Five Minute Fantasies 3 (Xcite Selections) (v. 3)

Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2007 ISBN 1905170718 / 9781905170715 Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2007 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, PO Box 26, Treharris, CF46 9AG Printed and bound in the UK by Creative Design and Print

Cover Design by Red Dot Design

Also available from Xcite Books: (www.xcitebooks.com) Publication 14th February 2007 Sex & Seduction Sex & Satisfaction Sex & Submission

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Publication 14th May 2007 5 Minute Fantasies 1 5 Minute Fantasies 2 5 Minute Fantasies 3

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Publication 13th August 2007 Whip Me Spank Me Tie Me Up

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Publication 12th November 2007 Ultimate Sins Ultimate Sex Ultimate Submission

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Contents Sommer Marsden

1

Dineen Riordan

13

Sally Quilford

28

Lori Selke

37

On The Beach

Primula Bond

43

Rackula

Landon Dixon

55

Educating Master Tom

Kitti Bernetti

64

Anya Wassenburg

76

Lynn Lake

82

Dee Dawning

93

Eva Hore

103

Phoebe Grafton

114

Jim Baker

128

Sommer Marsden

137

Alex de Kok

152

Life Of A Salesman

Landon Dixon

163

Men At Work

Elizabeth Cage

173

Persuasion

Everica May

181

Driftwood

D J Kirkby

190

Primula Bond

196

Sticky Notes Visions Of Marlon Upside Down With A Tub Of Yoghurt Cocksucker

Window Dressing Thrill Ride The Sex Therapist The Maid Small Expectations It Takes One To Spot One Take A Breath Collision

The Eye

Sticky Notes by Sommer Marsden I’d like to blame it on the wine but I’m not much of a liar. I will chalk it up to a really good sweaty romp and then a rather erotic thriller. The movie got me going all over again but by the time the good parts were over, it was time for Steven to go to bed. ‘Good night, love.’ He ruffled my short blonde hair and gave me a long lingering kiss. ‘We need to do that again tomorrow but for now I’m off to bed. Early morning.’ And he was gone and I was horny. Again. I finished my wine, flipped through a magazine, and read a sex survey. That didn’t help. Basically, I stewed in my own juices, so to speak. I was just about to give up. Throw in the towel. When it hit me. Again, maybe the wine, maybe the thriller, maybe the fuck. I really don’t know what did it. I didn’t care. I grabbed the pad of sticky notes from the desk and began writing furiously. When I went to bed, it was stuck to the coffee pot. My little love note for Steven. What do you want? Your wildest fantasy (or fantasies). Anything you want. Spill! Love, Loren 1

I had forgotten the note in the morning. It was Saturday so I lingered in bed. I was sad, I’ll admit, that Steven had to go to work. His side of the bed, cold and unoccupied was enough to make me want to call him and tell him to come home. Come home and fuck your woman. In my mind’s eye I could see myself dialling my cell. I could hear myself making this giggling but authoritative command. He had to work, though, and I was fine with that. I was just lonely. I ran my hands over my soft negligee. Felt my nipples turn to hard pink pearls under my fingers. My pussy went soft and wet and I let out a sigh. Somehow, as horny as I was, the thought of rubbing one off alone in bed was disappointing. I would go downstairs and make some coffee and wait until Steve got home. Then I would attack him like a horny mountain lion. I was still laughing at the thought of a hormone-induced attack on my studly guy when I wandered into the kitchen. There it was. Hot pink. Innocent to look at. A sticky note for me. TO SEE YOU WITH ANOTHER WOMAN. NO TOUCHING FOR ME. JUST WATCHING. LOVE STEVE Somehow the sight of his answer, boldly printed all in caps, did me in. I did it right there. Clutching at the pantry door, fingers working furiously and wetly under my nighty. It only took a few minutes. My fingers diving greedily into my humid wet cunt, my thumb rubbing roughly but expertly over my clit. I stared at the words as I came in one long, delicious spasm. Little animal sounds rushed out of my 2

throat and I collapsed on the cold linoleum in a glowing, warm heap. I needed to leave him notes more often. My fingers still tacky and shaking, my knees still knocking, I claimed the hot pink square and stuck it firmly in my day planner. I made my coffee, enjoyed my afterglow and mentally calculated how many hours I had to wait for him to get home. ‘I’m home!’ Steven’s face lit with a tired but happy grin. ‘Thank God! Oooph−’ The last part was my fault. I launched myself at him like a lusty groupie and kissed him long and hard. I pushed my tongue past his soft lips and tangled it with his. I plundered that hot sensuous mouth and pushed my wet pussy against his belt buckle, my legs tightly clamped around his lean middle. ‘Did you miss me?’ he laughed as I slid my tongue down his neck, nuzzling him at the base where his cologne seems to settle. A nice warm, manly scent that hovers in the hollow of his throat. His big hands palmed my ass and he groaned. Shifting me a little lower so my crotch was level with his, I could feel the growing bulge of his awakening cock. ‘I liked your note,’ I sighed and pushed myself against his hard-on. Shameless hussy. That’s me. ‘I can tell.’ ‘Come on, come on, come on,’ I was practically barking as I set my feet on the cold floor and pulled him toward the sofa. ‘Off with the jeans! Off with the shirt!’ I directed, stripping my leggings and sweatshirt off. ‘As long as you don’t say, ‘Off with his head!’,’ he chuckled. But he obeyed. He soon stood before me completely naked, his beautiful cock a blushing purple and standing straight up toward his flat belly. 3

‘On the sofa!’ I could hear my demanding tone but couldn’t seem to control it. I was in a fog. A thick fog of lust and need. I always wanted Steven, but right now I needed him. My body thumped with a pulse of arousal and craving. I need him. Hard cock. Hot cunt. His. In mine. Now. I straddled him, the soft green sofa cushions engulfing my knees. Without preamble I sank down onto his dick, sighing with what sounded like relief to my own ears. Within three desperate strokes, my thighs were soaked from my own juices. ‘Correspondence is inspiring,’ Steven muttered as his eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was in pain. ‘Am I hurting you?’ I grunted. It was all I could manage. I admit, though, I didn’t slow my frenzied pace for even a moment. ‘Fuck no!’ He grabbed my hips as if for emphasis. Big fingers digging into my soft, flushed skin and propelling me faster with his strong hands. His hips pumped up as he drove into me. ‘Best note ever…’ I mumbled as my cunt seized up, gripped him greedily and then fluttered around him as my orgasm roared through all of me. Even the roots of my hair tingled and I swore I heard myself cry out, ‘Evvvvvver…!’ Steven yanked me against him and I felt him pump into me. Hot wet come. Filling me. For the first time ever I really felt it, the incredibly warm emptying of his body into mine. I collapsed, exhausted and panting onto his chest; our breathing creating a nice little cha-cha number. ‘Sorry about the ninja attack,’ I giggled but my wet insides still fluttered and pulsed around his deflating cock. It would work for every last flicker of pleasure, it seemed. ‘Loren, you can go ninja on my ass any day of the week.’ And then he kissed me. 4

Steven went to bed early that night. I think I wore him out. I weighed the pros and cons and then my mind flashed to that first seductive moment of my body engulfing his and my mind was made up. Before I locked up for the night, I grabbed my faithful sticky notes and wrote another. I was humming merrily as I shut off the kitchen light. I could see its little square shadow as I left. I smiled, knowing what it said. What else! I’m begging. Hands and knees. Tell me. Love, Loren I climbed into bed, snuggled up against a loudly snoring hunk of man and drifted off to sleep. Somehow I couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off my face even as I slipped into dreamland. Sunday morning didn’t so much break in as creep in. Gray, murky light filled the bedroom. Another overcast February morning. I stretched and yawned loudly. My hands found the cool empty spot on the sheets where Steven should be. A momentary blip of sadness skittered across my internal radar screen and I sighed. Then I remembered the sticky note I had left and I tore down to the kitchen. I didn’t even bother to put on slippers or a robe. I didn’t care if I froze. I wanted to see my note. My bare feet slapped the cold linoleum as I ran to the coffee pot. There it was! I was so excited. My belly did a flip and my nipples grew hard. I claimed my hot pink prize and read. I WANT TO FUCK YOU IN PUBLIC. MAYBE THE DARK SMOKY CORNER OF THE CLUB. UP AGAINST 5

THE WALL. HANDS UNDER YOUR DRESS. YOUR LEG WRAPPED AROUND MY WAIST… LOVE, STEVE Oooooh. I caught my breath, sank into a kitchen chair and once again settled in for some self-abuse. My fingers made quick work of my swollen clit. Two fingers plunged into my flooded pussy as an accompanying finger played a rousing number of God-I-am-turned-on on my clit. I stared at the words, read the sentence over and over until my insides were so tight it was nearly painful. Then I focused on my favourite sentence: MY HANDS UNDER YOUR DRESS. These were his hands under my nightgown. Steven’s hands. Under there. For all to see… The orgasm left me bedraggled and flushed. A stupid smile on my face. I drank my coffee, puttered and counted the minutes. When he came through the door I was waiting for him. Only this time he was prepared. I wasn’t very creative, I’ll admit. I once again did my animalistic pounce the moment he shut the front door. Only this time, he promptly dropped his briefcase and held his hands out. At least I wasn’t afraid I’d hurt him this time. ‘You’re wearing a dress!’ he exclaimed around my wandering, plundering tongue. He kissed me back and laughed against my lips. ‘Yes, yes!’ I hissed, ‘Now put your hands under it.’ ‘Ah, our missives have done a number on you again.’ His tone was teasing but his hands were big and warm as they slid under my short dress. Goosebumps and baby hairs along my spine sprang to attention and my pussy did that persistent little thump, thump, thump! that signals impending orgasm. Dear Lord! He hadn’t even touched me yet. Well, none of the naughty bits. 6

I didn’t stop to ask what a missive was. I simply wrapped my legs around his waist and shoved my pelvis against his. I ground against the erection I found there, refraining from whooping in joy. Barely. ‘Sofa, sofa, sofa!’ I took up the chant as my brain seemed to short- circuit. There it was again. An overwhelming need. Urge. Compulsion. I had to have him in me and it had to be now. Steven complied. Smart man. This time there was no upper hand for me. The moment we hit the sofa, Steven flipped me on my back and pinned my arms above my head. His other hand slid and groped and pushed its way greedily under my dress. His breath beat warmly against my throat as he practically panted. ‘Good Lord, what has gotten into us?’ he growled. Steven didn’t stop for an answer. My two thin wrists held tightly in his strong hand, he slid down my body and buried his face in my pussy. Like a crazy man he snuffled and licked and ate at me until I was making little whoop, whoop sounds. What the hell was that? Didn’t know, didn’t care. I let my thighs fall open and he burrowed deeper, shoving the rigid tip of his tongue into my tight, wet entrance. I clamped my knees around his head as his perfect lips worked their way back up to my clit. I came so hard, I feared I’d given him a head injury. But he was fine, forcing his way between my legs roughly. His cock was hard and already leaking a steady stream of pre-come. I licked my lips and he allowed me one good swallow and one good stroke of my tongue over his slit before he whipped it away. He got between my thighs. ‘Fuck.’ That was it. That’s all he said as he slid into me. My cunt, still echoing from my orgasm, latched on and clenched him tightly. Little aftershocks of pleasure lit up my insides. 7

It felt so good. Unbearably good. I clamped down. I made my pussy as tight as I could until the friction of his thrusts nearly drove me insane. ‘Fuck,’ he said again. A few more frantic pounds and his body went rigid in my arms. I felt his cock swell even larger for just a moment before he jerked against me and came with a long low moan. I joined him. Just watching his face and the power in his body as he came was enough to shove me right over the edge into another orgasm. After a sweaty moment of tangled laughing, he stared up into my eyes. ‘You’re not drugging me, are you?’ I giggled until I thought I would cry. ‘Nope. No drugs.’ Steven kissed me on the lips, the nose, the forehead. He climbed from me, steadied himself and ran a hand through his thick black hair. ‘Beer? You want a beer? I need a beer. I’ll get us some beers.’ I could only grin as he wandered into the kitchen buck naked and chuckling. Now I was preoccupied. All I could think about was what might be going on in that handsome head of his. As usual, he went to bed long before me. I sipped a glass of Cabernet and watched a little TV and tried not to think of crisp square pieces of paper that could be stuck to virtually any smooth surface. I cracked. I knew I would. Before bed, I wrote my now normal love note and affixed it in its usual place. My notes had become as intense as my sexual urges. And!? What else? I need more! Your slut, Loren

8

Monday morning dawned just as bleak. It was even more depressing because my alarm went off at 6:30. A work day. Yippee! I turned it off and stretched, taking a moment to sniff at Steven’s pillow. The warm, familiar scent of him clung to the pillowcase and I felt a stirring of my now everpresent arousal. Then I remembered my note. I barely noticed that it was snowing outside my kitchen window as I yanked my pink prize from the coffee pot. I WANT TO SHOVE YOU UNDER A VERY ELEGANT TABLE IN A VERY ELEGANT RESTAURANT. PUT MY COCK BETWEEN THOSE PERFECT PINK LIPS AND HAVE YOU BLOW ME UNTIL I BREAK MY WATER GLASS. YOUR SEX MONKEY, STEVE Ah! Just the thought. The wonderful taboo thought of doing that in one of the very nice, very posh restaurants we frequented was enough to bring a warm sluice of fluids between my thighs. This was too much. This was not a masturbate in the kitchen note. This called for the big guns. I eyed the clock, calculated my allotted time to get to work. I nearly broke my neck getting up the steps to the bedroom. I opened my middle dresser drawer and rummaged until I found it. Ahhhh. My vibrator. All pretty and pink and smooth and jelly filled and vibrating; at my mercy and very talented. I clutched the note, flipped the ON button and dove onto the bed. No lube needed, I was soaked, I worked it inside myself and let out a blissful sigh as it danced inside of me. I closed my eyes and saw myself in my most elegant black dress, strappy black heels, under the table. Dark and warm. Steven’s naked cock. His hand on the back of my head. Pushing me. Urging me. 9

Not always gentle. Fucking my mouth. Me under there. In the dark. Warm and cosy and cave-like. Licking up his shaft. His spasm in my mouth. Drinking in his warm milky come. I gave the vibrator a run for its money as I came with a bellow and a long lusty laugh. My heart was beating so hard my eardrums vibrated. I climbed from bed, my body like taffy. Warm and happy. Completely loose. I’ve never been so happy to get ready for work. The day at work was a treat. I was so content I just didn’t care. I didn’t care that they screwed up my pay-check. I didn’t care that the voice recognition system had made a grievous error in a legal report. It should have read: ‘The client was injured at work while dragging a trash can’. What the system entered was: ‘The client was injured at work by a dragon with a tin can’. This should have been enough to send me into a tailspin. Oddly enough, I found it extremely humorous. The sigh of relief from my assistant was audible. Even rush hour traffic didn’t bother me. Sitting and inching my way home didn’t set me off like it normally would. Every time I had to sit and wait, I pulled Steven’s sticky note out of my day planner and read it. And got hotter. Hornier. Crazed. This time he was waiting for me. He grabbed me the moment I shut the door, took my bag and pushed me to my knees. Then, never taking his eyes from mine, he unzipped his khakis, freed his cock and pushed the already engorged head against my lips. I opened for him compliantly and played my tongue over the weeping slit. Then I fell on him as if I were starved. And I was. The taste of his salty warm skin on my tongue was heaven. The hot hard length of his erection, like suede covered marble. So hard and yet so pliant. He tasted like sex and love and man. 10

I licked my palm several times, plunged his cock back in my mouth and moved my slick fist in tandem. Steven buried his hands in my hair and rocked against me. Moving back on his heels, head tilted back, eyes closed. All harsh breath and rumbling growls deep in his throat. The urgency in his sounds sent a thrilling shiver down my spine and I sucked harder and deeper than ever before. I couldn’t settle for anything less than making him lose control. I loosened my throat and burrowed my nose against his pubic bone. Let him slide all the way home in my throat and I palmed his balls and let my middle finger skim his perineum. That did it. Steven roared, ‘Loren!’ as he came and just the sound of my name tearing out of him like that soaked my panties. Steven scooped me up and collapsed in the overstuffed arm chair with me on his lap. He kissed me, opening my mouth with his tongue. He kissed me deeply until we both tasted like him and warm wet kisses. ‘Think we’ll ever do any of them?’ I asked, squirming just a little in my wet panties. Steven shifted under me. My squirming had done wonders. I could feel him getting hard already. He acknowledged my observation by pushing his cock against my ass. ‘Well, I’d say just talking about them is keeping us busy at the moment,’ he said with a grin. He pumped his hips up again and I noticed that hardening had turned to hard. ‘I’d like to try them all some day,’ I laughed, squirming just to be evil. ‘But you’re right. Just talking about it is making me a sex addict.’ ‘Well, if you’re curious,’ he said, sliding his hand up under my skirt and hooking a finger in my panties, ‘ I have a few more.’ Then he plunged two blunt fingers into my cunt and I shuddered around him. ‘For instance−’ 11

I shoved my palm against his lips and pushed my pussy against his hand. Forcing him to probe and push deep inside of me. ‘Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me!’ I sighed, squirming some more. ‘Leave me a note.’

12

Visions Of Marlon by Dineen Riordan It’s so hot this morning. So unusually hot. Global warming, I’m sure. It’s almost like being in a foreign country. I’ve already started sweating and I haven’t even stepped outdoors yet. Outside, the birds are singing, plants and flowers are in profusion, the sky is azure blue, broken up with snow-white clouds, and that construction team is working away there, just across our garden fence, making a lot of noise. It’s cooler in here, but still too hot for comfort. I’m feeling clammy and sweaty, drugged by heat, adrift with my thoughts. I feel a little unreal. I can see him out there, working. In his T-shirt and tight jeans, laying bricks, one on top of the other, on the wall of that new house being built right next to ours. His hair is flopping over his forehead. His short-sleeved T-shirt is as tight as his blue jeans, emphasizing the rippling of his muscles every time he moves. So graceful, yet so masculine; occasionally looking in this direction, expecting to see me looking out, as I’m doing right now. I’m shameless, I suppose, though also absolutely helpless. Having visions of him finally getting the message 13

and coming over here to open the back door, slip inside, and then… Oh, dear, what am I thinking? God, yes, it’s so hot. My clothes are sticking to my skin. I can feel my blouse clinging to my breasts, exciting the nipples. My husband, John, is out front, inspecting his garden, a Sunday-morning ritual, whiling away a few minutes until it’s time to leave. But I’m not looking at John. I’m looking at that other man, the real man. The sweat trickles between my breasts, my nipples harden and tingle, when he moves and I see his muscles rippling. That shortsleeved T-shirt, those tight blue jeans, the impressive bulge at the crotch… No, this is ridiculous. It’s pathetic and disgusting. A woman like me shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Particularly since that young man’s half my age. Though almost certainly more experienced. Looking like that, he would have to be. He’s probably had more women than I’ve had hot breakfasts. He probably knows things that I can’t even imagine, given John’s vocation and sexual inhibitions, our lack of electricity in bed. Am I just frustrated at the thought of what I might be missing? Is that why I’ve been watching that young man for the past two weeks, ever since that construction team turned up on the plot next door? Is that why I’ve found myself pondering what it would be like if he sensed what I was thinking and decided to take his chances, walk over here, open the kitchen door and march in, to…? No. It’s perfectly ridiculous. I’m standing here, slightly stunned by the heat, feeling languorous, dreamily sensual, having all sorts of crazy thoughts, these perverse sexual fantasies. I should be ashamed of myself. A woman in my position. And the thought that he might look over, see me 14

looking at him, and decide to do something about it, is clearly preposterous. It’s just not going to happen. Oh, God, I’m wrong! He’s obviously seen me standing here, looking at him, as I’ve been doing every day for the past fortnight. But this time, having seen me, he’s smiling and putting down his trowel. Yes, he’s definitely seen me. Now he’s hitching up his jeans, emphasizing his bulging manhood, letting his hand slide across it, drawing attention to it, grinning crookedly as he stares directly at me, letting me know that he knows what I want. Or am I simply imagining this? No, I’m not He’s left the building site and is strolling casually towards me, grinning, heading deliberately, at a leisurely pace, for the door of my kitchen, at the rear of the house. Oh, God, what have I done? John’s still out front, still tending to his stupid garden, but he could walk in any moment… Walk in just as that young man opens the unlocked back door to… Lord, what am I thinking? It must be the summer heat, this almost foreign humidity, making me feel all sensual and dreamy, encouraging these licentious, dirty thoughts, this debased wishful thinking. Yes, that explains it. I’m a middle-aged, childless housewife, a decent, Christian woman, not particularly attractive, but I often find myself wanting to be someone else, a woman who has wild sexual experiences and suffers no guilt. Then I see that young man, so physical, so handsome, like the young Marlon Brando in his T-shirt and jeans, confident in his amoral, animalistic sexuality, and I imagine what it would be like to do it with him: to briefly feel like a younger, more desirable woman. So, yes, there’s a lot of wishful thinking. That’s what we have here. 15

But, oh God, it’s more than that. It must be more than wishful thinking. Because that young man’s actually opening the back door. I’m frightened that he will, but equally frightened that he won’t, concerned that he might change his mind and go back to the laying of bricks, leaving me here, still frustrated. Yet mostly, I’ll admit, I’m frightened…surely with good cause. My husband is outside, at the front of the house, tending his garden, and this young man is about to come in and… Oh, God, I can’t bear this. I should stop him, but I can’t. The heat has rendered me helpless. I’m drowsy. Too hot. My clothes are sticking to my breasts, exciting my stiffening nipples as he steps inside. Suddenly, there he is, silhouetted in the doorway, tall and broad, long legs outspread, sweat trickling over the muscles in his arms – pure maleness rampant. He stares steadily at me, looking me up and down, not saying a word, then, satisfied that he’s doing the right thing, he grins and steps all the way in, closing the door quietly behind him, shutting out the bright sunlight. So there he stands, in my neat country kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans, looking out of place in his working man’s clothing. With his short-sleeved white Tshirt and tight blue jeans, muscles rippling, crotch emphasised, he looks just like the young Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire. Like sex incarnate. My heart starts racing. I can hardly breathe. When I open my lips to say something, perhaps ask him to leave, he places his index finger to his lips – those thick, slightly brutal, sensual lips that I’ve thought about, dreamt about, for the past two weeks. 16

‘Don’t say a word, lady,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I know just what you want.’ I don’t say a word. He walks across the kitchen and then stops right in front of me. He has a crooked grin, like the young Marlon Brando’s grin, and his lips, like Marlon’s lips, are full, almost feminine, making me wet between the legs at the very thought of what they might do to me. He doesn’t say a word. He just holds that challenging grin. Then he slowly slides his hand around the back of my neck, takes hold of my hair, jerks my head back, looks me straight in the eyes, grinning, calmly taking my measure, then mashes his lips down on mine. I feel his tongue in my mouth, licking my teeth and gums, filling my mouth with saliva, as he kisses me, passionately, almost brutally. Then I helplessly, shamelessly, respond in kind, kissing him back, pressing myself into him, writhing in his embrace, rubbing my burning belly against his groin, his hot, masculine hardness. His hand leaves my head, moving down to my spine, the fingers outspread, his strong arm locked around me. His other hand, his free hand, is cupping my rear, squeezing my buttocks, fingering the crack. And as my legs start to tremble, threatening to give way beneath me, he pulls me tighter to him, grinding his hips, deliberately letting me feel his hard…thing…pressing into my belly. ‘Do you like that?’ he whispers, removing his lips from mine, leaning his head back to look at me, his gaze steady and mocking. ‘No,’ he adds before I can answer. ‘You don’t have to reply. I can see by the look on your face that it’s what you’ve been wanting.’ He grins as he says it, pulling me even tighter to him, then he slowly moves his hips from left to right, rubbing his belly against mine, letting me feel his heat and hardness, as 17

he strokes and squeezes my buttocks, still fingering the crack, where, in truth, to my eternal shame, I’ve never been touched before. I’m so excited, I can hardly breathe. My heart’s racing and I’m trembling all over, too weak to resist, filled with a desire that’s only increased by my dread of being caught. John is out front, still tending his stupid garden, but he could walk in any moment and see us like this. The very thought of it, though terrifying, is also exciting. Yes, come in, I find myself thinking. Catch me in the act, John, darling. It might do you some good. But I automatically push the young man away from me, offering token resistance despite what I’m feeling. ‘Get out of here,’ I say without conviction. ‘You want me to leave?’ ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘right now.’ ‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘I think so.’ ‘No, you don’t.’ Grinning, he slides his hand around my neck, gently stroking and pressing, then lets his fingers trail down the front of my throat, to the swelling of my bosom, then under the open collar of my blouse. He cups my breast in his hand, squeezes it, kneads the nipple, sending waves of excitement quivering through me. Then he unbuttons the blouse with his other hand, slides it down my arms as if peeling a banana, and lets it fall to the floor. ‘Nice tits,’ he says. Then he lowers his head to kiss each breast in turn, while I tremble, eyes closing, becoming senseless with desire, aware only of his lips on my skin, his hands sliding down my spine, the heat and hardness of his…thing…as he presses his belly against mine, his hips moving languorously. ‘Mmmm,’ he murmurs. ‘Nice.’ 18

‘Yes,’ I gasp. ‘Oh, yes!’ Encouraged, he unclips my bra, lets it fall to the floor, to join the discarded blouse, then bends down to kiss and lick my naked breasts, sucking on one nipple, then the other, as if preparing to eat them. My breasts come alive, the nipples almost on fire, waves of heat radiating out from them, to travel up to my bone-dry throat and then down to my belly. That fire spreads below, making me wet and receptive, excited beyond control, with everything inside me crying out to be penetrated and filled, ravished and consumed. I want to feel his throbbing hardness, his – Oh, say it…his cock – inside me. Nothing else matters. With a shock of disbelief, I slide my hands around him, fingers outspread, to stroke his sweat-slicked spine, dig my nails into his skin, squeeze his firm, though quivering, buttocks, pulling him into me with greedy desperation, wanting to feel the rapid growth of his cock beneath his zipped-up blue jeans. Now his cock feels as hard as a steel rod and I’m helplessly groaning. ‘Yeah, baby,’ he whispers. Just like Marlon in A Streetcar Named Desire. God help me, I’m dying here. Lord, yes…desire. I’m consumed by desire. I’m reaching down to feel his cock, wanting to cup it in my hand, to squeeze it and feel it pulsating. And when I do, when I feel it, a real cock in my real hand, even though it’s still covered with the coarse material of the blue jeans, it feels like a small, hot-blooded animal. ‘Try this for size,’ he says. Before I can unzip him, he pushes me backwards, down onto the kitchen table, causing cups and plates to rattle, then he tugs my dress up over my hips and gropes between my 19

spreading, slippery thighs. He strokes and squeezes me there, pressing down on my pubes with the palm of his hand, rubbing his hand to and fro, massaging me, driving me crazy, then he slips a finger under my knickers and dips it into my wet… No, I can’t say it. That’s one of those words that John would never let me utter. Another word like ‘cock’. He’d never let me use words that might have made us excited. Crude words. Sexy words. Words deemed to be erotic or pornographic. So I could never say… Fuck! I could never say fuck. And of course I could never use the word… Cunt! Lord Almighty, I’ve finally done it – described my cunt as a ‘cunt’. And, even sweeter, young Marlon, my nameless stud who looks like Brando, is moving his finger in and out of my wet cunt, first a finger, then a thumb, to make me writhe and moan, a slave to whatever he might desire. Then he takes hold of my clit and plays with it while I gasp and groan helplessly. ‘God, yes, fuck me!’ I cry out. ‘In my cunt! Fill my cunt with your cock!’ He rips my knickers off, unzips himself, takes out his cock, hard, engorged and pulsing, then puts the tip of it to me – down there, where I’m wet, warm and soft – making me open out like one of John’s flowers, offering honey to the bee. Then I feel his cock moving up inside me, in my cunt, and he’s fucking me. Yes, he’s fucking me. I can use that word at last. And just using it excites me all the more, encouraging me to raise my hips up off the table, opening my legs farther, my feet meeting on the blade of his curved spine, locking him to me. ‘Don’t stop, Marlon,’ I moan, forgetting who he is, imagining for a moment that he’s actually the real item. ‘God, just do it to me. Do what you want to me. Anything! 20

Any way! Just do it and do it really quick, before my husband comes in. Do anything you want, show me everything you know, and don’t stop until you hear the front door opening. Oh, Christ, oh my Lord, oh my master, I’m all yours for the taking. Fuck me blind. Fuck me rigid. God, I want you, I need you, I love you. Anything you want. Anything!’ He’s thrusting in and out, first violently, then more slowly, in deep, languid motions, moving this way, then that, touching me here and there, filling up my insides in a way that I haven’t known before…because John is so useless. Ah, God, that’s beautiful. Ah, Jesus, give me more. Belly slapping on belly, groin to groin, as he squeezes my tits, bites my neck and puts his tongue in my mouth. Just keep doing it, don’t stop, keep going for now and all time, till death do us part. What…? God, no! He’s pulling out. Straightening up to look down at me. He’s grinning and letting me see what he’s got and it’s something to see. I’ve never seen a real cock close up like this before. I mean, I’ve never looked at John’s. When we do it, we’re always under the blankets and John does it furtively. Him and his damned religion. His puritan thinking. Pretending he’s not really doing it, even when he’s hard at it, though in his inexperienced, woefully inept way, held back by his many inhibitions. No such inhibitions with Marlon. He’s looking down at me, grinning, as he curls his fingers around his cock, pumps it gently, teasing me, then leans forward to put his hand behind my head and tug me upright. I slide off the table, onto my knees, and there it is right in front of me. He’s still holding it, thrusting it at my lips, letting me know what he wants. I’ve never done this before (it would 21

shock John if I tried) but right now I want to make a meal of it and so I open my lips. I’m taking it in, sucking it, licking it, trying to swallow it, and he’s holding my head with his free hand to ease it backwards and forwards. It’s so thick and smooth, so hot and hard. I feel its tip at the back of my throat and almost swoon from the feeling. ‘Yes, baby,’ he drawls, withdrawing, ‘that was nice. Now let’s try it this way.’ He slides his hands over my shoulders and down to my breasts. After squeezing my tits, he cups his hands under my armpits and raises me off my knees. When I’m standing upright, breathing heavily, feeling dizzy, wet as a swamp down below, he flips me over to press me face down on the table. I spread my hands out to grip the sides of the table, my feet on the floor, my arse in the air. I think he wants to enter me from the rear, but he needs to prepare me. ‘Where’s the butter?’ he asks. Instantly, I think of Marlon Brando again. This time the mature Brando of Last Tango in Paris. The infamous butter scene. Marlon and Maria, one on top of the other, him slipping his buttery finger in before penetrating her with the real thing, though still wearing his pants. God, no, I can’t! It’s too awful to contemplate! On the other hand… How will one learn if one doesn’t experiment? I mean, John would never attempt it. He might secretly think about it, licking his puritan lips, but I doubt that he’d have the nerve to try it. Poor John, so religious, so inhibited, that neither of us has ever had a good time between the sheets, never mind stretched out on the kitchen table, as I am right now. ‘The butter’s in the jar behind my head,’ I hear myself whispering. ‘But I don’t think…’ 22

‘Be quiet,’ he says. As he stretches out over my spine, trying to reach the butter-jar, the tip of his cock slides along my arse cheeks as if trying to get in before its time. It’s hot. It’s hard. My buttocks twitch in response. I hear the butter-jar rattling, feel his chest on my shoulder-blades, then he straightens up again, breathing heavily, until he’s standing behind me. I close my eyes and clench my teeth and hear a groaning that can only come from me. He pushes into me, slow and hard, and at first it feels too tight, but then, as I shiver with pain and pleasure, he pushes in all the way. My thoughts scatter and spin. Oh, God, this can’t be true. I can’t really be doing this. I’ve often thought about it, wondering what it would be like, but it’s not the kind of thing that a decent, Christian woman dwells upon. I think I’m going to die. Now I’m nothing but sensation. I turn my face to the side and look out through the front window to see John bending over some flowers, sniffing them lovingly. He loves those flowers, I’m convinced, even more than he loves me. He loves me in his own way, but doesn’t know how to please me, because he wouldn’t want to believe what it is that I truly need. He’s a Christian, a puritan, and that makes him strictly limited. I’m deprived because he thinks it would be depraved to do what I dream about. God, he’s just turned to look back at the front door. He can’t come in now! Yet the fear of that thought only makes me more excited so I clutch the sides of the table even tighter, groaning with delight. ‘Don’t stop now!’ I cry out. Thank God, he doesn’t stop. He just moves ever faster, thrusting ever more violently, breathing harshly and 23

grunting like an ape having a romp in the jungle. I’m feeling really horny now. Like an animal in heat. I couldn’t stop him now if I tried, but I’ve no intention of trying. He’s standing right behind me, thrusting in and out, a stallion. Leaning forward, he runs his fingers through my hair, then slips his thumb between my lips and starts moving it in and out, just like his cock in my cunt, making me feel that I’m sucking on a second cock. Instantly, I have visions of two men at me at the same time, one behind me, the other in front, and as his thumb moves in and out, as I hungrily lick and suck, imagining the thumb to be bigger and harder than it actually is, he continues to attack my rear passage with the real thing. He’s reducing me to a pulp, protoplasm, pure sensation, turning me into an animal that knows nothing but physical need, wanting only to satisfy its base instincts, wallowing in the mud. ‘Yes!’ I beg. ‘Yes!’ Then I see John again. He’s wiping dirt from his hands as he glances at the house. That means he’s about to come back in and tell me it’s time for us to leave. The very thought of it fills me with panic and the panic excites me more. ‘Don’t stop!’ I cry out in desperation. ‘Oh, God, don’t stop now!’ He doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls out of my rear passage and flips me onto my back, preparing to slip into me that way. But he doesn’t get the chance. I’m now awash in my own juices. When I see him standing there, his huge cock thrusting arrogantly out of his unzipped jeans, I simply have to taste it again. So I slide off the table and fall onto my knees to slip my lips over his rigid tool and start gobbling frantically.

