Ice again on my breasts. Warm mouth on mine. Fingers in my hair. I reached out to him. Felt the rock hard muscles of his chest. Ran my hands down to his waist, across his shorts, over the bulge, lingering for a long moment. He pushed aside my hand. I heard his zipper. Only wanted to reach for him. Hold him. Take him inside me. But I knew the rules. Again, the lights. This time a little dimmer, mixed with purple. Soft music and a cool breeze blowing directly on my skin. He moved into view. Naked. Sculpted like one of those famous statues I’d seen in museum pictures somewhere. “Please,” I said. He smiled and drew a vibrator out from behind his back, turned it on. The buzzing alone almost made me orgasm. I glanced across the way, saw another man holding a vibrator against a woman, joy plastered across her face. My man pressed the vibrator against my clit, sending ecstatic bolts of electricity through my body. I arched my back and spread my legs, desperately wanting it inside me, wanting him inside me. He knew it too. He smiled a wicked grin and stopped just because he could, right when I was on the brink of orgasm. He reached behind him, and I felt cold water hitting my skin again followed by that
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cool breeze and then his mouth on my neck. His oh-so-warm mouth. He straddled me with his thick muscular legs and leaned toward my chest and kissed me. Hard. Hands clamping my head. Fingers nearly digging into my scalp. Lights out. He left me. Alone in the chair. Craving his touch. Needing him like I’ve never needed anyone before. I touched my breasts and ran my hands down my stomach, but it wasn’t the same. Where was he? “Please.” I said again. “I want you.” Music now – so quiet I could barely hear it. He climbed back on top of me and I reached for him, wanting to guide him inside me. Again the damn rules. He pushed my hand away. Bit gently on my nipple, then spread my legs and took me at the same instant the lights turned back on. I stared at his face, our hips moving together, slowly at first then faster and faster until I thought I would die from the pleasure. Someone screamed, someone else moaned, and I came fast and hard. Not once, but twice. The orgasm was so great, it ran down to my toes and up into my hands. I felt him come, and I smiled. The tent was plunged into blackness again. He kissed me on the lips, then kissed my breasts and said, “Such exquisite pleasure.” With that, he disappeared. I fished for him with my hands, and couldn’t find anything but the chair on which I sat. “Here are some dry clothes,” a woman said and pressed a sweatshirt and sweatpants into my hands. I think it was the same woman who had led me to my chair. She turned on her penlight so I could see to get dressed, then led me from the chair back through the tent. I tried to glimpse the other women, see the men who had been wearing the shorts, find the man who had pleasured me so, but I couldn’t see anything beyond the small beam of light. At the exit, the woman pressed a piece of paper into my hand and said, “Thanks for coming. I hope you enjoyed the Mystery Theater.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and headed back to my car with the paper clenched in my fist. Halfway home, I pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine,
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not believing what had happened. I grabbed the paper from the passenger seat where I had tossed it and then unfolded it to reveal a rose. Underneath the rose, the paper said: “Keep what happened here tonight a secret. If you speak of it with anyone, you will spoil the magic for other women like yourself. It is the not-knowing and the surprise in life that makes everything so incredibly exciting.”
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Dirty Little Boxer Boy by Ryan Field During my freshman year of college, I took a part-time job as an attendant in a small tanning salon. It was a rather unfortunate place with depressing brown carpets, but good, clean work that allowed plenty of time to study between customers, most of whom were middle-aged men and women with too much time on their hands. I would have preferred a part-time job in a men’s clothing store, helping young guys choose the right socks and underwear – I’d always been into loose boxer shorts; there’s something so hot about the way they fall on men – but the tanning salon was close to the dorms and the job didn’t require much thought. Aside from all the painfully addicted-to-sunlamp customers, it wasn’t a bad gig, except that there was often too much free time. The months of September and October were slow; I was lucky to have two or three customers per day. And it was almost unthinkable to see a great-looking guy in his early thirties decide to sign up for a month of tanning before a trip to Belize, Mexico. But that’s what happened. It was a rainy Monday morning in late September when Rick walked into the empty salon. I’d been studying for a chemistry quiz when I looked up to see a tall guy with short, black hair, wearing a navy jogging suit, standing before me. His appearance was military, with spiky dark hairs stuck to his temples from perspiration, five o’clock shadow in an almost greenish color, and strong hands that moved in graceful motions when he spoke. He’d obviously just come from a morning run; there were perspiration marks between his legs. “I’m interested in tanning for about a month,” he said. “I’m a doctor, going to Belize on research, and I don’t want to burn down there. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. Do you think I can get a decent tan for the trip?” His voice was deep and soft. I noticed he had large hands with thick, long fingers. I instantly dropped my chemistry notes and began to explain the tanning process
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to this hot guy. He had a rugged expression, but soft brown eyes that reminded me of a puppy dog. Though his jogging suit was loose and it hung from his tall, rigid body, I knew there was really good stuff underneath. And I liked the power he gave me: a young college student who knew nothing – except maybe how to suck dick to perfection – explaining something to a mature man of the world. When I was finished with the sales pitch and I knew he was going to sign up for a month of tanning, I said, “You really should buy a tanning lotion. It will help you get a better tan, and it will moisturize your body. It’s really an important factor with indoor tanning.” I honestly did believe the lotions helped too. “Can you recommend something?” he asked. “You seem to have a great tan. I want what you use.” His eyebrows went up and he shrugged his wide shoulders. “I use this,” I said, pulling a basic tanning lotion from a display on the counter. “It’s not expensive and it does the job, as you can see.” I stretched out my tanned arms. I only tanned about once a week, but I had the kind of skin that absorbed sunlight; just one twenty-minute session made my ass as soft and brown as someone who’d done five of the same sessions. My skin was the main reason the owner of the salon had hired me. Though born and raised on the East Coast, people always said I had a West Coast surfer look. “And I just apply this like any other tanning lotion?” he asked, handing me his credit card so that I could finalize the transaction. “You try to get it all over your body,” I said, noticing that the head of his penis made a slight outline on the fabric of his jogging pants. “And it’s very important to spread it all over your back, too.” Then I reached forward and gently ran the tips of my fingers over the back of his right shoulder.
When the tanning sessions were charged to his credit card, and he’d filled out a
customer record sheet, I told him to follow me to the tanning booth so that I could show him what to do. Though I was clearly attracted to him, it was all very businesslike. Until he asked, as I was about to leave him alone in the tanning booth, “Hey, buddy
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boy, do you think you could help me apply the lotion? So I don’t make any mistakes?” “Sure,” I said, “No problem. I’m not that busy today.” He was about to get the massage of a lifetime; of that, I was certain. He removed the sweatshirt, exposing a well-defined chest slightly covered with a rough carpet of jet black hair. In the center of his breastbone there was a black fluff that formed a narrow line of hair leading all the way down his lean abdomen, as though pointing in the direction of his dick. He kicked off his running shoes and proceeded to yank off his damp sweat socks. As I stood there, watching him strip – he wasn’t self-conscious at all – I held the tanning lotion with no expression on my face. I wasn’t sure where this was leading and I didn’t want to be presumptuous. But when he quickly yanked his sweatpants down and pulled them off, revealing a rumpled pair of white cotton boxer shorts, I nearly fell to my knees. His legs were hairy and long and muscular, and I wanted to bury my face in the white boxer shorts…to lick them and sniff them and chew on them. I could see the outline of his cock resting just beside the front opening. To a boxer-shorts pirate like me, this was a dream come true. Those loose, well-worn boxer shorts begging to be sniffed and licked. “I think I should put the lotion all over your body,” I said, trying not to sound too excited. “To show you the right way to do it.” I had to hold the lotion bottle hard so my hands wouldn’t shake. The thought of touching his strong thighs made me knees weak. “If you say so, buddy boy,” he replied, ready to yank the white boxers off too. “No,” I suddenly shouted, hoping I hadn’t sounded desperate. “Don’t take off the boxer shorts. Leave them on for the first few times you tan. You don’t want to burn in places that haven’t been exposed to the sun before.” If he had taken them off, I probably wouldn’t have been completely disappointed, but the boxer shorts only seemed to enhance things. “Good thinking,” he said, placing his large hands on his slim waist. Though it was the truth, and I didn’t want to burn his cute ass, my only thought at the moment was to keep him in those sexy boxer shorts as long as possible. And we
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both knew that something would happen by then; at the very least, I’d suck him off. “Just stand still and relax,” I told him as I poured tanning lotion into the palms of my hands and knelt down in front of him. I slowly began with his large feet, working the smooth lotion between his toes and then up to his ankles with both my hands. I gently massaged –I wasn’t spreading it. I was slowly working him toward an erection. I rubbed his legs, making sure the lotion got past the body hair and into the skin. “Damn, buddy boy,” he said, spreading his legs, “This feels so good. I should have come here a long time ago. Do you do this for all the customers?” “No way,” I said, laughing. “You’re the first one ever.” “How old are you? And what’s your name?” he asked. He smiled and rubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand. “Nineteen, and it’s Bob,” I replied, “Now you lie down in the tanning bed and I’ll finish massaging the lotion on your body. I want to cover every inch of you, and it’s much more relaxed if you’re lying down.” When he was flat on his back in the tanning bed, I decided to strip down too. “I don’t want to get lotion all over my clothes,” I said, as he watched me rip off my white T-shirt and kick off my jeans. I took everything off: shoes, socks and underwear. I wanted to be on my knees with my back arched, my ass in the air and my legs spread as wide as possible. The perfect invitation, I’d learned. “You’ve got a great body, buddy boy, and I see your tan is even in all the right places,” he said, as he reached up from the tanning bed and ran the rough palm of his left hand slowly down my ass. Then, with his thick middle finger, he slowly began to circle the opening of my ass. By that time, my cock was rock hard. I knelt down while he continued to work his finger into my hole, and began to massage lotion onto his strong thighs. He must have been an avid runner; his thighs were thick cinderblocks. Not an ounce of flab anywhere. “Now, just close your eyes and relax,” I whispered. My legs opened as wide as I could spread them; his finger was now all the way up my ass. “I’m going to apply some
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lotion all the way up your strong legs, so that if the sun rays go through your boxers, you won’t get burned.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re the expert, buddy boy.” I poured more lotion into the palms of my hands and then slowly ran both hands upward, under the white boxers. I massaged lotion way up into his groin area, while his large hairy balls rubbed against the front of my hands. As I did this, I noticed that his cock was growing larger by the moment. All of a sudden, the head began to pop through the front opening of the white boxer shorts. And rather quickly, an eight-inch erection was popping through, pulsing with each movement I made. “Is that okay?” he asked, as he looked at me, and then down at his huge hard dick, slowly finger fucking me into a delirious state of submission. I smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that too.” I buried my face in his sweaty white shorts. They were drenched from his morning run, but smelled like nectar from the gods. I licked the white cotton, working my tongue through the front opening, past the base of his hard cock, so I could release his large hairy balls too. I sucked them both up into my mouth, and slowly pulled them through the opening. For a moment, when his cock and his balls were sticking out of the opening, I took a quick look at them. Nothing, to me, is sexier that seeing a huge dick and a large set of sweaty, funky balls sticking out from a pair of white boxer shorts. Slowly, while my hands clutched the white cotton on his shorts, I began to lick my way up the shaft of his dick toward the head. A large cock head, dripping with pre-come by that time. But just as I took the entire dick all the way down my throat and was about to begin the first sucking motions, a voice rang out from the front of the salon. “Is anyone here?” The voice was familiar: a woman who never missed a day of tanning. But I thought fast. “I’m back here, Barbara, with an electrician. We’re working on one of the beds.” I shouted this while still licking his cock. “We had some trouble with your favorite tanning bed. It’ll be fixed in an hour or so. Why don’t you come back
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then?” “Oh, okay,” I heard a weak voice reply. “I have some errands anyway. I’ll come back.” With his cock still standing and ready to burst, and finger as far up my ass as he could get, he whispered, “Good thinking, you naughty little boy.” “Just relax,” I said, grabbing my own cock so I could shoot a load too. “This will only take another minute or so. You’re ready to explode.” “Tell me about it,” he moaned. “I’d love to fuck you.” “I wanna finish you off like this,” I said. “I really wanna suck you off.” “Well, how is this?” he said, as he slowly shoved two more fingers up my ass. I wanted to say, “Oh fuck, call me bitch,” but it was too soon for that sort of thing, and anyone could have walked into the salon and heard me begging for dick. “Fucking fantastic,” I moaned. My ass began to roll in slow, circular motions, and I started to back into his fingers. I returned to sniffing and licking his boxers for a moment, then began some serious sucking motions on his dick. Not just licking, or moving my mouth up and down the shaft. That does nothing to a man. I sucked hard and fast until my cheeks indented and my lips puffed out, jerking my own cock the entire time. In no time he reached a point where his juice was ready to shoot. You can usually tell during a good cocksucking session when they are ready to shoot a load because their legs start to wiggle, and their toes often curl. “Ahhhhh,” was the only sound he made as he shot a full load of come right into my mouth. I felt it hit the back of my throat, and I gulped and swallowed with pleasure. Then I shot one too, all over the side of the tanning bed, while he fucked me with three fingers, never missing a beat. Though he pulled his fingers out after we came, I kept his cock in my mouth for a while, not ready to release it until I knew he’d been completely drained and was ready to lie back and enjoy a relaxing tanning session. I didn’t torture him, knowing
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the head of his cock would be sensitive after shooting a load. I simply kept it in my mouth, slowly sucking each last drop of his cum. I wanted to feel his meaty dick slowly go limp against my tongue, and then gently suck his balls back into my mouth so that I could roll them into a state of complete relaxation. I knew from the way he gently caressed my head that he really liked this. “That was fucking fantastic,” he whispered, as I released his floppy dick and neatly packed it back into his white boxers where it was safe and sound. Then I gently kissed the opening of the underwear, pilfering one last sniff for the road. “I enjoyed it too,” I said, stepping back into my jeans. I felt something drip down my chin and I wiped it with the side of my hand. “Especially the white boxers. I love all boxer shorts, but white ones really get me hot.” “Fuck, buddy boy,” he said, “I especially liked the way you drained me dry.” “You tasted like candy,” I said. “Your come is very sweet.” He’d like hearing that, I knew. They all like to know they have the best-tasting come. “Damn,” he said. “Now, you relax and enjoy your first tanning session,” I told him. “I’ve got to get back to the front desk before someone else comes in. And you need to get some rest. You’ve had two workouts today…a long run and a good suck-off.” About twenty minutes later he returned to the reception counter, where I was folding a few small white towels. “Did I get any color?” He lowered his running pants enough so that I could see his black pubic hairs. “It’s too soon to tell,” I said. “But you should see something in about an hour, after you take a shower.” “Cool,” he said. He hesitated for a moment and kicked the floor with the toe of his running shoe as if killing time. “Should I come in tomorrow?” “Oh yeah,” I said. “I think you should come in every day until you go to Belize.” He smiled a toothy smile. “I think so too,” he said. Then he headed for the exit. When he reached the door, he turned and said, “I’ll see you same time tomorrow. You’ll
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be here, right?” “I’ll be here,” I said, “And don’t forget, you probably should wear a pair of boxer shorts the first few times.” “Oh, I won’t,” he laughed, “Tomorrow I’m going to wear a pair of light blue ones that are really loose and baggy. I’ll wear them for a while, so they won’t be too fresh and clean.” I licked my lips and laughed. “That sounds perfect.” “See you tomorrow,” he said, as he jaunted out the door. When he was gone and I went back to clean his tanning bed, I noticed he’d left his white boxers hanging from a hook near the door, obviously intended for me. I slowly lifted them from the hook, placed them to my face and inhaled deeply, still in shock that I’d managed to fulfill one of my sacred fantasies about boxer shorts that morning. How many people go through life without ever doing what they crave sexually? So many times I’d been with guys who were wearing shorts that I wanted to devour, but I always held back for fear they’d think I was peculiar. As the weeks passed, Rick returned for his tanning session every day of the week, always wearing slightly used boxer shorts. He once wore a sweaty jock strap, and though I enjoyed chewing on it while he hammered me into the wall, I told him that I still preferred boxer shorts. I quickly learned that he was strictly a top man, but it was never a problem for either of us. He fucked my brains out and I couldn’t get enough of his cock. Most of the time he’d leave the boxer shorts on, with his cock popping from the opening, while he fucked me over the top of the tanning bed. And then sometimes – I liked this the most – he’d lie on his back while I spread my legs and sat on his large cock, covering my head with his dirty boxers. I’d ride his dick while I chewed and sucked the fabric. His eyes became wide and he started to breathe heavily at the fact that I was so into his shorts, and he always left a pair for my collection when the fucking was finished. But he liked fucking me the most, claiming my ass felt like velvet around his cock.
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He never used a condom – we’d both been tested, and swore monogamy to each other during that period – never had to pull out and jack off to come, and always shot a full load up my ass, whether I was riding his cock or bent over while he nailed me to a wall or a floor or a door. **** When it was time for him to leave for Belize, though we both knew our little fling was only temporary, neither of us was happy about it. But he swore to e-mail me and to send letters as often as he could. We didn’t know about the future, and didn’t want to discuss it. There wasn’t time to do anything but fuck (and sniff boxer shorts) and we both knew that relationships aren’t formed on that alone. We’d deal with that when he returned from his trip. As a going-away present, I went down on my knees and I sucked him off, while he finger-fucked my ass, just as we had done the first time. We both promised to keep in touch. When a week passed and I didn’t hear a word from him, I lost my appetite and had trouble sleeping. He didn’t answer my e-mails and I began to assume our time together had been nothing more than a passing fling. And then one afternoon, a package was delivered to the salon, addressed to me, with a foreign return address. I quickly opened it and found a rumpled pair of white boxer shorts and a small note that read, My e-mail’s been all fucked up, and it won’t be working until next week, but I wanted to send you something so you won’t forget me. Have fun with these. I’m going to jack myself off tonight while I think about you sniffing them. I’m mailing a really sweaty, smelly pair next week….Love, Rick.