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‘Oh, boy,’ he says, ‘that’s your husband out there. And I think he’s about to come back in. Christ, I’ve got to get out of here!’ ‘Not yet!’ I cry, releasing his cock from my mouth, then I stand up and fall back onto the table, spreading my legs. ‘Oh, please God, just finish it!’ As I frantically reach up to pull him down upon me, the fear of being caught by my husband lances through me, making it all the more exciting. Young Marlon falls upon me, all muscle and bone. He’s biting my neck and his tongue is in my mouth and then I’m licking his ears, nose and throat as my legs lock around his rocking hips and my feet drum frantically on his buttocks. His belly smacks on my belly, his cock fills me up again. We move together, one on top of the other, my groin rising to meet his groin as he presses down upon me and pushes brutally into me. I’m sobbing and groaning, whispering, ‘Fuck me! Don’t stop!’ as my husband, that dear man, that innocent buffoon, commences the short walk to the front door, about to enter the house. ‘Now!’ I shriek. ‘Come now!’ Marlon comes like Niagara Falls, like a dam breaking loose, and I come at the same time, spasm piling on spasm, everything pouring out as it’s never done before, satisfying me for the first time in my life. A sexual Nirvana, heavensent, a dream come true. And we both shudder convulsively and collapse into each other. And I’m just returning to earth, getting my senses back, when I hear the front door opening and realise that John, my dear husband, is entering the house. Luckily, he’s entering through the front door, two rooms away from here. Marlon pulls out on the instant, tucks his wilting cock back in, whispers, ‘You’re terrific,’ zips himself up as he 25

hurries to the back door. I roll off the table, sexually satisfied, feeling terrific, depraved on account of being deprived throughout the long years of marriage. Marlon leaves by the back door. I adjust my rumpled clothing. I quickly comb my hair and touch up my lipstick (always modestly, respectably, applied), then rearrange the crockery on the table, until everything looks normal again. Which, of course, it is. Because none of that happened. It’s only what I wanted to happen. What I often desperately wish and dream might happen. I’m looking through the back window and can see that young man out there, a vision of pure masculinity in his Tshirt and blue jeans. He’s certainly not Marlon Brando. In fact, he looks quite ordinary as he lazily lays the bricks of that new house. He looks common, a bit of rough trade, but that’s what makes him sexy. John has just made his way from the living room, through the dining room, and is now standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling lovingly at me. He has a kind face, but he’s prematurely bald, has a burgeoning pot belly, and wears a black suit and clerical collar. He’s the one who’ll be giving the sermon and it’s rarely exciting. ‘Time for church, dear,’ he says. ‘I’ll just fix my hair and put on my hat,’ I reply. ‘I’ll meet you outside, darling.’ ‘Excellent,’ he says. When he leaves the kitchen, I look through the back window and see young Marlon Brando out there, laying brick upon brick in the rising heat. He knows I’m watching him. He sometimes smiles in my direction. Some day, if I get up the nerve, I just might invite him in for a drink – a glass of lemonade or a cup of tea, maybe something 26

stronger. And if I ever get up the nerve to do that, who knows what might happen? But right now, alas, I have to pin up my hair, cover it with my broad, respectable hat, then put my arm through the arm of my dear husband, so loving, so boring, and let him walk me to church, this sunny Sunday morning. I’m a decent, Christian woman, after all, and we’re the kind who have to keep up appearances. All the rest is a daydream.

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Upside Down With A Tub Of Yoghurt by Sally Quilford Oddly enough, defrocking a priest never really appealed to me. I always imagined them as anally retentive, grey old men, terrified of the opposite sex, so hiding behind celibacy. Or gay and hiding behind celibacy. Or just hiding behind celibacy because they hadn’t had any decent offers. Not even Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds tempted me. Scrub that. Especially not Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds tempted me. I must admit to quite liking the younger Gene Hackman as the tortured ex-priest in The Poseidon Adventure. Now me, him, upside down in a ship, with only a tub of Muller Fruit Corner to keep us occupied I could imagine. Anyway, I digress. Not too much as it turns out. It all began with Ben. Gorgeous, virile, can go at it all night, Ben Brannigan. Or rather he would go at it all night when we finally got the chance. His family were religious, you see, and he believed in saving himself for marriage. Trouble is, he somehow got the impression that I was too. No, I didn’t lie. Not really. I just mumbled something when he asked if I was still a virgin and he took it for demure embarrassment.

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I got my chance to try his wares when his family invited us for the weekend. We were to go to his uncle’s house in the country. ‘What does your uncle do?’ I asked Ben, as we drove to Oxfordshire. ‘He’s in the Church.’ My heart sank. No way would we be allowed to share a bedroom in a priest’s house. ‘I hope we get a chance to be alone, darling,’ I said, stroking Ben’s thigh. He nearly crashed when I squeezed his crotch. ‘Charity! Stop that. Do you want us both to go to hell?’ ‘No, but a nice little hotel in Woodstock would be lovely.’ ‘I see what you’re doing. You’re testing me to see if I can keep my hands off you. Stop it, you little minx.’ God, I wanted him there and then, but something about his expression told me that he wasn’t very pleased with me. I sulked for the rest of the journey. We arrived just before dinner. The house was wonderful. The sort of Georgian pile I’d always dreamed of living in. ‘Charity, this is my mother, my father, and this is my uncle Jack. Everyone, this is Charity.’ I could tell from his mother’s shocked glance at me in my short skirt that things were not going to go according to plan. Uncle Jack, who stood in front of the mantelpiece of his magnificent drawing room, wasn’t what I was expecting. For a start he was dressed in black chinos and a black turtleneck sweater. He was also quite young. Not our age (Ben and I were both twenty-eight) but not much older than forty. He also eyed my mini-skirt but I couldn’t work out what he was thinking. He had one of those inscrutable faces. The type men have when they’re hanging from a big tap thingy in an upturned ship, willing to sacrifice themselves so that clist actors can go on to star in soap operas. For some reason my panties felt a bit moist. 29

Ben’s friend, Vince, arrived just before dinner. They’d been at university together. He was a beautiful young man and I would have introduced him to one of my friends had he not been so moody. He didn’t seem to like me at all, only giving me a cursory nod. Dinner was excruciating and I didn’t help. I blurted out ‘So, Uncle Jack, do you think Jesus and Mary Magdalene really got it on?’ He smiled and I almost melted. Ben glared at me and his mother looked like she was going to faint. His dad merely squeezed my knee under the table. Or he might have been trying to pat the dog. He was so drunk on Uncle Jack’s vintage wine, I wasn’t entirely sure. ‘So you’ve read The Da Vinci Code, Charity?’ asked Uncle Jack. His expression suggested he knew I only ever read Heat magazine. ‘Er…no, but everyone knows what it’s about. It’s like one of those cultural thingies…icons…that transcends boundaries. Like everyone knows that The Poseidon Adventure is about an upside down ship.’ I don’t know why I kept coming back to that! ‘Is it really, Charity?’ asked Uncle Jack. ‘Yes. For goodness’ sake, don’t you know? Gene Hackman…the tortured priest…that girl from Dynasty who fancied him…the one before Emma Samms…not that Emma Samms fancied Hackman…well she might have. I don’t really know her. I mean the one who played Fallon before Emma…’ My voice faded to nothing when I realised he was taking the piss and also changing the subject. ‘Oh I did like Dynasty,’ Mrs Brannigan said. ‘All those shoulder pads.’ ‘Yes, me too, well the re-runs on digital telly,’ I nodded eagerly. Our eyes met and we smiled. For the rest of dinner, Ben’s mother and I chatted about our favourite Alexis Colby schemes. By dessert we were the best of friends. 30

‘I need to speak to you about something, Ben,’ said Vince. They went to the library. Uncle Jack and Mr Brannigan disappeared, and Mrs Brannigan went to powder her nose. I was left alone, the pleasure of chatting to Mrs Brannigan fading as I realised I’d been abandoned. I wandered around the drawing room, imagining myself as some Jane Austen heroine, ‘taking a turn’. When that got boring, I slipped out into the hallway and went in search of the library, sure that Ben and Vince would be finished. As I grew nearer I could hear raised voices. One raised voice actually. Uncle Jack’s. ‘You can’t possibly marry that girl, Ben! It’s time to face up to facts. She won’t make you happy.’ Feeling like I’d been slapped, I ran out into the garden. How dare he decide what was best for Ben? The sanctimonious git! I sat outside for half an hour, not wanting to return to the house. ‘Charity?’ It was Mrs Brannigan. She found me sitting in an arbour at the bottom of the garden, looking back up towards the house. It really was beautiful. ‘Are you alright, dear?’ ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks. I think I’d like to go to bed now if that’s okay with you. It’s been a long day.’ ‘Of course, I’ll show you to your room.’ She took my arm, seeming to realise I was upset. ‘I’m sorry we all left you to your own devices. Ben and his uncle had things to discuss.’ ‘Yes, I know,’ I said tightly. ‘You were a bit of a surprise to us, actually.’ ‘I can imagine.’ ‘But you’re a nice girl, I can tell.’ I didn’t know about that, but didn’t want to disillusion her. We carried on into the house and up the stairs. 31

‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’ And she was. So much so that I felt like crying. ‘Erm, Mrs Brannigan. Which is Ben’s bedroom? Just out of interest.’ She pointed to the door next to mine, smiling, but quite sadly. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything,’ I said. ‘I respect your house rules.’ ‘Actually, Charity, it was Ben’s idea for you to have separate rooms. We’re not that stuffy, honestly.’ She left me at my door and went off to find her husband, whom we could hear singing sea shanties in the kitchen. I liked them. And what she’d said was true. They weren’t nearly as stuffy as I thought when I first arrived. But Uncle Jack. He was another matter. Drastic action was called for. I had to convince Ben that he and I were meant for each other, but to be honest, as I took the pair of fluffy handcuffs out of my suitcase, I was beginning to wonder. He’d practically ignored me all night, huddled away with Vince. His uncle had swayed him far too easily for my liking. I decided I’d just show him what he’d be missing, then dump him. I waited till I heard everyone come to bed, then I went downstairs to the kitchen and found a Muller Fruit Corner in the fridge. Cherry. My favourite. I crept back upstairs – yoghurt and handcuffs all ready – and went into Ben’s room. He was lying with his back to the door, but he’d kicked off his blankets, wearing just a pair of boxers. The body I’d been longing to see and touch was mine for the taking. I slipped out of my clothes and tiptoed to the bed. Taking one of his hands, I clipped a handcuff around his wrist. He didn’t even wake up, so I rolled him gently onto his back and, throwing the yoghurt onto the bedside table, set about attaching the other cuff to the bedpost. My bare breast 32

brushed his mouth as I stretched over him, sending a spasm of pleasure through my body. I heard him mumble ‘Oh, dear God.’ I closed my eyes, then found his mouth, thrusting my tongue between his lips. He kissed me back, bringing his own tongue up to meet mine. I trailed kisses down his chest, gently biting into one of his nipples, then downwards, to where his erection burst out of his boxers. I slid them down and took him in my mouth, completely forgetting I’d brought the yoghurt. I preferred natural, lapping up the salt taste. He groaned again, pushing my head against his cock with his free hand. My own centre throbbed and it was all I could do not to thrust straight down onto him. I wanted him – and me – to savour the moment. I stopped and whispered, ‘You’re in my power. You have to do whatever I say.’ ‘Yes,’ he replied, his voice husky. ‘Yes. Whatever you say.’ Moving back up the bed, I sat with my knees either side of his face, the bristles on his cheek tingling my inner thigh. ‘Lick me.’ His tongue darted upwards, finding my clit, swirling, probing. His hand, straining from the handcuff grasped my breast, pinching my nipples between his fingers, while his tongue drove me to madness. It was all I could do not to scream out as my groin pulsated to an early orgasm. He lapped that up hungrily, his tongue pressing against my throbbing clit, prolonging the pleasure beyond all reasonable bounds. I needed to kiss him, to taste myself on his mouth. ‘Tell me you want me,’ I demanded, my lips pressed against his. ‘I want you.’ I slid my body down his torso, leaving a damp trail on his chest and belly, and eased myself down onto his prick. We rocked together, slowly at first, building the intensity until 33

our bodies crashed together. I cried out as he filled me to completion, bucking against his thrusting hips. I came again, but he didn’t. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Give it to me.’ He was holding back, I could tell. I fucked him harder, forcing him to submission, finally feeling him explode into me. That was when I opened my eyes, because I wanted to see the pleasure on his face. He was barely visible by the light from the moon, shining through the window, but it most certainly wasn’t Ben. ‘Jack!’ I jumped off him as though I’d been stung. He groaned, more in pain than ecstasy, clearly not expecting sudden movement. I couldn’t bring myself to call him Uncle Jack. Not then. ‘Oh my God! Why didn’t you say anything? You…you rapist!’ ‘Excuse me, Charity, but you’re the one who came into my bedroom and handcuffed me to the bed, then gave me a blow job. At least that’s how the police would see it.’ There was amusement in his voice, alongside the happy exhaustion of his orgasm. ‘You can’t go the police. Oh God, I’m in such trouble.’ I threw on my nightie. ‘But you’re not Ben and you let me think you were.’ I remembered my earlier anger. ‘Oh I get it. I’m all right for a quick shag for you, to ease your celibacy for a while, but not good enough for your nephew. The Pope will probably send a hit squad to kill me for defrocking one of their priests. I’d better go quickly. Tonight.’ ‘Do you think you could undo the handcuffs first?’ I blushed. I was also off my guard, because I didn’t see what was coming next. As soon as I’d detached the cuffs from the bedpost he snatched the key from my hand and clipped one cuff around my wrist, leaving us bound together. 34

‘What are you doing? Let me go or I’ll scream.’ It was an empty threat. I’d have been too embarrassed for anyone to find us. ‘Let’s talk,’ he said. I must admit to being disappointed. I thought he was going to pin me to the bed and ravish me. I’d have said no, of course. Except the memory of his probing tongue wouldn’t go away, so maybe I wouldn’t have. He pulled the blankets up over us. He lay on his side, I sat up until I realised that was too uncomfortable, with the handcuffs. So I reluctantly lay next to him. ‘About what?’ ‘About you and Ben.’ ‘Yes, I know. You don’t think I’m good enough. I heard you.’ ‘No, I said you weren’t right for him.’ ‘It’s the same thing. And now, well, you probably think I’m even more of a slut.’ ‘What I think about you is not up for discussion at the moment. Though I do believe that you’re a good girl who only tries very hard to be bad. You want marriage, kids, the whole kit and caboodle.’ I hated him for understanding me so well. Hated him, but desperately wanted him to kiss me again. ‘But Ben is never going to give that to you.’ ‘No, because you won’t let him.’ ‘I have my reasons. Actually, now I have different reasons, but we’ll discuss those later. Ben is gay, Charity. He and Vince are in love.’ I was going to argue with him, but what he said made sense in too many ways. ‘So now what are we going to do?’ I asked. ‘Me? I’m going to open that yoghurt, smear it all over your body then lick it off.’ ‘Well if you insist,’ I said. 35

The following morning we watched Ben and Vince ride off into the sunset together. Well, it was raining and they were in Ben’s car, but you get the idea. Ben’s parents had left some time earlier, so it was just Jack and me. ‘What about us?’ I asked. He stood behind me, with his arms around my waist, making me feel very safe and protected. ‘You’ll be unfrocked and the Pope will send out a hit squad for me.’ ‘The word is defrocked. The Pope doesn’t care what I do.’ I felt his mouth on my neck. ‘I’m Church of England. Now, let’s go and see if we can find any more yoghurt in the fridge.’

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Cocksucker by Lori Selke He asks if he can suck my dick. I’m still donning the harness, cinching the straps around my thighs tight. There is nothing elegant about this process. The transition from just me to ‘chick with dick’ is a sensitive one. I always want to hide in the bathroom until it’s over. But tonight, I left the door ajar, and there he is, standing in the doorway. I can see him in the mirror. He looks a little shy right now, which is reassuring. Strapping it on for my man is one thing. I love men who are in touch with their ass, who aren’t embarrassed by the pleasure they get when I stick my fingertip in their anus while I’m giving them head, who have learned to ask for that, and more. I like anal sex, too, I know how good it can feel when it’s done right, and I’m glad to share that with them. Men who aren’t so focused on their dick are better lovers, in my experience. And it’s nice to be able to give instead of take, to turn the tables once in a while. But this isn’t Deep Throat. He doesn’t have a clit in his larynx. I don’t quite get it. Of course I know that it makes as much sense as me wanting to suck his cock. Except that I get off on the fact that I can concentrate so clearly on his pleasure. I know he feels each stroke of my tongue, because 37

I can see him react. He won’t get that kind of feedback from what’s hanging between my legs right now. But I can tell that it’s taken a lot for him to even ask this of me. Normally, if he wants to try something new, he just plunges ahead. This man is no Sensitive New Age type, always checking and double-checking everything out of ‘respect’. I hate that. Those guys are the most unbelievably boring in bed. I think that a lot of them have secret kinky fantasies about being taken and used by some leather-clad dominatrix type, but they’re too cheap to just go see a pro. I turn around. My little purple dildo is bobbing between my legs. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Get down on your knees.’ He scrambles to the floor, but doesn’t move any closer to me or my dick. ‘We can do this, but on one condition,’ I say. He nods. ‘Tell me why.’ He swallows once, then licks his lips nervously. The sight makes me just a little bit wet. I am obsessed with his mouth. I have been since the day we met. He has a big mouth, both literally and figuratively. He loves to talk. He loves to kiss me. I bought concealer for the very first time ever after our third date, when he left a few hickeys a little too high on my neck. I love to bite his lip and listen to him gasp. I love to listen to the sounds he makes when he’s close to coming. Whenever I hear him moan, I want to press my fingers against that mouth and feel the vibrations those soft sounds make. I didn’t think my question would be so hard to answer. But I can see the bulge in his jeans. ‘It’s a turn-on,’ I prompt. ‘Why?’ ‘Because it’s wrong.’ 38

I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue. ‘It’s dirty. It’s something I’m not supposed to do.’ ‘It’s dirty?’ I ask. ‘Yes,’ he says, and I can tell by the huskiness in his throat that he means it. ‘It’s nasty. A girl isn’t supposed to have a cock. She isn’t supposed to get turned on watching me suck it. But baby, I can tell you’d get turned on. You like to watch me, and I want to do it for you.’ I take a step toward him. One more step, and my little purple dick will be right in his face. ‘Go on,’ I say. ‘There isn’t much else to it,’ he says. ‘I love the way you look, standing over me. I love having you inside me.’ One more step. His mouth opens. ‘Slow,’ I say. ‘Go slow. I want to see it. I want to see everything.’ And he does. His big mouth and my little dick, he could probably swallow it all in one gulp, but, instead, he works it delicately, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, wetting his lips, sweeping the ridge of the cockhead over and over again. Even though I can’t feel a thing, he’s teasing me, building up my anticipation. Putting on a show. I wish it were more than just a show. I don’t have penis envy, not really. That’s not it. I want his desire to give me pleasure, to be sincere and direct. No performing. Deeper than that. I want him to touch me. I lean over and whisper in his ear, ‘Do you know how wet you’re getting me?’ He shakes his head, swallowing my dildo deeper. I put my hand on the back of his head and hold him there, then pull my hips back slowly. ‘I think you should check,’ I say with a smile, and lift his hand to my pussy. Which is dripping. Then I clamp his hand between my thighs and start to fuck his mouth. 39

He’s right, this is nasty and dirty and entirely wrong, and it’s getting me off, too. He wants to finger me, to make me come while I am in his mouth. And I’d like that. After a while, I let his hand go and spread my legs. The orgasm he gives me comes fast and hard. I can’t help but snap my hips forward, twice, three times, filling his mouth with my cock. He’s jacking himself off beneath me. I don’t think I’m going to get in his ass tonight after all. A few days later, we are in bed. I am just about asleep when he whispers in my ear, ‘I have another fantasy’. I make a small noise to indicate I am listening, even though I am so tired it takes an effort to concentrate on his words. ‘I want someone to come in my mouth.’ ‘I’ve come in your mouth lots of times,’ I mumble. ‘You want me to sit on your face, just ask.’ ‘That’s not what I meant.’ I hear him shifting behind me. He drapes an arm over my hip and buries his face in my shoulder. By the time he speaks again, I have to drag myself back from the lip of unconsciousness to listen. ‘I want a boy to come in my mouth. A guy. Another man.’ I’m not sure if I should say anything or not. I am almost afraid to move. I am suddenly wide awake. ‘And I want you to watch,’ he continues. Is this his way of coming out to me? Is my boyfriend bisexual? Does it matter right now? I can feel how tense he is against me. He’s afraid. This is a fragile moment. If I say the wrong thing, he will close down, maybe for ever. I resist the urge to make light of his confession, to say something flippant. ‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ I ask after a moment. 40

‘Not really,’ he says. And I can feel some of my own muscles uncurl. I uncurl a little too much, and before I can stop it, it slips out of my mouth. ‘My dick wasn’t enough for you?’ I can hear the lightness in my tone, but what if he misunderstands? ‘It’s different,’ he says, and then stops. If I want any more from him now, I’m going to have to do the work. So I ask, ‘Why do you want me to watch?’ He sighs and runs his fingers through my hair. ‘If you’re there, it feels safe,’ he says. ‘Safe like you’ll know I’m not jealous?’ ‘No. Safe like I know you’ll watch out for me.’ I want to laugh, to scoff, to say, ‘You’re afraid of a little cock? They’re such fragile things, there’s nothing at all to be scared of. Look, I let yours inside me as often as I can get it. If I can do that and like it, why do you need me to hold your hand when you try it out?’ I want to say, ‘I never expected you to be such a timid little virgin’. I want to say, ‘I don’t think that’s safe’. I want to ask, ‘Do you check out the tackle of the other guys at your gym? Have you picked one out? Do you jerk off to the thought of your mouth on his cock?’ I want to ask, ‘Have you been thinking about him while we fuck?’ I want to ask, ‘Am I just a substitute for what you really crave?’ And some of those questions I might just ask some other day. But I know better than to ask them right now. So instead I say, ‘That sounds pretty hot’. And I realize, after I say it, that it’s true. I also realize that his cock is hard against the small of my back. So I shift a little, until I’ve half-turned to face him, 41

and I’ve opened my legs to let him slide between my thighs. I can’t see his face; it’s too dark. But I look at him anyway, imagine looking into his eyes while he sucks off another man. I’m wet enough now that it’s easy for him to enter me. We start out slow, but it doesn’t last long. I come hard, and he comes right after me. His moans are high and full of relief. So are mine.

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On The Beach by Primula Bond Swimming always gets me going. Blood pumping through these sluggish old veins after being holed up in the holiday cottage with a load of rutting couples. I love it when the water’s cold and rough. Far out there a couple of surfers are wrestling with the waves. Here the beach is deserted. And now I’ve earned a kip. The sun’s really warm after the cold water. I whip my bathing suit off and flop down onto my towel but my heart’s still drumming, my body still buzzing. I turn on my back, stretch my legs out, point my toes to make them look longer. Hmm, still pretty good. A breath of air tickles my slightly parted fanny. I open my legs a little more. I grope about in the sand to find my oil, but I can’t find it. My hand flops back onto my bare stomach and the touch electrifies me. I move my fingertips down to the hairless groove running along the top of my thigh and that makes me jump, too. The skin is the largest organ of the human body, and boy is it the most sensitive. There’s another place, though. So sensitive it could make me come with a butterfly kiss. My hand wanders back up to my breast, just brushes the top, avoiding the nipples. They swell out luxuriantly. My stomach flutters. 43

I drop my hands. Is it possible to tease yourself? The sun rests on my eyelids while my hand drags back to my stomach. I move it in circles, frantic messages puckering up my nipples. My stomach tightens. My thighs fidget on the towel, open up wider. I fan my fingers, catching at a hardening nipple, and sidle the other hand downwards to the warm nest of hair. My fingers tangle in the wet curls, pulling strands, feeling each hair tug on the tender skin. My middle finger extends down the crack and I half gasp, half giggle at the moist blood-heat warmth just inside the lips. That’s not just damp from the sea although I wonder what it would taste like now. I wiggle my finger, feeling the sliver of sensitive flesh. I shock it into tingling response. I moan softly, sure that the sound is only in my ears. A shadow crosses my face and I swear, thinking a cloud is obscuring the sun. But it’s too solid for that. There’s a tall shape a couple of feet away. Surely not the others, come to spy on me from the cottage? I raise myself up on my elbow, ready to give them hell. My breast bounces against my arm. I raise one knee to get myself upright and a droplet of juice runs out of my crack and across my thigh. It’s not my friends. It’s one of the surfers. His short wetsuit is rolled down his torso and he has his back to the sea. He can see me clearly, but I’m half blinded by the glare. I raise one hand to shield my eyes and take a good look at him. Sex on legs. Like something out of a beer advert. He’s lithe and tanned. His face is young. So young. Tiny gold prickles of barely shaved stubble speckle his brown cheeks. Hectic flushes of blood are just visible under the skin. Is he blushing? I try to remember myself at his age. It wasn’t so long ago, for God’s sake. He’s seventeen, eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Definitely a boy and yet his body has been worked 44

on. Hard. No ounce of puppy fat. His arms are big with muscle. I let my eyes flutter back to his face. I open my mouth to speak, but he’s not about to make small talk. His bright blue eyes are fixed on my big breasts, hanging there in the sunshine. I must look like some kind of nude sculpture there on the towel. I suppose I could always pretend I’m one of those naturists. But the naturists always claim there’s nothing sexual about nakedness, don’t they? What bollocks. I reckon this boy’s nakedness would be a blatant invitation to a shag-fest. His eyes are burning on me and my nipples harden as if agreeing with my assessment. They shrink into tight little arrowheads. Pointing directly at my young stranger. The young man/boy swallows, getting the message. He scuffles his bare feet in the sand. Shit. He’s trying to get away. I want to stretch out and stop him. But no. He’s just planting them more firmly in that kind of swaggering stance young men have. Through his tight wet suit I can see his groin bulging against the black cloth. I want to rip it off here and now. I want to know what’s going on underneath. ‘Surf up today?’ I suddenly ask into the sizzling silence. I can imagine my mates up at the cottage giggling at my lousy attempt at surf-speak. ‘I thought there were two of you out there.’ He nods, and tosses his head back towards the waves. His hair is beginning to dry into bleached strands. ‘My brother’s still out there. I got a cramp.’ ‘I can see that.’ The fluttering in my stomach is back with a vengeance. No, forget fluttering. Nothing lady-like about this sensation. It’s twisting and tightening with total lust. I can’t believe I’m still sprawled here like some kind of centrefold. Usually I would have lifted the towel by now to cover myself up. I’d 45

have made some shy, dismissive remark to send him on his way, but right now his glowing stare and his unmistakeable hard-on are just too good to waste. I’m not letting this opportunity pass. Apart from anything else, I intend to dine out on it tonight. The others will never believe me. ‘Want some lemonade?’ God, I sound like his aunt. ‘My dad says you should never accept drinks from strangers,’ he croaks with a lopsided grin, and I laugh. How sexy is that grin? How sexy is it that we’re strangers? I take the bottle from the cool bag and wave it at him. ‘I say you’re big enough to look after yourself.’ I’m still laughing. I pat the towel beside me. He steps closer. I’m making him feel safe. He leans across me, and swigs from the bottle. ‘So,’ I go on, my voice husky with laughter and desire. ‘Do you know this part of Devon?’ ‘No. It’s my first time.’ Colour floods his cheeks even more as he says it, and this time I rein in my dirty chuckle. I quietly take the lemonade from him, keeping my green eyes calmly on his burning blue ones, and without wiping his spittle off the neck of the bottle I flick my tongue round the wet rim before tilting my head back to take a deep swallow. Now his eyes are on my throat as the cold liquid swishes down. This is like something out of a movie. ‘I mean, it’s the first time we’ve been down to this coast,’ he stammers. ‘Dad’s rented a place for the summer. He insisted we come here this year. Normally we go to Constantine Bay, in Cornwall. The surf’s miles better over there. So’s the surfing crowd. I mean, it’s just dead round here, isn’t it?’ ‘That depends what you’re after,’ I remark lazily. The bottle is still hovering above my open mouth as if I’m about to give it head. I lick it again, turning myself on with the suggestive swipe of my tongue. Then I wrap my lips round 46

the long cool shape and swallow a little more. His Adam’s apple jumps. I screw the top back on. On an impulse I put the bottle not back in the cool bag but between my legs, resting it up against my pussy. I can’t stifle a gasp as the cold plastic meets the sensitive, warm flesh. I lean back, letting it rest there, restraining myself from grabbing it and rubbing it up and down my hot slit like a sex toy. The urge won’t go away. But then, nor will the boy. My voice comes out in a low moan. ‘There’s plenty to entertain you if you know where to look.’ ‘I’m beginning to realise that–’ Without the bottle the boy doesn’t know what to do with his hands. So he starts rolling the wetsuit back up his stomach. ‘It’s too nice out here today to cover yourself up. It may not be the Med, but this lovely weather has got to be a record for Devon. Sit down for a moment. Like you said, there’s nothing to do round here. So there’s no rush, is there?’ ‘No rush,’ he echoes, and his young voice dips violently into a deep manly timbre, at odds with his adolescent face. My cunt gives a couple of uncontrollably cheeky twitches, practically nudging the bottle away as I watch him wrestle with the twin urges to come and sit near me or to stand there and remain cool. Time to be a little less obvious. I relent and draw my legs up, so that my pussy is temporarily hidden from his confused, hungry gaze, but the movement brings the bottle harder against me, its long shape pushing between my sex lips and nudging the tiny bud of my clit. I grip it with my legs and feel the droplets of condensation mingling with my own sweat and moisture. I’m getting breathless again, as if I was still swimming. I want to show the boy what I can do with the bottle, but it’s 47

too soon. I hitch myself up the towel, pulling my shoulders back in an effort to look more sophisticated, but that just thrusts my breasts out so that his baby-blue eyes, which are still struggling to remain politely focused on my face, swivel back to watch the tightening of my red nipples. ‘It may be a bit quiet, but where else can you get quite so close to nature, after the city smoke? I expect that’s what your dad was after,’ I whisper, trying not to giggle out loud with delight. Something is still warning me to act very calm, sit very still so as not to alarm him. ‘That’s why I’m stretched out here, starkers. Never do that in London, do you? Hope you don’t mind me being topless like this?’ He shakes his head violently, like a little boy trying not to tell a lie, and at last, like an animal tempted in from the wild, he squats down, just by my feet. He rubs the salty strands of yellow hair off his hot face. ‘So. You here on holiday, or what?’ He’s giving in. He can’t take his eyes off my tits, even though he’s attempting to make conversation. I know my nipples are harder and darker now and impossible to ignore. Neither of us really wants to talk, do we? It’s as if he’s in a sweet shop with no pocket money. His tongue slides across his white teeth and he gulps. I keep my smile faint but encouraging. ‘It’s a mixture,’ I answer. ‘Work, and play.’ ‘So which is this bit? Work, or play?’ A soft wind comes off the sea and ruffles his hair. He swipes it impatiently out of his eyes. My own hair tickles my face, and the wind caresses my bare skin like delicate fingers. ‘Oh, that’s easy. Play,’ I whisper, not sure if he can hear. ‘This bit is definitely play.’ I tilt forwards on to my knees, the bottle still clamped there. I pause for a moment as he blinks, focusing on the big 48

tits bouncing right there in front of him as if they were ice creams on offer. Then I pick up one of his large hands from where it’s digging frantically about in the sand. I lift it like it’s a warm animal and place it on one swollen breast. My nipple spikes against his palm. His mouth drops open. My head falls back as his fingers close harder, making it ache. I spread my knees a little to balance more comfortably in front of him, dislodging the bottle. I lean back on the towel so that my spine is arched and my breasts are pushing at him, jumping up with each heartbeat. The dry grass rustles in the slight breeze, and far away the waves curl with a collective sigh onto the beach. Both the boy and me are panting. My tits disappear into his hesitant fingers. His blue eyes blaze with a crazy request. Christ, it’s enough to make me melt. Of course you have permission, my precious. I’m practically begging you! My head feels heavy. The only energy is fizzing between my legs. I’m ready to let him take and thrust and pummel. I want to make him into a man. I have privacy, sunshine, a boy with the body of a god waiting for me to show him the way. And all the time in the world. Lust is eating me up. His fingers dig into my breasts, wander across them and squeeze them, push them together, letting them fall, playing with them, staring at the rigid raspberry nipples. Then I kneel up and place my hands on his shoulders and push my tits into his eager face. I want him to nuzzle in, I want him to lick, suck, bite. Yes. I can tell he’s never seen anyone as luscious as me. A real woman. I want this to be what he’ll write home about, remember for ever. I want to smother him. He buries his face between my breasts, pressing them into his cheeks. Then he draws back. I cup one breast and offer it. I rub its taut dark nipple across his mouth. His tongue flicks out 49

tentatively. My knees wobble and I clutch more firmly to his shoulders. My tit is angled right into his mouth. He licks the nipple again, and his hands squeeze my breasts until they sing with delicious pain. Hands that a few minutes ago had been wrestling with a surfboard. Then his soft lips nibble up the little nub of the nipple, the tongue laps round it. He draws the burning bud into his mouth, pulling hard on it, and begins to suck. I cradle his bleached blond head, the salt water dried in granules and flecked white across his cheek bones. I could stay like this forever. His sucking makes my whole body ripple with desire. I look away over his head, across the dunes and over the ocean, distancing myself, seeing us like a movie or a photograph, but his mouth, his teeth, keep pulling at the aching nipple and pulling me back. Electrical currents streak from my nipples to my empty, waiting cunt. He has the other breast up by his face now. He’s turning from one to the other, lapping and sucking, snuffling through his nose to breathe, groaning, biting and kneading harder and harder as if he owns my breasts. It’s never enough to suck just one. They both have to be stimulated, and, boy, is he getting the hang of it. God, it’s going to be earth-shattering when I get him inside me. He’s rougher, more ferocious, already more confident. I grind against him, daring him, searching for more pain to communicate more pleasure. I plant my knees on either side of his so that I’m straddling him, and still have his head crushed between my tits. I push him backwards so that, still sucking on my nipples, he’s lowered onto the sand. Now I’m on top of him, my tits dangling down like heavy fruit dented by his brown fingers. I tilt my pussy towards his groin and rub against his wet suit. The rough material is glorious, grating on my skin. 50