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Special Delivery by Savannah Chase The gentle breeze swayed the sheer white curtains that surrounded the canopy bed. Candles flickered all over the room as she glanced around, searching for him. Soft white rose petals adorned the bed, and touched the air with sweetness. Each delicate petal, soft as silk, caressed her skin. She spotted a shadow in the curtains. It quickly approached her. She bit her lower lip and her heart began to flutter with anticipation. “Get up on all fours, and close your eyes,” the voice instructed her. Every time she had a dream about him, he always came to her, and commanded her to close her eyes. Doing as he told her, she lifted herself off the bed and up on all fours to face the headboard. The bed dipped behind her as his weight pushed it down. The breeze continued to rustle the curtains, and brushed her bare skin. It sent shivers down her body. His musky smell wafted through the air. She wanted desperately to open her eyes, and see who her mysterious lover was but she dared not. She only waited for his next move. His warm palm cupped her ass before it moved up to her spine. He held something soft in between his fingers as he moved higher and higher. It stroked her skin, sending more shivers down her back. “I will have my way with you,” he told her. She could feel his breath getting closer to her. That’s when he placed a gentle kiss on her back. His fingers moved her hair away from her face before he placed the soft material he held over her eyes. It was silk. He tied it around her, and the reminder of the silk draped down her back. Now, even if she wanted to open her eyes, there would be no way to see
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him. She heard him move away from her, his hand returned to her back. “Tonight, you are mine,” he said as the bed shifted once more under his weight. He was now behind her. The wait for his touch was killing her. Kara didn’t want to wait any longer. She wanted him now. Just as his cock brushed against her back, loud noses filled the quiet room. Her eyes flew open with dismay. Kara woke up startled by the sound of hammering, electric saws and shouting outside her window. Still holding on to the covers, she turned to glance at the time. “Come on. Not again,” she called out in frustration. Do people really ever have a good morning, or is that just a figure of speech? She surely wasn’t having a good one. She’d been having one just a few moments ago until she was woken up by what was happening outside the house. This was the tenth time in the past four weeks she’d had one of her hot dreams interrupted. Ever since renovations began next door, she found herself waking up to blinking appliances and too much noise. The first time it happened, the construction was just getting started. Now it was pretty much a regular thing. Not even on her days off was she able to catch a few extra winks of sleep. Slowly tearing herself away from the warm bed, she wrapped the black bed sheet around herself and got up. Since she was already awake, and there was no way for her to get back to sleep with all the racket outside, she made her way barefoot down the cold wooden staircase. She saw through the living room window all the action that was going on outside. Workmen hustled back and fourth carrying building materials. Another passed by with a stack of two by four boards on his shoulder, while someone else followed with a stack of lattice boards. The neighbors originally said that this project of theirs would all be done in under
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a month. It had already been four weeks, and it didn’t appear they were any closer to nearing an end. As she reached the kitchen, she peered at the battery-operated clock above the oven. Kara sighed, and blew a loose strand of hair away from her face. “It’s only eight. Can’t a girl get some beauty sleep, and finish off a good dream fuck?” She’d just gotten to the best part of the dream. Her mysterious lover was just about to fuck her from behind. He could make her come repeatedly in every position. If mindblowing sex ever existed, she was definitely having it with him. Come on, give me a break. Is one good night’s sleep that much to ask for? Only one night to let the dream get to the end. It was Thursday, and her day off. Instead of running errands, she had to stay home, and wait for the tow truck to take her car away for repair. It had died just as she pulled into the driveway yesterday. That was the last time she would buy a used car. Two years, and all it ever did for her was give her one headache after another. If it wasn’t an oil leak, it was a blown transmission. The only thing that could make this day better would be to finally receive her bonus from work. She’d waited since Monday, and nothing had arrived yet. The only good thing about having to wait for the mail was that she would get the chance to see the gorgeous new mailman who had started delivering mail the previous Friday. While she took her mug from the cupboard, she lost hold of the sheet wrapped around her. The sudden cool air brushed against her. It sent a shiver down her back and perked up her nipples. She quickly covered herself with her hands and bent down for her sheet. A little too early to give the neighbors a peep show, she thought to herself as she smiled.As she was tying the sheet back around her, the doorbell rang. It was after eight. The tow truck couldn’t be here this early. The garage specifically told her the driver wouldn’t arrive until late morning, or early afternoon. Peeking out the window, she spotted the mailman. He was dressed in navy shorts,
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and blue short sleeved shirt standing at the door holding a package and looking around. A seductive smile spread across her lips. What a sight to see this early in the morning. Tightening the sheet around herself, she opened the door just enough to reach out for the package. “Good morning. I…” His words began to trail off. His eyebrows rose, and a devilish smile spread across his face. “You certainly know how to make my morning, don’t you?” Kara smiled. “I bet you say that to all the ladies you meet while delivering their mail.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a pen. “Nope, just the beautiful ones, and so far you’re my first.” She noticed the shiny tongue ring in his mouth, as he smiled. Kara’s face heated, and as she sized him up. He had the most beautiful green eyes. Ones in which she was already getting lost. Holding the makeshift outfit with one hand, she opened the door a little further as he passed the small brown box to her. She reached out, and her fingers accidentally brushed against his hand. What a fine hand it was. One which was very masculine, and had strong fingers. As usual, her mind began to swirl with all the naughty little things she would love him to do with those hands, one of them being to feel him caress every itty bitty part of her. And that tongue ring. That was an added bonus that she’d love to experience. The thought of his tongue lapping at her juices as she came frantically in his grasp burned in her mind That only resulted with an ache building between her thighs, and a pair of hardened nipples. Kara put the box on the table next to her. She needed to have both hands free, one to keep a hold of her sheet, and the other to sign for the parcel. It wouldn’t be that bad
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if the guy saw her naked, it was the rest of the neighborhood that would have a problem with it. Nothing interesting ever happen around the quiet New Jersey neighborhood. Her naked appearance on the front step would surely get the street gossiping. Some of the neighbors were obsessed with clothes, and loved to blow a gasket the moment they saw any nudity. Who knew why? They were just a bunch of prudes. The hunky mailman in front of her passed her the clipboard, and then the pen he’d retrieved earlier. “Please initial and sign where at the X,” he said, as he handed it to her. “Sure thing.” Then she returned the clipboard back to him. His glance lingered for a while after he took the clipboard from her, before he turned around and walked down the front steps. “You have a good day now,” he said. Then he winked at her and turned back around to continue on his way down her front steps towards the pathway. Kara stood watching from behind the slightly jarred door as he walked down the sidewalk and disappeared behind the bushes. A half sigh and moan escaped her lips as she shut the door and leaned against it. Mmmmmmm. He is one hot mailman. The sight of him only intensified her ache, and she could feel her juices building up. She was definitely going to need a nice cold shower to get her body back to functional state. Kara left the door and didn’t bother to open her delivery. She just headed right back up the stairs straight for that cold shower. Every step she took, she shook her head in disappointment because she hadn’t invited the hot mailman to come inside. Right now she could have been ass-naked in bed, and riding him until she was spent. She just gave that up all because she was too scared to make a move. She had to get over it, and just do it if she ever wanted to make her fantasy come true. ****
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Her cold shower earlier in the day did nothing to calm her down. Every time she tried to focus on work, Kara’s mind drifted back to her hunky visitor. That only resulted in more cold showers. Five more to be exact. None of them were doing the job to put the fire put. She’d spent the day at home waiting for the tow truck to show up, and called made numerous times. All they ever told her was, “Don’t worry, someone will be there shortly to pick up your car.” It was already after six in the evening, and there was no way that someone was coming tonight. Sighing, Kara grabbed a load of laundry she’d done late last night, and headed upstairs to put it away. The moment she hit the top step, the doorbell rang. Oh, now they decide to show up. Kara set the basket at the top, and headed back down the stairs. “What the heck took you so long? I told you guys over the phone I need the car fixed as soon as possible,” she said loudly, as she neared the door. She was more then ready to give them a piece of her mind. After what she had to tell them they’d never treat her like that again. “So what’s your excuse this time?” she said, as she opened the door. To her amusement, the person on the other side of the door was not the tow truck driver. It was her sexy mailman, but he wasn’t in uniform anymore. He was now dressed in blue jeans and a white tight short sleeved shirt with a baseball hat on his head. There was a confused look on his face. “My excuse?” She smiled as she gave him a searing once over. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were somebody else.” His unexpected appearanceont her doorstep was a fresh breath of air, and more than welcome considering the day she’d had. He was the last person that she’d expected to see. Their morning encounter had been on her mind throughout the day. Every time she wished she could turn back time, and do things differently. She wouldn’t have let him
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leave so fast. Now there he was, and she had her second chance. She had to admit he looked so fine out of his work clothes – he’d look even better out of them. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. “I normally don’t do this, but as I had finished my route, I found a stray letter that had fallen under the seat of my car. I know I could have waited to give it to you tomorrow but I wanted to see you again.” Kara blushed. He’d come back just to see her. She reached to take the letter. “I’m glad you decided to come back. I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she confessed. Once more his fingers brushed against her, but this time he didn’t pull away, he prolonged the contact. Her legs were ready to turn to mush just from his touch. His delicate caress aroused every bit of her just like it had earlier that day when he first touched her. They locked in a mutual stare for what seemed like an eternity. He was still holding the envelope and stroking her fingers when he stepped inside. He leaned in towards her and his kiss captured her lips. He’d beat her to it and made the first move. Kara moaned with delight at the minty taste of his mouth. As she inhaled, his cologne wafted from his body. He smelled just as good as he tasted. Her hand slid up his back, and took hold of his baseball cap. She tossed it to the floor, and revealed his short black hair. Her hand returned to his back. His muscles flexed under her hand as he deepened his kiss. Breathless, he pulled away from their kiss. “By the way, my name is Julian,” he said, as he closed the door behind him. The name seductively rolled off his tongue. His few words sent her body into overdrive. Kara didn’t want to waste another
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moment, so she recaptured his lips. The smell of his cologne returned. She only imagined how the rest of him tasted after she got a sample of his kiss. Kara deepened their kiss, her tongue carefully exploring his mouth. She wanted to savor everything about him. She tightened her embrace around him. His hard cock pressed against her body. She molded with him as her hardened nipples pressed against his chest. She wondered if every other part of him would taste as delectable as his lips. Eagerly she waited to find out. Her hand crept under his shirt, and tugged at it. She wanted the shirt off. There was no stopping this, no backing out. She’d wanted him all day and here he was. He was almost naked, and ready for the taking. She reached for her own shirt, pulled it off and tossed it behind her. Her hard, perky nipples ached to be touched. This was one day she was glad she hadn’t bothered to wear a bra. Right now she only desired to be naked with him, to feel him pounding inside her, needing him to rock her world. Kara was well aware how much his cock strained against his jeans. The zipper looked like it was ready to pop at any moment. Her hand slid down his chest slowly. As she reached the zipper, she stopped, and then began to glide back up. He let out a deep groan of dissatisfaction. Kara smiled, knowing perfectly well he was disappointed, she wanted to tease him so he wanted it, really wanted it. When her hand passed over his heart she could feel it beating frantically. To stop her from the torturing him any further, he reached for her hand and guided it back down to his zipper. She smiled at his actions. He was ready to put a stop to her teasing. “I can’t wait to be inside your,” he whispered. “I’ve thought about nothing else all day.”