And I can feel the length of his dick. Still pushing my tits in his face, don’t ever want him to stop, I grab at the wet suit and start to roll it off him like a second skin. He raises his hips obligingly. So sweet. He does that so eagerly and readily. Does he realise how big his fucking gorgeous erection is? I yank everything down and his cock thumps free, juddering out from the rough tangle of blond curls, pulsating golden brown like the rest of him. God, it’s a work of art. Its surface is smooth like velvet, the mauve plum emerging from the soft foreskin which wrinkles back to show itself all gleaming. This gorgeous cock thumps into my hand. Now it’s my turn to fold my fingers round something, and as I do it he bites my nipple so hard that I scream out with delight. I lean over him. ‘Just take a little break. Try something new,’ I whisper, both to myself and to him. I start to wriggle back down his body so that his head follows for a moment, still attached to my nipples. Then he falls back as I slither down towards his groin and he can only grab at my wet hair. I reach his dick, standing up like a beacon. The tip is already beading in anticipation. A fresh stick of rock. I open my mouth and draw his cock into it, using my teeth as well as my tongue, draw it all in until the boy’s knob knocks at the back of my throat. He makes a sound, exquisitely shocked. His buttocks clench as I suck on him, nibbling down to the base of his shaft and licking and sucking the sweet length of it. He starts to buck about, groaning in amazement. I wonder if any of his pert little girlfriends give head like this. I doubt it. After all, I didn’t have much of a clue at this age. I want him to think he’s died and gone to heaven. Any minute now I’m going to heaven, too. As I suck, I rub my tits and pussy up and down his legs. He pulls at my hair. I have to slow myself down, because 51

we’ll both come too soon. I don’t want to waste this golden moment by coming all over his shinbone. My pussy is clenching frantically now. I’m leaving slicks of juice all over him. I give his dick one last, long suck, pulling it towards my throat and nipping it with my teeth, then I let it slide along my tongue, out through my nipping teeth. Greedily I clamber back on top of him as he struggles up, seeking out my tits. I press him down on his back, tilting myself over him. We’ve moved some way from the towel now. ‘See how beautiful it is,’ I croon at him, showing him the length of his shaft encircled by my fingers. ‘See how well it’s going to fit.’ I smile as I raise myself on my knees and aim the tip of his cock towards the warm hole hidden in my soft bush. I let it rest there, at the opening, just like I did with the lemonade bottle, just nudging it past my wet sex lips. I wait. I smile again, lowering myself a little more, gasping as each inch goes in. I reach under him to cup his balls in one hand and he groans again. This tension is ecstasy, but I can’t hold on to it for much longer, and slowly, luxuriously, I let the boy’s knob slide up inside, all the way to the hilt. It’s so tempting to ram it, let our hips start jerking, but once it’s right in I force myself to pull away again. He frowns, perhaps thinking I’m rejecting him, but I just ease myself down again, moaning and tossing my head back, and the next time I do that he’s with me, learning fast, pulling his own hips back, waiting when I wait. I sigh out with the joy of being fucked by something so big and hard after months of sitting on the sidelines. As I bend over to let my tits swing across his mouth again, his eyes flip sideways and his face freezes. His hands jam onto 52

my hips and hold me still. I don’t move. I don’t want to. But I see another shadow falling across his face. ‘Oh, piss off, guys!’ I shout, without looking round. ‘Go back to your poker game!’ ‘I wouldn’t dream of it! This looks like a hell of a lot more fun than poker!’ A male voice, very similar to my boy’s, speaks from somewhere above and behind us. I go hot and cold. I try to read the boy’s expression. Then there’s the unzipping sound of another wet suit, and the boy’s eyes widen. First he shakes his head furiously, and then a filthy grin spreads across his face. Not a grin I’ve seen before. He looks at me in a different way. Kind of domineering. I’m thrown off balance. Already he’s learning. Glancing at the newcomer, the boy knocks my breasts from side to side. ‘My older brother,’ he croaks. ‘Back from the surf.’ He pulls me forwards, jamming my tits into his mouth again, and now my backside is up in the air. I want to protest but I can’t move. My butt is all exposed, bouncing in front of his brother, but so gorgeous is the feel of my boy’s almost aggressive mouth sucking on my sore nipples that I can’t stop him. As first one nipple then the other grinds into his mouth I automatically start up the rhythm again. I’m acutely aware of my new audience. It’s unutterably sexy to be watched. I slide up and down his cock, showing off now. My muscles tighten each time to grab hold and keep him inside, and his cock is hardening even more with each thrust. I’m just poised to ram down onto him harder than ever when my butt cheeks are pulled apart and another male body presses up against my back. ‘Can’t let you have all the fun, bruv,’ says the voice. ‘Reckon I want a go.’ 53

‘You’ve got some catching up to do, mate. Bloody well wait your turn.’ The first boy pulls me harder down on top of him, ramming me right up inside. ‘You don’t mind me watching, do you?’ his brother murmurs in my ear, still fondling my buttocks. ‘No,’ I puff, barely able to speak. ‘Don’t mind.’ There’s something else going on here, too. I can recognize sibling rivalry when I see it, or rather sense it. It’s not that different from the ‘friendly’ rivalry between me and my mates up at the cottage. Our parlour games are never going to be the same after this. I’m dizzy now, knowing I’m being watched. Who knows? Maybe the crowd up at the cottage will be down any minute, join the audience. See me in a whole new light. I gyrate as if dancing on the boy’s pole, flinging myself wildly about. The urge for satisfaction and the loss of control starts to overwhelm me. The invisible brother is right behind me, touching me everywhere. I fall onto the rigid cock inside me and the orgasm is gathering. My moans are snatched into the sea air as I rock frantically. My boy can’t hold back and it’s spurting out of him and I’m bucking in my own orgasm. ‘Can’t let you corrupt my little brother and get away with it,’ the older brother says, pulling us apart. ‘Reckon you need teaching, too.’ He parts my legs, gets his own cock out. I try not to smile too greedily as we all lie on the sand while the tide encroaches up the beach and the seagulls wonder what the fuck these tourists are up to.

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Rackula by Landon Dixon Upon my eighteenth birthday, when I became a man in the jaundiced eyes of Romanian law, my father sat me down in the musty living room of our ancient cottage and told me the story of the Countess Sabrina Comaneci – the evil, vengeful, undead, large-breasted and downy-pussied seductress who haunted the backwoods byways of our impoverished province, hungrily supping the blood, and other bodily fluids, of virginal males. A single flickering tallow illuminated our sparsely furnished parlour, as a savage wind howled at the rotted eaves of our humble abode and twisted tree limbs clawed at the shutters as if seeking entry. ‘Her beauty is the stuff of the great artists Grigorescu and Luchian,’ my father intoned. ‘Men cannot resist her, and women detest her. It is legend that on a night many, many centuries ago, when the evening star Venus was at its zenith, the lust-crazed Countess succeeded in seducing one of her stable hands, a virginal boy of eighteen who had only that morning become betrothed to a poor peasant girl whom he had courted for years. And just as the Countess was teetering on the very edge of ecstasy, the young man’s fiancé rushed into the room, saw what was happening, and in a fit of jealous rage 55

seized a sabre from the wall and plunged it deep into the Countess, piercing her wicked heart, killing the beautiful temptress before she could attain sexual release. ‘And from that night onward, whenever the planet Venus is in its ascension, the Countess walks the earth, stalks this province’s virginal sons recently turned eighteen, seeking the ecstasy in death she was denied in life. And by taking her fiendish vengeance, temporarily satiating her unquenchable, ages-old lust, she also takes the life of the young man whom she violates. He becomes a part of her army of the damned, to be used and abused by her for all of eternity.’ I stared into my father’s watery blue eyes, at his trembling blue lips, and a cold shiver travelled the length of my spine. ‘How can I avoid such a fate, father?’ I queried, my voice breaking, my hands shaking. ‘By remaining safely indoors when Venus is the brightest star in the sky; by never setting foot outside when the Countess is on the prowl,’ he replied, grasping my hands with his bony claws. ‘Promise me this, my son!’ I earnestly promised to abide by the old man’s superstitious wishes, seeking to reassure him. ‘And where is Venus now, Father?’ I inquired. ‘In its ascension!’ he cried, staring out the dusty window at the darkening sky. I would have been wise to have heeded my father’s warning, but I was young and foolish and daring, and dubious of my father’s many tall tales and handed-down myths. More importantly, my gorgeous girlfriend, Daria, had promised me a special treat for my birthday, and what come-of-age man can resist such a titillating promise as that? So, once my father had retired to bed, was deep in his slumber, out into the windswept night I ventured. 56

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Daria and I rendezvoused at our usual spot, on the mossy green banks of a thin trickle of a cold, clear stream that flowed past an abandoned mill. The long shadows of dusk had been usurped by the inky blackness of night, and I kindled a small fire, admiring my Daria in its glow. ‘You are truly beautiful,’ I told her truthfully, my eyes roaming all over her voluptuous body, which had only recently ripened into full womanhood. She was scantily covered by a thin white summer dress and her chestnutcoloured hair cascaded long and thick over her bare, buff shoulders. Her large brown eyes reflected the dancing flames from the fire, and her pretty face shone like a princess’s. ‘Thank you, Gregor,’ she responded in a soft, shy voice, gazing bashfully into the fire for a moment, and then back up at me. ‘I told you I had a special treat for your birthday…and here it is.’ She slowly unfastened the buttons on the front of her dress, her sparkling eyes never leaving mine, and the almost-sheer garment slid down her body with barely a whisper and puddled at her feet, leaving her breathtakingly, stunningly naked! ‘Daria!’ I breathed, staring in awe at her lush, creamywhite body. Her breasts were huge and heavy-looking, round and ivory, capped by twin kitten-pink nipples that jutted out from her dewy tit-flesh fairly half an inch or more (and were growing still longer and harder in the cooling night air). Between her smooth, slim legs lay a neatly-trimmed triangle of downy, brown fur, and when she shifted her lithe legs even wider apart, I could see her pink pussy lips, glistening with moisture, anticipation. 57

‘Daria!’ I repeated, overwhelmed, rushing around the fire and into her open arms. I mashed my lips against her soft, pouty lips, her enormous tits pressing hotly against my chest, my nimble hands gripping and squeezing her plump, rounded butt cheeks. She responded with equal passion, sliding her slippery tongue into my mouth and swirling it around, the two of us fiercely frenching for what seemed for ever. When I at last broke mouth and tongue contact with the pretty peasant girl, whom I had lusted after for so many years, I began kissing and licking and biting my way down her long, slender neck, all the way down to the awesome chest that was the spectacular heritage of all of the women in her blessed family. I cupped her immense jugs in my covetous hands, revelling in the solid weight and silky, superheated texture of her burgeoning boobs, and then I bent my head down and licked at one of her rigid nipples, teasing the pebbled underside of it with my flicking tongue. She cried out with pleasure, clutched at my straw-coloured hair with her long, sharp-tipped fingers, and I took the fully-flowered nipple into my mouth and sucked on it, tugged hungrily on it. ‘God, yes, Gregor, suck my tits!’ she groaned, her amber eyes closed, her head lolling back on her shoulders, her mountainous tits and rubbery nubs quite obviously supersensitive to the touch. I suckled her swollen tit-cap like a hungry baby, and then mouthed as much of her tremendous right breast as I could. I pulled on her fleshy, fiery tit with my mouth, scoured the firm underside of it with my whipping tongue, before eventually disgorging its dripping, snowy-white mass and attacking Daria’s other breast. I licked and sucked on it as I had her other tit, and then pushed her wicked knockers together and flailed my tongue back and forth across both of 58

her stiffened buds at once, tongue-lashing her rock-hard nipples. ‘Make me come, Gregor!’ she hissed. ‘Make me come!’ I took it by this that the writhing girl with the spitslickened jugs wanted me to make love to her pussy as I’d made love to her tits, and my thoughts were confirmed when she anxiously pushed my head down. I fell to my knees and grasped her plump, trembling butt cheeks, stared at her glistening sex momentarily, breathing in the damp, musky scent of her want. Then I held my breath and plunged my nose into her springy pubes, my tongue into her slit. ‘Yes!’ she screamed, clutching her mammoth mams and savagely kneading them, twisting and pulling her rosy nipples in a frenzy. My head spun with the intoxicating smell of her sex, but I resolutely tongued her twat, dragging my rough tongue over her sticky lips from butt-hole to clitty, over and over again, lapping at her labes with an earnestness I was sure would be rewarded and reciprocated. Then I formed my thick tongue into a hardened spear and drove it deep into my girl’s cunt. ‘I’m coming!’ Daria squealed, her flame-licked, undulating body misty with perspiration, her giant jugs jouncing up and down in her small hands as she was rocked repeatedly by orgasm, as I vigorously stabbed her gash with my tongue. And when the darling girl with the lust-inducing body finally calmed down again, I withdrew my tongue from her dripping twat, licked my slimy lips, and climbed to my feet. I quickly shrugged off my suspenders and pulled down my pants, and my swollen cock sprang out into the cool evening air, twitching for attention. ‘Don’t forget to blow out my birthday candle, Daria,’ I quipped, grinning wolfishly at the lovely, nude young woman. 59

She looked down at my straining manhood, as it billowed out to its full seven inch glory, then up into my face, then over my shoulder, and suddenly her brown eyes flooded with a terror more than that of a nervous, barely legal babe about to devour her very first cock. ‘Ohmigod! Run, Gregor, run!’ she wailed, twirling around and rushing off into the bushes, leaving her clothes and my raging hard-on behind. I stood there, confused and frustrated, and then I heard a soft, rustling sound behind me, like that of a bat landing and folding its wings, and I spun around – and beheld an exquisitely beautiful woman who I instinctively knew was the Countess Sabrina Comaneci, the evil, erotic blood and soul-sucker my father had warned me about. She was small in stature, vertically, but so much, much larger horizontally, where it counted, and she was completely and utterly naked save for a black satin cape with blood-red lining that hung about her shoulders, tied at the neck. Her breasts were absolutely gargantuan, translucent, blue-veined spheres that hung heavily from her chest like ivory melons. Her face was a perfect, porcelain oval, her hair long and black, and both her face and her hair shone and shimmered in the light shed by the crackling fire, by the giant, glowing orb in the sky known as the planet Venus. The Countess spread her arms, her cape, and hissed at me, baring a pair of long, lethal-looking fangs. ‘You are ready for me, mortal!’ she shrilled, in a voice as sweet as the honeysuckle and deep as the grave, her black eyes glittering as they ogled my penis. I looked where she was looking, and was astounded to see that I was still steel-hard, in fact, amazingly, longer and harder and thicker than any time previously. The wicked lady’s uninhibited, almost tangible, lust engulfed my ready and willing body, and I felt compelled by some unknown, 60

primal force to grip the instrument of her desire (and my release), and urgently stroke it. ‘You will satisfy me tonight, and I will satisfy you for all time!’ the Countess shrieked, grasping her massive mammaries and fondling them, her demon eyes rolling back in her head and her crimson mouth falling open. And then, before I could even react, she swooped down upon me, pushed me to the ground with the strength of ten women, and mounted my upthrust stake, impaling herself on my wood. She let out a primeval scream that shattered the night for miles around, started bouncing up and down on my cock, pumping her ass, her moist, musty pussy easily swallowing up my entire granite length. She leaned forward, and her colossal tits bounced rhythmically across my face, her spike-like nipples slapping my lips as she rocked back and forth on my prong. The unearthly eroticism of that sexy she-beast rendered my mind incapable of thought, my muscles incapable of action. Some sort of resistance may have been possible, I suppose, but after the agonizing frustration with Daria, both this night and many nights before, I only too eagerly embraced the prospect of all-out relief that the Countess provided me with. An eternity of damnation be damned, I was going to get laid that night. ‘Beelzebub, yes!’ the Countess cried, as I stuck out my tongue and licked at her blood-red nipples flicking across my lips, as she plunged my super-hardened cock in and out of her gripping pussy. She kissed me on the mouth with a pair of cold, scarlet lips, but her chill breath did nothing to bank the raging fire in my loins. She savagely bit into my erect nipples, then sealed her lips around first one punctured protuberance and then the other, sucking long and hard and deeply, before 61

finally lifting her head and smacking her plasma-smeared lips. She bucked up and down on my calcified cock, faster and faster, frenziedly riding my tool, building and building her towering pleasure to a cataclysmic conclusion, whereupon her tombstone-white body rippled with orgasmic fulfilment. Her pale twin globes shimmied with ecstasy, and her jutting nubs spouted curdled milk, as she was jolted again and again by brutal orgasm. The satanic siren gushed slime out of her crimson gash, slathering my rock-hard member with her ferocious joy, and I could only lie there, dreamy-eyed and defenceless, and take it, unwilling and unable to stop the hellish carnality. The Countess tilted her face up to the heavens and howled at the planet Venus, before collapsing on top of me and whimpering like a wounded animal. The Earth literally had moved, getting ready to swallow me up. The sexy lady vampire licked her pap off my face in long, slow, satisfied tongue-strokes, then snaked her tongue into my mouth and down my throat, almost choking me with her gratitude. She gorged herself on my mouth, kissing and frenching me, licking my lips, before finally setting her sights a little lower and sliding down my sweat-slick chest to get face-to-phallus with my stiffened dong. She slithered in between my legs and grasped my glistening cock in one of her talons, began licking up and down my swollen shaft with a forked, velvet-sandpaper tongue. She slobbered all over my painfully-erect dick, swirling her wanton tongue all around my mushroomed, purple cock-top, my yawning slit, eagerly lapping up and swallowing down my oozing pre-cum. She greedily sucked my bloated hood into her slavering mouth, tugged on it for awhile, her cheeks billowing in and out, and then she 62

dropped her beautiful head down and easily inhaled the entire length of my pulsing dong. ‘Jesus!’ I groaned ironically, my body weak with her witchery, my cock strong. The whole of my meat was lodged in her devilish mouth and throat, packed hot and tight and wet. She stared up at me as I stared down at her, her ebony eyes glittering, depthless pools reflecting my own uncontrollable desire. Her tongue, incredibly, glided out of her crammed-full mouth and licked at my furry pouch, juggled my balls around, cool, damp breath steaming out of her flared nostrils and onto my rippling abdomen. Then, just as the semen in my sack was about to go to full-boil, blow up my shaft and into her mouth, she reared her head back and disgorged my slathered, supercharged cock. The Countess grinned evilly at me, her razor-sharp fangs gleaming, growing, getting ready to… Well, suffice it to say that I sprayed more than sperm that glorious night – although I did spray plenty of that. My ecstasy went on and on and on, she insatiably milking my dick with her mouth and throat, me plaintively, pushing my hips off the ground to feed my mistress’s eternal hunger, till, finally, the cold light of dawn broke, sending us scuttling for shelter. Down into a dark, dusty, centuries-old crypt we journeyed, home of the Countess Sabrina Comaneci and her many manly followers; my home.

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Educating Master Tom by Kitti Bernetti I peered out of the carriage as it rumbled its way along the rough stone road. ‘This is the beginning of Lord Harestone’s land Miss. It’ll be another five minutes till we reach the Manor.’ Exhausted though I was by this interminable journey, I studied the land. It was bleak with lumpy hills reminiscent of an old hag’s face with the odd tuft of sedge grass. The hillocks were cropped by sheep who stared as we rattled past, then went back to pulling at what nourishment the impoverished earth afforded them. Heavy drips of rainwater spilled off the sheep’s grey wool, and off the edges of the carriage window, splashing on to my cloak. Hunger, the aching cold in my bones and hours of journeying all sapped my strength. Joy entered my heart as the driver announced, ‘Here we are, Miss. Harestone Manor.’ I stepped out in front of the imposing stone house and pressed precious pennies into the driver’s hand, he’d earned them. He closed his wet glove over them and pulled at his cap. ‘Thank you, Miss. You’ll be staying here a while then, as Governess to Lord Harestone’s heir?’ 64

‘That’s right, at least a year, to complete the young master’s education.’ ‘Well, good luck to ’ee.’ The driver handed down my one small bag and I watched as he clambered up and whipped the horses into action. I stood alone. All around me, for miles in the evening half-light brooded the empty sodden heath. Behind me, Harestone Manor. Having come this far, twelve hours ride from home, I would not get away easily, should the position not work out. I shuddered at the thought of being caught in the situation if it did not suit me, but lifted my chin, determined to see it through. After nursing a husband now dead from the coughing sickness and with only few pennies in my purse after paying off his debts, I had no choice. Here was my destiny. I curled freezing fingers around the bell-pull and heard it clang inside the house, summoning a middle-aged woman. ‘You must be Miss Canning. Welcome. I am Mrs Alderly. My daughter and I keep house for Lord Harestone and the young master. Come and take off that wet cloak or you shall catch your death.’ We walked through a hallway lit by a central chandelier of candles which threw a ruddy light. Mrs Alderly showed me into a warm kitchen. ‘Come now, we’ll place your cloak across the chair to dry. You’ll be hungry after your journey. In future you will dine with his Lordship and the young master but tonight we have for you some hot soup and bread. Then I will show you your room and after that introduce you to your Masters.’ Feeling considerably revived after the steaming meal, I followed Mrs Alderly’s candle up a wide staircase decorated with green wallpaper of an ivy-leafed design. My bedroom was grander than any I had experienced, with a high fourposter bed in the centre. It felt a little odd when Mrs Alderly showed me a connecting door and opening it explained that the young master’s bedroom was attached to mine allowing 65

for constant observation by myself of his movements. For a young child this would be the norm, but my young charge, Master Tom, would be nineteen years old this summer and surely able to look after himself. I thought I had been taken on to refine his education in respect of French and Latin before he entered the Church, not to nursemaid him. Mrs Alderly left me, saying that I was expected in the front room at eight o’clock to meet Lord Harestone and Master Tom. After checking my grey woollen dress was not much affected by splashes from my journey, and neatening the hair piled on my head, I ventured downstairs. The front parlour was a comfortable room with a roaring fire in front of which stood the two gentlemen. Lord Harestone, the father, immediately struck me, so much did his presence fill the room. Over six foot tall and wide-shouldered, he blocked the heat from the fire. Pale breeches clung tightly to thighs powerful from country pursuits and I registered that he was well endowed in every way. There was a stern darkness about him. He scrutinised me appraisingly before beckoning me to him. Next to him stood Master Tom, a long-nosed pale youth utterly lacking the force and presence of his father. The callow youth smiled weakly at me whilst glancing at his father, as if fearful of his reaction. I curtsied. On my rising, his lordship traced a finger along my jaw line and raised my face to the firelight. ‘What do you think, then, boy? A good choice or not?’ Both men studied me as though I were a prize brood mare. ‘Turn around, Miss Canning and let us observe you better.’ My cheeks burnt red with embarrassment. This intrusive appraisal made me acutely conscious of my figure which was a little too rounded for a woman my age and my rough dress which was all I could afford. 66

‘She’ll do extremely well, father,’ said the boy, eyes lighting up as if he were choosing buns in the baker’s shop. I swear I even saw him lick his lips. ‘Miss Canning, you will be pleased to hear you have my son’s approval.’ I curtsied, feeling as though I had passed some sort of test. ‘Thank you, sir. I would be pleased if you would outline my duties. You explained in your letter that I am to complete Master Tom’s education. I assumed this was in the classics and languages but perhaps you could elaborate.’ Lord Harestone laughed gently as if I had made some kind of joke. ‘Ah now, Miss Canning, permit me to offer you a seat, and perhaps a small glass of Madeira?’ Lord Harestone’s delay in getting to the point troubled me. I gratefully accepted the Madeira to calm my nerves. I was acutely aware of Master Tom’s eyes constantly upon me, as if he had never seen a woman before. I was also aware as I took the seat and kept my back straight and my legs together, as befits a lady, that Lord Harestone too never took his eyes off me. They roamed from the hem of my skirt, up my legs, over my waist and bosom and down again in far too direct a manner for comfort. His gaze gave me the sensation of being uncovered; so much so that I raised my hand to my chest to ensure my buttons were securely fastened and felt there the rise and fall of my bosom. I jumped as Lord Harestone spoke again. ‘We discussed a wage in our correspondence, did we not?’ ‘Yes sir, my Lord.’ ‘I should like to treble it.’ ‘But my Lord, why?’ I gasped. I was torn between my delight at this extraordinary news and concern that my duties might be too onerous to complete. Never had I been offered such riches. 67

‘Miss Canning, I will come to the point. I have a direct nature. My ward,’ he looked over at Master Tom who sat opposite me in silence, ‘has had an expensive education. He is exceptionally bright and is in all ways ready to enter the Church. He needs no more coaching in normal subjects.’ ‘Then why –?’ I stopped, aware that I must not interrupt my employer even though I burned with curiosity. ‘Your role, Miss Canning, and one I am sure you are eminently able to fulfil, is to teach Master Tom the ways of adults. We are so isolated here that Tom has become shy, particularly around women. He knows nothing of their…more intimate ways but he wishes to learn in this, his last year of freedom. He needs to partake of the pleasures of the flesh with one whom he finds irresistible before he enters the church and is denied that pleasure for ever. Tom, I can see, is very taken with you. He admires womanly curves and soft plump skin. In fact I think I can go so far as to speak for him and say that he yearns nightly for feminine charms like yours,’ Lord Harestone looked over at his ward who nodded eagerly. ‘We will treat you extremely well, you have seen your room. Your only duties will be at night time. In the day you will be free to partake of my extensive library and live the life of a woman of leisure on an extremely good wage. Your only duty will be in educating and pleasuring this young boy. And being pleasured by him.’ I saw a glint in Lord Harestone’s eyes that made me swallow hard. Hearing his words, my eyes became rounder and rounder. I had been a married woman so was well able to fulfil this task but never had I been asked to perform such extraordinary duties nor offered such wealth. My life of late had been unbearable, living in near poverty, and an escape from it was most appealing. But having the hands of this callow, pale youth upon me, could I cope with that? I looked at the father. So much more commanding than the son, a 68

man any woman would be pleased to take into her bed, with his knowing eyes and masculine figure. Now if only he were the subject of my nightly task I would not hesitate. Lord Harestone twirled the neck of his glass in sensuous fingers, lifted it to full lips and drained the glass. ‘I can see you are thinking it over; one more thing which may sway you. My son admires fine clothes and likes to see women in them. There is a wardrobe upstairs full of outfits purchased for his ‘governess’ from the seamstresses of Paris. I think you may like to take those into account when you think over our offer. We will leave you now, Miss Canning. If in the morning you have dressed yourself in one of the fine outfits upstairs we will take that as a signal that you accept your duties. If however you are still in the grey woollen garment you stand in now, I will arrange for a coach to be called to take you back home and we will assume you do not want the post. Goodnight.’ Thus dismissed, I retired to my room shocked at the offer made to me. I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts in turmoil. In the next room, only a thin door separating us, I could hear Tom about his night time ritual. I heard him undress and the creak of the bed as he got into it. I wondered if he thought of me in my bed. I shuddered. Could I possibly allow that boy to make love to me, show him, guide him when I found him to be utterly repulsive. Like a greyhound, he was all skin and bones and angular features. And yet the money I had been offered would solve all my difficulties and allow me to start afresh. Pondering, I rose and went to the wardrobe. Inside were delectable dresses in silks and taffetas. Reds and golds sat alongside deep aquamarine and purple, the skirts a cloud of colour. I buried my face in their finery and rubbed the cool softness of the materials over my poor skin, chapped with cold, neglect and poverty. Opening a drawer, I beheld half a 69

dozen beautifully stitched corsets. I ran my hands over the boning and the laces of one which was a glorious shade of turquoise. I lifted it up and held it against myself in the mirror. It was a work of art and I knew that if I were to wear it I too would feel like the most precious object. The fact that I would be pawed by that creature next door, who gave me a feeling of sickness every time I thought of him, was something I could possibly learn to block out. I released the pins in my chestnut hair, felt it tumble heavily down my shoulders and lay myself down on the crisp cotton sheets. My mind was made up. However disagreeable I found Master Tom, I would accept my fate. At dawn, after washing myself in the bowl provided, I opened the wardrobe again. The glare of the colours was even greater in the morning light. As I again fingered the turquoise corset there was a gentle knock on my door. I gathered my nightdress about me suspicious it might be Master Tom come to gain his prize early. But it was a young girl who announced herself as Sarah, Mrs Alderly’s daughter, and offered me help as a lady’s maid in dressing. Never had I had the luxury of a lady’s maid. As she assisted me into a fine muslin shift which fell over my breasts and would protect the fine silk of the corset from the oils of my skin I began to warm to my part. I did not have to like Master Tom to teach him, but I did enjoy the feel of the corset as Sarah laced me in. A pleasant sensation of constriction, like a frighteningly tight embrace overcame me as Sarah pulled harder and harder. My breasts overflowed like velvet-skinned apricots over the tight boning and my buttocks appeared lush and full underneath the tight silk. ‘These are the latest corsets from France, ma’am, with little suspenders to hold up your stockings. Here let me help you on with these silk stockings.’ 70

The feel of the material against my ankles, then my knees and finally halfway up my thighs, delicately rolled and pushed up my legs by Sarah, made my legs tingle. I watched the girl kneeling as she clipped the stockings into their holdings after which she laced up my boots and helped me into a white muslin day dress. Never had my waist appeared so pinched and tiny and never had I been so acutely aware of my breasts pushing and straining over the top of my dress. As the corset pressed against the pubis at the bottom of my stomach I felt a sensation of desire for animal satisfaction which had never affected me before. I went down to breakfast and witnessed Master Tom’s evident admiration at my hourglass figure and delight that I was staying. I almost expected him to salivate at the mouth in anticipation of his coming night’s education. I was given the freedom of the house and, as I moved about, became aware of eyes upon me. Looking around, I caught not Master Tom, but Lord Harestone, staring blatantly at my form. I stood examining a book in his library at the time. Whether some devilment had entered me in my fine new clothes I cannot say. But, aware of his Lordship’s eyes burning into me, I reached as high as my constricting undergarments would allow, and purposefully revealed a well turned ankle in black silk. Lord Harestone stared, smiled and walked away. The evening came, dinner was done with, and feeling as though I were jumping into a pool of cold water, I announced to Master Tom that he and I should now go upstairs and begin his education. I felt very ill-disposed towards him, as if I wanted to tell the poor naive creature off for his lack of knowledge. At the top of the stairs I ordered him into his bedroom and commanded he kneel by the side of his bed and wait for me. Going into my room, I breathed deeply, feeling nauseous at the thought of his hands upon 71

me, and trying desperately to summon up the courage for my task. My beautiful skirt swished as I walked across the room and just as I was about to enter through the open connecting door, I noticed a door at the other end of Master Tom’s room. Through the narrow slit I could just make out Lord Harestone, seated, his eyes directed at his young ward. Of a sudden, a warmth spread through me and a pleasurable sensation shot up between my stockinged legs, moistness creaming my maidenhood. I had to squeeze my legs together as I walked, to stop the liquid dripping down my legs, as I imagined Lord Harestone’s eyes following me across the room. Acutely aware of his gaze, I did not give away that I knew his secret but looked down only at the kneeling Master Tom. Tom’s eyes looked up at me like a spaniel’s and I watched a flickering nerve tick at his temple. I moved around him, holding him with my gaze until I was sure I was in the best position for Lord Harestone to view our antics. ‘Lift up my skirts.’ I commanded in a harsh voice. Tom’s hands fumbled at the layers in his eagerness. My heart quickened, not at Tom’s inept touch, but at the knowledge that as my legs were being uncovered, Lord Harestone leant forward in his secret place, in order to see me better. ‘Stay kneeling. Don’t you dare do anything until I tell you,’ I barked. Tom nodded his head, petrified and bewitched as he stared at my ankles, my knees and finally the ivory whiteness of my thighs bulging out of the stockings. ‘You may kiss my thighs,’ I said. The boy held my leg as if it were a soft feathered bird and pressed his hot lips against it. Like a starving man, he slavered and sucked. I watched the top of his head as he got carried away and saw him breathe deeply, enjoying my scent. I spread my legs a little wider, tempting him in but when he moved his mouth over my labia I slapped him hard on the cheek. 72

‘How dare you presume to do anything before I tell you.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Harestone smile wickedly, enjoying my harshness. I directed my gaze at Tom but kept Lord Harestone in my sights as I leant down and kissed poor Tom, the pink marks of my hand on his cheek. ‘There, there, don’t be upset. Tell me what you’d like to do.’ His voice came so quiet I could barely hear although I knew what he said. ‘Louder,’ I demanded. ‘Speak louder boy, tell me what you want to do.’ ‘Lick you,’ came his voice. ‘Go on then.’ I ordered. Still kneeling, he moved around until his head was under my cunny and pressed his face upwards. As his pink tongue came out and the tip dipped into my juices I let out a moan of satisfaction, loud enough for Lord Harestone to hear and saw, with satisfaction, Lord Harestone’s hand move to rub the front of his britches. I held the back of Tom’s head, forcing him rhythmically up and down, pressing him into me. He slurped and pawed at my thighs, his tongue darting in and out. I used him to work around my sex again and again, riding on his face and savouring the pleasure of watching Lord Harestone’s brooding stare as his Lordship continued to rub himself. ‘Give me your finger.’ I commanded to Tom. Still sucking at me, the boy put his finger slowly towards me and gasped, as I used it to mop up the trickle down my thigh and then buried his finger deep into my waiting redness as high as it would go. I had to congratulate the boy here. Instinct made him push his finger in and out without instruction and when he felt me get comfortable on it, he pushed a second finger in, stretching me most agreeably. Still laced up tightly, I felt as if my breasts would burst out of their confines: they were becoming so swollen, the 73

nipples painful against the edge of my corset and straining against the thin muslin. I now felt uncontrollable with desire. I knew I needed a real man inside me. This simpering youth was acceptable for starters but I was so heated I felt I would go mad without proper fulfilment. The time for subtlety was over. I turned blatantly to Lord Harestone. His secret was a secret no more. I watched petrified as, still seated, he kicked the door open with his foot. Tom barely flinched so intent was he on drinking my nectar. Lord Harestone ripped open the panel on the front of his britches and displayed a jutting, magnificently veined erection. Getting up, he strode over to where I stood, and Tom knelt. Standing next to me, he pulled my hair back, and prised open my lips with his tongue, thrusting it viciously into my mouth. I kissed him back, wild with desire. With Tom still pleasuring me with his tongue, Lord Harestone moved his fingers over the muslin at my breasts and tore it away exposing my jutting bosoms topped with hard sensitive nipples. He took one feverishly in his mouth and nipped it in his teeth making me cry out with ecstasy. Once it was moist he took it between thumb and forefinger and rolled it like a cigar. Taking my other nipple, he sucked it mercilessly till it reddened and peaked. Once my breasts were fully sensitised, Lord Harestone moved around behind me, and pressed himself against me. His huge throbbing member forced up against my buttocks. He pushed me over the bed till I was bent double and commanded me to hold on to the bed rail, which I did to steady myself. His knee between my legs prised me open, spread-eagling me still wider. Tom stopped for a moment to wipe his mouth and take his fingers out of my aching cunny. Then, taking the initiative, while Lord Harestone positioned himself behind me, Tom gently fingered my fanny and gazed lasciviously at the swollen red 74

sex lips. Poking out his tongue he licked me with the whole length of it, flicking it mercilessly over my point of ecstasy. Driven to distraction, I clung on to the bedpost, my buttocks jutting upwards, the tight corset cutting into my flesh, waiting for Lord Harestone to enter me. Shockingly I felt his almighty prick drive into me as he gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging in. He pummelled me back and forth, panting like a demon possessed. Tom’s licking became more urgent as Lord Harestone drove his cock deeper. Lord Harestone moved his hands to grip my breasts, pinching the nipples between his fingers, giving me the most mindnumbing sensation of being totally and utterly dominated. With the two men gasping and pushing, sucking and thrusting, I felt my eyes flicker and my swollen sex peak into a shuddering, bursting orgasm. Just after I came, Lord Harestone gripped my hair and yelled as he pumped his load into me, his seed running down my legs. Thus began the best year of my life. Each night was a journey. Each one longer than the last. Tom proved an apt pupil, and an interested observer when my Lord and I allowed him the privilege of watching us sate our passions on each other. Tom is now a pastor at a small parish many miles from here. And me? I stayed on, for why would I not? The educator became the educated at Lord Harestone’s fine hand. And yes, dear Reader… I married him.