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Kara knew she shouldn’t get turned on or even aroused by him speaking to her that way, but she did. Her body was humming from anticipation. When both their hands reached the end of the zipper, his cock sprang free. His juices already covered the top of his cock, and slowly began to trickle down his length. Kara trembled with anticipation as Julian bent down towards her. He inhaled her scent before he began working her aching nipples. His tongue licked, teased, and he lightly bit the hard mounds of flesh. He lapped at one and then the other, like they were a pair of sweet lollipops. She couldn’t get enough of that mouth of his, and what he could do to her with his pierced tongue. His tongue was still occupied when she felt his warm hand reach down and pull at her shorts. She was sure she heard a rip of her panties in his frantic attempt to remove them. He wasn’t wasting time. This man was sexual torture, and everything else rolled into one. Kara’s thoughts drifted off as a moan escaped her lips. The feel of his hand lightly stroking her inner thigh was driving her to the edge. Making it impossible to think. Every touch brought his hand closer to her throbbing pussy, dripping with wetness. Finally his fingers lightly brushed against her wet slit. She wanted him to touch her there so bad, to satisfy some of the ache, but he didn’t. His fingers retreated, and abandoned her. A whimper left her lips. She was disappointed the minute he abandoned her pussy. Kara wrapped her arms around his neck when he started to lift her up into his arms. He carried her over to the staircase, only a few steps away from them. Once he sat her down, she watched him as he hovered over her like a wildcat. She was his prey and he was ready to take her. He captured her neck with his lips, and she gasped for a breath of air. Leisurely he made his way down her body, and then he lightly kissed her shoulder, then each breast, before he crept lower to her stomach. She moaned at the sensation of his lips against her flesh. She was desperate to try
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to hold back from letting her body explode. It was hard to do that when he licked and sucked at her delicate skin every time he kissed her. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. The moment his lips made contact with her pussy she gave in and let go, coming fast and hard. The torment with his tongue continued against her body as she shuttered and cried out in pleasure. Julian’s tongue teased at the sensitive lips of her wet pussy, he lapped at her sweet juices with intense hunger. His mouth was relentless. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with a smile of pure satisfaction in his eyes. He licked his lips, tasting her juices while letting a deep groan escape him. He was savoring her taste, he was savoring the moment. Kara moaned louder and louder with every glide of his tongue over her pussy. Her body buzzed and hummed out of control. Just when she thought she would come again, he pulled away. “Are you ready for me now?” he asked, as he licked his lips once more. She wasn’t able to get the words out of her mouth, so all she did was nod. She watched as Julian turned around and looked towards where his jeans lay. He reached down and pulled out a silver packet and then he sheathed his cock. When he returned to her, he placed a warm hand on her cheek before he recaptured her swollen lips. She wrapped her shaky legs around his waist when he picked her off the step and lifted her up. With her in his arms, he lowered his body and sat on the step while she straddled him. Gently, she lifted herself up and then impaled herself on his cock. Her body rode him slowly at first, and then his thrusts became rapid and short. With every thrust, her body moved faster and harder. Kara tightened her grasp of his shoulders as her body unraveled. It didn’t take long before she threw her head back and cried out again as her orgasm claimed her. Her body was on fire, bursting from every corner. She actually thought she saw stars as pleasure overpowered her.
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Julian thrust a few more times as his own orgasm exploded. He groaned as his body became rigid and he hissed as pleasure consumed him. **** The following day, Kara wasn’t sure what to expect when Julian showed up. When she woke up, he was gone. There was no sign of him there except his smell on her body. When she noticed the mail truck pulling up to the sidewalk, a part of her jumped for joy because she would see him again. Her body was still recovering from the previous night. No doubt she would be reminded of what happened every time she looked at the stairs. Kara was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. To her surprise, Julian wasn’t on the other side of it. It was a female letter carrier. “These are for you, miss,” she said, as she handed her two large catalogues. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, where’s the regular mailman? Julian?” The woman smiled politely. “Oh, he was only temporary on this route. He got transferred to another location. This will be my regular route from now on,” she said, before she turned and went on her way. Kara stood at the door for a moment before she shut it. Deep down, she had hoped that he would be the one standing at her door. He made her feel alive when she was in his arms. She realized she had made a mistake letting him go so easily. He wasn’t just a one-night stand. He was much more. But he would only become a distant memory. **** Evening had come and gone, and Kara was still hard at work making the house spotless. She had to keep her mind occupied on everything except Julian. Cleaning was supposed to be boring and not enjoyable. It was supposed to take your mind off everything. But this time around, it didn’t. When cleaning the staircase, she kept picturing Julian holding her in his arms while he made her body ache with pleasure. These once-simple stairs were now the place that she would see as her one night of being free and taking a leap. This was not the consequences she expected from having
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a one night stand. She was getting ready to settle down in front of the television with a tub of ice cream when she heard someone knocking on the door. “Special delivery for Miss Kara Morgan,” said a deep voice as she made her way over to the door. “Who’s the package from?” she asked before she began to open the door. “There’s no sender,” the voice answered. When she opened the door, she found Julian standing on the other side. He held a single red rose. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat. “I hope you don’t mind this package came unwrapped,” he said before he pulled her towards him and kissed her lips. Oh, how much she’d missed his taste, and the feel of his body pressed against her. She only hoped she wasn’t dreaming seeing him here again. His kiss left her weak in every possible way. She never thought she would be in his arms again. “Before you say anything, I have to get this out,” Julian said. “I know I should have never come back here. This was just a one-time thing and nothing else. I tried to fool myself that it was just that, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t. To me, it was something, from the very moment I laid eyes on you. After I left here, all I knew was that I wanted to see you again. I needed to come back to see you.” Kara stood silent as he laid bare his feelings. He was telling her he wanted more from her. He was telling her exactly what she had been feeling since their encounter. “The night we shared meant something to me. You mean something to me.” He paused, uncertainty in his eyes. She gazed into his eyes. Those green eyes had captured her from the first moment they’d met. “You’re one special delivery I don’t plan on ever returning,” she said before she pulled him towards her and captured his lips for a scorching hot kiss.
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Until Next Week by Lisa Lane
I sit at my desk, a computer blank page staring back, knowing that my distraction holds the muses at bay – nothing more. I turn to peek out the window, the mini-blinds angled in such a way that I might see out but no one outside can see in. I know my impatience is pointless, only putting the day on hold when I could be taking care of business, and yet I can’t help myself. Today is Saturday, and although in most regards Saturdays are like any other day of the week: beginning with a fresh cup of coffee on my desk and an eight-hour dedication to my work, and then ending in my lonely bed, drifting off to the narration of a good book, I allow myself this one weekly guilty pleasure. I find myself at an absolute loss for productivity today, however. My anticipation is getting the best of me. It has been a productive week, however, so I let it slide. Just for today. Rob is away again, off doing only God knows what, only God knows where. He says he’ll call, but he always seems to forget, instead offering up the same lame excuses over and over when he finally does find his way home. I find myself feeling resentful and lonely. I’ve taken immaculate care of myself over the years, holding onto the same slim figure I had when we first married. He, on the other hand, has let himself go, uninspired by my attempts at trimming his diet and sending him to the gym, using his age as an excuse for his indifference and inaction. I know he still cares, and yet he has grown unwilling to put forth the same effort as I have. Perhaps he is just tired, I tell myself . . . and then I realize that I’m tired, too. I hear the familiar slam of the work truck, and I peek out once again. My heart flutters. He’s here. I watch him as he eases a lawnmower down a makeshift ramp, carefully moving it from the back of the truck’s bed to the hard driveway. He wears cut-off denim shorts,
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the fringe hanging in perfect disarray against his dark, muscular thighs. He wears a ratty T-shirt smudged with grass stains and dirt, but still I can see every necessary detail. He has a tight ass and firm arms, not from hours with a personal trainer or a gym membership, but from genuine, hard work. His hair is long and sleek, pulled back into a ponytail that stretches down the length of his back. The sun hits it in just a way so it glistens in the light. I remind myself to breathe. He starts the mower and rolls it to the lawn, beginning at one side and walking it in long, flexing strides. My eyes follow him, back and forth, my focus shifting every minute or so up and down his beautiful body. He has no idea he is being watched, and yet he moves with confidence and determination, every step emanating the pride he takes in his work. He spins the mower around as he hits the edge, gracefully bringing it around, moving ever closer to me, one perfect row at a time. I spread my legs just slightly and slip a hand into my pants, finding my clit, already swollen and ready for my touch. I slowly massage myself, moving in slow, circular strokes, as I watch him continue back and forth across the lawn. I feel myself, hot and wet, the tension inside me growing as I build and work my arousal. I imagine that it is his fingers fondling me, rough and callused, yet tender and gentle, his dark hand a stark contrast against my pale skin. “I’ve been fantasizing about you all week,” he says, his accent thick and exotic, making each word even more tantalizing than the last. I have never heard his voice – we have never spoken to one another, not once – and yet I am certain that I have matched the pitch an intonation of each word just right. “I’ve been fantasizing about to you, too,” I reply. I think about the fact that he has been coming here, contracted out by a larger company, for a few months now, and I have yet to summon up the nerve to introduce myself. I’m not sure what it is that I’m afraid of. Rejection, perhaps? Losing my honor? No, it’s more than that, although I am at a loss as to what exactly it might be
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that continues to hold me back. Perhaps I’m afraid of damaging the fantasy… I imagine what he looks like beneath those shorts, allowing my imagination to fill in the blanks. He is thick and solid, shamelessly erect as he sizes up my thin, eager frame. “You are beautiful,” he says, moving closer and running his fingers through my hair. “So are you,” I tell him, taking his hot, bulky mass into my hand, and stroking him in my mind’s eye. Our lips move together, and his tongue reaches to caress the inside of my mouth. I meet his tongue with my own, tasting his sweet breath on mine. His lips are full, his shaved face soft as we press our faces tenderly against one another. He pulls away, and then gently takes me into his arms, draping me across the bed. I pull him on top of me, spreading my legs wide and opening myself up to him, ready to take him in. I move my fingers back, slowly penetrating two of them into me. They slide in easily, wet and firm, and I bear down hard as I search for the sweet, spongy spot hiding deep inside. I find it, waiting for me, and I begin to rub, slowly at first, and then with increasing intensity as my excitement builds. I imagine him thrusting himself into me, his dark eyes staring into mine, rich and expressive. His lips go tight with pleasure as I squeeze myself around him, taking him in completely, feeling and enjoying his subtle contours from within. He stops mowing for a moment, just long enough to remove his T-shirt and use it to wipe at his sweaty face. My jaw drops, my mouth agape; he has never taken off his shirt before. His chest is every bit as muscular and as I had imagined, his abs flat and fit. He wraps his shirt over the back of his sweaty neck, and then he neatly grasps the handle of the mower and continues his work. His dark body glistens in the sun, long trails of sweat trickling down his sides. I imagine his smooth, muscular chest brushing against my supple breasts, his washboard stomach going firmly against mine as his body goes tight with pleasure. His sweat mixes with mine as I wrap my arms around him and hold him against me. His heart beats against my own, quick and energized, throbbing against the other with
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shared excitement. His hands explore the rest of my body, and I let out a light cry as my entire body begins to tingle and shiver. My muscles go tight, and I squeeze harder around my busy fingers as I imagine him coming inside me. He plunges himself into me even harder, and I drive myself against him, meeting his every move with equal intensity. We both cry out, our movements gratifying and fulfilling, the desire swelling between us, and then he stops deep inside me, pulsating and twitching as he finishes with a pleasured moan. Suddenly he stops the mower, glancing toward my window. I freeze. Does he see me? I feel my body go flush, as if hot water was rushing through me, and I go shaky and weak. I pull my hand out of my pants, warm and sticky from my excitement, as he turns away and begins to cart the mower back toward the truck. I stare out, uncertain and self-conscious, as he trades the lawnmower for a weed whacker. He looks around, seeming to contemplate something, and then wipes away another layer of sweat with the bulk of his shirt. He starts up the smaller, lighter piece of equipment, and begins to sculpt the edges of the lawn with precision and care. Although he seems preoccupied with his work, I cannot help but obsess over the possibility that somehow he knew I was watching. It is definitely lighter outside than it is in my dim study, but I remind myself that my computer screen is still turned on. Might it have provided just enough light for him to see, at just the right angle, all that I had been doing in here? Unable to let it go, I decide I need to find an excuse to go out there. I need to see for myself. I go to the bathroom and wash up, taking a moment to look myself over in the mirror and put on a quick coat of lipstick. Satisfied with my appearance, I go to the kitchen and pour two tall glasses of iced tea. Taking a deep breath and finding my courage, I make my way to the front door. He doesn’t notice me at first, the noise of his weed whacker muffling the sound of the door opening and shutting behind me, and he looks startled as I yell over the machine to get his attention.
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“I thought you might be thirsty.” He kills the motor. “Huh?” “I thought you might be thirsty,” I repeat, lowering my voice, offering him a glass before glancing at my study window. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Only a reflection, and nothing more. He accepts the glass graciously. “Thank you,” he says, his accent thicker than I had expected. We both sip at our drinks. “I’m Erin,” I say. He nods with a smile. “I couldn’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a ring,” I say, hoping that I’m not being too forward. I become aware of mine, and quickly tuck my hands behind my back. What am I doing? His smile goes sheepish, and suddenly I feel my cheeks blush. “Are you seeing anyone?” I ask, his silence killing me. His eyes wander for a moment, and then he looks straight at me as he answers timidly: “No speak English. Hablas español?” I shake my head, disappointed. “No.” Feeling embarrassed and somewhat defeated, I quickly make my retreat back to the house. I hear him start up the motor again, but I do not turn back to look. I close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I contemplate what just transpired. Despite my best efforts to push him from my thoughts, my mind drifts back to the beautiful man working in my front yard: his muscular arms, his perfect abs, the contour of his strong, dark legs beneath those cut-off shorts. I feel myself going swollen and hot once more. “I need a cold shower,” I mutter, charging for the bathroom, shedding my wet, sweaty clothes as I go. I turn on the water, and then suddenly I freeze as I hear a knock at the front door.
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Scrambling for a towel, I rush out, my heart racing. I open the door, and he stands on the porch, holding an empty glass. He offers me the glass, and his hand suddenly trembles as he eyes me, half-naked, staring back at him. “Thank you,” he says, his voice no more than a whisper. I can tell that I am turning him on. I accept the glass, and then suddenly, despite myself, I allow the towel to drop to the floor. I consider all of the neighbors possibly glancing over, and yet I do not rush to cover myself back up. I feel beautiful and desirable, feelings that have eluded me for far too long, as he stares at my body, his eyes filling with passion and desire. “Please come in,” I tell him. Despite our language barrier, he understands my request, and he steps through the threshold, closing the door behind him. Both nervous and excited, I lead him back with me to the shower. The room is hot and steamy. He moves to kiss me, and I allow him to take me into his arms. I tear at his clothes, unable to help myself. We enter the shower together. The water is hot and relaxing, much like his touch as he washes me and explores me, our bodies going slick with suds. He kisses my neck, my back to him, his long, wet hair brushing over me as he moves in close. He goes erect against me, and I close my eyes as he comes up between my legs. I bend over, offering myself to him, and he eases himself inside, his hands gently taking me by the hips. He moves in long, tender thrusts, and I grip the side of the tub as I grind up against him. Hot and swollen around him, feel myself build, moving to my clit, craving climax. I let out a light whimper, my legs shaking and threatening to give. I lean up against the side of the tub to keep from going down, reveling in the moment. His excitement builds with mine, and I rub myself heavy and hard, allowing him to take me to delicious bliss as his movements go hard and quick into me. He groans, taking me deep, and I cry out, holding him tight against me. He stays with me as I lower to my knees, the
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water beating down on us, our heart pounding and our breath heavy. We rinse one another off, feeling satisfied and serene, silent and content. I turn off the water and offer him a towel, in awe over his body as he finds his clothes. I see him to the door, wishing he could stay. I watch him once again from my window, contemplating the day. The weed whacker hums in the front yard, and he seems to take even more care in his work as he finished up the edging of the lawn. I return to my computer, an idea suddenly hitting me. The weed whacker goes silent, and I hurry to complete my task. I search online for a translation site, my fingers shaking as I type. I hear the truck door slam shut, the engine starting up, and I jump to my feet and dart to the front door. I race out, meeting him at the driveway just as he is pulling out. “Wait!” I yell. He stops the truck, turning to me, his face confused. “Hasta la próximas semana,” I say, doing my best to mask my American accent. He smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Hasta la próximas semana,” he replies, and then pulls his truck off the driveway and disappears down the long, lonely street. I take a satisfied breath. “Until next week,” I whisper, and I can’t help but allow an eager smile to creep across my face, knowing that he be back soon enough.