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Window Dressing by Anya Wassenberg Today, I’m fed up with winter, and stride boldly down the steps of my chic brownstone walk-up in new pink pumps, incongruous as they may seem under leaden grey skies. The shoes hurry down the block with their determined cheer, and me with them, past the row of brownstones to where the shops begin, the pink patent leather almost glowing against the damp pavement and the overall gloom of the day, as if everything else had somehow been drained of colour. The shops provide slightly more shelter against the cold wind. My pace slows and my eyes dart from store to store, taking in and filing away the latest specials, the tomatoes and egg bread on sale. The buildings have seen better days, their edges grimed from passing traffic, yet it’s a pleasing jumble of irregular shapes and odd store-fronts, not exactly upscale, but not down-market either. It’s an old trunk sitting on the sidewalk that catches my eye. It sits beside a set of concrete stairs that go down to a basement level store, an old metal trunk, dark blue with brass trim, and a lock that hangs a little askew, with a cardboard sign taped to it, an arrow pointing down. I slow down for a second to look closer. The concrete steps descend a bit farther, then pause at a landing where other 76

items beckon in a group: an old wooden telephone table, a vase, a milk pitcher painted bright orange. The lower-level store has been empty for some time, so of course I glance in the window, which is a half circle that rests about street level, curving up to just under my chin. Half Moon Antiques & Curiosities crawls in spindly lettering around the curve. And it’s one of those things, just circumstance; I look down just at the right moment as he’s looking up, cell phone in his hand, in mid conversation. But I can see him hesitate as he sees my pink shoes, and while I keep moving, pushing my legs forward, the lean angles of his face, the dark eyes, the platinum-tipped hair that springs in so many different directions from his head, are etched into my mind, where they brew all day at work as I make phone calls and fiddle with papers at my desk. The next morning I try to assure myself that my interest is purely in antiques, try to stop my pace from quickening as I reach the row of shops and spot the trunk sitting there on the sidewalk again. He’s setting small glass pieces in the windowsill: blue and green, orange and yellow, birds and flowers and butterflies. They catch the sunlight prettily, but I find my gaze wandering away from them. From under unruly brows, his eyes rise up to my leather boots, then higher still to my tailored leather jacket, three-quarter length. Jet black, those eyes meet mine for a split second, but then drop down again just as quickly; down and down to the lower edge of my jacket, looking for the hem of my skirt. Without thinking I move a little closer to the window as my legs open in stride. I see his tongue, licking his lips. I turn my head again, just in time to see it again, just to be sure and feel a shiver just as if that tongue had snaked higher still, up between my thighs. I’m at work, trying to answer phones and sift through papers with a warm glow between my legs. He’s invaded 77

me that easily, from behind a glass and in a basement store. It’s animal and anti-intellectual, something that pulls at me from the inside and makes me wet just to think of it. There are forms to print out here; the beige walls of my cubicle stare passively as I make my way to the end of the day, occupying myself with trivialities so most of my brain is free to run over his dark eyes, his pale face, and his tongue, over and over and over. The heat between my legs grows unbearable, and I run to the ladies’ room to stroke myself, oh so quietly, to a gushing orgasm, and still I can’t get his face out of my head. The next morning, he’s not there. It stops me in my tracks. I look down into the store and there’s a blonde woman and what I imagine to be a teenage son, they unpack boxes and arrange shelves. I hesitate a second and she sees me, smiles and I smile back, pausing as if looking over the glass pieces. Disappointment seeps in, at first in the background and I try to contain it there. I straighten, I look around, suddenly aware this very first time that there are others on the street, people on their way to work, maybe even people who live above the stores; people who glance out their windows in the morning and see me looking in here, hesitating here like a fool. I’m stung and it follows me to work, the thought hovers like smoke curling around the corners of the room. I hardly even slow down the next day, just barely, only long enough to see the back of her head – blonde – and hurry on. The day goes by in slow motion, excruciating, the minutes creeping by as they laugh at me, left feeling bereft at this, all those minutes yawning empty, sapped of any music. And what do I want, exactly? What was I hoping for – some silly movie ending, with him, a dark-eyed man –angel, 78

standing shyly one morning, offering a bouquet of flowers? But no. That’s not what I wanted at all. After a weekend of mundane chores, I set out for work with a curious mixture of apprehension and excitement roiling in my middle. I try to walk casually by, just stroll down the street looking in the shops, but have to stifle the disappointment when he’s still not there, no sign of him at all as the blonde woman greets customers and stocks shelves, not as Monday bleeds into Tuesday and the sweet flurry of hopeful excitement dissipates. Wednesday, it rains, gathering in cold grey puddles on the sidewalk. I’m looking down at my basic black shoes dodging the puddles, honestly not looking for him any more, but there, out of the corner of my eye, it’s unmistakable – his blond spikes, the back of his head. I stop abruptly, breathless in an instant, but he doesn’t see me. I’m jolted but try to reason my way out of it. I force myself to keep going. Just because he’s there… I don’t have to look or react… But all day at work, it buzzes in the background noise inside my head, the sight of those platinum spikes, the memory of his dark eyes and red tongue, no matter how much I reason against it. Coming home I start to feel my pulse quicken and my steps slow down as I turn the corner – that corner, that block – and I don’t fight it this time. He’s there. Is he looking for me, too? He comes to the window as I pass, slower, slower, he’s watching as my long jacket flies open in the damp wind. His eyes are hungry, my skirt is short. His tongue, just the end of it, wet and red, runs over his lower lip again and again, back and forth, as I walk by, slowing down. I take a long stride for a good look. His lips purse, he stares intently, then kisses his palm and blows it up to me, and it follows me all the way back home, licking its way up between my legs. I have to rush to the bathroom, leave my cat yowling 79

for dinner, stroke myself to orgasm as bath water runs, thinking of the rosy red tip of his tongue. There’s no rain in the morning, though the sidewalk is splotchy, still mostly damp. A stiff wind separates the gloomy clouds and whips the surface of the puddles into urgent patterns. We have a meeting early at work, it’s still half dark as I scurry along and none of the shops are open. During the meeting – boring, but the pastries are good, coffee decent – I’m looking out of the window as the darker clouds thin out, finally pull apart altogether to reveal satiny blue high above. And why shouldn’t there be magic present? A ghost has entered the machine, an email virus that cripples our server just as the meeting ends, leaving the office in confusion. The system down, we can take some of our ‘personal time’ and leave the office early if we like. Not gratis, understand, especially when I have only one personal day left. But I take it as an omen. And there’s magic of an older, earthier kind – fertility goddesses and phallic symbols. I feel that too. The weather cooperates, it’s dry but still cool, so I walk home with my coat on, but open, flipping here and there in the breeze. The elevator takes for ever, then the blocks seem unbearably long as I make my way back towards home, my shoes pinching in the conspiracy to slow me down. Finally, I reach the last block, covered by a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion that I only now acknowledge, huffing slightly, and approach from the opposite side of the street and yes, it’s to throw him off a bit, but more so to look into the store and, yes, it’s empty, except for him. I can’t contain the smile that tugs eagerly at the corners of my mouth as I step off the sidewalk. He’s all in black today, his face almost ghostly, hair glowing, he comes into full view as I reach about threequarters of the way across the street. His eyes take their usual trajectory, flitting up to my face, then quickly much 80

lower down, and as they watch, as I draw closer, my fingers reach for the hem of my skirt and pull it up slowly, using my nails to crawl it up little by little and reveal the laced edges of my stockings as I continue to walk. His eyes widen. I glance around – there are a few people about a block away, and only two cars even farther away – then back to him. He fingers an orange glass butterfly, fiddling with it absently, his mouth slightly open. I pull a small notepad from the pocket of my coat, I pull it out as he watches intently, and as I reach the sidewalk on his side, I toss it on to the pavement. He looks at the notepad. I look at him. I get closer, kneel to the ground to pick it up, there right in front of the window, I kneel at the same time my fingernails reach the bottom edge of my hem, pulling it up under my coat. His eyes are wide and unblinking, the notebook has landed just in front of the glass and we’re only inches apart now as I reach for it, I look like I’m reaching for it, but drop my hand between my legs, his eyes following, pulling my panties aside so he can really see me, spreading my pink petals so he can see them shiny wet inside. Wet for him. Wet for you, I whisper it to him through the glass, slipping my two fingers inside as he smiles a thin, tight smile and the rosy tongue appears, runs over his lips, back and forth. He raises his eyes to mine after a few moments. I close my legs, begin to rise again. Thank you, he mouths the words back, reaches up to touch the window with his hand. I kiss my own fingers and touch him from the other side, leaving a slight smear of my juice on the glass. Just like a movie ending, after all. Just like a goddamn movie.

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Thrill Ride by Lynn Lake I’m an amusement park aficionado. A rollercoaster rambler. A thrill rider. I’ve been to just about every theme park in the continental United States and Mexico and Canada, ridden almost every coaster and ride wooden, steel or composite fibreglass. I’ve been on more log plumes than a Quebec lumberjack, more jungle cruises than a great white hunter, and plunged down more white-water adventures and splash mountains than an Olympic kayaker. So, when I was walking away from Universal Studios Hollywood on a recent vacation/pilgrimage to Southern California park country during my third-year college summer break, I was more than a little intrigued by the dirty old man who jumped out from behind a tour bus and cried, ‘Wanna see an amusement park not on the maps?’ He had a crazy look in his eye. But not the kind you get from cheap booze. Rather, the kind you get when you’re pushing 4.2 G’s at 96 miles-per-hour in an eighty-degree freefall from the 310 foot high point on the Millennium Force rollercoaster at Cedar Point, Sandusky, Ohio. I was instantly drawn to the man. ‘You love ’em, don’tcha? You love to ride?’ he babbled, before I could even answer his first question. 82

‘M-maybe,’ I croaked. He barked laughter, squinting at my chest. ‘Those ain’t dimples doo-daddin’ your Psycho House T-shirt, honey.’ I blushed under my sunburn. I do tend to get overexcited when ‘amused’ at a theme park, emotionally and physically. The old guy bobbed his bushy head. ‘Yep, I can spot a true believer every time. Used to be a park crusader/rollercoaster rambler myself. Hell, they built Disneyland right around me back in ’55. An’ I was at Coney Island when it was an actual island, not just some punk peninsula,’ he cackled, his rheumy eyes growing wistful. ‘Wow,’ I breathed, shifting my long, bare legs around like I had to pee. ‘So, how ’bout it? You wanna see an amusement park you won’t find in any two-bit travel brochure? Ride rides and play games no tourist ain’t never rid or played?’ ‘You mean a private park?’ He glanced around at the sun-baked, car and bus-clogged parking lot, then back at my chest. He nodded. ‘Where?’ I squealed. ‘What’s it called? What types of rides, games, sideshows, and attractions do they have?’ Finding an unmarked amusement park was like riding a rainbow into a pot of gold. This dirty leprechaun beckoned me closer. I jumped forward, and he latched his greasy fingers onto my upper arm, squeezed. ‘Lolliewood,’ he breathed. I fought the urge to gag, both from excitement and the man’s breath. ‘Larry Lollie?’ ‘You know?’ ‘I’ve heard rumours.’ He nodded, rubbing his grimy hand up and down the electrified skin of my arm. ‘They’re true. Larry Lollie used to roll more travelling circuses, carnivals, and freak shows, 83

run more amusement parks, than the Ringling Brothers and the Knott Family put together. Until…’ ‘Disney came along?’ I panted. He shook his head. ‘Nah. ’Til the IRS got their hooks in him, seized all his assets.’ He hooked his own skinny arm around my waist, drawing me close, caressing my rib cage. ‘’Cept for a few hidden assets, that is – things not listed on the books, or maps.’ I gulped. If it was Larry Lollie, the rides and attractions were sure to be first-rate. ‘Wh-wh-where is it?’ The dirty old man grinned a jack-o’-lantern grin. ‘I got a map,’ he said, sliding his hand up and over my brimming breast, pressing the flesh. ‘Like them star maps, ’cept this only has the one big star.’ I bit my lip and batted my eyelashes, my blood boiling. ‘Where is it and how can I get in?’ He released my tingling breast long enough to dig a withered piece of paper and a red, plastic card out of his dilapidated workpants. He held them up, the credit cardsized card gleaming in the bright sun, gold holographic double-L lettering winking seductively at me. ‘With this here and one of these, you can find ’er and get in.’ I swallowed hard, perspiring everywhere now, pulse racing. ‘What’s-what’s it going to cost me?’ I asked, knowing full well I’d blown my last traveller’s cheque on the Jurassic Park River Adventure inside Universal Studios. He shifted the card over to his map hand and worked his other hand over my breast again, fondling, plucking at my stiffened nipple. I shivered. Maybe this was how the old guy got his thrills these days. But if it would get me into the legendary Lolliewood, then he could ride all day. I grabbed on to his shoulder, raising dust, and something that wasn’t dust – yet – in his middle third. 84

He looked at my hand and grinned. ‘You’re gonna love this place, honey. It’s…adults only.’ I grabbed on to both his shoulders and moved my face downwards, eyes closed and lips puckered. ‘Hey, what’s going on over there?’ someone yelled. A security guard, racing towards us. The dirty old man dropped my boob and his map and card and took off running, the security guard in hot pursuit. They were both dodging traffic across the freeway when I scooped up the map and the red card and dropped them into my purse. Then I skipped on over to my rented car, singing, ‘Lolliewood, Lolliewood, oh lollie-lollie-lollie Lolliewood…’ Larry Lollie’s ‘ranch’ was way out in the back of beyond, a dusty two-hour drive due north-east from Anaheim and my Doodlebug Motel, in the middle of the dry gulches and shale buttes of semi-desert country. I finally located the rocky plateau three miles west of the ‘Next Gas Stop 60 Miles’ sign as night was falling. From the highway bottom, it looked like nothing was there but volcanic rock and a few scraggly bushes. But as I drove off the asphalt and on to a dirt road, up the dusty trail that wound around the outcropping, I suddenly came upon a locked gate and a guardhouse. Three men boiled out of the guardhouse, each of them looking as big and tough as Green Berets, or Disney attorneys. They ordered me out of the car. One took my purse and went through it, confiscating my cell phone and camera, while another ran his hands all over my body, searching me. While the third scrutinized my park pass and told me I’d have to sign a waiver forfeiting all rights forever to bragging about my adventures at Lolliewood to anyone living or dead. 85

I signed the waiver, and the man cut my pass card in two. Then I was let through the gate. I drove rapidly up the dark, serpentine road then down, winding around into a heavily-treed valley. The irrigation costs alone must’ve been astronomical. Finally, I cruised into a parking lot, and another security man met my car. He gave me the once-over all over again, before gesturing towards a paved path that led into the forest of palm and pine trees. I hustled on down the bunny trail, ahead of couples who were sauntering along like this was an every-night occurrence to them. And after a dozen more twists and turns, I came at last into a clearing. And there it was. Spread out at the bottom of that lush, man-made valley, walled in by towering, barren volcanic rock. Lolliewood. In big, bold, neon-red letters burning away above a black, gold-spiked fence that encircled the entire blazing, blaring private amusement park. I felt like the mother stumbling on to the alien landing area in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I dashed into the theme park. The theme being S-E-X, in big, red-hot letters. There were carnival games galore, old favourites turned decidedly adult in nature under the glittering lights, amidst the cacophony of calliope music and a grunting and groaning soundtrack. You didn’t spray water into a clown’s mouth until the balloon broke over his head; you sprayed water between the sculpted legs of a lady until her clit popped. You didn’t ring a bell at the top of the strongman tower when you banged the bottom with a mallet; you banged the bottom with a mallet and two strobing balls shot up the pulsating, phallic-shaped tower, warm goo splashing out of the slitted top if they reached all the way. There were rides, too. Bumper cars shaped like body parts, the whole structure lighting up and vibrating and 86

letting off steam whenever anyone banged the right parts together. Spinning bra cups and penis plumes that dove into vagina-shaped pools of warm, sticky liquid. A giant, pink and red-lit rollercoaster shaped like a shapely woman lying on her side, and then her back. I rode her curves repeatedly, the acceleration from sternum to breast-top amazing, the freefall from nipple crest to pussy-bottom exhilarating. I went through all the rides at top speed, surging with glee, tingling with delight, ogling the gorgeous, unclothed carnal-carnies who were everywhere in abundance. An erotic amusement park – my two passions combined. I’d died and gone to…well, not heaven, certainly, but some place just as pleasurable. Then I came to a screeching halt in front of the House of Whorers. And things got really exciting. The southern gothic mansion was a stunning recreation of an old-fashioned bordello, three storeys high and gabled and balconied like it had been flown straight in from Bourbon Street. It was lit up in shades of blue and green and red, and throbbed with activity, well-hung and wellendowed shadow figures gyrating behind the back-lighted windows. A big-bosomed animatronic madam called out and beckoned at me from an overstuffed couch on the front porch of the house, and holographic ladies of the evening strolled the grounds and surrounding sidewalks, making with the come-ons. I watched all the action for a moment, weak in the knees and wet like after a Jaws tram ride. Then I crept bar by bar over to the front gate of the house, only to be crushed when the naked hunk standing guard said, ‘Sorry, couples only.’ I desperately looked around for an unattached man in the laughing, loving crowd of beautiful people. And couldn’t find one. I slumped against the fence like someone had just stolen my cotton candy, rubbing up against the iron. 87

I almost jumped out of my skin when someone touched me on the shoulder. ‘I was just getting something off my shorts,’ I yelped, spinning around. The man laughed. ‘And I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind being my companion for the evening?’ He was tall and thin and dark, with flashing black eyes and white teeth, dressed in a maroon-coloured silk shirt and a grey pair of pants. I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got stuck in the dry gulch of my throat. So the stranger took me by the arm and guided me past the buff doorman and inside the illicit mansion. A man and a woman – both model-perfect nude in appearance – came forward to meet us in the chandelier-lit, red velvet entrance hallway. While holographic and projection women and men in period dress and undress paraded around in the background, the sounds of their laughter and innuendo filled the perfumed air. The large-breasted flesh and blood blonde took my escort’s arm and led him away down the hall and into a room, closing the door behind them as holographic harlots tittered and pointed nearby. Then the red-haired muscleman with the amazing endowment gripped my arm and escorted me down the hall, into a room opposite the one my companion had disappeared into. It was a bedroom, red-lit and done up in campy gothic style. There were two semi-nude, see-through figures on the canopied bed, a man on top of a woman. They briefly stopped what they were doing and looked at us. ‘Always room for one more,’ the spectral john said, grinning and gesturing with his arm, before going back to his dirty business. The bed banged against the wall in rhythm to his urgent thrusting. ‘You have to be this naked for this ride,’ my guide informed me, gesturing at his body. 88

I gulped and nodded, turned my back and hastily peeled off my T-shirt, shorts, and shoes, and panties. The hungman then handed me a pair of 3D glasses with the comment, ‘Wear them when instructed’. Then he took me through another door, into a room that contained only one piece of furniture – a red foam-rubber recliner-type chair/bed, like an upraised hospital bed without the sheets. He arranged me on the recliner and then shut the door, leaving me all alone. Which is exactly when the lights went out. The bed and I started moving. Then big white letters burned briefly in front of me: ‘Meeting’. Images started flashing all around me; images of girls and guys meeting, men and women talking and laughing, some in black and white and some in colour, still and moving pictures, from olden days to modern times. ‘You’re a real swell girl,’ a holographic young man suddenly said right next to me. He was dressed up like Potsie from Happy Days, and I thought he was talking to me. But then a young woman appeared, holding his hands and saying, ‘I think you’re real neato, too, Ralph.’ I cruised further along, and the big white letters flashed, ‘Making-Out’. And the kaleidoscope of images changed to men and women holding hands, hugging, pecking each other on the cheeks. Then tentatively kissing, deep-kissing, frenching. A sensual soundtrack of lip-smacking and wetslurping accompanied the sexy imagery. And the bed grew warmer, matching myself. Full-size holographic figures popped up ahead and alongside me, entwining and kissing. And then a giant pair of burning red lips appeared; appeared to be bearing down right on top of me. I felt someone actually kiss me – on the lips. Again, and again, setting my mouth on fire. 89

I just lay there/sat there and took it, took it all in, gripping the heated foam rubber and trembling, the wet, burning sensation on my lips and between my legs radiating all through me. And then the petting began. Images cascaded all around of men stroking women, women stroking men, intimately caressing one another in a roiling sea of flesh. The bed itself seemed to pulse with electricity, setting my skin ablaze. Glowing, orange hands reached out and touched me, stroked me, the sounds of passion escalating in intensity, drowning out my plaintive whimpering. The large pair of hands settled on my breasts, cupping and squeezing. I moaned, as the orange fingers slid up my shimmering boobs and over my achingly-hard nipples, lightly and exquisitely pinching and rolling them, as holographic and digital naked men and women were being felt up all around me. Then the hands and imagery disappeared, leaving me bursting with unfulfilled need. I moved forward, on to the next stage: ‘Mating’. The big white letters added, ‘Please Put Your Glasses On’. I fumbled the forgotten 3D glasses over my eyes and the blurry images that had started up again popped right out into my face. Giant cocks and tits and pussies, swollen hoods and nipples and lips, veiny pink shafts rising up and towering, cherry-red nipples flowering, directly in front of me. I lifted my hands and tried to grab on to a cock, opened my mouth and tried to take in a nipple. But couldn’t. Genitalia of all shapes and sizes throbbed away only inches away from me, thrusting at me. Until the 3D body parts morphed into 3D people, men grunting and pumping away at groaning women, so close I could almost rub their shining bodies and stick my tongue into their open mouths. 90

Their heated cries of passion pounded my ears, the sensory overload setting my head to spinning. And then the 3D went 4D again, the bed undulating, vibrating, a glowing green hand appearing between my legs and rubbing my dripping pussy. ‘Oooh,’ I moaned, arching off the bed, the neon fingers sinking inside me. Glowing hands fondled my breasts, glowing lips kissing me, enveloping my rigid nipples in wetness and warmth and sucking, fingers pumping my pussy. Shivers of joy shot all through me, as I got frenched and felt up and finger-fucked, as beautiful men and women made mad love all around me. The bed started moving again, the hands, fingers, and lips and the imagery disappearing, leaving me hanging precariously on the slippery edge of ecstasy. My breasts heaved wet and yearning, my pussy burning achingly empty. And there, in answer to my wicked prayers, stood my missing companion who’d helped me get into the house of pleasure, shining naked in a blazing white spotlight dead ahead. He was waiting for me, large cock pointing straight at my pussy and growing closer. I tossed my glasses aside and the bed split open, opening my legs up along with it. I floated right up to the dark-haired stranger, wide open and more-than-willing. His condom-encased erection kissed my slickened petals, and he grasped my waist and slid effortlessly inside, the two of us becoming one. The symphony of sensuality swelled to a climax, fireworks exploding all around us. He flung his hips back and forth, fucking me, filling me, thrilling me like even no rollercoaster ride can, sending me sailing into sexual freefall. ‘Yes!’ I shrieked, digging my fingernails into his arms and exploding with joy, a hot tidal-wave of orgasm surging through my burning body. 91

He grabbed my shuddering breasts and crushed them in his hands, pumping me in a frenzy, stoking my inferno, pulsing his own white-hot orgasm deep inside of me. I tracked the dirty old man down two days later. He was loitering behind a garbage bin in back of Six Flags Magic Mountain. I just had to thank him, and ask him something. ‘Enjoyed yourself, eh?’ he grimaced, lunging at me. I let him catch me, hold on. ‘Is there any chance you could get more of those passes?’ I pleaded. He leered up at me. ‘Mebbe. For a real pretty thrillseeker like yourself.’ ‘Where do you get them, anyway? I don’t mind waiting in line.’ He laughed. ‘You don’t get them, honey, they get you.’ He stuck a grubby hand in my face. ‘Name’s Larry Lollie. You interested in a summer job, by any chance?’

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The Sex Therapist by Dee Dawning ‘I don’t believe it. Gary, I haven’t seen you since you left our little grind joint for Caesar’s. What’s it been, six months? C’mon in but first give me a big hug and a kiss.’ After hugging and kissing, Gary introduces me to his friend. ‘Loretta this is my very good friend, Bobby.’ Bobby took my offered hand and said, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Loretta. Gary has told me so many good things about you.’ ‘Glad to meet you Bobby. Any friend of Gary’s is always welcome here. Both of you have a seat. Let me get something to drink.’ As I headed toward the kitchen, I paused to ask, ‘What’ll you guys have?’ ‘I’ll have a beer.’ ‘Bobby?’ ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ ‘No, you’re not. Tell you what. I’m going to open a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?’ ‘Sure. Why not?’ *

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Loretta headed into the kitchen of her small apartment. I watched her go. At 5' 8'', she seemed tall. At least taller than I was used to at the ripe old age of twenty-two. She had a cute face but her skin was dappled and weathered. She had large blue eyes, a turned up pug nose and full lips. She had on shorts and a halter. She had nicely shaped legs but there were patches of surface veining from being on her feet so much. She did have a shapely posterior but there wasn’t much definition at her waist. I determined she must be in her mid to late thirties. In other words she wasn’t bad but I initially thought she looked used. That was my first impression of the woman that came to wield more influence on me than any woman and helped me develop into the man I am today. I headed toward the kitchen. ‘Can I open the bottle for you?’ ‘Thanks Bobby, but I wouldn’t be much of a cocktail waitress if I couldn’t open a bottle of Beaujolais,’ she said, peeking around the corner from the kitchen. ‘So tell me what good things has Gar told you about me,’ she added with a salacious wink. ‘He said you were smart and could help m–’ Gary interrupted, ‘I said you were nice and friendly. I told him you really know human nature and might be able to help him with his problem.’ I felt myself reddening. ‘Gary, Please! This is embarrassing enough!’ ‘Do you want help or not?’ I nodded. ‘Do you want to tell her or me to tell her?’ ‘No, go ahead.’ Loretta smiled and said, ‘Alright already. Someone tell me the big secret. 94

‘Okay, Bobby was married to his college sweetheart for about sixteen months and then she took off and moved in with a guy. I added, ‘I was very hurt for a while but now I’m over it. With Gary’s help I hope to get back in circulation.’ ‘Trouble is Bobby is a little backward when it comes to women,’ added Gary, ‘Mary leaving him and moving in with her tennis instructor really shattered his confidence, so I was hoping you could help him. You know, teach him how to act around women, what to say to them, how to make them laugh and how to seduce them.’ I was surprised. Bobby was a handsome, personable young man. Surely he couldn’t have that much trouble finding companionship? I decided I liked Bobby and would try to help him. ‘What makes you think I can help him?’ ‘I don’t know. I just have a feeling. You’re friendly, jovial, have a great personality and you said yourself that you know a lot about foreplay and sex.’ I looked at Bobby. ‘Let me ask you a question, Bobby? Are you a good lover?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘What I mean, dear Bobby, is, do you consider yourself a good FUCK!’ Bobby turned bright red. I laughed, ‘Boy, you are a shy one, aren’t you? I’ve got an idea. Did the two of you come together?’ Bobby answered, ‘Yes, I left my car at Gary’s.’ ‘Gary, Bobby and I are going to get into some personal matters. Would you be a dear and leave Bobby here tonight and pick him up in the morning? That is if it’s all right with you, Bobby?’ Bobby turned even redder. ‘Ah…yes…I suppose so.’ 95

Gary came over and hugged Bobby. ‘You listen to Loretta. She’ll get you straightened out.’ Then he hugged me and whispered in my ear. ‘He may not tell you this because it embarrasses him. Bobby has trouble getting and staying hard. He needs his confidence restored, if you know what I mean.’ Gary pulled away and said, ‘Take good care of my friend.’ ‘You can count on it.’ I replied and winked. Gary walked to the door and waved to Bobby. Bobby waved back and Gary stepped through the door. I closed the door behind him and threw the deadbolt. Bobby was all mine! Loretta came up to me and said, ‘Bobby there are two ways we can approach this, platonically or intimately.’ I felt myself flush again. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I can be your helpful big sister or your sex therapist.’ My face must have registered confusion, because she continued. ‘To put it bluntly, we can talk or we can fuck and talk.’ I flushed again but this time I felt a stirring in my groin. For the first time I began to look upon Loretta as a potential sex partner and it excited me. ‘Which do you prefer?’ Loretta continued. ‘Can we sit on the couch and see where it leads?’ Why was I fighting it? She took my hand and I felt a sensation that ran all the way to my penis. She led me to the couch and set me down before sitting next to me. She put her hand on my thigh, sending another shock to my genitals. ‘So tell me, Bobby. What exactly are your goals?’ ‘I want to go back to school and be a –’ She laughed. She had nice laugh. 96

‘No silly!’ she said interrupting me. ‘What is your goal here – with me. Do you want to be a player, a sexual predator, or get enough confidence and presence to find a girl and settle down again?’ ‘I suppose I’d like to be a player until I can find someone special.’ ‘Good. Let me ask you this. Your ex-wife left you for another man, right?’ ‘Yes, except we’re still married.’ ‘Alright, your wife’s cheating on you and it hurts like hell, doesn’t it? I wondered where she was going. ‘Yes. Why are you bringing this up?’ ‘Two reasons. First, if you become a player and then find that special someone, could you stop being a player and be true to that girl?’ ‘Oh yeah. That’s the way I am at heart. What’s the second thing?’ ‘The second thing depends.’ ‘Depends on what?’ ‘If you find me attractive?’ She moved her hand halfway up my thigh, within inches of my growing phallus. I could barely breathe. ‘What difference would it make if I found you attractive.’ ‘We have to work on your naivety. Do you find me attractive?’ ‘Yes, yes.’ ‘Then I’d like you to take your hurt out on me.’ Loretta suddenly left the couch and got on her knees in front of me. She undid my belt, unzipped my jeans and pulled my hard-on out from my briefs. *

* 97

*

I thought Bobby would faint as I pulled his cock out from his pants; he was so uptight. Not bad-looking though. Tall and thin, wiry actually, with a boyish grin and a wave of blond hair falling just over his baby blues. This was like seducing a teen. I kept reminding myself that Bobby was a grown-up, even though I was almost twice his age. His cock was average in size and appearance, standing straight up, awaiting the application of a warm, moist oral cavity. I love sucking cocks. I would never tell Bobby but I must have sucked a couple of hundred. Hey, practice makes perfect! There’s something about having a man’s sex filling up my mouth that drives me crazy. I don’t even mind the semen. In fact Bobby is so clean and sexy, I just might swallow his load. I wrapped my right hand around the base of his six-inch tool and took the rest of him in my mouth. Bobby jerked around spasmodically while I applied all the sexual wiles I had accumulated in my thirty-seven years. Rotating my hand back and forth upon his staff, my other hand cupped his gonads and squeezed. My tongue flitted over the sensitive underside of his cock. That’s what I loved about sucking cocks – Bobby was out of control and I, as long as my mouth held his cock, was fully in control. I couldn’t believe it. Loretta freed my erect penis from the confines of my jeans. Held it in her hand, stroked it a couple times, stopped, stared at it, smiled and then swallowed it. I don’t remember much after that. Mary and I had tried this a few times and it felt good, but it was amateur hour compared to what Loretta was doing. She was doing all kinds of nasty things. It was divine. I never knew oral sex could be so heavenly. That’s when I decided to learn 98

everything this woman could teach me. I wanted to be her star pupil. I wanted to give like this as well as receive. ‘Oh Loretta! You are so fucking good please don’t stop. I feel wonderful. Ow ahhh. That’s it swallow my cock.’ I grabbed Loretta’s somewhat messy, blonde hair. I placed both of my hands upon her head above her ears, directing her mouth’s up and down motion. Then I began to raise my cock up in rhythm to meet her downward oral thrusts. Then it began. The wonderful, tingly sensation that inexorably built up signalling the beginning of a massive orgasm. ‘Ohhh oh! I’m gonna cum,’ he warned her. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, she sucked me even harder, even as my cock ejaculated into her mouth. With his cock still in my mouth, I looked up at my young plaything. He was trembling but he had a beatific appearance on his adorable face. He saw me looking and smiled. He still held my head in his hands and lifted it and me up. He brought my lips to his lips. Despite the fact that I had just swallowed his cum, he kissed me. ‘That was like a slice of heaven. I want you to see stars like I did. Take me into your bedroom and teach me.’ I grasped Bobby’s hand and led him into my boudoir. My bedroom is very feminine and sexy. Bobby’s eyes grew wide when I flipped the light switch. Holding my hand, Loretta led me into her bedroom. I was a step behind her, so I was able to admire her shapely ass. I was picturing it naked when she turned the light on in her bedroom. The room was large, inviting, frilly and very sexy. Decorated in warm yellows and peaches, there was the occasional red or pink accent. The white-washed furniture appeared to be antique and contained a plethora of knickknacks and trinkets. Several tasteful paintings of nude 99

women dotted the walls, except for the far wall, which held a ballet bar and was fully mirrored. The king-sized bed jutted out from the wall to my right. The ceiling above the bed and the headboard were mirrored and a sign above the headboard trumpeted what was about to happen: This is where I sleep and if I’m lucky – FUCK! ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘I think it looks like a fun place to sleep…and FUCK!’ ‘Now you’re getting into the spirit.’ Loretta went to her closet and grabbed a garment. She walked over to me and gave me peck on the lips. ‘Since you just climaxed, we’ll take it slow.’ She handed me the garment – a blue satin robe. ‘Here, put this on. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Loretta gathered something out of her dresser and glided into the bathroom. I took off my clothes and slipped into Loretta’s robe. Anticipation was stimulating my libido. By the time Loretta emerged from her bathroom I was semierect. Seeing Loretta completed my erection. She was wearing black nylons, a black garter belt, with no panties and a non-functional black bra that was designed to show off the breasts rather than support them. And show them off it did. Loretta possessed a fine set of C-cup knockers with sexy raised pink nipples. The garments acted as an enhancement to her nakedness. All the best bits were exposed, but tantalisingly hidden with bits of lacy cloth. I came out of the bathroom practically naked. I had hoped to get him excited enough to make love. Two reasons: I thought that would get his mind off of his cheating wife and I wanted his hot cock inside me. Unfortunately the expression upon his face resembled more a lamb going to slaughter, than a man being led to sexual bliss. 100

I sauntered up to him and started to make a comment about the robe but he precluded that by taking me in his arms and kissing me. His tongue entered my mouth, sought out and found mine. He went through the motions but because of inexperience or other reasons he wasn’t a very good kisser. Something I need to tutor. I did notice something positive though. A stiff bulge was trying to penetrate my belly button. I reached down and grabbed his erection. ‘My, my. It didn’t take you long to get rejuvenated, did it?’ He smiled that shy little boy smile. God I loved that smile. It’s too bad my goal was to trade that innocent smile for one of cocky self-assurance. But, at least for the time being, he was my innocent little hunk. As I stroked his cock I told him, ‘Suck on my tits, Bobby. Good. Put your hand under it. Move your tongue around the nipple. That’s it. Now, do that with your hand on my other nipple. Good, I like that. Nibble on it, but not too hard. That’s it. Now suck on the other one. Ohhh, that’s good. Bobby?’ ‘Yes?’ Pulling him toward the bed, I said, ‘I’m ready for you to bury it inside me now.’ I laid on the bed and spread my legs. I pulled him down and opened his robe. He shrugged the robe off and it fluttered to the floor. Still holding his cock I placed a condom, which I had tucked away, on his staff and said, ‘I want you to make me lucky.’ He looked confused, so I used my free hand and pointed over the headboard. ‘My sign, remember?’ Recollection flashed in his eyes as I inserted him into my warm wet pussy. He wasn’t bad. He had good movement and a varied technique. As he fucked me he began sucking on my tits once more. My hands were on his fine tight ass urging him 101

in and out. I said to Bobby, ‘Honey, if it’s all right with you, we’ll spend a lot of time together and I will teach you to be a great lover and seducer, but would you mind if I just enjoy your stiff cock inside me tonight?’ Bobby didn’t answer. His response was to smile and double the pace of his thrusts. Ooooh! He was good! ‘That’s it baby fuck me hard. Ummm. Fuck my brains out. Give me every inch of your cock. Ooooh, ahhh! Give it all to me, don’t save any of it. Fuck – fuck – fuck! Can you reach my tits? Fondle my tits, tickle my nipples. Suck on them. That’s it lover. Run your tongue around them but don’t stop giving me your hard cock. You’re a fantastic lover. Oooh, yeah! Take your hurt out on my pussy with your vicious weapon.’ ‘That’s it. Feels good doesn’t it? Now roll me over. I want to be on top.’ After rolling over, I straddled Bobby. ‘I want you to watch me fucking you! Look beside and above us in the mirror. Watch us fuck. Pretend that Mary is watching us fuck. I want to make you forget that cheating bitch.’ I began riding Bobby like he was a saddle, gnashing my entire vulva into his pubis as his pretty penis was buried to the hilt inside me. Soon, I reached my own Sexual Joy with a seizure-like display that made Bobby come once more. I thought, Bobby isn’t going to need much help when it comes to fucking. I hope I can rejuvenate him again. If so, this is going to be a long night. I’ll have remember to send my friend Gary a thank you note.

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The Maid by Eva Hore We, that is my boyfriend Marcus and I, were in the middle of making love when I heard my husband John’s car pull up in the driveway. He was home way too early and I assumed he must have forgotten something. Annoyed, we quickly scooped up our clothes and hid in my walk-in-wardrobe. ‘Fuck,’ Marcus said. ‘What’s he doing home?’ ‘Shh,’ I whispered. ‘He can’t hear us from up here,’ he whispered back, his hands groping at my breasts. ‘Don’t,’ I giggled, peering back into the bedroom. The bed was still a mess but I didn’t think John would be coming up there anyway so it didn’t really matter. Marcus, friskier than normal, wanted to continue what we’d started, on the floor of the wardrobe; me I wanted to wait until I heard John’s car pulling out of the drive before starting up again. ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling me over him so I straddled his waist. ‘I need to fuck you, baby.’ Never able to resist him, I positioned myself over him and slid down his thick, hard shaft, filling me up like no other man has ever done. He pulled at my breasts, squeezing the nipples so hard I nearly yelped in pain. 103

‘Not so hard,’ I said, leaning over to kiss his sexy mouth as he pouted back at me. ‘Hmm, you love it,’ he chuckled. Leaning over like that was hitting the right spot. He pumped upwards, thrusting his cock up further as I slammed back down on him. ‘Oh yeah,’ I whispered, enjoying it even more now that I knew John was in the house. ‘Harder baby, harder.’ I was peaking, perspiration dripping from me, as I ground myself down on his cock. You can imagine my surprise when I heard laughter on the stairs and John’s voice bellowing up them. ‘Are you sure no one saw you hiding out near the back door?’ I froze for a second before jumping up to find my robe. ‘No,’ the voice giggled. It was Mary, our maid. ‘I didn’t see Sheila leave, I must have missed her.’ They fell through the open bedroom door, ripping off each other’s clothing. I was outraged. How dare she! I trusted her. I peeked through the crack again, amazed that this had been going on under my very nose and I never knew. Marcus opened the door a crack further. ‘Check out her tits. They’re massive,’ he whispered. I bristled. How dare he perv on her. They had fallen onto the bed, both naked. John’s hairy arse winked at me while he nuzzled between her luscious thighs. He went down on her as though starved, smothering himself, his hands groping her heaving breasts. ‘Oh John,’ she moaned, holding his head. ‘Oh yeah, that’s great. Oh yeah baby.’ Marcus was glued to the crack; probably wishing he was closer to her crack than hiding in here with me. He grabbed 104

at me, obviously very aroused by the spectacle we were watching. ‘I need to fuck you baby,’ John moaned, climbing up Mary’s body. At this angle we could see her pussy, all wet and glistening from John’s workout. He was kneeling over her, his ugly balls sagging as he positioned himself. No wonder I found him so unattractive. His skinny arse pumped like crazy and in a few seconds he’d already come. Mary sighed as though happy. ‘Oh that was so good,’ she breathed. Bullshit! I knew what it was like to have John fuck you and believe me there was nothing spectacular about it. Marcus was probing his cock into the crack of my arse. I wiggled away from him, annoyed that our session had been interrupted and I had to witness my husband’s infidelity. How was I supposed to go back to my bed when they’d just made love in it? I tried to push Marcus away from me, but he held on tight. I knew he was hornier than normal, I mean looking at Mary’s pussy had even turned me on and I was straight. He grabbed at my breasts while his cock probed down further. Finding my still wet pussy he slid in easily. ‘I think you enjoyed watching them,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I spat back, not wanting him to know that the sight of Mary, now reclining on my bed while John was getting dressed, was turning me on even more than I realised. ‘Open your legs for me, sweetheart?’ John asked her. She lay there, her black hair fanned out around her like a shawl against my white bed sheets, opening and closing her legs, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘Come on, don’t tease me like that,’ John pleaded. 105

She had her knees bent up and now dropped them, her pussy gaping wide open. Marcus began to pump into me harder, obviously enjoying what he was watching. ‘Play with yourself,’ John begged. She slid her fingers around her wet lips, up and down her slit, with her sexy mouth pouting ohs and ahs the whole time. John was sitting on my love seat, his eyes riveted to her pussy. She pulled back the hood, exposing her clit and began to rub. ‘Oh,’ she moaned. ‘I’m so wet from you. Look how wet my pussy is, see how much I love you,’ she breathed. ‘Rub your clit faster,’ he whispered. ‘Make yourself come.’ She ran her tongue along her top lip, while Marcus grabbed my breasts, squeezing them hard, pulling at my nipples. My own hand stole down to find my clit and while he was fucking me I rubbed my engorged nub. She was arching her back, her breasts jutting upwards, while she rubbed madly. ‘Oh yeah, you like to watch me baby?’ she asked. ‘You know I do,’ he said, rubbing himself absentmindedly. ‘Oh yeah, look at my titties, my nipples are all hard just thinking about you,’ she giggled. Thinking about his money was more like it, I thought. Marcus picked up the tempo and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he came. Mary was on the verge of coming herself when I heard a mobile phone ring. I tensed, praying it wasn’t mine. I’d left my bag on the other side of the bed. I froze, holding my breath. Fortunately, it was John’s. ‘Yes, I’ll be right there,’ he snapped. ‘It’s the hospital,’ he said. ‘There’s an emergency. I’m sorry, darling, but I have to go.’ ‘Oh, not again,’ she moaned. ‘I was nearly there.’ 106

‘You stay here sweetheart, just relax, do what you want. Sheila won’t be home until late. Take your time, have a bubble bath, I know how much you like them.’ ‘But it’s not the same without you,’ she complained. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise,’ he said. ‘In a couple of weeks, there’s a conference in Miami. Tell Sheila you’ve got a family emergency and you need the time off. Come with me? Please?’ ‘I don’t know. I’ll be stuck in a hotel room all day like the time you took me to New York. That was no fun for me, believe me,’ she pouted. ‘I’ll give you some money and you can go shopping. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ he asked. The bitch! How long had this been going on? That trip to New York was eighteen months ago. Marcus had pushed me to my knees and was motioning for me to suck his cock. I was angry, really angry. How dare they! How dare he! He was my husband. How could I have not known? ‘Give my pussy a little lick,’ she purred. ‘Of course,’ he said, falling on her. I was having trouble watching as Marcus was holding my head, his arm blocking my view. I wished they’d hurry up and go. I needed to get out of this wardrobe and vent some of my anger. I pushed Marcus away, and stood there, arms folded, letting him know I wasn’t happy. Meanwhile, John gave her a quick licking and flew out of the door. She lay there, in my bed, as though it was her own, rolling among my satin sheets, sliding around, her beautiful hair following her as she went. ‘What are we going to do?’ Marcus whispered. ‘We’re going to wait until she goes, now be quiet,’ I whispered back. 107

I watched her, her gorgeous plump arse staring at me. She had a beautiful body and the more I looked the more I wanted to lie there beside her, to stroke her and have her stroke me. As though sensing how I was feeling, Marcus whispered in my ear. ‘Why don’t we go in and surprise her?’ he said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘She’ll tell John.’ ‘Tell John what? That we were fucking before they came in and nearly caught us. I don’t think so. Come on, you can threaten to fire her if she doesn’t do what you want.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘Come on. I know you’re a sexy woman and seeing another couple make love like that would turn anyone on. We could use her as our sex slave. Make her do what we both want. It would be a real turn on, don’t you think?’ ‘No, I don’t think it would,’ I said, bristling. Part of me did want it but the other part didn’t. There was no denying that I’d give anything to have her mouth on me, her tongue licking my pussy, her mouth sucking my tits. I’d love to taste her pussy too, but not after John had been fucking her. While we were talking she left the room and had disappeared into the ensuite. I could hear the water running. We could do one of two things, either quickly get dressed and leave or perhaps I could catch her in the bath. Catching her in the bath appealed to me. I’d make her beg for my forgiveness. I’d allow her to promise me anything just to keep her job. Yes, that’s what I’d do. Marcus and I quickly got dressed and I told him to wait until he heard me coughing before coming back upstairs. He snuck out of the room, eager for this to play out to his advantage. Meanwhile I tried to compose myself before opening the ensuite door. 108

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I demanded, feigning outrage. She turned to see me standing there. Shocked, her hair piled up on her head, she looked absolutely gorgeous, as her big eyes stared worriedly at me. Wispy pieces had fallen down over her luscious breasts, which were half submerged under bubbles. I could barely tear my eyes away. ‘Oh, I’m sorry…I…er…um,’ she stuttered. What could she possibly say? ‘Get out of my bath at once,’ I demanded. She stood, water cascading down her amazing body. I’d never been so turned on in my life. What should I do now? I wanted her in the bath with me, to wash, caress and hold me. She grabbed a towel and tried to hurry from the room. ‘Not so quickly,’ I said, slowly dropping my clothes onto the floor. She stood there staring, rigid like a statue. ‘I’ve always wanted a full body wash and massage. I think under the circumstances you’ll be happy to help me out with that now, wouldn’t you, Mary?’ ‘Yes, Miss, I’d be happy to,’ she stumbled, clearly surprised at this turn of events. I lowered myself into the spa and beckoned her over. As quick as a flash she was in there with me, washing my body, careful not to touch any private areas. But that’s not what I wanted. I wanted her to squirm, to beg me to keep her on, to beg me to allow her to do anything I desired. ‘Can I wash your breasts?’ she asked, clearly realising that this was more than just some help bathing. Good. I wanted her to work hard at pleasing me before I let Marcus join this party. ‘Yes, you can,’ I said. God, it was heavenly. Her soft fingers kneaded my flesh, washing soapy hands over me, lingering on my nipples until 109

they stood out on their own, a clear indication I was enjoying this on a sexual level. Her beautiful brown eyes stared at me, before her long black lashes looked down at my heaving breasts. Slowly she moved closer and I made no attempt to stop her. I watched mesmerised as her soft lips descended upon me to lick and tantalise my nipple before sucking as much of my breast into her gorgeous mouth as she could. My head fell back against the pillow that was cushioned there and I let out a wonderful sigh of enjoyment. Her hand moved down between my legs and she parted them so she could move in between them. What bliss. With my eyes closed I felt her fingers searching until she located my clit. She pinched at it lightly before entering me. With the warm water lapping at my body I slipped into a dreamlike trance. Her mouth and fingers were bringing me to an emotion I’d never felt before and, as I opened my mouth to moan, a hard cock was thrust into it. Marcus, the cheeky bugger, he just couldn’t wait. He was spoiling everything. There was nothing I could say with my mouth full of cock, so I grabbed at his shaft and dragged him by his cock, forcing him to fall into the spa. Mary just looked at the two of us in surprise. ‘Are the two of you are having an affair?’ she spluttered. ‘That’s none of your business,’ I said. ‘No miss,’ she replied, her eyes downcast. ‘So what are you doing in Sheila’s bath?’ Marcus asked her. ‘I caught her soaking in it when I came home,’ I told him. I watched her to see if she would go along with what I’d planned. I knew she was having an affair with John but she didn’t know that I knew. I also saw how her eyes latched on to Marcus’s massive cock. After having sex with John she 110

was probably keen to have a real man. A young, strong man with a hard cock. ‘You want to keep your job, Mary?’ I asked. ‘Oh yes, mam,’ she said. ‘Then you are to do everything that I ask of you and in return I won’t mention to my husband how you overstepped your position. Is that clear?’ ‘Yes,’ she said smiling as Marcus moved beside me and began stroking my breast. ‘You can begin by finishing my bathing and then I’ll let you know what else I’d like.’ ‘Of course,’ she said, eager to comply with my wishes. She returned to my body, her hands caressing me as she soaped me once again. Marcus lifted a breast out of the sudsy water, blew the bubbles that had gathered away from my nipple and lowered his mouth to it, sucking on it gently while eyeing her reaction. She showed none. I smiled at him. Yes, this would work out perfectly. I gasped as her fingers slid among my folds, gently lingering over my clit, while Marcus’s hand joined hers and they both paid attention to my pussy. This was wonderful. I loved being in control, giving orders. My hand stole down to Marcus’s cock and I ran it up and down his shaft, squeezing it hard, showing him how turned on I was. I wanted to guide him into my pussy, have him fuck me there in the spa, and why not, I was the one calling the shots. And that’s exactly what I did do. I lifted my arms to rest on the edge of the spa, my breasts floating on top of the water, while Marcus moved Mary aside, grabbed my thighs and pulled them apart. In one quick movement he was inside 111

me, his cock allowing water to penetrate me as he began to pump rhythmically. Mary just watched on, her eyes wide, sparkling with mischief. ‘You can get out now. Dry yourself and bring us some clean towels,’ I said, wrapping my legs around Marcus’s back, lifting myself up so he could suck on my tit. We both watched her rise, with water dripping from her beautiful body. I whispered in his ear. ‘Take it easy baby. We’ve got all afternoon.’ Later, after a wonderful massage, I lay back on my bed where she’d been not an hour earlier. I opened my legs while Marcus lay beside me. ‘Lick me,’ I demanded. She did. Her tongue was amazing. So different from a man’s. It was soft yet hard. Thick when she lapped at me, yet thin when she honed in on my clit. Why had I never done this before? Marcus was focusing all his attention on my breasts but I saw how his eyes flickered all over her body. I knew what he wanted, so I obliged him. ‘Get down there and lick her from behind,’ I said. ‘Nuzzle into her pussy while she’s doing mine.’ I laughed as he scurried down there and watched as he lifted her beautiful arse up by the hips so her knees were just on the edge of the bed. He knocked them apart and as his tongue touched her she smothered herself into me, licking like a woman possessed, nibbling on my clit until I came in her mouth. I was so turned on I couldn’t wait any longer for Marcus’s cock. ‘Quickly,’ I demanded, ‘get over here and fuck me.’ Pushing Mary aside he clambered up my body and sunk himself deep inside me. Mary’s hands were all over my 112

breasts and I pulled her closer to me so I could kiss her mouth, taste myself on her. I’ve never been so turned on in my life, with her tongue and Marcus’s cock deep inside me I came again and again. We spent the whole afternoon making love. By the time the two of them left I was exhausted. I showered quickly and then lay back in bed to rest and plan my next erotic adventure and, boy, did I have fun thinking about it. Good help was hard to find and I had no intentions of every letting Mary go. With her not knowing that I knew about her relationship with John, I had the upper hand. She’d certainly not tell him about Marcus, he’d have no use for her if we divorced and he became single. This way we all received the best of our maid’s services.

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Small Expectations by Phoebe Grafton Life was always going to be difficult. The fact that I started it by being called Pick did me no favours at all. Faced with the prospect of having to name a sixth son, my parents were at a loss to choose. They took this indecision to the christening. When asked during the ceremony to give my name, they left the choice to the vicar. In unison they said ‘Pick’. Thus I became known. Sadly both parents, as well as all my brothers, succumbed at an early age. As if the disadvantages of being an orphan were not enough, I soon learned that an additional problem presented itself. It might have had something to do with being the last of a long line of sons. The sad fact was that I was not generously endowed in a place where I could have expected a growing asset in later years. In fact I was hardly endowed at all. It was a matter that did not escape the attention of my school friends. I soon acquired the derogatory title of ‘Pick –Pick the Puny Prick’ amongst the boys. Even the girls giggled, although at that early stage in my life I’d not presented them with anything to giggle about. 114

That came later. If my austere life with my elder sister and her husband offered little save bed and board, at least it was untroubled. We were simple folk. My sister’s husband, Joe Forgery, was a man of rude health and easy nature. Sadly this was not matched by his wife, a woman of sallow complexion and sour disposition. Sisterly love came not easily to my nearest relative. Indeed she berated me continually for slovenliness and laziness, and just about every other sin she could lay a sharp tongue to. With Joe’s connivance I would often escape her critical gaze and lizard tongue. Laden with sufficient food to last me through the day, I would venture off across the marshes to that churchyard where the less troublesome members of my family lay. It was on one such expedition that I experienced a frightening encounter, one which was to change my whole life. Early that morning we heard the warning gun. It’s fired from the old prison hulk anchored out on the river to alert the local populace that a prisoner has escaped. Since we had never encountered an escaping convict, the warning was largely ignored. The path to the churchyard was clothed in a damp mist, as were the surrounding fields. The church spire appeared and disappeared as it cut holes in the enveloping fog. I pulled open the churchyard gate. There was an eerie silence – no bird calls. I had barely settled myself when quite suddenly a huge figure rose from behind a gravestone. I froze, rooted to the spot. ‘Come here lad.’ The man said. 115

His voice carried the sort of hoarse insistence that escaped convicts develop when they sit for hours on damp gravestones, waiting to frighten unsuspecting small boys. He looked large and menacing against the misty backdrop. For the time it took him to take a step towards me, it proved sufficient to allow me to collect my scattered wits. Sod this, I thought, then legged it. In my haste to put distance between myself and the graveyard monster, I dropped my sandwiches. At the gate I paused long enough to turn and see the convict pick up my sandwiches and begin to eat. I gave myself one quick moment of regret. I wished I’d brought one of my sister’s pork pies. You could fell an ox at twenty paces with one of those. If I thought I’d seen the last of the convict, I was much mistaken. Not long after our encounter he was captured. He arrived at the forge under escort to have his shackles replaced. I stood with Joe in his blacksmith’s shop as they brought the prisoner in. He recognised me at once. In the half light, wedged between two guards, he looked less than menacing. He gazed at me intently for a moment. Then, cocking his head to one side, he closed one eye. ‘Aah, Jim lad,’ he said. I held up my hand. ‘No, No, No,’ I told him. ‘That’s Treasure Island.’ He stood puzzled. A slow look of comprehension flooded his grizzled visage. After that he spoke like a convict. Mugwatch, for such was the convict’s name, had escaped because he had been destined to go on safari. Seemingly he preferred to stay on the stinking, rat- infested prison hulk with his mates. 116

‘What’s to become of him?’ Joe asked. One guard sucked his teeth. ‘Probably be sent to the colonies.’ ‘What colonies?’ I enquired. ‘Australia, like as not.’ Even my sister showed some compassion. ‘Ooh, the heat.’ She said ‘Ooh, the flies,’ put in Joe. ‘And Neighbours,’ The guard offered malevolently. Mugwatch blanched at the prospect of the latter. Yet with true British phlegm he squared his shoulders. The firm look of resolve did him much credit. The doomed man once again turned his attention to me. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Pick lad.’ By now he’d learned my name. ‘One day I’ll make you a gentleman, you wait and see.’ Then they marched him off. The episode passed from my memory as the years tumbled one upon another. It seemed that almost without warning I was a young man. The sap was beginning to rise. I was spreading in all places save one. For as my body grew larger so my appendage seemed to dwindle, almost to obscurity. School was long finished and I was serving my apprenticeship with Joe. Life carried along at an easy pace. One day a visiting uncle brought a curious invitation. A certain Miss Faversham had expressed an interest in me. Who was Miss Faversham? I didn’t know her from Adam. Well, perhaps I’d know her from Adam, but why should she want to see me? Clearly the best way to find out was to visit. So I found myself, some days later, standing outside a huge mausoleum of a place. Mrs Faversham was obviously not short of a bob or two. 117

I rang the bell. That such a dismal place should hide such a ravishing beauty took me completely by surprise. For the young lady that came to answer my call was as sweet and innocent-looking a maid as a young lad had ever the good fortune to set eyes upon. Sadly her tone did not match her looks. ‘What do you want, boy?’ she asked in a voice that could have cut plate steel. ‘I’ve come to see Miss Faversham.’ ‘Are you the boy Pick?’ ‘I am.’ ‘Then follow me.’ Follow her. Indeed I would – to the ends of the earth if need be. For inasmuch as I didn’t know a lot about girls, this one was very tasty. Just looking at her made my pulse race. I felt an unfamiliar stirring in my loins. I suffered a brief moment of apprehension. Had my inner desire transferred itself to a visible swelling in such tight trousers? I glanced down. Nothing showed. The house of Miss Faversham left me with no lasting good impression. On the contrary it was full of dust and cobwebs. It looked as if it could do with a good hoovering. As for the good lady herself, she presented as much of a health hazard as anything I’d yet experienced. For all that, at least this and subsequent visits afforded me the opportunity to spend time with the object of my worship: Stella. She gave me no encouragement at all, not to start with. She seemed to like to bully me. Not only was this matter brought to a head very swiftly, but it cemented a bond between us that was to remain. It was this way. She had been tormenting me, when without warning she smacked my face. 118

‘Why don’t you cry, boy?’ Stella asked. ‘No,’ I told her. She smacked my face again. ‘Now cry,’ she ordered. I refused; she smacked me again. This time I smacked her back. We both cried. Then suddenly we were in each others arms. My lips sought hers in a warm passionate embrace. She devoured my darting tongue. I could feel the need bubbling up inside both of us. My hands covered her pliant body in haste. I could now sense her hunger. I wanted to divest her of those impossible layers of clothes with all speed. Stella answered each caress with provocative movements of her body. I stroked each breast in turn while I sought desperately to find a way of releasing those magnificent orbs. Again she arched her body provocatively. Her breasts thrust out further demanding attention. She became aware of my frustration. ‘Do you like my breasts?’ ‘They’re lovely.’ ‘Would you like one?’ ‘Where would I put it?’ ‘Not to keep, you stupid boy – to play with.’ She could tell that I wasn’t very experienced. Yet her sharpness melted as she released her trapped bosom. For a short while I teased each nipple until they stood firm and demanding. Without further invitation I pulled and tugged at the rest of her outer garments. Finally the warm, vibrant Stella was naked and mine for the taking.

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My clumsy hands massaged her inner thighs, but the need in us was too great to encourage delay. My beautiful Stella lay before me, a body demanding my all. With rising excitement I threw off my clothes. I stood between those marble thighs and pushed against her entrance. Her arms lifted in supplication. Once more her body arched against mine. Breathless with desire, her voice became just snatched words of insistence. ‘OK, big boy,’ she said. ‘You can put it in now.’ ‘It is in,’ I insisted. ‘There was an awkward moment of silence – then Stella’s sun went in. Her beautiful features changed from desire, through bewilderment to derision in quick succession. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘pass me that copy of Woman and Home and let me know when you have finished. She can be very cutting when she turns her mind to it. Our flower of passion wilted thereafter. Yet we remained firm friends, although she displayed no such feelings in front of Miss Faversham. For myself, I wanted Stella more than ever. Beneath hooded lashes I admired the body that so easily could have been mine, had I come prepared with the right sort of equipment. Meanwhile the time passed with frequent visits and card games at the behest of the eccentric Miss Faversham. To be fair, even if the good lady did have a tendency to eccentricity she was, nevertheless, of generous disposition. Back at the blacksmith’s shop, one day we were visited by a gentleman representing a firm of solicitors in London. An anonymous benefactor, it seems, had generously donated sufficient funds to ensure that I lived in a style of ease and comfort in London. 120

So it was, some little time later, I was settled in lodging rooms in Hammersmith, not far from the flyover. I had cash, bank account, credit card, in fact all the basic accoutrements of a young man about to become a gentleman. Over the next few years the transformation from poor orphan to gentleman was completed, with the help of my good friend Henry Pocket. I lived well, ate well, dressed fashionably and enjoyed all the benefits of a prosperous life. Well, not all the benefits. Henry Pocket introduced me to his family. I took an instant liking to his sister Emily. It was only natural now that the distant Stella was becoming even more distant. Emily and I became close for a while. Alas, she soon discovered those same physical disadvantages that Stella had experienced. Our relationship cooled. It was just as well. With only one surname between us I harboured no great desire that, in the event of marriage, we should be known as Emily and Pick Pocket. Yet my affection for Stella remained constant. I saw her often over the years. At Miss Faversham’s to begin with, then later, when she came to live near Richmond Park to looks after some old dears. She remained as ever friendly but distant. In the end we drifted apart. Eventually she married a man who used her ill. In the meantime my mysterious benefactor appeared. For years I had believed it was Miss Faversham. Not so. One day I received a strange visitor. It turned out to be none other than Mugwatch. He related that, having escaped once again, when he finally arrived in Australia, he set out to make his fortune. It was then that he decided to honour his vow and keep me in the manner to which I had rapidly become accustomed. It wasn’t a bad return on a few hastily discarded sandwiches. 121

These revelations put me in a quandary. That I was obligated to my benefactor was beyond question. Yet he was still a convict on the run. The airports were being watched. It left me little alternative but to row him down the Thames as far as Dover. There he could catch the ferry. The plan went well at the outset. It wasn’t until we were halfway down the river that we realised that someone had grassed. The boat pulling out from the shore soon caught up with us. Mugwatch was captured. Not straight away. He had time to drown his hated enemy and catch pneumonia first. When he was dragged from the water he was much the worse for wear. He was placed in Newgate Infirmary, just off the North Circular. His condition deteriorated rapidly. I visited him regularly of course. It was towards the end, his breath was shallow. I could see by the way he fought for each word that there wasn’t much time. ‘I’ve managed to turn you into a gentleman, Pick me lad,’ he paused. ‘It cost me all my money.’ I got up to leave. He held me back with a restraining hand. ‘I’ve left you one final gift,’ he said. ‘I hope it brings you much joy.’ I left him feeling much puzzled. Later the same day I received a call on my mobile summoning me to Newgate Infirmary. Mugwatch had passed away quietly in his sleep. I was much saddened but had little time to dwell. I was swiftly ushered into a room where many hands engaged themselves in removing my clothing. Naked and bewildered, I had but a short time to gather my scattered wits before a large needle plunged me into sweet oblivion. 122

If the lapse from consciousness was sweet, the journey back was even sweeter. My faculties returned with the gentle persuasion of a uniformed maiden. As I returned to full consciousness I was much aware of this full-breasted beauty pressing against me. ‘Hello, Mr Pick. I’m Nurse Lovitt. I’m going to make you well,’ she licked her lips in a provocative manner. ‘Very well!’ The promise in her voice should have encouraged an eager response. Yet in that region I knew nothing but pain. Indeed the pain was so intense, that I was at a loss to know whether I’d been stitched or stapled. However, under Nurse Lovitt’s expert ministrations, I soon began to feel more comfortable. The food was perhaps the worst feature of hospital life. Gruel was the staple, monotonous diet. Still, if you were hungry at least you could ask for more. On the day the bandages were removed, Nurse Lovitt came to both massage as well as test my equipment. When my recycled manhood was revealed I gasped with pleasure. It was undoubtedly of better design and greater thickness. Built for strength and durability its potential was not lost on Nurse Lovitt. The bed bath soon became a labour of love. As she gently washed my inner thighs, my legacy rose to the occasion. She took it gently between her tender hands. It still grew. My excitement knew no bounds. It was huge. Nurse Lovitt was similarly fascinated. She bent to kiss the warm soft head. It throbbed a welcome as she took it in her mouth, drawing her tongue wickedly along its length. Her grasp upon it was less than therapeutic. This was one hungry lady. 123

She threw off her clothes with such careless abandon that I feared for my refurbished rod. ‘Couldn’t we just wait?’ I pleaded anxiously. ‘No chance. Gotta test your prick, Pick,’ she said. Nurse Lovitt didn’t look the type to shirk such a duty. She threw herself down upon me. Her strong thighs parted as she straddled me. Then lifting above me she took the rampant cock in her hand and guided it towards her entrance. In a trice she was impaled. Once more part of the late Mugwatch was imprisoned. For the first time I experienced the sensation of having a length of cock deeply inside the receptive body of a woman. It was a heady experience. I thrust hard into the plunging body of Nurse Lovitt. She took my all in ecstatic response. She felt my pumping seed without warning, then ground her thighs down to drain my body as her own climax arrived. The experience was exhausting. Before I realised it Nurse Lovitt was dressed and standing over me. ‘That all works quite satisfactorily, Mr Pick,’ she told me as she marked my chart. ‘You should be able to keep some lucky lady very happy with that.’ With that she playfully flicked very gently at the head. Then she was gone. I was passed fit. Two days later I left the Infirmary. Henry Pocket seemed mightily relieved to see me. I related the events of the previous weeks. Yet further good news. He had managed a good return on the money I had lent him. I was once again solvent. Which left one matter outstanding. Henry read my thoughts. ‘Go and find your Stella, Pick,’ he advised. ‘You have a great deal more to offer her now.’ 124

It was easier said than done, finding Stella. Yet finally after a long, long search I found Stella working as a waitress in a Beefeater near Tunbridge Wells. Her eyes sparkled with recognition. ‘Oh, Pick,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to see you. The chicken cutlets are on special offer this evening.’ ‘Right,’ I answered enthusiastically. ‘I shall devour both those and you with relish before this evening is finished.’ ‘No,’ she corrected. ‘Relish is extra.’ The evening had a magic of its own. I was intoxicated by the nearness of my own true love as she poured my wine. A few glasses later I was just intoxicated. The carriage back along the cobbled streets, in the twilight, to her place was a gentle voyage of anticipation. True, it would have been quicker by taxi. Once inside I listened in the gloom as Stella fumbled with the matches to light the candles. My impatience bubbled over for the sight of my beloved. So I switched the light on. My hands could stay idle no longer. Soon I was busily trying to divest Stella of her clothing. What an incredible number of garments the woman wore. By the time I’d managed to get to the real Stella she was half her size. Each soft, rounded breast teased me. The nipples stood inviting as my lips drew them to firmness. Once more revealed were those marble thighs that my memory had hoarded. When I disrobed she gasped with both joy and amazement. ‘Pick, oh, Pick,’ she enthused. ‘It used to be so tiny.’ ‘It’s not mine really, it’s a legacy.’ She seemed puzzled. I explained about Mugwatch. ‘I’m not sure I can touch it. After all it did belong to a convict…’ 125

Like Mugwatch she did not complete her sentence. Instead she swooped to take the pulsating head between her lips, applying fervent kisses to its velvet tip. Gently cupping it between her fingers she was obviously quite overcome by it size. ‘Prick, oh, prick,’ she sighed. I hastily corrected her. ‘My name is Pick.’ Her ministrations ceased for a moment. ‘I’m not talking to you,’ she declared. Laying her down upon the bed I parted her thighs. Her warm, soft vagina called welcome as I moved into her. Her body arched in great expectation. No need this time for Stella to reach for Woman and Home. What I plunged into her took all her attention. She moaned and grasped me tightly pulling me further into her. ‘Fuck me, Pick,’ she insisted. I thrust hard. ‘Harder,’ she demanded. We became demented slaves to our passion as we were both carried along on an ecstatic magic carpet ride. Our pulsing, heaving bodies demanded all and were not to be denied. I buried my massive cock deep inside her as I exploded. She gave a short scream of exultation, wrapping her legs tightly about me. In the sanctuary of each other’s bodies we found total contentment. So my story ends. Stella and I are together. It has been a long path to fulfilment for me. I started life at some disadvantage with my little Dorrit. Then I met Stella in that old bleak house. After we parted I experienced some hard times. Yet in the end my transplant proved to be, both for Stella and myself, our mutual friend.