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Sweet Savage by Lexi Ryan
Roxanna Montane had officially found heaven on earth in the view from her temporary office window. With one hand, she held her cell phone; with the other, she pressed her fingertips against the glass, as if she could touch the men on the field below. “You’re telling me that at this very moment you have a prime time view of Tyson Friday’s ass?” her friend Kerri asked. Roxanna’s eyes found number thirty-four without a problem. “Right now, some redheaded trainer is practically lying on him, stretching his hamstring, I think.” “Lucky bitch,” Kerri mumbled. “It’s a guy.” “Either way.” Roxanna laughed and fingered the long vertical blinds she had used daily during her first week here. She should really use them again. In these long slats of white plastic lay her only hope of getting any real work done. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to close them since the St. Louis Savages football players arrived at their training camp two days ago. “Tell me what you see now,” Kerri demanded. “You’ll be able to see for yourself in a few hours.” Kerri groaned. “I feel like a kid on the night before Christmas.” Roxanna knew what she meant. She herself felt like a junk food junkie in Wonka World. Except instead of junk food, she had a weakness for delectable male ass. And there it was, an all-you-can-lust-over buffet of prime, grade-A ass, stretching before her on the practice field. “Well, if you’re a good girl, and don’t complain too much,” she told Kerri, “I’ll let you eat in the cafeteria with the team.” Not that Roxanna ever ate there. When Tyson Friday was within her line of sight, she tended to display her jaw-dropping grace by
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walking into walls. She preferred to avoid that kind of embarrassment. “In that case,” Kerri said, “I’d better go. I don’t want to ruin my chances.” Roxanna laughed. “See you soon.” “See you soon, Roxy,” Kerri said before disconnecting. No one but Kerri called Roxanna “Roxy.” But she liked it. She wanted to be the woman she thought of when she’d heard that name. Roxanna had run into Tyson Friday in the parking lot this morning. Since then, “Roxy” had been begging to come out and play. She’d been itching with sexy words, forbidden images. They came to her so clearly, and this one was especially hot. She wanted to write it down, wanted to get lost in a fantasy world of Tyson, his red Mustang, and the kind of moves they don’t teach at training camp. She pulled open her desk drawer to grab her notebook. It wasn’t there. Her eyes widened. No, she couldn’t have lost it. It was too private, too… mortifying to misplace something like that. She shuffled through the files, desperate for the small, spiral-bound black notebook to suddenly appear. She’d started the diary as a defense mechanism. Seeing Tyson Friday, three-time Pro Bowl running back and Most Beautiful Man on the Planet, run around right outside her office in those tight little football pants – it was more than any healthy woman could handle. The diary, she’d reasoned, would give her a release, an outlet for all that pentup sexual energy. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you doing this morning?” With the speed of a last second snap, Roxanna’s head popped up at the sound of her father’s voice. She slid the drawer closed, ceasing her frantic search. “Hi, Daddy,” she said. “How’s my girl doing this morning?” he asked, taking a moment to observe his players on the field below.
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“Just fine.” He turned, eyed her cautiously. “You always feel a bit out-of-place this time of year, don’t you?” She shook her head. Yes, when she was an awkward teenager of fifteen, she’d felt terribly out-of-place following her father to summer training camp. But at twenty-six, her discomfort came from something else altogether. “I’m fine,” she assured him.
“That’s my Anna Banana,” he said. “Always with a positive attitude.”
She flashed her very best dutiful daughter smile before he left her office. Anna Banana. The only remotely sexy thing Fiana Truman had given her daughter was the name Roxanna. Frankly, Roxanna would have rather had Fiana’s showgirl legs, or her make-men-gape breasts. She would have even taken her lyrical laugh or her comehither smile. But she hadn’t gotten any of those things from her mother. The only thing the ex-Cowboys cheerleader had given Roxanna before dumping her for a more exotic, baby-free life was a name with some potential toward sexy. Potential her father chipped at by finding the most innocuous, schoolgirl nickname possible. Anna. She knew it was no mistake that in her sloppily scribbled fantasies, her dream man had called her Roxy and not Anna. Because Anna was Coach Montane’s daughter, the prim, proper, daddy-pleasing do-gooder. Had there been a category for it at her high school, Anna would have been voted Most Likely to Die a Virgin. Anna would never have a professional football player – or any man, for that matter –make a move on her in a public elevator. That kind of behavior belonged to Roxy, and Roxy only existed on paper. Paper that was currently MIA. Had she taken the notebook home last night? She distinctly remembered tucking it in her bag. Maybe she’d left it in her car. She snatched her keys and ran to the parking lot, desperate for some piece of mind,
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if not another glimpse of this morning’s fantasy. **** “Roxy” had Tyson hotter than a teenager with his first issue of Playboy. As he toweled off, his eyes kept returning to the little black notebook he’d stuck in his locker before practice. Too bad its contents were already so seared on his brain he’d hardly been able to focus on the new plays they were running. He’d found the thing sitting in the gravel parking lot that morning, a notebook that chronicled a series of escapes between some hot-to-trot Roxy and him. Whoever this Roxy was, she had them screwing everywhere. She’d written about him hiking her skirt up and driving into her in the elevator, on the practice field, under the bleachers. Her imagination was vivid and unapologetically graphic. With a quick glance in either direction to confirm that he was the last player in the locker room, he snatched the notebook from his locker and sat on the bench, turning to the page where he’d left off. Like all the entries, this one was titled. The feminine script at the top of the page simply said, “The Locker Room.” The team wasn’t supposed to arrive for another twenty-four hours. I went into their locker room for some privacy. I didn’t want to hear the giggles of the other female staff as they swapped fantasies during their post-workout showers. I wanted to be alone with my own fantasies, and since the players’ locker room was off limits to all staff, I knew this was the place to do it. I stripped from my yoga pants and tank top, then stepped under the hot spray of the shower and began to work the soap in my hands. Every muscle in my body was tense with longing for Tyson, and as the hot spray rained over me, I reminded myself he’d be here soon enough. Soon enough he’d be inside me. My soapy hands trailed a path down my body to the source of my tension. I let my fingers slip between my legs where my clit was swollen, pulsing… I sensed him before I even registered the sound of his steps.
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I opened my eyes and my hands stilled. “Tyson.” He was nude and sweaty, as if he, too, just finished a workout. He was massive in the way only a professional athlete can be – broad shoulders that reminded me of a time when men’s shoulders were used to carry more than a football and an ego. He was Neanderthal in his strength, in the sheer space he ate up in a room. He stepped behind me, pressing his hard body against mine. “Don’t stop on my account,” he whispered, his lips already at my neck. “Why settle for the fantasy when I can have the real thing?” I murmured. I turned around and he didn’t hesitate before pressing me against the cold, slick wall. I shivered, but it wasn’t the cool tile at my back that brought on the chill so much as the fiery heat in his eyes. I wrapped my legs around him and dug my fingers into his thick, dark hair. His big hands cupped my ass, his fingers digging into the plump flesh. His erection was solid and insistent between my legs as his lips devoured mine, his tongue explored. His fingers matched his tongue step for step. “Roxy,” he whispered, his breath at my ear. His fingertip traced the curve of my ass, the crease of me, until sliding under and dipping into my silky heat. His moan against my mouth was guttural, and his erection grew harder, stronger. I wanted him inside me. The sound of a locker door slamming bounced across the walls. Someone walked into the shower room. I didn’t know who. I couldn’t pay attention with his mouth on mine, his finger moving slowly, rhythmically inside of me. Our visitor cleared his throat. Tyson pulled away but never tore his eyes from mine as he spoke. “Go away.” Suddenly, I was frantic. “Now,” I pleaded. “What, baby?” “I want you inside me. Now.”
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Tyson complied, wasting no time adjusting our bodies, and then—dear God—then he was filling me, filling me and murmuring my name in my ear. “Roxy . . .” “Ty?” The sound of his name startled him back to the reality of the empty locker room. “You comin’ to lunch?” Phillip, a lineman, called from the door. “Yeah.” Ty took a breath before grabbing his jeans. He glanced down at what Roxy’s words had done to him. “Give me a minute. I’ll meet you there.” And he would. He’d go to the cafeteria where the staff and players all ate during training camp, and he’d go and find out who on the staff was named Roxy. **** As his teammates kept busy razzing the rookie cornerback, Ty scanned the cafeteria. He didn’t know the names of all the staff members, but he figured he could find the notebook’s author by process of elimination, if nothing else. He wouldn’t be able to focus on his game until the mystery was solved. “Hey,” Phillip said, hushing the guys and nudging the lineman beside him who was in the middle of a raunchy strip club story. Phillip nodded to the coach’s daughter, who was approaching their table with a woman Ty didn’t recognize. The men all straightened, Coach Montane having terrified them all of acting like anything but complete gentlemen around “his Anna.” Ty squirmed a little, but not for the reason his teammates would have guessed. Ty figured everyone had a weakness. Some of his teammates had a weakness for beer, others for loose women. Hell, he knew a few linemen who needed to work on their weakness for doughnuts. But Ty? Ty had a weakness for prim, proper, studious, librarian-waiting-to-happen women. Not that he indulged the weakness much, since those didn’t tend to be the women who waited outside the locker room after games. But Anna Montane was every bit that kind of woman – from the chestnut hair she kept pulled into a no-nonsense clip at the base of her neck to the way she always kept herself covered from neck to knee. She kept to herself. She didn’t eat with the players
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the way the other staff did or try to take advantage of her easy access to them. She was also the coach’s daughter. All of it made him want her more. He never understood why other guys didn’t share his fascination. What titillation was offered by a woman whose breasts were already spilling from her top? Maybe it all came back to the forbidden, but women like Anna, they had secrets. On more than one occasion, Ty had mentally undressed the coach’s daughter, and his mind’s eye always found something enticing underneath. Once, she’d shown up to a playoff game in a red Savages turtleneck and dark Levis. During warm-ups, his eyes should have been straying to the Savages cheerleaders or the near-bare breasts in the stands, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Anna. He’d mentally undressed her at least twenty times during that game. And no matter how hard he’d tried to imagine something less enticing, he saw a black lace teddy under that suburban soccer-mom outfit every time. Another time, she’d worn a long-sleeved, floor-length black dress to a Savages formal event. All night long, he hadn’t heard a word his date said because he hadn’t been able to get his mind off the idea that she was nude beneath that simple dress. It was absurd. The other players didn’t have to worry about being attracted to the coach’s daughter. They didn’t have to worry about what would happen to their careers if they seduced the coach’s baby. It wasn’t that they didn’t think she was attractive. She simply didn’t register on their radars. Lucky bastards. It was uncharacteristic of her to approach the players for anything other than PR talk. Even then, she usually worked directly with their agents. But, now, Anna and her friend were standing nervously at the end of the long table, and, thanks to coach’s overprotectiveness, the men were all too damn nervous of offending her to even open their mouths and say “hi.” Ty shook his head at his teammates and flashed her a grin. “Hey, Anna.”