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Yes, this much I can say. When the mood is upon her, which thankfully is often, there’s nothing my Stella enjoys more than a good Dickens.

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It Takes One To Spot One by Jim Baker He was gorgeous. I first noticed him with wealthy widow number one at the buffet breakfast. His hand was resting on her ring-encrusted fingers. The same evening he was in the cocktail bar with bejewelled matron number two, sipping champagne cocktails. I was surprised when he targeted me in the ship’s casino the following evening, since I’m hardly of the blue-rinse generation, but it soon became clear that it wasn’t my jewellery he was interested in. I’d just let a hundred bucks ride on red. ‘Risky.’ I looked up at the curly black hair, bright blue eyes, immaculate tuxedo and red bow tie. ‘What?’ ‘Letting it ride. Too risky.’ The croupier’s voice rang out. ‘Twenty-three, red!’ ‘I like risks.’ I let the bet ride again. ‘So I see. My name’s Peter.’ ‘Five, red!’ 128

‘Lucky girl, er…’ ‘Suzanne.’ I stood up. ‘This is a lucky seat. Want it?’ ‘No thanks, I’m not a gambler.’ ‘Prefer a sure thing, do you?’ He stayed by my side as I moved away from the table. ‘What’s a sure thing, Suzanne?’ I decided to have some fun with him. I’d been without for too long. There’d been no time since the last job. In any case, I wanted to be sure my instincts about him were right. And he was gorgeous. ‘How about we have dinner? You might find out. The bar at eight?’ Two hours later, we were sitting in a quiet corner of the dining room. The food and wine were exquisite. Peter was an extremely entertaining companion. He regaled me with risqué stories of his experiences in the Far East. He claimed to be a jeweller, travelling in search of gemstones for his London business. The ship was docking in Singapore next morning and he asked me if I was going ashore. ‘No, Peter, I’m having a day in the beauty parlour.’ Was there a flicker of relief on his face? ‘The beauty parlour? You’re beautiful already.’ ‘Very gallant. Do you think flattery might get you somewhere?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Fancy a stroll on deck?’ I steered us to a dark area by the lifeboats, looped my arms around his neck, and kissed him.

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The kiss was long, slow and deep. Our tongues played together and there was a familiar tingling between my thighs. I felt his hand on the front of my dress, and my nipples hardened as he fondled my breasts through the silk. I dropped my hand down between his legs and heard him gasp as I ran my fingers up and down his erection. I broke the kiss and whispered in his ear. ‘Nice cock, Peter.’ He started to speak, but I closed his mouth with mine, while I unbuttoned his black, formal trousers, pushed them down and wriggled my fingers under the waistband of his underpants. His cock was rock hard and he groaned as I wrapped my fingers around it and eased it free. ‘Your place, Peter?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Okay, tell me the way and I’ll lead you there.’ I started to move, pulling gently on the hot pole of flesh. ‘What, like this?’ ‘Yes, Peter.’ ‘I…we…can’t!’ ‘Don’t you want to make love to me, Peter?’ ‘Of course I do, but…ahhh…’ His voice faltered as I ran my hand up and down the length of his cock. ‘Come along then, there’s a good boy. Pull your trousers up.’ We saw no one until we reached the elevator, where we found one of his companions of the previous day. Peter edged into a corner and pulled me in front of him. ‘Peter,’ the elderly lady said, reproachfully. ‘After this afternoon I was hoping you’d come back to my cabin, but I see you have a new friend.’ I squeezed hard and he groaned, deep in his throat. 130

She peered closely at us and I stepped to one side. Her eyes widened as she saw what I held in my hand. ‘Disgusting!’ she hissed, and pushed past as the doors opened. ‘Whatever were you doing in her cabin, Peter?’ ‘Oh, just evaluating some jewellery for her.’ I stepped out of the elevator and tugged his rigid cock. ‘Funny, I thought she recognized this guy. Right, which is your cabin?’ Once we were inside the cabin I released him and stood back. His face was flushed, and tiny beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He let his trousers fall to his ankles and grinned. ‘You’re a wicked bitch.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘That’s probably a good description. Stand still.’ He stood while I stripped him of his jacket, unclipped the red bow tie and placed it, with his gold cuff links, on a table by the bed. I unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled it away. His upper body was hard and muscular and I ran my hand down his flat stomach and tickled the red, swollen head of his cock, which was poking out above the elastic band of his pants. ‘He looks uncomfortable.’ I hooked my thumbs in his pants and pushed them down to join his trousers. He kicked the garments away, lifted each leg in turn and pulled off his shoes and socks. I stepped back and looked him up and down. ‘Very nice, Peter. Just one thing.’ I retrieved the bow tie and fastened it back around his neck. ‘Perfect.’ I turned my back. ‘Unhook my dress, and unzip me.’ 131

I let the dress fall to the floor and turned back to him. You like?’ He nodded, wordlessly. I unhooked my bra and let it fall away and watched his eyes lock on to my breasts. ‘Come on.’ I took his cock back in my hand and led him to the bed. ‘Lie back.’ I stretched myself alongside him and played with the swollen head of his cock, slippery with pre-come. ‘Suck my nipples, Peter.’ He lowered his head to my breasts. He sucked first one nipple and then the other until they were hard and swollen. His hand moved down and stroked the front of my panties. He was gentle as he shifted the silk aside and played with my pussy. I groaned as he slipped first one, then two fingers inside me. ‘Take my panties off, sweetheart.’ He knelt between my legs and peeled the wet silk away, placed his palms on the inside of my thighs and eased them apart. His head came down and I squirmed as the tip of his tongue parted my pussy lips. His fingers found the hood of flesh guarding my clit and rolled it back. My breasts were tingling and I could feel the throbbing between my legs. His tongue slipped in and out of my vagina and a fingertip traced a circle around my clit, never quite touching it. His tongue began a leisurely journey upwards, and I arched upwards off the sheets when the tip touched the swollen button. He sucked it between his lips, rolling his tongue around it until my whole body was quivering. I could feel my orgasm beginning. As it built he began flicking his tongue across my clit, faster and faster. 132

I felt like a tensed-up spring. He slid his fingers inside me again and began thrusting them in and out until I came suddenly, in wave after wave of pleasure. I heard myself scream as I clamped my thighs on his head, and collapsed back on the sheets. I felt him moving over me, and his tongue probed at my lips. It was slick with my juice and I sucked it into my mouth. The head of his cock touched the entrance to my vagina and I thrust up to meet it and groaned again as he slid it in with one hard thrust. I lifted my legs, wrapped them around his waist and tightened my arms around him. ‘That was gorgeous. Do it to me again with your cock.’ He started with long, slow strokes, filling me and withdrawing almost completely, trying to tease me. I let him play for a while, then waited until he was fully immersed and gripped him with my internal muscles. He groaned and I laughed softly. ‘Faster now, sweetheart, or I’ll snap it off.’ He began to fuck me hard, moving faster and faster until once again the hot tingling began and the muscles around my vagina bunched tight. I was gasping and I could feel Peter’s hot breath on my face as we bucked frantically together on the squealing bedsprings. His voice rasped in my ear. ‘Oh Christ baby, I’m going to come, oh yeah, yeah…fuck!’ I could feel his cock swelling inside me as I ripped my fingernails down his back and came, in a series of long, delicious shudders. He let out a long rasping groan, and his seed spurted as his cock pumped furiously inside me. We talked for a while afterwards, and drank cold white wine from the refrigerator. He told me some more stories, 133

much more graphic this time, of his experiences with Asian women. ‘But Asian girls are usually servile,’ he said. ‘I really like women who go for what they want. Women like you.’ We drank some more wine and I watched his cock slowly getting hard. I played with him for a long time, using my fingers, teasing and tantalizing him until I was ready. I rode him this time, controlling him, stopping and starting until neither of us could take any more. The tiny alarm in my wristwatch woke me at six in the morning. Peter was lying on his back, his erection pointing to the ceiling. I slipped off the bed, careful not to wake him, padded over to the refrigerator and poured a glass of orange juice. I took the little bottle from my purse, and added ten drops of its contents to the glass. I hadn’t expected to need it on this trip, but Mickey Finn has helped me out in the past. I shook Peter and held out the glass. ‘Room service.’ He stared at me groggily for a moment, then sat up and drank it down. Choral hydrate usually takes about forty minutes to take effect. I needed to keep him busy until then, and I thought he deserved a treat. ‘Lie back.’ I started on his balls, weighing them in my hand, and licking underneath them while I squeezed them gently. Then I went to work on his cock, holding it in the tips of my fingers and licking the full length of the shaft. I tickled the sensitive skin on the back of the head with my fingernails and with my tongue. The red-purple head was swollen and I ran my tongue round and around it, and rubbed the ball of my thumb back and forth across the slit. 134

He was panting hard by now, and I kissed the tip and breathed hard on it. I raised my head and looked into his eyes, which were beginning to glaze. ‘Yes?’ ‘Please!’ The way to a man’s heart may be through his stomach, but the way to his brain is definitely through his cock. If you want him brain dead, that is. I took it between my lips and began to suck. Twenty minutes later, he was breathing raggedly and his eyes were beginning to close. I had used my lips and fingers to bring him to the brink three times. His cock was throbbing and his eyes begged me to make him come. ‘This time, baby.’ After a couple more minutes his hips joined the rhythm of my bobbing head. I waited until the last moment to remove my lips and he moaned helplessly as hot jets of fluid splattered on to his stomach. He flopped back and his eyes closed. He would be unconscious for about eight hours. I cleaned myself up and got dressed. Now I’d discover whether my instincts had been right. His wallet contained about U$5000 and business cards in various names, one of which was Peter Armstrong, FGA, International Jewels Ltd. The drawer in the bedside table contained three passports in three different names, a first-class air ticket from Singapore to London with today’s date, and another U$10,000 dollars in cash. I put the cash in my purse It could join the rest of the laundered money I had placed in bank accounts at various ports of call during the voyage. Then I struck pay dirt. 135

In the wardrobe, I found a small jewel box containing two rings, which looked very like those that had adorned the fingers of the reproachful elderly lady. I looked down at the naked figure on the bed. ‘Naughty,’ I murmured. He was still wearing his black socks, and the red bow tie was still around his neck. I transferred it to his flaccid cock. ‘Oh for a camera.’ I picked up cuff links, dropped them in my purse, went out and hung the Do Not Disturb notice on the door. Back in my stateroom I stripped, showered, put on clean clothes and packed a few essentials into a small bag. The black wig and heavy glasses, my three passports… The U$15,000 dollars would more than cover the cost of the flight back to the States, and I could pick up a couple of new outfits in Singapore. Then I had the bank accounts, and those rings. And the cuff links. The boom of the ship’s siren announced our arrival in port and I laughed out loud at the thought of Peter confronting his lady friend. He’d survive, after all he was gorgeous. It takes one to spot one…

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Take A Breath by Sommer Marsden She was perfect. He couldn’t help but notice; a long lean body, a perfect hour-glass, wide, slender shoulders; a subtle feminine flare at her hips. Her eyes were the colour of whisky and she had a fashionably messy tangle of tawny hair. There was a steely determination about her but Jon saw through that. Underneath it all was a shadow of exhaustion; the look of someone just waiting for another person to take control. Take over. Allow her to take a breath. ‘It’s a lovely reception,’ he murmured so as not to scare her. He handed her a glass of Merlot. He had noticed her choice much earlier in the night and had approved. No fruity white wine for her. Something full-bodied and bold. Her eyes found his and again he caught a flicker of fatigue, a sense of drowning in her eyes. She accepted the drink and gave him her full-wattage, well practiced smile. ‘Thank you, Mr…? I’m sorry, we haven’t been officially introduced. I’m Elise Prevost.’ He shook and ran his finger along the gentle curve of her palm. Made a slow circle with the pad of his thumb and stared directly into those captivating eyes. Jon planned on showing her the real him from the get-go. It would either fly 137

or he’d be wearing a glass of Merlot for the rest of the evening. ‘Jon Leavey.’ ‘Mr Leavey, you are…?’ Her mouth was lush and full and Jon stared at it openly. He watched her slender throat contract as she swallowed hard. His guess was the lovely Elise wasn’t used to men eyeing her as if they could eat her whole. No, his guess was most men were much more subtle about their dirty desires when it came to Elise. They took the wolf in sheep’s clothing route. Jon showed her the wolf and waited for her reaction. ‘Enchanted,’ he said, bearing his teeth in a grin. It wasn’t the answer she wanted. She wanted to know if he was affiliated with Aero-King or Alton Airlines. She wanted to know on what side of the merger he represented. He wasn’t interested in business. ‘No. I meant −’ ‘I know what you meant,’ he said, again taking that slender hand and working his fingers over the mysterious grooves and dips and valleys. ‘But this isn’t about the merger. Or even your party. Spectacular as it is, by the way. This is about you. Me and you.’ ‘Me and you?’ she echoed. Another forced swallow. Colour high in her cheeks, eyes sparkling with a delicious mixture of fear, uncertainty and yes, excitement. ‘Exactly. But only if you’re on board. I’m not the kind of guy to chase and chase and beat my head against the proverbial wall. I’m more of a take charge kind of guy. I think you’re spectacular. Sexy. Stunning. I want to fuck you,’ he said it low but looked her in the eye when he said it. A high shattered titter escaped her throat and her colour went higher. Her cheeks a blazing shade of raspberry. But her eyes − Jon took note – her eyes shone, deepening from 138

whisky to cognac. He did a full scan of her, reading her body the way he would read a menu. Puckered nipples shoving against the creamy black cashmere of her dress; thighs clenched so her hour-glass figure became nearly cartoonish with its perfect proportions. Her pulse jumped high and wicked at the base of her throat. And her hands…they came together instantly, twisting and pulling against one another like writhing animals. Jon smiled again. He had her. ‘Mr Leavey. I…well, I am flattered. But −,’ She stopped cold. Those perfect pink lips opening and closing on words, arguments and terribly logical reasoning that wouldn’t come. ‘I’m waiting.’ She looked stunned though something else twisted just below the surface. Excitement. The excitement was the fuel behind the jumping pulse. Jon felt his cock grow even harder. He’d had a hard-on from the moment she sauntered in on those classy but clearly ‘fuck me’ heels. It had only made matters worse as she worked the room, hips swaying, smile flashing. Now, at the deer-in-headlights look on her face he thought if she didn’t talk soon and distract him, it might just snap off. This made him laugh and a flicker of confusion stained her face. ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ he assured her. ‘Just imagining my dick shattering in my pants. You’ve got me hard, Elise, and, see, this is the part where you come into the equation. You either give me ten great reasons why I should go fuck myself and stomp off in a huff. Or…’ Her eyes grew wider and a pale hand fluttered to her throat as if to stop the words from coming. ‘Or?’ It came out on a breathless whisper that was like silk on his skin. Ah! He had her. 139

‘Or you give me the green light and we have a very special night. Together. With me in control.’ He watched for her reaction. He had to make sure she understood that part. None of this sharing the reins. Not with this one. With this one he wanted no holds barred. No confusion of power. He wanted her but only if he could have all of her. Mind, body and soul. Total control. He would not tamp down his nature. Not with Elise. With Elise, he wanted the wolf in him to have its night to howl. Nothing. She was barely breathing. Jon was pleased, though. She hadn’t slapped him. She wasn’t lecturing him on decorum and manners while showing off that body in those deceptively modest clothes. She was just standing there. Staring. He stared right back. Jon surveyed the room. They were positioned behind a potted palm that shielded them from the view of everyone else. He grabbed her free hand, gave it a squeeze and placed it over the tented fly of his tux pants. ‘See, Elise. I told you. Ready to snap off. All because of you and those whisky eyes.’ He waited. She didn’t jerk away, didn’t start wailing like a siren; she didn’t do anything. She left her hand there and eventually her eyes found his. Wide and scared and slightly unfocused but she met his gaze. ‘What do I have to do?’ He took the chance and pushed her hand against him harder; felt himself jump in response. A low keening issued from her throat and he thought he might bend her over the potted palm right there. It was the sound of an animal in heat. Desperate. Hungry. Ready. He couldn’t contain his smile. ‘Just whatever I say. Think you can handle that?’ A nod. Then, surprisingly, a gentle squeeze of her delicate hand. He felt himself swell and stifled a groan that would have matched hers. Damn. He hadn’t counted on that. ‘Don’t do that again,’ he growled. ‘I didn’t tell you to, so 140

don’t do it. If and when I tell you to pleasure me, that will be the time to comply. Clear?’ Even to his own ears his voice sounded like sand and broken glass. Slightly ugly. All control. Another nod that caused that sexy mess of hair to shift and sway. The light from the chandeliers accenting the colours of honey and wheat in the strands. ‘Now who’s that?’ He pointed across the room and in the same moment removed her hand from his crotch. She reached for him blindly for a moment before hearing the low growl in his throat and controlling herself. Now that he had her, she was eager to go. Pleasing, but she had to learn his ways first. ‘Him?’ She indicated a short, thin weasely man with a nod of her head. ‘That’s right. Who is he?’ ‘Jackson Beckner. He’s a small-time guy who thinks he runs the show.’ She said this in a soft slow voice. He wondered if her brain had caught up with her mouth yet. Did she realize what she had just signed on for? ‘He seems to have a fascination with your ass,’ Jon laughed. Another sweeping blush stained her cheeks and she nodded. ‘That he does. Not necessarily me in particular. Any female behind will do.’ Jon shook his head. ‘You’re wrong about that, sweetheart. I’m sure he’ll reach for any piece of ass if he thinks he can get away with it. But you, Elise, are special to him. He’s definitely hot for you.’ She shrugged and he watched her ample breasts shake beneath the tight sheath of her dress. Nipples still hard, pulse still jumping. Jon had to take a deep breath. Slow himself down. What good would it do to slam her against the wall and fuck her senseless? It would satisfy his physical 141

needs, sure. Not the other needs, though. Not the need to have her bend to his will and do as he pleased: no matter what. ‘Come here,’ he sighed into her ear and pulled her into the alcove that held yet another gigantic potted palm. Without preamble or apology, he slid his hands beneath her skirt and hooked his fingers in the silly little side straps of her panties. And she opened to him, just like that. She opened her thighs and moved her cunt forward to him with a sigh. ‘That’s not it, sweetheart,’ he whispered in her ear and heard her half cry, half mewl in the ambient light. ‘These are what I’m after.’ He pulled the panties down her generous thighs, down past her calves and urged her to lift her heels one at a time as he peeled them off. ‘Now go over there and shake that ass in front of that slimy little fuck.’ This time the arguments found their way past her lips. ‘But…why. I thought you…I thought we −’ ‘Oh, we will,’ he assured her. ‘Only after you do as I say, though. Trust me or forget it.’ He touched her chin gently but firmly as it started to tremble. Just enough that you would notice if you were paying attention. ‘Go.’ God help him, she did. She went over and feigned looking over the offerings on the buffet. Jon watched Beckner’s eyes on her. The predatory gleam. The oily aura the man gave off. He grabbed his cock through his trousers, giving it one good, strong stroke before letting it go. No time for that. He’d get to the good stuff soon enough. She bent forward, amazingly enough, reaching for the crudités platter. Ample ass high and rounded, presented right before the wolfish gaze of Jackson Beckner. As he watched, the man cast a glance around the party, and 142

judging it safe, reached out to palm her ass as she scoped the food. Across the room, Elise’s gaze found his, what now? He nodded and smiled, moving forward. Feeling the urge to run across the room and throttle the man or break his face with several well thrown punches. His girlish bone structure would be no match for Jon’s large, heavy hands and the strength that lay within them. He took a deep breath and sauntered up to the buffet, making sure that the three of them were the only ones there, the only ones paying attention. ‘I think these are yours,’ he said to Elise as her face went from raspberry to plum. She stayed straight and tall, though. No shrinking violet routine. No nervous laughter or hysterical fleeing of the scene. She regarded him coolly, ignoring the flood of colour and heat in her pale face. ‘They are,’ she whispered as the other man blinked owlishly. ‘Now how can we be sure about that?’ he asked, pinning her with his gaze. He allowed his eyes to roam and tack on to the other man who now looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should run or fight. He had managed to cop a feel, after all. She hadn’t slapped him or shouted or even threatened him. Should he fight this man for the tiny morsel he had won? ‘You could put them on me to make sure they fit,’ she suggested. It was so low that no one else would have even been sure she had spoken. But Beckner knew. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, wisely, he turned on the heels of his cheap dress shoes and fled. ‘Let’s do that,’ he said taking her arm, tucking the panties into his jacket pocket. He took a moment to trace the deep swell of her cleavage even as it rose and fell with her hurried breathing. ‘Let’s find the coat room, Elise. Point the way. You rule this roost.’ 143

‘Here?’ she nearly squealed, then steadied herself. ‘I thought you meant…off site. Maybe a hotel room. Your house. My house. But here?’ ‘Take it or leave it,’ he said, reminding her of his rules. Of her agreement. ‘Take this left,’ she promptly replied. He took her arm and pulled her closer to his side. And she stayed, snuggled in actually, a relaxed and somewhat relieved sigh coming from behind those perfect lips. He could nearly read her thoughts. Wasn’t this nice to not have to be in control? Responsible? His hand found her ass and he gave a possessive squeeze. His. For tonight. Maybe longer. But his. Everyone was at the party. The coat room wasn’t occupied and Jon pushed her forward into the near dark with just enough force to rush the blood through his veins, heightening the anticipation of taking her and making her his. ‘On your knees, Elise. Right here is fine.’ Without hesitation, she dropped to those perfectly white, dimpled knees and folded her arms behind her back without being told. Wow. She was good. Had she done this before? he wondered. Not likely but you never can tell. Just submissive by nature perhaps, but oh so very good at hiding it from the world. He lowered his zipper slowly, making sure she could hear the metallic growl in the near perfect silence of the deserted room. ‘Open that pretty mouth, Elise. I want you to suck my cock and I don’t want you to do anything unless I tell you to. That includes breathe. I’ll tell you how deep, when to touch me, when to breathe. All of it.’ No words. She simply parted her lips after licking them slowly, unconsciously. He felt another growl swell through this throat and without thinking thrust between those petal pink lips. Sank in hard and deep without giving her time to 144

adjust or relax. But she took every inch without flinching. Without a sound. He fucked her mouth, working her harder, keeping a steely grip on both his desire and resolve. He would not come. They had too many other things to do. He waited until her knuckles were white, her hands clenched into little fists. ‘Breath, Elise.’ And she did. Sucking in a great amount of air but never releasing him, never pulling back. She simply inhaled deeply, like a swimmer breaking the water’s surface, and then played her gently pink tongue along his length. Jon sank his hands into that hair. It made him crazy. The messy, tawny pile of silk that swayed with every move she made. Forcing himself against her mouth, raking his flesh along her teeth, he took her hard. Curious and amazed by how well she was handling this. ‘Touch me now,’ he commanded and she did, cradling his balls, playing them over her fingers. He had to focus or this could be the end. ‘Breathe.’ Anther gulp of air and she was back for more. He felt himself go rigid and grunted against the will of his very eager member, ‘Stop.’ She froze. Delicate fingers still on his sac, mouth wrapped around his dick in a way that just looking at it made him skate that razor’s edge of release. He pulled out of her mouth and she didn’t move. She didn’t close her lips or sit back or say a word. She waited. ‘Stand up, Elise.’ He extended a hand which she accepted. She moved gracefully from her place on the floor as if she were being presented to royalty instead of being interrupted in the middle of blowing a virtual stranger. ‘Back behind the coats.’ He pushed her hands against the wall, pinning her hips flush against it, too. He knelt behind her, taking a none too gentle bite on one firm ass cheek. She whimpered but 145

otherwise remained silent. He slid his hands down the backs of her thighs, ran his thumbs along the sensitive skin behind her knees and circled her tiny ankles with his fingers. ‘Don’t move,’ he said quietly. His voice was nearly threatening and he knew it. In response she gave an involuntary shiver but stayed still. ‘At all,’ he finished. Just so she knew. Understood the rules. As slowly as he could manage, he ran his hands back up her legs, dragging the soft cashmere in their wake. He bared her. Her panties were still in his jacket pocket, so, bare of the black fabric, she was completely bare and spread before him. He watched her skin pebble with goose bumps under his breath. He ran his tongue along the sweet crack of her ass, stroking the spot where her butt met her thighs. She sighed but managed to stay still. Her stance denoted someone struggling to control their movements – their instincts. Taking his hands, he pushed her knees further apart so she was spread wide, her legs planted firmly atop her ridiculously high heels. ‘You’re gorgeous, Elise,’ he breathed, running his fingers along the wet seam of her cunt. He let two fingers take the plunge into her velvety heat and she bucked. Just the tiniest bit but she did. He could tell she had fought it and lost. Ah well, a lesson to be learned though. ‘You moved, Elise. That’s a no-no.’ He removed his fingers and she made a sound that was nearly a sob. ‘Now you have to wait.’ He grabbed her hips and spun her to face him. The colour was high on her cheeks and the slightest sheen of perspiration dotted her forehead. Eyes wild, hair wilder, she begged him with her eyes but said not a word. ‘You want me in you, right?’ She nodded. ‘Any part of me will do right now. My cock,’ he grabbed himself and ran the head along her crux of her thigh. Her 146

eyes rolled back for just a moment and he saw the war beneath her skin. She wanted to respond to his touch but didn’t dare. ‘Or my fingers,’ he cooed, enjoying playing with her now. ‘Or even my tongue, I suspect.’ He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue while his fingers found the tangle of curls at the vee of her thighs. ‘Say you’re sorry,’ he said, twisting the curls around his fingers, yanking just enough to make her gasp. ‘I’m sorry,’ she moaned. ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘I bet you are,’ he laughed. To reward her for her sorrow, he flicked her clit with a fingertip, tracing a circle along the high hardened nub. ‘But not for long. You’re new, Elise, so I’ll take pity.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘My pleasure. And yours, soon enough.’ He captured her nipple between his teeth. Still sheathed in cashmere, he nipped her hard enough so that her eyes flew open and she squeaked. ‘Good girl. Again, no complaint. You play well, Elise.’ She nodded, staring only briefly into his eyes. She bowed her head and he saw tears shimmering just along her lower lashes. Taking her wrists in his hand he pinned her hands behind her back and bit her again. She stayed steady, not flinching from him, not rushing forward to meet him. He hummed his approval and felt her heart jumping just below her breasts. As a reward he plunged his fingers back in, sinking deep, curling them gently to find her G spot and stroking her there. She groaned against his neck but held her movements in check. She was learning. He sank to his knees, keeping his fingers busy and employed his tongue to her clit. Not gently but fiercely. He could feel her, pressing her back against the wall to keep from jerking against his mouth and tongue. Again he hummed his approval and the sensation 147

must have pleased her because she shuddered against him, her channel jerking around his fingers and clenching him tight. ‘Hello?’ came a voice and he froze. Elise stayed pinned to the wall, breathing in deep stuttering breaths, eyes wide and haunted. Someone was at the door of the coat room. ‘Don’t move,’ he warned, fingers still lost in her depths. ‘Not a muscle.’ ‘Anyone back here?’ It was a man. He heard the man talk to someone else and a female answered. The half door squeaked on its hinges as the man entered. Jon rose, fingers still inside Elise and stood in front of her, his chest crushing her breasts, his head shielding her face from view. The coats were moved along the rack, hangers jangling on the metal rod. ‘What coat did you wear, mother?’ A mumbled answer. ‘Ah, here it is. The fox. Very good. Now where’s my brown wool overcoat?’ The hangers continued their jingly song as the coats danced along the rack getting closer and closer to Jon and Elise. Unfortunately, they parted and Jon stared into a startled, elderly face he didn’t know. ‘Sorry. Just some business,’ Jon said, with a charming smile. The bulk of his body shielded Elise’s face from view. ‘The brown wool is down that way, I believe,’ he said with a jerk of his head toward the opposite end. ‘Help yourself.’ Then he pulled the line of coats closed again as he heard the older man scurry to claim his coat and leave. Elise stayed still, her head bowed. His fingers were still embedded in her slick entrance. Again it looked as if tears would threaten but she held it together. Her breathing was slower, more controlled.

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‘I’m impressed,’ he murmured, lowering a kiss to her lips finally. She tasted like woman and mystery and him. ‘You deserve a reward, Elise,’ he said. She shuddered in response. Not sure if she should speak, she remained silent. He didn’t miss it, though, when her pulse started to jerk and jump at the base of her throat. ‘Turn around again and spread your legs. Wide.’ She complied and when he pinned her hands at the small of her back with his own she sighed. ‘That’s a good girl. Push your ass out for me. As far as you can. There you go,’ he grunted, running the head of his cock along her slick entrance, playing with her just a little. Truth be told, he was all out of play. He just wanted to sink into that perfect cunt and watch her jerk and tremble around him. Listen to her come. She’d scream. The quiet ones were always the screamers. He didn’t hesitate once he was slick with her moisture. He simply pushed into her. One long, hard stroke that took him home in an instant. Her fingers curled within his grasp and for the first time she growled long and low. He felt his pulse jump at the primitive sound of her relishing his penetration. She didn’t push against him, though, kudos for that. She simply took what he offered and he made sure to offer it all. He thrust into her, each stroke high and hard as she made little desperate sounds. Taking one hand from hers, he stroked her clit, plucking it hard and then soothing with circles and swirls that made her gasp like she was drowning. ‘That’s it. You’re a good student, Elise,’ he said, keeping tabs on his own impending orgasm. Not long now. She was so wet and tight. So eager and good. She had done better than most first timers. It made him want to know what else she could do. What else she could learn. ‘I think I need a new Senior Administrative Assistant,’ he said, forcing into her, bucking against the willing flesh of 149

her ass. She cried out softly as he tweaked her clit between his forefinger and thumb. ‘I think I’ve found her. You’ll be in charge of me, of course. Basically run my life. Unless of course, I tell you that I have a task for you. If I have a task for you, will you know what I mean?’ Thrust, push, pound. He drove into her, working her with now slick fingers, biting briskly where her fragile throat met her slender shoulder. She bowed against him as her cunt tightened along his cock, feeling as if it could blissfully tear him in two. ‘That you’re in charge?’ It whooshed out of her as she tipped over the edge into another orgasm. A cry tore from her throat that made him waver along the border of his own release. Not yet. ‘That’s it, good girl. I. Am. In. Charge.’ Each word was punctuated with a near brutal thrust as she continued to constrict and flicker and squeeze around him. Grabbing her hips, he released her hands. ‘Clear?’ Not now. Not yet. He had to hear her say it. ‘Clear,’ she barked, bowing her head, bracing her body for his with palms flattened against the pale blue wall. His orgasm tore out of him along with a sound that sounded nearly evil with its primal nature. Jon fell against her, his head on her shoulder. His arms clutched, possessively, around her waist. He let himself fall free of her, smoothed her skirt, spun her to face him. ‘Jon Leavey, the new CEO,’ he said, offering his huge hand to her small one. ‘Just came on board. Pleasure to meet you.’ She eyed his hand. Not warily, he noted, but hungrily. ‘Elise Prevost, new Senior Administrative Assistant to the CEO. The pleasure is all mine.’ She shook as if he hadn’t just fucked her nearly unconscious. She was coming back to herself. Her normal take-charge attitude shining through. 150

Even with her dress still hiked up around her naked hips and the smell of her all over his fingers, his face. ‘We’d better go, Elise,’ he sighed, holding out her panties as she stepped into them. He smoothed her skirt and gave her a brief but wet kiss. ‘They’ll be announcing me soon enough. Then I will be announcing you. Think you can handle that?’ She nodded, briefly, smoothing her sheath, fixing her hair. ‘I thought so,’ he said, parting the coats. ‘When I first saw you, I had the feeling you could handle just about anything. You’re just what I need. Do you think I’m right?’ A ghost of a smile lit her face and she tucked her hand into his. ‘I think I can handle you,’ she said. ‘And when I take you to task? Any time I want. Any way I want. What then?’ ‘I can handle that too,’ she said, and led him back to the party.