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The redhead beside Anna squeaked a little, and Anna shook her head. “I’m sorry to bother you guys,” Anna said. “But this is my friend Kerri, and I promised her I’d introduce her to the best offense in the NFL.” Ty watched the men as they appraised Kerri, running their eyes over her pretty face and curves before flashing her their dumb jock grins and welcoming her to training camp. Anna fidgeted, not bothering to hide her hurry to get away. “Well, we don’t want to interrupt your lunch, so we’ll be going.” “No,” Phillip said, turning his full-blitz press conference smile on Kerri. “We have room. Stay and eat with us.” “Maybe the ladies have other plans, Phil,” Ty said, trying to give Anna the out she seemed desperate for. “We don’t have plans,” Kerri said hastily, scurrying around the table to sit next to Phil. She patted the space between her and Ty and looked to Anna. “It’s sweet of you to invite us,” Anna said softly, but her reluctance was clear as she lowered herself into the seat. “I don’t see you in here very often,” Ty said softly. Maybe polite conversation would get his mind off what she may or may not be wearing under her red mock turtleneck top. But it was too late. He’d already decided. Lace. The same color as her top. But thin enough lace that he could see her nipples bead through it as she got aroused. “I’m pretty busy. Media day is in a week. It’s easier to work through lunch,” she said, never taking her eyes from the space of table in front of her. “You know what I think?” He couldn’t help himself. He put his fingertips to her chin and turned her to face him. Her mouth opened in a small O and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Jesus. He dropped his hand. “Tell me,” she said.
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He swallowed and continued. “I think we make you nervous.” He lowered his voice, and cocked his head, not sure why he was so determined to get her to relax. “But I promise you the guys are more nervous than you are.” Her gaze traveled the length of the table and her eyebrows drew together. “Why would I make them nervous?” Ty laughed softly. “Coach Montane has put the fear of God into them. They’re afraid to say something wrong to you.” Anna put a hand over her face. “He’s a little overprotective.” “Nah, he just hasn’t realized that his little girl is all grown up now.” From across the table, Drew Wethers flashed Ty a look that said, What the hell are you doing? It wasn’t an unreasonable question. But, hell, he couldn’t very well let the woman sit here feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Because then she’d never come back. “Don’t worry about my dad,” she said. Kerri peered around Anna to look at Ty. “Coach doesn’t understand Roxy.” Ty stilled. “Who’s Roxy?” Phillip asked. Kerri laughed and nudged Anna who was squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to wish herself somewhere else. “Kerri,” Anna warned. Kerri ignored her. “Anna’s real name is Roxanna. ‘Roxy’ is what we call the ‘real’ Anna – the woman her dad likes to pretend doesn’t exist.” She shook her head. “In his eyes, Anna’s still twelve years old.” The guys started talking about feeling protective of their daughters and nieces, but Ty didn’t hear them. He was too busy choking on his fantasy come to life. Anna was Roxy. Holy shit. That meant that notebook was a product of Miss Priss’s overactive and, dear God,
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vivid imagination. Dear God, he was in trouble. He’d played like hell this morning, distracted by the words and fantasies of a faceless woman. But now he knew those visuals had been created by a woman about whom he’d already had his own fair share of fantasies. And she was Coach’s daughter. **** Roxanna locked her office behind her before heading for the elevators. She’d reached the end of another blissfully torturous week. She’d done everything she could for Media Day and now she was ready to go home. She’d pour herself a big glass of wine and draw herself a bubble bath. And if her thoughts happened to stray to a certain dark-haired, green-eyed running back? So be it. Her own hands were a sorry substitute for the real thing, but she’d made herself so damn hot thinking about him – those big hands, those eyes, that solid body and how it would feel over hers— Okay, this train of thought was exactly the kind of thing that had made it so hard to do her work this week. And she knew it was just her under-sexed body feeding her overactive imagination, but she could have sworn his eyes were hot when he ran into him in her dad’s office today. So, at lunch, when she should have been tearing her office apart to find her missing notebook, she’d thought about him instead. She’s started a new notebook with an entry she’d simply called The Desk. As she stepped onto the elevator, the images she’d scribbled down flashed through her mind. She took in a ragged breath as the doors slid closed. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. The old elevator groaned, beginning its slow eleven-flight descent. She’d written about Tyson again. Always Tyson. But this time, they were in her office. The images she’d painted with words flashed before her. Tyson coming around to her side of the desk, hiking her up onto it. Tyson pushing his fingers inside her and whispering in her ear. The threat of someone walking in, or
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of someone on the field below looking up and seeing her, legs spread, her sex exposed as he worked his fingers inside her. Her fingers brushed her own cheek, slipped down to her breast. Her nipple reacted to the slight touch through her silk shirt and the thin lace of her bra. He’d work her with his fingers until, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, he’d slide into her, thick and hard and— The elevator stopped too soon and she started, dropping her hand. The doors slid open. Hadn’t she been the last to leave the offices tonight? Then the object of her fantasy walked came through the doors, and a small, tortured moan slipped from her lips. His lips twitched in amusement when he saw her. What was so funny? Could he read her mind? Did her flushed cheeks give away that she’d been fantasizing on her elevator ride? She waited for him to turn around and stare politely at the numbers above the door like any normal person would. Instead, he crossed the small space, coming straight at her, reminding her too much of another fantasy – the last one she’d scribbled into her notebook before losing it. She’d called it “The Elevator.” Her mind was reasonable. There must be an explanation for his proximity. Maybe he needed to tell her something. Maybe she had a piece of lint on her shirt he was going to remove. But her body wasn’t so reasonable, and when he stood before her, mere inches separating their bodies, her stomach started acting like a gymnast on speed, flipflopping every which way. Thick, liquid heat pooled in her center, settling lower, creeping toward the muscles that were already quivering between her legs. The doors slid closed. “Hey, T-Tyson,” she managed. His eyes darkened to the deepest, darkest emerald. Was he angry? His
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uncompromising gaze locked with hers…then slipped to her lips. Dear God. Her tongue shot out instinctively to wet the lips dried by his scorching gaze. He reached out, and his thick fingers were suddenly at the buttons on her starched white shirt. She swallowed as the faint, pulsing ache between her legs became an insistent throbbing. What was he doing? With a flick of his fingers, he freed the top button and his eyes returned to her, challenging her to stop him. She didn’t dare. He traced her collarbone with rough fingertips of one hand while the other went to work on the next button. She stood stock still. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. His fingertips dipped lower, grazing the sensitive skin between her breasts. Her breath caught. There had been nothing this innocent in her elevator fantasy …and yet… The captured breath escaped as a soft moan. His fierce expression turned almost playful for a moment, but turned serious again as his eyes followed his hands, which had already progressed to the button at her navel. His gaze traveled down the length of her, then back up, studying her white lace bra. Her breathing was heavy now, and she was desperate. There was only a single button before she’d be free of the shirt – only one button until his fingers could move on to much more important tasks. He was eyeing the ruby in the ring at her navel. He fingered it for a delirious second and then smiled for real. Then he shocked the hell out of her as he dropped to his knees and sucked the little jewel into his mouth, tugging lightly, making her head swim and her knees buckle. His tongue dipped into her navel, tasting her, teasing her. She threaded her fingers through that thick, dark hair and held on as sparks of pleasure shot through her. But,
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God, she wanted more. Much, much more. As if reading her mind, he suddenly stood. He shoved her shirt off her shoulders where it pinned her arms to her sides, hiked up her skirt, and pulled her legs around his waist. He wasn’t inside her. No, that would be too easy. That might end this torture. Instead, he pressed her against the wall and put his hand between them. Just as his palm cupped her, she saw the elevator door slide open behind him, and the wildness of it, the taboo of being caught half naked and halfway to orgasm made her fly apart before she was ready. She threw her head back and unabashedly rocked against his hand as she rode out her orgasm. Maybe she should have been ashamed – ashamedshe’d done this at all, embarrassed that she’d come without him so much as putting a finger inside her. But when she came back down, she saw his eyes. The heat and lust there couldn’t make her anything but hungry for more. **** Anna was even sexier than he’d imagined even Roxy could be. After fighting it all week, Tyson had decided he was going to give her back the diary. And let what happened happen. But first he was going to ask the coach for permission to date his daughter. He didn’t expect that would go over very well, but it was the right thing to do and Coach would respect him for that…eventually. But his plans had been shot to hell when he’d stepped onto the elevator tonight and she was there. She’d had sex written all over her face. He hadn’t even thought as he’d approached her, as he’d slowly unbuttoned her. He’d just listened to every instinct he’d been ignoring the whole week. And now, after coming apart in his arms, she was rocking against his hand again, daring him to do more. He leaned forward and kissed the birthmark on her collarbone. “Roxy,” he said, murmuring the name that had been running through his head all week.
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She took in a sharp, ragged breath. “What’d you call me?” The question came out in a desperate whimper. “Roxy,” he repeated. She smiled and ran her hand over his chest. “Only Kerri calls me that.” He raised a brow. “No, I think I call you that, too. At least, you like to imagine I do.” She shoved at his chest with the flat of her palm and he moved back, smiling down at her, watching it dawn on her face. “You stole my notebook,” she whispered. “Found it.” “Give it back.” “Don’t pretend you’re sorry now.” He wouldn’t believe it anyway. “No,” she said, unwrapping her legs from his waist. “I’m disappointed.” He raised a brow. “How’s that?” “If you read my notebook, then you know what I really want.” A nd before that could register, her hands were at his waistband, her fingers searching for his zipper. Oh, Jesus. Her mouth was against his ear, her breath hot, her words raspy. “If you read my notebook,” she said, freeing his cock from his pants and wrapping her hand around it. “Then you know I want you inside me.” He groaned and moved with her hand, loving the feel of her fingers around his erection. “I can’t.” “Oh, yes, I forgot you were a paragon of self-control,” she said in his ear. “Your dad—” “Isn’t here.” “He—” “Would never let me keep this job if he knew what I made you do to me.”
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“And what, exactly, do you think you’re going to make me do?” She swallowed. “I think you already know.” He chuckled. “Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easy.” “Please?” She dug in her purse and handed him a condom. He slid it on and abandoned all his carefully laid plans as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I think you want me to fuck you,” he said, sliding her panties from her hips. She stepped out of them and arched her hips, looking for him, but he didn’t enter her. “I think you want me to fuck you right here, right against this wall.” She moaned, pulling him to her, rolling her hips and rubbing herself against his dick. “Please.” “I think you want me to fuck you right here where anyone could walk in and see just how freaky you really are.” He slid her hands around to her ass and lifted her, positioning her. Then, as he lowered her onto his shaft, he said, “I think you want me to make you come.” She screamed in pleasure, shattering the instance his cock pressed deeply inside of her. Her pussy squeezed him so tight, he almost lost control in that moment too, but he held on. He drove her through that orgasm and the aftershocks, bringing her body up through another. Only when she came the second time did he let himself go, let himself lose control to the blissful rhythm of her pussy throbbing around his cock. She ran her fingernails up and down his back lightly and kissed his shoulders before extricating herself from their embrace. She kept her eyes down cast as she buttoned her shirt and adjusted her skirt back down around her hips. “Thanks.” He cocked his head and tilted her chin so she was looking at him. “Thanks?” She smiled, but it was forced. “Sure.” His smile came easily. “So you’re saying you’re done with me.”
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“Right. Just hand over the notebook and there’s no reason we ever have to talk about this again.” He nodded slowly, watching her face as she avoided meeting his eyes. She was such a contradiction. Anna-Roxy. Who was she, really? He couldn’t wait to find out. He walked over to the bag he’d dropped by the elevator door and unzipped it. When he pulled the little notebook from the bottom, she reached for it, and he stepped away and held it from her reach. “Oh, no, you don’t.” “Tyson.” “Only my mom calls me Tyson, Roxy.” “Ty,” she said, her words heavy with saccharine, “please give me my notebook back now.” “Sure.” He flipped to the elevator entry and tore out the two pages it covered. She gaped and turned her hands to the ceiling. “Wha—?” He could feel his lips twitch and he stuffed the pages into her upturned hands. “You can have that one back. The others you’ll have to earn fantasy by fantasy.” She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, indignant. “You’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you? Aren’t you worried my dad will find out?” “No, Rox. I think you’re the only one who’s worried about that.” He hit the door open button. The ding sounded and the doors slid open. “I’m just giving you the opportunity you’ve been dying for.” Then, with a wink, he grabbed his bag and backed out, letting the dare hang in the air between them and hoping like hell she’d accept.
www.ravenousromance.com
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS Barbara Elsborg lives in West Yorkshire in the north of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed that to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Vulcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. Instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide to Sweden. Try saying that fast. After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm), she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying pluggedin male, her laptop. She has stories published with Ellora’s Cave and Loose Id. Dawn Jackson is a member of RomVets and writes both science fiction romance and erotic romance. She can be reached at
[email protected] or at my blog http:// takeittothestars.blogspot.com. Adam Carpenter has written erotica, mystery, and general fiction under a variety of names. Look for his erotic serial novella, WONDERLAND, coming soon from Ravenous Romance. Neve Black has been writing since she can remember and opted for a degree in English literature. She mostly enjoys writing about subjects that scratch the underbelly of society; thus her love of erotica. Neve’s stories have appeared in the online magazine Oysters and Chocolate and various print anthologies scheduled to come out in late 2008 and in 2009. Neve currently resides in Cleveland, Ohio, with three adopted pussycats. Please feel free to read Neve’s blog site and or leave a comment at: http://neveblacke. blogspot.com C. Margery Kempe was born in King’s Lynn, Norfolk, but traveled extensively throughout the first years of her life, including trips to Jerusalem and the Holy Lands. She graduated with a degree in religious studies from a small Catholic college, but now lives a quiet life with her husband and children in upstate New York, where she runs a
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small bakery. This is her first professional publication Lisa Lane began writing at the tender age of seven, when she coauthored with her twin sister a heartwarming story about a good witch with a soft spot for stray cats. She decided the twelve-page behemoth was worthy of a hardbound publication and gave it a cardboard cover, complete with crayon drawings. From the moment she took on the endeavor, feeling the call of the muses and the flow of the words rushing through her, she knew writing was what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. By fourteen, she had her first novel under her belt, her influences shifting to science fiction, horror, and romance, her numerous influences ranging from Olaf Stapledon to Anne Rice. Nearly twenty years later, she has expanded her writing to cover several genres and formats, claiming over a dozen novels and screenplays to her name, as well as numerous short stories and essays. Her serialized vampire novel, THE DARNESS AND THE NIGHT will launch in December at Ravenous Romance. Heidi Champa is a typical last-born child. Snarky, attention-seeking and rebellious, she chooses to write dirty stories to keep herself out of real trouble. Her work appears in the anthologies Tasting Him: Oral Sex Stories and Frenzy: 60 Stories of Sudden Sex. She has also steamed up the pages of Bust Magazine. If you prefer your erotica in electronic form, she can be found online at Oysters and Chocolate and The Erotic Woman. In addition to her flair for the written word, she knows every last sentence of the movie Clue by heart. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading or filling her iPod with more music. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband. Her greatest wish is that sarcasm would translate better in the written form. Find her online at heidichampa. blogspot.com and myspace.com/heidichampa. Katy Sirls lives in St. George, Utah, where she teaches English classes at Dixie College. She is currently working on her master’s of fine arts in writing, with an emphasis in fiction. She has published one of her academic essays, and has had the opportunity to speak at two undergraduate research conferences. Ms. Sirls has a
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weakness for great literature of varying genres. When she’s not reading and writing, she loves to spend time with her young son. This is her first piece of published fiction. Brandi Woodlawn was born and raised in an exclave of the Bible Belt. Her sexually repressed upbringing is partly to blame to for her overzealous imagination and her dominant desires. When Brandi’s not dreaming up ways to take her characters their climax, that could mean she’s conducting “research” of her own. Let no one say she was unwilling to make sacrifices for her craft. Brandi hopes you’ll think the end result was worth it. Check out her Web site: www.bradiwoodlawn.com Karen Sutow’s short story “Oopart” has been accepted for publication in the Dark Distortions II anthology (Scotopia Press 2009). She writes non-fiction for leading publications, including Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market, US Industry Today, Food & Drink Quarterly, Bucks, Wild River Review and others. She wrote sidebars for Bram Stoker award-winning author Jonathan Maberry’s upcoming book, They Bite (Citadel Press 2009), and her writing won multiple awards at the 2007 Philadelphia Writer’s Conference. Ryan Field is a freelance writer who lives in New Hope, Pennsylvania. His short stories, though names have been changed, are all based on personal experience Savannah Chase is a member of Romance Writers of America, The Toronto Romance Writers, and Midnight Seductions Authors as well as the Erotic Authors Association. She has previously been published by Dark Eden Press, and currently has a book released by Lyrical Press Inc and Red Rose Publishing. Her story Bid For Love is currently number one on the erotic contemporary bestseller list at Lyrical Press. Her newest release is with Red Rose Publishing titled Pleasure After The Pain. Lexi Ryan lives with her family in small-town Indiana. When she’s not chasing after her young son or cheering on the Colts with her husband, Lexi enjoys losing herself in fun, sexy stories featuring mouth-watering men, smart women, and happily ever after.
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