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Collision by Alex de Kok He never saw her until it was too late. Not paying attention to where he was, the figure leaving the bus station was sprawling on the ground almost before the collision registered. ‘Oh, my God! I’m so sorry. My fault, entirely.’ He reached out a hand to help her up again, startled when the understandable anger on her face was replaced with a broad smile. She took his hand and came easily to her feet as he pulled her up, pulling her light summer dress back down to where it should be. He blinked, the image of long, tanned legs and tiny panties burnt onto his retina. ‘I’ve heard of sweeping a girl off her feet, Jack, but never quite like that!’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, then realised. ‘Jenny! Jenny Akers!’ ‘Well remembered, Jack.’ ‘Hard to forget, Jenny.’ He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Looks like yours don’t usually come with the programming skill you showed.’ ‘Which you encouraged and developed, remember?’ He shrugged. ‘What I was there for.’ He looked at her, trying not to stare, because in the year or two since she’d 152

graduated, Jenny Akers seemed to have become even more beautiful. ‘What are you doing these days? Programming?’ ‘Only for pleasure.’ She cocked her head. ‘You mean you haven’t seen me?’ He frowned. ‘Seen you where?’ She laughed. ‘Everywhere. Like there, for instance.’ She pointed to a hoarding on the wall across the road. A huge sign advertising cosmetics, a scantily-clad siren seemingly offering her all to lure buyers. He looked again, then, startled, he looked again at the girl beside him. No make-up, hair tied back in a ponytail, but he recognised that she was the girl on the sign. She nodded. ‘Yep, Jack, it’s me. I did a few life classes to help pay my way through my final year, and I guess I got discovered. Whatever, after I graduated, I started commercial modelling. I make a lot more with that than I ever could programming. I still program, but mostly as a hobby now, of course, because I still get a buzz out of it.’ ‘I’m glad. I think you were one of my best students.’ ‘How about you, Jack? Still teaching?’ ‘Only part-time, for fun.’ He grinned. ‘I guess I have my own success story. Remember Terry Mason?’ ‘I think so, yes. Um, a research student, kind of intense. He took a couple of seminars for us when you couldn’t make it.’ ‘That’s him. Well, Terry and I started a little software company and it’s done rather well.’ ‘Good. You deserve it.’ She bent and retrieved the holdall she’d dropped. He reached for it. ‘Let me carry that for you.’ She surrendered it with a smile. ‘Where am I taking it?’ ‘Oh! Taxi rank. I’ll get a cab out to the cottage.’ ‘My car’s parked just around the corner. May I give you a lift?’ 153

‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’ ‘Not until next week. Terry’s minding the store while I have a few days off.’ ‘If you’re sure?’ ‘Certain.’ She gave him her dazzling smile again. ‘Thanks, Jack, I’d love that.’ ‘This way, then.’ She stopped dead when she saw the car, then grinned at him. ‘A Porsche? I guess you are doing well.’ He shrugged, smiling. ‘Not paid for yet.’ He opened the car door for her. ‘In you get.’ She smiled and lowered herself into the seat. Maybe lower than she’d anticipated, she seemed to slip and there was a flash of tanned thigh before she swung her feet in and pulled her hemline down. ‘Oops,’ she said, colour in her cheeks. He gave her a wry smile. ‘You’re not the first to get caught out. Sorry, should have warned you.’ He dropped her holdall into the space behind her seat and moved around to the driver’s side, quickly settling behind the wheel. ‘Okay, where am I taking you?’ ‘You know Grange?’ ‘Of course. My cousin lives at Swinside.’ ‘Along Borrowdale to Grange, over the bridge, through the village, then head back towards Swinside. The cottage is outside Grange, on the left, against the hillside.’ ‘Okay, Jenny, we’re on our way.’ It didn’t take long, even though Jack wisely kept the speed down on the winding roads, and Jenny directed him to a low slate-built cottage, tight against the hillside. ‘Park the car to the right, Jack. Keeps the view clear.’ ‘You mean you don’t like looking at my car?’ he said, affecting sorrow. 154

Jenny grinned. ‘Idiot. Not when I can see the beauty of the Lakes instead.’ ‘You’re right, no contest.’ He moved quickly to help her out, but she couldn’t help giving him the flash of thigh again. She grinned. ‘I think it’s jeans if I ride in your car again.’ ‘Please, no. You have gorgeous legs.’ She stared at him for a moment, and he became aware of the thrust of her nipples against the light material of her summer dress, before she took a deep breath and turned towards the cottage, fumbling in her bag for her keys. ‘Can I offer you a coffee, Jack?’ ‘I’d love one,’ he said, pulling her bag out from behind the seat. Inside, she took the bag from him, and indicated the door beside him. ‘Take a seat in there, Jack. I’ll dump the bag and get the kettle on. I hope you don’t mind instant?’ ‘Of course not, that’s what I usually drink.’ ‘I’ll just be a moment.’ He moved into the room she’d indicated, her livingroom. Small, comfortable, two short couches facing each other over a coffee table beside the fire. No television, he noted. A hi-fi combination against the wall, pictures on the walls. He glanced around at them, and stopped, transfixed. He moved closer. At first he thought it was monochrome, then realised it was the lighting, because there was subdued colour in the image. It was Jenny in the photograph, Jenny as he’d never seen her before. Hair loose about her shoulders, leaning against a stone wall, one arm up and behind her head, the other resting loosely on her thigh. Strong side-lighting enhanced the curves of her body. A beautiful body. A naked body, for it was a nude shot and he found himself lost in her beauty. 155

‘I take it you like that one?’ Jenny’s tone was dry, but there was a smile on her face and in her eyes when he turned to her, a flush on his face. He nodded. ‘One of the most beautiful nude shots I can ever remember seeing,’ he said. ‘I must say I’m quite pleased with it. Most of the photos from that shoot were good, but I really like that one.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘When you said you’d done some life modelling, I didn’t make the connection.’ Jenny laughed. ‘Too wrapped up in your computers, Jack. That’s your trouble.’ ‘Not so much so that I cannot appreciate the beauty of a woman,’ he said. ‘Especially one as lovely as you.’ She stared at him for a moment, then smiled, hesitant suddenly. ‘Kettle’s on. Coffee in a minute.’ She turned to go back to the kitchen, then stopped. ‘How’s Kathy?’ she said abruptly. He shrugged. ‘No idea. She ditched me a year ago.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ She began to turn away, but stopped, turning back to him. ‘No, I won’t pretend. I’m not sorry it’s over, Jack, but I am sorry if you got hurt.’ This time she did turn away and moved into the kitchen, leaving him staring after her. He shrugged, and sat on one of the couches. She was back in moments, two coffees on a tray, a plate of biscuits. She put the tray on the coffee table, then sat on the couch opposite him, gesturing to the biscuits. ‘Help yourself, Jack.’ She made a face. ‘I only keep them for guests. I need to lose a few pounds before my next shoot.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t see where.’ ‘You would if I was naked,’ she retorted, then flushed. ‘Oops. Sorry, Jack, I’m too used to being criticised. The money’s good, very good, but some of the people? Yuck, you don’t want to know.’ She gestured. ‘That picture you 156

like? That was done by a friend, Michelle Young. She usually does accessory shots, but she wanted to broaden her portfolio. I think it worked, because she’s been doing some good fashion shoots. She says it was because of the portfolio, but I think it’s her talent.’ ‘It helps to have a beautiful model, Jenny, but as an uninvolved bystander, I’d say the quality of the image speaks for itself.’ ‘I think so, too, but as the model? Well, I’m told that it was me who got her the work.’ Jenny shrugged. ‘Blinkered idiots. They’ll see their error when her work sells.’ She smiled. ‘Enough! Tell me what you’ve been doing?’ They chatted for a while, catching up, sharing memories, and Jack found himself almost wishing that Jenny still moved in his world, but he acknowledged wryly that a software geek and a successful model seemed doomed to separation. He drained his cup, and stood. ‘Probably time I wasn’t here, Jenny. You must have loads to do.’ She seemed about to protest, to say something, but instead she nodded, giving him a half smile. ‘I suppose so. It’s been great running into you.’ He laughed. ‘I thought it was me running into you.’ ‘You know what I meant,’ she retorted. ‘Of course. Thanks for the coffee and the biscuits.’ ‘Any time.’ About to respond to her comment, he thought better of it, and nodded. He moved away, through the door, and into the passageway. Disoriented for a moment, he stopped, and turned. He hadn’t anticipated Jenny being so close behind him and she collided with him. He was aware of the brush of soft breasts against his arm, before he grabbed at her to stop her falling. 157

‘Nearly,’ he said, and faltered. Her face was only inches from his, a startled awareness in her eyes, and without him being aware of either of them moving, she was in his arms, her lips seeking his in a heated kiss that seemed endless, her mouth mashing against his, tongues twining. She broke the kiss and leaned against him, her head on his chest, her breathing erratic. Without volition, his hands moved as if they were alive, independent, and he cupped her breasts. She shuddered, her head still against him, her hands covering his, pressing them against her, her nipples rigid nubs against his palms. Her head came up and her eyes, enormous, flickered all over his face, until she grabbed his hand, turning abruptly and dragging him behind her up the narrow staircase and into what had to be her bedroom. She tugged him into the room, then pushed him onto the bed, on his back, ripping off his shoes. Her face was flushed, and her hands went to his belt, fumbling at the buckle, and the zipper, sliding it down over his growing erection. She looked up at him and a smile curved her lips. ‘Lift your bum,’ she ordered. Amused, excited, hoping, he did, and she pulled his jeans and his boxer shorts off in one smooth moment. He winced as the waistband of his boxers caught on his erection and she stopped, horrified. ‘Jack, oh God, I am so sorry,’ she said, her voice a bare whisper. ‘It’s okay, Jenny,’ he said, smiling, sitting up and stripping his shirt off over his head. He was naked now, except for his socks, and something he’d read or heard came back to him, that a man clad just in socks could only look ridiculous, so that he hurried to remove them. Naked now, he caught her anxious look. ‘Are you – ?’ he began, stopping to clear his throat, but before he could say anything else she’d kicked off her shoes 158

and moved to kneel astride his legs. Holding his gaze with hers, she slowly unbuttoned her dress and let it slide back off her arms. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but he’d guessed that from glimpses of her nipples pressing against the material of her dress and he almost forgot to breathe at his first sight of her naked breasts, firm, rounded, the nipples erect in inch-across goose-bumped areolae. All she was wearing now was panties, skimpy, low, and he could see a wet spot in the crotch, clear against the pale, pink material. She made as if to take them off and he stopped her. ‘No,’ he said. Surprised, she stopped, and he reached to the waistband and ripped it open, then again at the other side, all the time holding her eyes with his. He pulled on the front and the remains of her panties slid between her legs. He could smell her now, that rich, complicated aroma of a sexually excited woman and he lifted the rags of her panties to his nose, breathing deeply. He smiled up at her. ‘I’ll buy you new ones,’ he said. She laughed, and then the smile faded slowly from her face. She took a deep breath and shuffled forward on her knees, poising herself over him, then lowering herself onto his hardness. They both groaned, and he could feel the clinging scald of her as she slid down over the hot, hard length of him. ‘Oh, yes!’ she said on a gusty breath, ‘Yes!’ She wriggled a little, and then her butt was on his thighs and as much of him as would fit was buried in her snug, soft wetness. Boneless, almost, she collapsed forward onto him, and he put his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. They clung to each other for a long, slow moment, and then she pushed herself upright and began to move, raising herself until she almost left him, then sliding back down again until her bottom touched his thighs again. 159

‘Oh, Jack,’ she whispered, ‘it feels so good. So very, fucking good.’ She managed a shaky smile. ‘I wanted to do this three years ago,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He shook his head, smiling. ‘We couldn’t, then, but now, we can.’ Her face changed and she groaned. ‘I feel so full,’ she whispered. ‘You feel huge inside me.’ ‘And you feel so wonderfully tight,’ he said. She smiled, a soft, sweet curving of her lips. She moved steadily, lifting, then falling, her juices flowing freely, her nipples like pebbles. Her breathing deepened and she began to pant. ‘Oh, my God!’ she gasped. ‘You’re going to make me come! Oh, shit. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ She dragged air into her lungs with a tortured gasp and he could feel her pussy clutching at him, could see her belly rippling and she screamed his name as her orgasm took her and rattled her and left her limp and exhausted. She collapsed across him, gasping for breath. He held her tight, waiting until her tortured lungs could get enough oxygen. Eventually, she pushed herself up, his still hard erection firmly buried in her. She had come, but he hadn’t. Her face was flushed and she avoided his eyes. ‘What’s up?’ he said, gentle, concerned. Her eyes flickered to his, and she shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ ‘Embarrassed?’ he said. After a long pause, she nodded. ‘Yes, a little.’ ‘Why? Jenny, love, you never need be ashamed of good, honest passion,’ he said. She gave him a half smile. ‘That’s better. Now, you came,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t.’ She opened her mouth to say something but his fingers were across her mouth. He brushed his thumb across her lips 160

and felt her kiss. Holding her eyes, he flexed his prick deep within her pussy and she giggled His hands moved up and he cupped her breasts again, letting his thumbs rub lightly over her nipples. She sighed contentedly and he let his hips begin to move, pushing up into her wetness. ‘That’s good,’ she whispered. ‘I’m glad,’ he said, ‘because I want to do this a lot.’ Her lips curved in a smile. ‘A lot?’ ‘A lot.’ A long pause, then, ‘Good.’ He slid his hands down from her breasts and rested them on her hips, holding her in place on him as he thrust up at her, his hips moving steadily now. There were beads of sweat on her brow in the warm summer evening. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she whispered. ‘That feels wonderful. You feel so big in me.’ ‘You like that?’ ‘I love it.’ ‘Good,’ he said, never ceasing his steady thrusts into her soaking depths. ‘Oh, yes, it’s good, it’s wonderful, I love you to fuck me.’ ‘I love you fucking me, too.’ ‘Mmm, yes. Ooh!’ she gasped as he flexed his prick in her depths. She giggled. ‘That felt nice.’ ‘I’m getting close, Jenny,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to come in you?’ ‘Oh, God, yes! I want to feel you come!’ Her breathing was quickening again, and so was his. He was almost panting as he thrust up into her, his breathing tight and laboured. He could feel that incredible feeling that is an impending climax building in him, building, building, until suddenly he was there, yelling his triumph in her ear. ‘Jenny! I’m coming! I’m coming!’ 161

And she cried back at him, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ and she collapsed across him as her own climax struck again, her pussy milking his prick of his seed, clutching at him, drawing him on, emptying him. Gradually, they regained their equilibrium, their breathing slowing to something near-normal, and she sat up. Her eyes flickered over his face and he sensed anxiety in her. Now that they’d shared the moment, she was wondering. He smiled up at her and her face cleared, her wonderful smile breaking out. ‘Was I, was it –?’ she began, but he put his fingers across her mouth to stop her. She kissed them. ‘It was wonderful, and so are you.’ He kissed her, and her kiss in return was a promise. ‘Can I stay? Tonight? Sleep with you?’ he said. She looked at him, wondering. ‘Are you serious?’ ‘I am. Please,’ he said. ‘I want to be with you when I wake.’ ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, please stay.’ She kissed him again, and then lay her head on his chest. He could feel himself still within her, softer now, but not soft and he wondered how quickly he could get hard, to love her again. There was a soft, contented sigh from her and he kissed her ear, about all he could reach without moving her. ‘You know,’ she said, satisfied content in her tone, ‘you always were my favourite teacher.’

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Life Of A Salesman by Landon Dixon It had been a long, hard day at the convention booth. Jennifer and I had gotten a few nibbles that might or might not translate into sales somewhere down the road, but the strain of smiling and making nice all day had left me with a mild headache and a sore face. I packed up our pamphlets and said, ‘Well, Jen, that’s it. I’ll load everything in the van now, so we don’t have to waste time in the morning. Why don’t you grab a table in the restaurant and we can have some dinner…and drinks?’ She looked even more tired than I felt. ‘I don’t know… To be honest, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just take a shower, order some room service, and then go to bed.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll see you in the –’ ‘Come on, Jen. It’s our last night in town. Then it’s back to the grind at the office. I’ll tell you what, take your shower and order some room service and we’ll eat it together. It’s a lot more fun than eating alone.’ I grinned. ‘Maybe we can break into the mini-bar, too, and get some more mileage out of the old expense allowance. What’d you say?’ ‘I don’t know. I –’ ‘I’ll see you in half an hour,’ I said, and scooped up a box and high-tailed it out the door and into the parking lot. 163

This was it, I thought. Showtime! I had worked with Jennifer for almost a year now, and had lusted after her hot body every hour of every day of every month of that year. She was a tall babe in her late forties, which put her about twenty years up on me, but age had been very, very good to her. She wore her long, blonde hair in a ponytail or piled up on her head in a professional manner, and had warm, green eyes that could blaze with fire when she got passionate about something. Her skin was tanned a light brown, and her waist was slim and trim – obviously the result of plenty of early-morning, or late-night, exercise. Her legs were long and smooth, and held the promise of bliss at their axis. But what really made Jennifer sweet, sweet Jennifer, was her beautiful, bountiful tits. She was easily a 38 D, and when she walked towards me and those magnificent tits started bouncing, it was all I could do to keep my tongue in my mouth and my hands in my pockets. And when she took off her suit jacket, the business ends of those tits were clearly and rigidly outlined against the thin material of her blouse; no doubt, in my mind, yearning to be free of their cloth and Lycra confines and frolicking openly in my loving hands. I gave my head a shake, noticed a group of Japanese tourists laughing and pointing at me. I sheepishly turned my back on them and tried to think away my spontaneous hardon with thoughts un-Jennifer. ‘That was a great meal,’ Jennifer said. ‘I’m stuffed.’ Not yet, I thought, not yet. She got up from the small table and walked over to the mini-bar. I watched her every move. She was dressed down in a pair of tight, faded-blue jeans, and a thin, white T-shirt that did nothing to hide her enormous chest. 164

‘Would you like another drink?’ she asked, bending over and opening up the mini-bar. Her firm, rounded ass was a sight to behold. ‘Huh? Uh…sure,’ I responded. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’ She pulled out a couple of tiny, overpriced bottles and brought them back over to the table. She poured the contents into a couple of glasses, and we both quickly downed them. She left a rim of lipstick around the edge of her glass, and I pictured such a rim being left around my cock. I stifled my erection for the time being, however, and we shared a few laughs about the people we had met at the convention. When she brought over our fourth set of bottles, a slight stumble in her step, she put them on the table but didn’t sit down herself. She stood in front of me, not six dick-lengths away, her big chest heaving like she had just run around the hotel a couple of times. I could have been chivalrous and stopped staring at her tits, but being knighted wasn’t on my list of long-term goals, so I gazed at her breasts like they were some sort of optical illusion. ‘Like what you see?’ she whispered. The air in the room suddenly grew very, very hot, to go along with my face. I gulped, my tongue swollen in my dry mouth, and had trouble getting wind into my lungs. Her womanly scent and the heat from her body smothered me in a lust embrace. ‘I’d…I’d like to see more,’ I said, choking. I’d seen a fair bit of feminine action in my day, but nothing approaching a woman of Jennifer’s size and experience. ‘So would I,’ she replied. She pulled a couple of clasps out of her hair and her silky, blonde tresses cascaded down her back and shoulders. Then she pulled her T-shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. I swallowed hard and my throat creaked. Her tits were huge, the nipples large and dark inside her satiny, pink bra. ‘Wow,’ I said softly. 165

I think Jennifer smiled then; I’m not really sure. I was watching her hands as they rubbed the sides of her slim, naked upper body, and then slowly rose up and caressed her breasts. She moaned slightly – I know that because I could hear it – as she squeezed the sides of her tits. Then she cupped her monstrous melons and hefted them slightly for my inspection. ‘Yeah,’ I stated eloquently. She massaged her tits through the silky material of her bra, then slowly undid the fastener on the front. I held my breath. When she squeezed her breasts together in the action of unlocking her treasure chest, I swore that I could’ve lived contentedly for the rest of my natural life in that deep, deep cleavage. She slipped off her bra in slow motion and her tits spilled out into the open. Free at last! They were even bigger and more beautiful than I had fantasized, and I had long imagined the shape and texture and suckability of those titanic tits during many, many an office bathroom jerk-off session. They were a sun-burnished brown like the rest of her body, and huge and smooth – sagging not a bit. And her two glorious, sun-kissed mounds were peaked with thick, brown, inch-long nipples that stood erectly to attention in the air-conditioned cool of the hotel room. She lifted her tits with her hands, squeezed them together, shook them, rolled the long, rigid nipples between her fingers, moaning an accompaniment to her sensual titplay. Her massive breasts were obviously sensitive to the touch and, hopefully, taste. ‘You’re beautiful, Jennifer,’ I said, stating the obvious. ‘Suck my tits,’ she hissed, more to the point. ‘Suck my tits, you big, tit-hungry stud!’ My eyebrows shot up along with my cock. So, she liked to talk dirty. Dirty it would most definitely be. I jumped up, brushed her hands aside, and grabbed on to her tits for the 166

first time. They were as full and heavy and hot as I’d imagined. They were more than a handful. I squeezed them, kneaded them, rubbed them with shaking fingers and sweaty hands. I lightly pinched and rolled her impossibly large nipples. I fondled those incredible tits like a blind man shopping for watermelon. Her body trembled at my touch, and her eyes glazed over with lust. Her lips opened and closed like she was already on the verge of a catastrophic orgasm. But she managed to give voice to her filthy feelings, and my filthy thoughts. ‘Explore my tits with your hands and your mouth and your tongue!’ she said, in a quavery voice thick with passion. ‘Then stick your big cock between my tits and spray them with hot, sticky cum!’ ‘Sweet Jesus,’ I mumbled. I shoved her tits together and was about to apply some suction and saliva when her legs buckled and she collapsed backwards onto the bed. I was on top of her in an instant, and I was holding nothing back. I frantically sucked on her right breast while I squeezed her left. ‘Yes, suck my fucking tits!’ she screamed, twisting her head back and forth, her body writhing around on the bed. The lady’s tits were of the super-sensitive variety, just as they were super-sized, so I poured on the oral stimulation. I tongued her mocha nipples, teasing them till they swelled even further in my mouth, and became drenched in my saliva. I sucked and sucked on them, bouncing my head from one to the other, licking and biting them, all the time squeezing and rubbing the mammoth mammaries on which they stood to damp, rigid attention. Then I inhaled as much of Jennifer’s right tit as I could cram into my mouth, which wasn’t much, and flattened my tongue against her nipple and sucked long and hard. 167

‘Fuck, yes!’ she wailed, her hands in her hair, my hair. ‘I’m coming!’ I almost choked on her tit. This was one goddamn passionate MILF! I pulled back for a second, keeping my hands on her tits, always on her tits, and stared down at her bronzed upper body, her tits spit-soaked and polished, her lower body still spray-painted jeans. It was a picture worth a thousand cum shots. I couldn’t admire it for long, however, as Jennifer desperately grabbed my head and pulled me back down to her chest. ‘Suck my tits, lover!’ she cried. It was hard to imagine at that moment that this starkcraven woman was the same cool, professional businessperson who walked the impersonal hallways of the office back home. I didn’t give it much thought, though – I had my hands full. I shoved her fleshy mounds together and sucked relentlessly on one nipple and then the other, flapped my tongue across the both of them at the same time. ‘Yes, baby! Yes!’ she yelled, then grew ominously rigid. Her fingernails dug into my scalp and her eyes flew open and she stared desperately at her approaching ecstasy, her muscles tensing with the onslaught of all-out orgasm. I lapped joyously at her nipples, buffing her tits with my tongue. She let loose a muffled scream and her body began quivering like a sexual divining rod at an orgy. I didn’t stop for a second. I sucked and bit on her nipples, fondled them with my fingers, kneaded her beautiful tits with my hands. She gasped for air, then shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, as her body was ferociously jolted by orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. White-hot sexual ecstasy tore through her body and her tits and burst into my greedy mouth. I desperately fought to maintain contact with her jouncing tits, as her body bucked and bounced all over the bed. 168

After what seemed an eternity in cum-time, but was only a minute in real-time, she finally came to rest with a groan. Her face and tits were soaked. I lapped at the sweat on and between her tits, and it tasted clean and salty and good. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and smiled up at me. ‘I know how you can,’ I said. ‘Help yourself. Anything.’ I grinned like I was her personal bra-fitter, then stood up and tore off my shirt and my pants and my shorts. My cock sprang out into the cum-humid air and pointed arrowstraight at her lush chest. ‘Tit fuck me, baby,’ she said softly, reading the thoughts in both of my heads. She slid further onto the bed and I jumped on top of her and straddled her chest. I stared at the slick path between her gigantic tits and readied myself for action. She beat me to it. She grabbed my cock and began stroking it, slowly, sensuously at first, then faster and faster, until her hand and my brain were a blur. I felt cum boiling at the base of my cock, and I closed my eyes and tossed back my head – the only things of importance in the world becoming her hand and my cock, my cock and her hand. She pulled me back from the precipice of ecstasy by tugging me down into the cleft between her tits. ‘Fuck my tits, baby!’ she urged. ‘Then spray your cum all over them!’ I opened my eyes, gave my head a shake, and reached down and shoved her tits together – against and over the top of my cock. The sensation was like nothing I had felt before. I let my cock bask momentarily in the damp, super-heated pressure of her giant tits, then started sliding it back and forth within her fleshy canyon. ‘That’s the way,’ she said, replacing my hands with hers. She pushed her tits together even harder and the pressure on my cock became unbearable. It felt like I was plundering 169

a virgin’s tight pussy for the very first time. I moved my hips and shoved my cock back and forth between her pillows as best I could, until she temporarily loosened her hold on her tits and spat on my cock and into her love tunnel, lubricating both for better action. She pressed her tits back together again and I thrust my slickened cock back and forth between them. I groaned when the fiery head of my cock poked through her tits and she licked it. ‘Suck it, Jen!’ I encouraged her, stopping my rocking motion so that my cock-head peeked out from between her tits, pointed at her mouth. She bent her head forward as far as she could and tongued and sucked on my swollen cock-head. Her lips and tongue were warm and wet and soft. My body shuddered like I’d been plugged into an electrical socket dick first when she bit lightly on my purple head, and her tongue slapped across my slit. ‘Yeah,’ I moaned. Pre-cum seeped out of my dick and she greedily lapped it up and swallowed it. ‘I want more,’ she hissed. ‘I want you to cum on my tits and my face…and in my mouth!’ She nipped angrily at my cock and I knew that she meant it. I picked up the rocking rhythm again, tit-fucking that gorgeous woman for all I was worth. She smiled wickedly up at me in anticipation, then pulled back her right tit and sucked on the engorged nipple. I could stand it no longer. I slammed my cock in and out of the tunnel between her tits, the tension towering to the exploding point in my balls. I grabbed on to the headboard and frantically pounded away at her huge tits, my cock on fire as it rubbed her breasts and chest. The bed rattled with my frenetic tit-fucking, until I smashed through the point of no return and the hot, slick friction on my cock forced the cum to shoot up from my balls and out the tip of my blazing cock. 170

‘I’m coming!’ I screamed. ‘Cum all over my tits!’ she screamed back. I grabbed my bursting cock and pumped it frantically over top of her tits. White-hot jism rocketed out of my dick and splashed down onto Jennifer’s tits and face. My body jerked and my legs quivered as I doused those glorious tits and that beautiful face with what felt like gallons and gallons of super-heated cum. She groaned as my cum rained down on her and coated her nipples and tits and face in long, hot, thick ropes. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue and hungrily captured and swallowed as much of my cum as she could. ‘Fuck!’ I shouted, my cock spurting my lust onto her face and body. I tugged at my meat desperately, milking it of its gigantic load, painting Jennifer’s tits white with my jism. Then my body spasmed one final time, and the last of my sizzling semen shot out of my cock and found a home in her wanton mouth. I dropped my cock and used both of my hands to hold myself up on the headboard. Sweat poured off my face and onto Jennifer’s face and tits, mixing with the steaming puddles of semen that she hadn’t yet licked clean. She looked up at me as I gasped for air, my chest heaving. ‘Help me clean up this mess?’ she asked with a naughty smile. ‘Sure,’ I groaned, fighting to stay conscious, totally and absolutely drained. I bent down to kiss her on the lips and her tongue snaked out and I tasted cum. She cupped her breasts and pointed them at me. I flopped down on top of her and began licking her massive tits, tonguing sweat and cum off her breasts and then depositing it in her mouth. She greedily took it in, swallowed it down, sucking my tongue to get all of the cum out of my mouth and into hers. I shoved her giant tits forward and we lapped 171

at them together, sucked on her nipples, passionately frenched till all of the cum was gone. When her huge tits were finally mopped clean, she smiled at me and asked, ‘Do you do bottoms, too?’

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Men At Work by Elizabeth Cage ‘Bloody workmen. You just can’t rely on them.’ Emma cringed as Matt slammed the phone down. ‘They were supposed to be here at seven. I wanted to brief them about the layout.’ She knew what was coming next. ‘Can you sort this out, Emma, love?’ he wheedled, giving her a boyish grin that had once charmed her into agreeing to most of his requests, reasonable or otherwise. ‘You know I have to go to the office. I’m late as it is.’ Before she could answer, he’d grabbed the car keys and was already on his way out. ‘Of course, Matt. No problem, Matt,’ she muttered irritably to the empty kitchen. She’d planned to spend the day working on an essay for her counselling course. Sighing, she made herself a strong black coffee. She needed caffeine. It wasn’t that she minded sorting out the builders. It was the assumption that she would, without question. Being taken for granted. She tried the number again, but there was no reply. The builders were probably on their way over. She glanced at the clock – eight fifteen. She was sure they’d be here soon. They weren’t unreliable – just a bit lax when it came to 173

timekeeping. But they did a good job, took pride in their work. Nice couple of blokes, really – brothers Steve, who was twenty-five and Gus, eighteen. She knew their ages because after they’d finished work on Friday night and joked over tea and biscuits Gus had mentioned his recent birthday party and complained that his brother was getting ‘past it’ at twenty-five, which made her laugh. Then he’d tried to guess her age. ‘Twenty-one at most,’ he’d suggested. ‘And the rest,’ she’d replied, blushing. She was already thirty-three when she’d met Matt and they’d been living together for nearly ten years. She sometimes wondered where the time had gone. Still, it was flattering in a way, even though she knew Gus probably played the same game with all his female clients. He was quite good-looking too, in a rugged sort of way. Muscular, strong, well-built. It came with the territory, she supposed. All that lifting and carrying and hammering and screwing. There was a knock on the door. ‘Where’s Steve?’ she asked, surprised to see only Gus unloading tools from the battered Escort van. ‘Hangover,’ Gus replied. ‘We went to a night-club last night. Poor old sod, I told you he can’t keep up the pace. Don’t worry, he’ll be here later. It’s okay, we won’t let you down.’ As Gus disappeared up the ladder into the new loft conversion, Emma hoped he was right. They’d agreed to get the job finished by six-thirty, on the dot. It was to be a surprise for Matt, who wasn’t expecting the work to be completed for another two days. The old loft, over a period of weeks, had been slowly transformed into a spacious extra room. There had been problems with the structure, delays in getting the right materials, but soon it would be ready. A new office space for Matt, with a computer, fax and modem, 174

and big oak desk that Matt had already ordered from a catalogue he had brought home from work. The walls had been painted white-with-a-hint-of-plum, contrasting with a subtle shade of chalk blue for the ceiling. Pine bookshelves and a luxurious swivel chair, black leather and chrome, were stored in the garage, protected by plastic sheeting, awaiting their unveiling. Hopefully, with such a great space, Matt would work from home more often and they would get to see more of each other. He always put work first, but at least this way he would be home for dinner more often, although she sometimes wondered if it was really work that kept him out so late. They both knew that their relationship was hanging by a thread – a flimsy one at that. ‘Some people have children to cement a relationship – we convert the loft,’ she had joked bitterly to Steve over tea one morning. He’d smiled and she wasn’t certain whether it was sympathy or pity. ‘So, what is it today – custard creams or bourbons?’ Gus had come back downstairs quietly, without her hearing and was standing behind her, close enough to feel his breath on her neck. ‘Chocolate hobnobs,’ she replied, without moving away. ‘Your hair smells good,’ he said suddenly and for a moment she felt her heart racing. Quickly, she moved away and clattered mugs and plates, tearing the biscuit wrapper with shaking fingers. Pull yourself together, Emma, she told herself fiercely. You’re acting like a silly teenager. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked briskly. ‘Think it will be finished on time?’ Gus nodded. ‘Trust me.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘That’s a nice blouse you’re wearing this morning.’ ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she replied. 175

‘Only the pretty ones,’ he laughed. Emma groaned. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’ ‘Worth a try,’ he retorted. He glanced at the clock. ‘Where’s that delinquent brother of mine? I’d better give him a call.’ He had just started to key a number on his mobile when Steve arrived. ‘The back door’s open,’ Emma shouted through the window and Steve came in through the patio, carefully wiping his boots on the mat. ‘Just in time for tea break,’ he said, heading purposefully for the hobnobs. ‘I hope you’ve saved something for me,’ and Emma thought that he winked at Gus. Despite being unable to get on the computer, Emma spent a productive afternoon, writing notes for her essay, with the background sounds of Radio One punctuated by drilling and hammering from above the ceiling. By six fifteen, chicken was roasting in the oven, the wine was chilled and the strawberry trifle had been spooned into a cut glass bowl. She had prepared a special meal for a special night. In twenty minutes Matt would be home. She just had time to change. ‘Ready for your inspection, madam,’ announced Steve, peering into the kitchen at six forty, then added, ‘Wow!’ Emma didn’t often dress up – there never seemed to be the opportunity and suddenly she felt self-conscious in a clingy lycra dress, stockings and high heels. Ignoring his gaze and feeling flustered, she said swiftly, ‘Is it finished?’ ‘Come upstairs and see,’ he responded, gesturing her to follow. It wasn’t easy ascending the loft ladder with stilettos but the struggle was worth it. When she saw the room, Emma felt quite emotional. It was a dream of a room. ‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed. 176

‘Glad you like it,’ replied Steve. ‘Now, before we go, is there anything else you need us to do?’ She hesitated. ‘There is something. I hope you won’t feel I’m taking advantage by asking.’ ‘If you don’t ask, you won’t get,’ joked Gus. ‘Well, could you possibly bring up the bookshelves and leather chair from the garage?’ ‘No problem.’ ‘Thanks, I do appreciate this. It really is a lovely room. Thank you.’ ‘Don’t mention it. Oh, and payment in cash of our outstanding fee would be nice.’ ‘Yes, of course.’ Back downstairs, fumbling in her purse for the right cash, Emma felt a warm glow. The meal was going to be perfect. The room was perfect. She even felt good about herself. It was going to be a perfect evening. Then the phone rang. It was Matt. ‘Sorry, love – I really hate to do this to you, but we have a major problem at work, need to meet an important deadline. Have to stay late and I have an early start tomorrow, so I’m going to book into a hotel.’ Feeling crushed, Emma put the phone down. ‘Anything wrong?’ asked Steve, who was hovering in the doorway. ‘Nothing I’m not used to,’ she muttered quietly. ‘Hey, are you sure you’re alright?’ ‘No. I’m not, actually. But it’s my problem. I’ll get your money, if you can just hang on a minute.’ Staring at herself in the bedroom mirror, feeling ridiculous in her black fuck me dress, Emma visualised her relationship with Matt spiralling down into a vortex, taking all the anger and upset with it. To her surprise she began to laugh. How ironic – their relationship was finished at the 177

same time as the completion of the loft room. It was both funny and pathetic. Why was she wasting her energy and emotions on someone who clearly didn’t feel she was worth the effort? Emma took a deep breath and went back into the kitchen, where Steve and Gus waited awkwardly. ‘Would you like to stay for supper?’ she heard herself say. ‘I mean, it seems a shame to waste all this food. Anyway, I hate eating alone.’ Gus opened the wine and they polished off the chicken in double quick time before starting on the dessert. ‘This is delicious,’ commented Gus. ‘Terrific,’ agreed Steve. ‘You’re right,’ said Emma, spooning the creamy substance between her lips and licking the spoon provocatively. ‘Here, you’ve missed a bit.’ Steve leant across and wiped cream from the corners of her mouth, his fingers lingering. Gus watched with interest. ‘Actually, I hadn’t realised just how hungry I am.’ And with that, she took hold of his finger and began to nibble. ‘You’re tipsy,’ laughed Gus. ‘Not tipsy enough,’ she replied, pouring more wine. ‘Hey, steady on,’ said Steve. ‘Bloody men,’ she complained. ‘All the same.’ ‘No we’re not,’ protested Gus. ‘Show me, then.’ Gus leaned across the table and gently kissed her on the mouth. Responding instantly, Emma pulled him towards her and their tongues entwined. Simultaneously she felt Steve’s hands around her waist. He had got up from the table and was standing behind her, kissing her neck. She groaned and his hands slipped between her legs, feeling her wetness. Her head was spinning. 178

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she gasped. ‘I want to christen the loft room.’ On the newly polished wooden floor, Emma lay spreadeagled, her dress indecently hitched up around her waist with Steve between her legs, tonguing and licking her, while Gus peeled off her stockings. She came quickly, her eyes swimming, while she was sucking Gus’s delicious cock, and while she was still recovering, he thrust his throbbing hardness into her. She heard a woman’s voice scream – ‘Screw me to the floor, you fuckster!’ and realised it was her own. She was amazed at Gus’s stamina and he kept going until she came again, which wasn’t difficult when Steve was pinching and sucking her breasts while simultaneously caressing her clitoris. While Gus was getting his breath back, Steve slid into her welcoming pussy and she came again in waves, melting into what she imagined she could describe as a state of fuckstasy. They did it on the floor, against the wall, on the rug, twice on Matt’s new desk, and on the leather chair. Emma hadn’t realised it was possible for one woman to enjoy so much pleasure and attention. Finally, exhausted, they slept. They awoke in the early hours, limbs entwined. Emma stretched languorously and went down to the kitchen, naked except for her high heels, and made them coffee. Soon after, Gus and Steve packed their tools away and kissed her goodbye and she thanked them for all they had done. When they had left, Emma gradually returned to earth with a thud. She couldn’t quite believe what had happened, that she had behaved so wantonly. She told herself it wasn’t her fault, that it was a combination of frustration, neglect, a need for attention – perhaps even revenge on Matt for making her feel invisible. As soon as he arrived home from work that night, Matt knew something had changed. He couldn’t articulate what it 179

was, but for some reason, Emma seemed different. When she said, ‘I have a surprise for you,’ he wondered what to expect. Taking him by the hand she led him upstairs and asked him to follow her up the loft ladder. Then he saw the completed loft room and he was quite overwhelmed. ‘God, Emma, I don’t know what to say. I love it. It’s wonderful.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘I feel dreadful now about last night, for spoiling everything you planned for me.’ Suddenly he put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him, holding her close so she could feel his hardness pressed against her. ‘I know you think I’m work obsessed, but I really missed you last night. I hardly slept at all.’ ‘Neither did I, darling,’ she replied, her clit still tingling from the night before. ‘Shall we christen our new loft room?’

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Persuasion by Everica May ‘Yes, Miss Rifkin?’ I dropped my hand and opened my mouth, then paused. ‘I – I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my question,’ I said, blushing furiously as scattered tittering swept through the auditorium. Professor West only smiled that heart-melting smile of his and said, ‘Fear not. I’m gratified that you were listening with such rapt attention that you forgot your question.’ I returned a sheepish grin of my own and looked down at my notes so that he wouldn’t see the truth in my eyes: that I had not been listening that hard. That I’d actually been fantasizing. About him. Professor West figured heavily in my fantasy life. I found his shaven head a massive turn-on. That, added to a strong Roman nose, liquid brown eyes, a lean but muscular frame and his 6' something height, amounted to heart-stopping good looks. Though he usually dressed on the more formal side, every now and then, on a hot day like today, he’d appear in jeans and a plain T-shirt that showed off his well defined arms and flat stomach. On those days I could never concentrate on anything but imagining peeling that shirt off 181

over his head and running my hands over his rock hard torso, reaching down inside his trousers – ‘Miss Rifkin?’ I snapped back to reality to find that nearly everyone else was gone and I alone remained seated. I looked up into Professor West’s eyes and blushed scarlet. He smiled gently. ‘Did you have a question?’ he asked. ‘Um – I – ah’ I stammered. Then, in a moment of sudden boldness, I asked, ‘Could I make an appointment to see you in your office?’ ‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘Can you make it at three o’clock this afternoon?’ ‘Three o’clock?’ I repeated. ‘Yes, that would be great.’ ‘I’ll see you then,’ he said, shouldering his satchel, and left. Dazed by my own boldness, I watched the straight line of his back as he walked away, then slowly packed away my things and stood. What was I going to say when I got to his office? Suddenly I grinned as a plan occurred to me. Shaking my head at my own bravado, I walked to my next class. But by the time I was headed to Professor West’s office, I wasn’t feeling half so bold. In fact, I was starting to wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Still, a little voice inside of me was insisting ‘Carpe Diem. Carpe Diem.’ The Professor’s office was tucked away in a somewhat isolated corner on the top floor of the building. I was surprised that a tenured professor with Dr West’s reputation would be stuck in such an out of the way spot, but once inside his office, I understood. It was very large – larger than any professor’s office I’d ever been in. A door in the far wall led to an additional room. ‘Nice office,’ I said, perching on the edge of the chair towards which he was waving me. 182

‘I like it,’ he replied. ‘Very private. None of the staff ever remembers I’m here, so I get plenty of time to myself. Now, how can I help you?’ My heart was beating very quickly now and I felt my stomach churning. I leaned forward and placed my hands on his desk. ‘I, ah, I was a little concerned about my grade,’ I said, hoping desperately that he hadn’t checked his records and found that I was actually getting an ‘A’. ‘I was wondering if there was any sort of project I could do for extra credit.’ Professor West leaned toward me over his desk, placing a hand very near my own – so near that I could feel the warmth of it. With what I thought was a knowing grin, he asked, ‘What sort of project did you have in mind?’ I was trying desperately to figure out how to do this. The last thing I wanted was to be rejected out of hand. How could I suggest what I wanted to suggest and still be able to pretend I hadn’t if he chose to misread me? I leaned a little closer in simulated animation, using that as an excuse to move my hand forward until it touched his. ‘Well, I was thinking of a sort of study of the personal relationships between the characters in the books we’ve covered so far – a comparison and contrasting of the different romantic attractions.’ Professor West had looked down when I’d touched his hand, but I had ignored his glance and left my hand there. Now I saw a twinkle in his eyes as he placed his large fingers over my own and said, ‘An admirable project, Miss Rifkin. I always believe in exploring interpersonal relationships and the possibilities of romantic attachment.’ He closed his hand over my own and rose, walking around the edge of his desk and bringing me up to my feet.

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‘You might like to do a little research into what factors attract two characters to each other,’ he said, stepping close to me, still holding my hand. My breath was coming short and fast now. ‘Yes,’ I breathed, looking up into his eyes. ‘That would be perfect. And – and what they do about that attraction.’ My ears were ringing and my stomach clenching in anticipation as the Professor bent his face down slowly, excruciatingly slowly, toward my own. I could smell his cologne and the starch of his pressed shirt. Then he was kissing me. He let go of my hand and reached under my shirt, encircling my waist with hands that felt very hot on my cool skin. I drew in a sharp breath as goose-bumps prickled up my body. Now he was sliding my shirt up over my breasts, breaking the kiss to pull it off over my head. He walked over to lock the door, then returned his attention to me, eyes travelling up my body, lighting on my black lace demi-cup bra. Reaching out with one hand, he traced the exposed upper curve of my breasts slowly with an appreciative ‘Mmmmmm.’ Enjoying the way he looked at me, I undid the button and zip of my jeans and slipped them off, then stood there watching him look at me. The merry spark was gone from his eyes, replaced by an intensity that thrilled me. He stepped forward, taking my face in both hands and kissing me hungrily. I reached around and grabbed his buttocks, pulling his hips against my own and rocking my pelvis back and forth to feel his hardness against me. An urgency gripped us both now that nothing could forestall. In seconds we were both naked and he backed me against the wall, lifted me with seeming effortlessness and lowered me onto his rigid cock. I cried out as he entered me and he pressed me against the wall, kissing my neck and 184

breasts, making me writhe uncontrollably on his penis, which was buried deep within me. A moment later, he withdrew and lowered me to the floor leaving me gasping with desire. I desperately wanted him back inside me and was afraid he had changed his mind, but then, with a crash and flutter of books, pens, and papers, he swept his desk clear with a swipe of his arm, and lifting me again, laid me back on the wide desk. Then he was on top of me and entering me again. Now I reached around him, gripping his smoothly muscled back, pulling him closer as he thrust into me. I buried my face in his neck to muffle my cries of passion as I locked my legs around his back, allowing even deeper penetration. He stopped kissing me for a moment to place his mouth by my ear. ‘I can give you even more credit if you’d like to fondle yourself.’ I kissed him again, slipping a hand down between us to rub my engorged clitoris. I was so excited that it was at the height of its sensitivity. I teased myself a little with light strokes until my resolve broke and I stroked harder while thrusting my hips upward to feel the professor’s cock reaching deep into the core of me. In seconds I was coming, crying out, bucking against him convulsively. His mouth was beside my ear again. ‘Full marks,’ he murmured. He reached under me now, grabbing my bottom with both hands and, slowing his pace, stroked firmly in and out of me, now kissing my neck, now nibbling my ear until I gasped, ‘More! Please more!’ The slower pace was tantalizing, maddening. I needed him to really fuck me and he was driving me crazy. ‘Please,’ I said again. ‘I need more!’ 185

I gripped his back tightly and thrust my hips toward him, trying to force him to speed up, to drive even deeper. My G-spot was enlarged and sensitized from having already come, and now each outward stroke brought the head of his cock brushing past it and released a hot stream of my juices which flowed out around him and began to pool under me on his desk. When the first stream hit him, I felt his fingers dig into my buttocks and his rhythm changed. I knew it was turning him on and that excited me even more. As another stream jetted out, he gasped, sending me over the edge. Clenching my buttocks, I ground my Gspot against the head of his cock and came again, allowing a flood of my juices to flow out and drench him. He could take no more. Driven to the height of excitement by my lusty cries, he bucked urgently into me. Fighting against every fibre of my being, I pushed away, slipping off his penis and scooting out from under him. I slithered off the end of the desk as he lunged forward, grabbing for me. ‘How’s my project coming?’ I panted, staying just out of reach, wicked delight in my eyes. He lurched off of the desk and grabbed me, kissing me, his hot, wet cock pulsating against my abdomen. ‘Let’s see how you wrap things up,’ he husked. I dropped to my knees, getting my first good look at his beautiful cock as it bobbed in front of my face. Reaching out, I caressed his balls, looking up and seeing him close his eyes as he moaned appreciatively. I opened my mouth and took his cock inside of it, tasting my tangy juices on him, swirling my tongue first around his shaft, then around the head. I stood again, kissing him, pressing the length of my body against his. A noise behind me made me catch my breath and turn. Another student – a handsome thirty-ish man I recognized 186

from Professor West’s class – stood in the open doorway to the other room, stark naked, penis erect in his hand, face flushed, a sense of urgency in his clear green eyes. I froze, then turned to look at Professor West. He took my shoulders and turned me away, using his body to shield me from the other man’s stare. ‘Fancy double the credit?’ he asked, looking down into my eyes. His voice was reassuring, telling me I was safe. I rose to my tiptoes, peering at the man again over Dr West’s shoulder. Taking in his beautiful body and his obvious desire, my stomach lurched with anticipation. I took a deep breath. ‘Why not?’ I said with a naughty grin. I pulled away from Professor West and walked boldly across to the other man, enjoying the way that his eyes travelled up and down my body, how his rigid cock throbbed in response. I stopped and stood just in front of him, waiting to see what he might do. His face betrayed his desire, but there was conflict in his eyes, so I took the initiative, reaching forward and taking his hand, then placing it on my breast. I could feel my erect nipple poking into his warm palm. He closed his eyes for a moment, cupping his hand around my breast, then opened them again as he brought his other hand up as well. He held both breasts in his hands almost reverently, his warmth radiating into them, then let out a long breath as he caressed them gently. I placed my hands low on his hips, then brushed them down just around his cock and balls and kissed him, knowing he could taste my own juices on my tongue as I did so. He groaned, moving my arms from between us and pressing his penis between my legs, trying to push the tip into my vagina. But that was for the professor, so I broke the kiss, placing my hands on the man’s waist, then running them down over his hips and legs 187

as I dropped to my knees. I took him into my mouth and listened to his soft moans as I swirled my tongue around his cock. I grasped his hips and pulled downward to signal him to drop to his knees, then got into an all-fours position while still sucking his cock. I raised my ass higher, wiggling it invitingly, and was rewarded by the feel of Dr West’s firm hands on my waist and the head of his penis pressing against the lips of my sex as he knelt with his legs bracketing mine. I was still very slippery and he slid into me effortlessly, causing me to moan with pleasure and desire. The other man placed his hands on my shoulders and I felt a sudden thrill as the reality of pleasuring two men at once hit me. I reached out with one hand, cupping the other man’s balls and lightly stroking his perineum. He moaned again and arched backward with pleasure. I teased the head of his penis with my tongue, feeling it swell even more, then moved on to his shaft again, licking and bobbing on his cock as he came closer, ever closer to orgasm. His breath was coming in short gasps now and his breaths changed into short grunts of need. Dr West’s hands tightened around my waist, and his thrusting once again became urgent, causing me to gasp and cry out around the cock in my mouth. I reached back to my pussy and wet a finger with the slippery juices that drenched the area, then brought it forward and, as I increased the intensity of my licking and sucking, slipped the tip of my finger into the man’s anus. His hands clenched down on my shoulders as he erupted into my mouth with a shout. At the same time, I clenched my vaginal muscles around Dr West’s cock, squeezing hard. He gasped three times, then came deep inside me with a groan of pleasure. We stood and I pressed myself against the other man, kissing him deeply, rubbing my wet sex against his still 188

half-turgid cock, then turned to Dr West and kissed him as well, pressing myself against him as he pulled me firmly closer. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘how did I do?’ He smiled, looking deep into my eyes. ‘Magnificent,’ he said. ‘You’re still getting an ‘A’,’ he smiled wickedly and continued, ‘but I am more than happy to continue in assisting you with extra credit work’.

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Driftwood by D J Kirkby Heidi started to shed her work clothes as soon as she shut the front door. She stood naked in the bath, in too much of a hurry for a shower and used a wet flannel to remove the sensation of the office clinging to her skin. A walk in the warm sea breeze was just the lift she needed, it was Friday and her weekend started now! Slipping into a bikini and her sarong, she put on sandals, grabbed her pre-packed bag and headed out for the short walk to the beach. This was the life, she thought happily, with a grin on her face and lightness to her step. Single, earning enough to pay her mortgage and other bills and comfortable in her own company! She slowed her pace as she passed the beach huts with the older couples firmly ensconced in their beach chairs, belongings stowed away precisely on the few shelves inside; as if they’d lived in these huts year round. During days spent on the beach she often put the camouflage of dark sunglasses to good use, observing without being observed. She didn’t usually go this late in the day, it was already early evening, but she’d go to the tea rooms on her way home. They were open till late and there were always plenty of people to watch from the garden tables there if the beach had nothing to offer. The breeze 190

rustled through the lilac bushes, wafting their sweet fragrance to her as she passed and carrying a subtle undertone of the salty and somewhat sweet scent of damp driftwood. Heidi’s shoes scrunched and slid on the stone shingle. She was being extravagantly noisy with deliberate intent, for she had seen the lovers entwined on their towel. They were too intent upon their increasing gratification to acknowledge her approach with any attempt at modesty. The woman gently stroked her lover’s bare flesh, fingers tracing a path from ribs to hip and then drifting down to his inner thigh, while he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. While trying but failing to do the honourable thing and look elsewhere, she became spectacularly aroused. Her eyes were drawn to his erection which was clearly defined as his lover rose up to straddle him. Her full skirt dropped down to cover their flesh but did little to disguise the gentle pelvic thrusting. She glanced round, partly worried someone might catch her being a voyeur and half hoping there was someone else observing so she could share this erotic moment. As if the choice was magically hers, she spotted what she wanted in her peripheral vision: a man aroused by the scene before her, with his hand busy on his cock. Normally she would consider the sight of a man with his trousers round his ankles somewhat farcical. This time it turned her on. She felt herself moisten and her clit begin to throb as she watched him standing and working away at his erection. He smoothed the palm of his other hand across the moist tip while he watched the couple on the towel. Suddenly he spotted her standing on the other side of the driftwood log, her attention drifting between the couple on the towel and himself. Catching her eye he gave her a languorous, sexy smile, loaded with blatant invitation. Heidi 191

undid her sarong and let it drop, taking a hesitant step towards him. He shook his head and with his shirt already discarded, stepped out of his trousers and moved towards her, his grip firmly around the head of his engorged cock. He came to her. She felt herself warm as his penis silkily brushed her bare midriff. She stroked it before gripping his firm ass, feeling him quiver in response. Grasping her upper arms, he lowered her down onto the large flat driftwood beside them. Heidi brushed away her concern about splinters as she felt the roughness of the wood against her buttocks. She abandoned herself to the sensations of their hands on each other. He kissed her as if he was desperate for the touch of her lips; gasping with each contact. She slid her tongue across the front of his teeth. He reciprocated by kissing her neck. At the same time he flicked at her clit through the fabric of her bikini. He did it delicately, just enough pressure to make her want more. He was so multi-skilled that soon she was unable to maintain a coherent train of thought. She untied her bikini strings and shifted her hips, succeeding in easing her bared clit against his fingers with each twitch. Opening her eyes, she found his deep green ones looking at her, his lust apparent in the dilation of his pupils. Finding the eye contact slightly off-putting, she shifted on to her side, and ground her ass into him. He pulled on her hips to increase the pressure of her against his straining cock and ran his hands up to her breasts, gently pinching her nipples, his mouth hot and wet on the back of her neck. He started fumbling in his discarded trousers. ‘Protection,’ he explained. He brought out a condom. 192

Using his hand, he guided himself down to brush against the moistness of her, bringing the viscous fluid back up onto the lubricated condom to further ease his entry. She tensed slightly as he began to penetrate her, afraid of the sensation this new experience brought. Sensing her reticence, he contributed to her comfort by kissing the back of her neck. Though the penetration was mildly painful, the sensation soon blossomed into sheer pleasure. She whimpered with disappointment as he suddenly withdrew. Had he finished already? He turned her over to face him and whispered, ‘I was going to come and wanted a chance to feel you reach ecstasy first’. What should have sounded contrived instead brought her to the brink of orgasm, combined as it was with his eye contact and skilful attention to her clitoris. He slipped off the condom, drawing her hand down to touch his hard cock. Groaning as she tightened her fingers around the head of his dick, he tore open a new condom packet. Heidi took the condom from his fingers with her mouth and used her lips and tongue to roll it onto him. He shuddered as she lowered herself onto him, mimicking the earlier movements of the other woman. His cock throbbed inside her as he held her hips, helping her to raise and lower herself. Reaching up he pushed her bikini top up over her breasts. His hands were rough; deliciously rough. Leaning down she slid her hands under his ass. She melted on to him gasping as the waves of orgasm washed over her. He pounded himself up and into her in his haste to follow her lead. Exhausted, she lay with her face pressed into his shoulder. Suddenly she heard the sound of sliding shingle. She looked up. The couple from the dunes had their arms around each other, walking in that perfect synchronicity that only comes with complete togetherness. The woman’s legs 193

showed through her dress as they headed towards the descending sun. The woman glanced over her shoulder, caught Heidi’s eye and winked; a huge grin blossoming on to her face as she turned away. Heidi realised she was exposed and slid off the man, covering herself with her towel while she wriggled back into her bikini. As he dressed she began to collect her belongings which had scattered when she’d dropped her beach bag. Feeling peculiarly awkward with someone she had only minutes before been totally intimate with was confusing and she needed the excuse to avoid eye contact and halt the growing silence between them. What must he think of me, she mused, then wondered why it mattered. She had no intention of seeing him again. For one thing, she couldn’t trust his impulse control. The man leapt into rampant sexual encounters with total strangers and that was no foundation on which to build a trusting relationship, no matter how great the encounter had been. She laughed inwardly, knowing there was more than a little need to insert the words, ‘pot, kettle and black’ into her train of thought. Judging by the tense set of his shoulders she sensed the urge to escape was mutual and that he was mulling over various exit lines. She decided to put him out of his misery. ‘Once was perfect, let’s not ruin the memory by trying to improve on it,’ she said. She threw him a cheeky grin, said ‘thank you and goodbye,’ then turned and walked away. A glass of cold wine would taste marvellous while having a hot bath, she decided. She stopped for supper at the tea rooms and then languidly made her way home for her second favourite indulgence. The scents of the lilac 194

blossoms were even lovelier then when she’d passed them earlier, the fragrance must become more potent as the night drew in. Or perhaps she was fully receptive now that she had completely recovered from her earlier strenuous activity. It was lovely being single, she thought happily as she slipped into the water, her favourite fragrance rising to meet her from the bath oil. The wine was cool, a delightful counterbalance to the heat of the water on her skin. Putting the empty glass down she slid deeper, resting her head on the back of the bath and letting her legs go akimbo. She opened and closed her knees enjoying the sensation of the waves of heat washing between her legs. Becoming aroused, she thought back over the experience on the beach, stroking herself slowly to a limb-melting orgasm. Even though she had no desire to repeat the beach experience in reality; it was obviously going to be used as fantasy fodder for the indefinite future.

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The Eye by Primula Bond The London Eye is deserted. It was worth getting up at crack of dawn. No one in their right mind will be sightseeing at this hour and in this kind of suffocating fog. There’s no one getting in the way. Just me, my camera, and the view. In fact it’s quite eerie down here. The Thames slides silently between the two banks and even the rumble of cars and buses crossing the bridge is muffled. I shiver inside my old Parka, though I know it’ll be warm once I get inside. That’s why I’m wearing a loose silky shirt and old jeans underneath. I like to move freely when I’m taking pictures. My pod glides alongside like a spaceship and I step in. I walk over to the far side, ready to rise up in the air. The white air and fog seem to rush at the glass, blocking everything out. Behind me the door slides shut. The vents are puffing out great gusts of warm air. I take off my jacket, toss it onto the bench. It’s had a rough life. Dates back to my grubby teenage years. I unbutton my blouse a little, lean my forehead against the cool glass. I can see Big Ben leering through the cloud, but that’s about it. I can barely even see the other pods. It’s like being wrapped in a blanket in here, totally secret. 196

We are barely moving, but already we’re suspended above the ground. I say ‘we’ because someone else is in here with me. Shit. I grip my camera tightly, keeping my back firmly turned. Ignore them. Fingers of watery sun are fanning round Big Ben’s face like a weird halo and I focus. I can hear the faint rustle of clothing. I turn sideways, as if to frame another picture. A man is sitting on the bench, staring down the river towards Battersea. Fine. I’ll just get on with it. Trust me, though, to try to take my prize portfolio in dense fog. ‘I daresay you wanted to be alone up here,’ the man remarks. He has the most incredible, deep voice, like chocolate. ‘Me too.’ My shoulders hunch with irritation. I feel like ejecting. I glance at him. Big dark coat, open over a battered looking suit. Cool glasses. Dark stubble on his chin. So he got up at crack of dawn, too. ‘Never alone, though, are you, in London?’ I look up at the pod above us. I can see movement. Can’t see who, or how many. ‘People everywhere.’ ‘Sorry. I should have taken the next one.’ We catch eyes. His are grey, turned down in some kind of sadness. I lift my camera to hide my face, and take a picture of him. Catch a smile just starting. Christ, he’s handsome. What stupid woman has just hurt him? My hand holding the camera is shaking. He keeps his distance, but he is still looking at me. I can see myself and the white sky reflected in his glasses. ‘What do you see?’ he asks, stepping closer. ‘With your camera?’ The tightness has gone from my shoulders. Now it’s somewhere in my stomach, clenching like hunger. A trickle of sweat runs through my hair, down my neck. 197

‘They really ought to sort out this heating. It’s tropical in here.’ He nods, takes off his coat. Loosens his tie, but doesn’t undo it. A couple of hairs curl through his shirt collar. They are dark, like the stubble on his chin. ‘People, or things?’ he asks, taking off his glasses and wiping them. ‘Scenery, buildings, animals?’ ‘Everything.’ ‘Ever catch something secret? A couple kissing at the tube station? Or see them through a window, having sex?’ I hold the camera uselessly now, wiping my upper lip. He’s right up close. He takes the camera off me, scrolls through my pictures. ‘I see all that,’ I say, watching his hands holding my camera, the way his finger flexes over the tiny button. ‘There is one here, yes, not posed at all. Two people fucking.’ The word is out there, stark and sensational. He looks up at me and I go hot. ‘I just try to make the world look better.’ ‘And they look great, don’t they, those two? The black and white is a good choice, too.’ He lifts the screen right up to his face. ‘They’d be pleased, wouldn’t they, if they could see these? So flattering. Look how long the woman’s legs look, sort of kicking like that. How firm her breasts. How big his cock –’ I snatch the camera away from him. ‘They didn’t know I was taking them. It was right across from my office. Into a hotel.’ ‘It’s lovely. Artistic.’ He puts his hands on his hips. We’re practically touching now. ‘But you were turned on as well, weren’t you, watching them? I can tell, by the way you’ve zoomed in. It’s so hot in that room, isn’t it? Like it is up here.’ 198

‘Yes,’ I whisper, looking at him, not the picture. ‘I got horny.’ ‘Horny now?’ He runs a finger under my blouse, just along my collarbone. Something neglected in me leaps at the touch. ‘Because it’s hot in here, too.’ I twist my head sideways to look out. We’re much higher now. I can see over the buildings towards St Paul’s and the City. He takes my face in his hands and turns me to look at him. His fingers are so warm. My cheeks are practically sizzling. ‘Yes.’ It comes out in a long sigh. His finger is still running along my collar bone. I never knew it was so sensitive. Just below it, my nipples are pricking up. His eyes, behind the glasses, are direct and unwavering. I can’t remember when I last bothered to look someone in the eye, long and hard. Without my camera, I mean. When I last used my own eyes. My heart is really thumping now, pulsing in my neck. The silk ruffles along my skin, bumped by my heart and by the hot air blowing over us. He takes his jacket off. His shirt is sticking to him. I can see the curve of his ribs, a wedge of muscle tensing under his arms. I can’t take my eyes off him. I can’t breathe. I turn away from him. We’re floating right up in the sky now. The fog has thinned into ribbons. I can see people in some of the other pods now. I don’t think they can see us. Their heads swing about as if they’re on safari. He sighs, too. He’s sitting on the bench, looking tired. One thigh rests on my Parka coat. It’ll be warm with his body heat when I pick it up. I want to stroke him. ‘What about that couple, then?’ I glance about. Looks like there are tourist groups in some pods. Some kind of business outing in another. ‘Couple?’ 199

‘In the hotel. Were you jealous?’ My pussy twitches. On my camera, pictures of her spread legs, toes curling with pleasure. Stark dark nipples. ‘Jealous?’ I sound like an idiot. ‘Seeing a man and woman fucking. Lost in it. You couldn’t join in. You were behind your camera, behind your lens, behind sheets of glass.’ He leans forwards, his elbows on his knees. ‘Nose pressed up against the candy jar.’ ‘It’s been a while,’ I mutter, gripping the handrail behind me. He’s turned up his sleeves. He has gorgeous arms. Strong, not too hairy. I want those hands on me. ‘Being a voyeur isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’ ‘Come here, then.’ He pats the bench next to him. I try to cross to him calmly, but I want to jump at him, pounce, claw his white shirt off with my teeth. Now who’s on safari? ‘Think how sexy that picture would have been if it was you and me.’ Our arms are touching. My hairs are up on end, the tips running across his skin. He takes my camera, holds up the hotel picture again, the couple arching away from each other. Their limbs are fluid but their faces are contorted, her eyes shut, his eyes staring, both mouths open, gasping, shouting in the soundproof room. Our pod is deadly silent. We are at the top now. For a deranged moment I wonder what it would be like to come loose from our moorings, career through the sky and plunge, splintering, to the ground. ‘Amazing view,’ I cry out, waving my arm at the world outside. My limbs are taut with expectation. ‘You can say that again,’ he says, but maybe he senses something dangerous in me. He turns the camera off and puts it down carefully. ‘So how do you think it started?’ he murmurs, sliding his hands up my silky sleeves. My arms tingle in response. ‘Do 200

you think they were strangers? Who made the move on whom?’ I let my breath out. It whistles in my ears as I release the tension. The ruffles at my throat and down the front of my shirt shiver, and he looks down to where the shirt is straining slightly over my breasts. He strokes the silky ruffles and waits for me to stop him. But I can’t move. I’m just staring at his finger, moving so close to my breasts. We can both see them beneath the silk, the rounded, full shape of them cupped and lifted by my bra. Flimsy fabric separating my nipples from his fingers. He flicks the first button out of its hole almost hesitantly. I bite my lip until I can taste blood. He undoes the next button, and the next, until my shirt falls open. ‘Tell me,’ he urges. I can see his throat move when he speaks. Moisture at the corner of his lips. ‘She made the move.’ My voice is ragged. ‘How?’ His fingers are on my collarbone again, his hands pressing against my breasts. ‘She looked like she was gagging for it. Maybe they’d come for miles. Waited for years. She took her skirt off, and her knickers, and sort of flashed her pussy at him. It was easy.’ ‘Not like you, then. I’m going to have to take these clothes off for you, aren’t I?’ I nod and blush bright red, unable to reply. He pushes the shirt open. My skin’s alive with the touch of the silk, his fingers, the warm air blowing over me. I tilt my head back and his fingers tread inside the warm crack of my cleavage. Oh God, he’s not waiting for a word from me now, he’s caressing my breasts through the lace bra until my nipples start to burn. His thumb flips across them, and then he stops. I open my eyes. He’s just watching me. Maybe he is waiting for permission. 201

My knickers are getting damp. He gasps, or laughs, I can’t tell which. ‘Did he suck her tits?’ he asks. ‘Do we have to talk?’ I groan, distracted. ‘I can only do this if you to tell me how it was.’ ‘Then no, he didn’t. Maybe she didn’t want it. Her tits were small – smaller than mine.’ My body gets hotter. I’m proud of my tits. ‘Not big or juicy. Like mine.’ We both smile then. Excitement is almost strangling me. All I can see are his grey eyes. All I can feel are his fingers on my tits. He squeezes until they start to hurt. I groan. The pain is zig-zagging into pleasure. He pulls me towards him so he can bury his face in my warm cleavage. I hold very still. Through the glass ceiling is white sky, the straight trail of an aeroplane shafting through the clouds. We are slipping downwards. In the pod above us some people are watching us. ‘See how they go hard when I pinch. How have I gone without such gorgeous tits?’ He moves his head across my breast then scoops it out of the bra. ‘You’ll let me suck it, won’t you? I can’t resist sucking it.’ He pinches one nipple and then takes the other out of the bra, nips it between his teeth and bites. I squeal, not caring about making a noise. Liking the noise. My own voice in that breezy silence makes me horny. ‘You can suck as much as you like, honey,’ I croon, stroking his hair and pulling his face hard into me, his eagerness turning me on. ‘Suck, and nibble, and tease, and suck, go on, as much as you like –’ He sucks at my breast and I wriggle up to get comfortable, straddling his lap. He doesn’t stop, and I go further. I push my breasts into his face, pushing my torso against him, so that he has to get his balance. I watch his 202

head moving from one nipple to the other and I am so wet now. I pull away abruptly. He looks up, as if half asleep. But it’s only because I want to get naked. I glance up. Two pods are above us. The fog has cleared. They can see us, if they want to. Someone has binoculars trained not on St Paul’s but on me, as I throw my jeans across the floor and kick out of my knickers. Then I bend, tits dangling, reach into his coat, and undo his trousers. He doesn’t help me. Just sits there as I open his flies. ‘Did she undo his trousers like this?’ he asks, suddenly looking vulnerable. ‘Or did he do it for her?’ ‘What does it matter? They didn’t have half as much fun as we’re going to have,’ I promise him, throwing care to the winds. He grins as I reach inside his flies and take hold of the warm cock lying there in wait. ‘Do you always take control like this?’ ‘Excuse me,’ I say, climbing back onto his lap, ‘I think you touched me first.’ I glance down and gasp. He has the most enormous cock, lying quite still, stretching up his stomach. Who would have thought that a thumping great erection was hidden under that slightly shambolic exterior? ‘Why would any woman,’ I breathe, half to myself, nudging his cock against me, ‘let this go to waste?’ I brush myself back and forth over the tip, moaning with anticipation. ‘Go on. Don’t stop,’ he gasped. ‘What woman?’ ‘The woman who’s driven you to this. Sex with a stranger. You looked like you’d been dumped by someone.’ He runs his tongue across my breasts and shifts his hips, thrusting his cock at me. 203

‘Well, she did me a favour then, didn’t she?’ I smile and reach down. Between my legs it’s lying there. Big. Hard. For the moment, mine. Its taut surface is already trailed with moisture where I’ve slithered over it. Excitement thrills through me to feel my own juice slicked there. I take it in both hands. I hitch myself back onto his thighs and stare at its swollen, stiff length. As I hold it and run my hands up and down, it leaps, the rounded end winking already with a droplet of spunk. ‘And me,’ I agree breathlessly. ‘I’ve got you now. And I want you inside me.’ I guide the rounded tip of his cock into my ready wet pussy. It touches the burning nub of my clit and I groan deliciously. It sounds filthy in my ears. ‘What’s your name?’ I ask him, easing his cock further inside. He grins. White teeth. Nice mouth. ‘Mr Grey.’ ‘Listen to this, Mr Grey,’ I whisper, sliding his cock in and out. ‘Listen to that juicy wetness.’ My sex lips close round the smooth, pulsating length. I have to pause every so often to spread my thighs and luxuriate in the huge, warm, animal length filling me, pushing inside me, its rigid dimensions fitting inside me. I’m impaled on it. I could lift my legs away and balance myself, cunt on cock, even spin round on it. I glance at it going in and out of me. A movement catches my eye, and his, at the same time. Several pods above us now. We must be more than halfway to the bottom. A camera flashes. Hands move about, fingers point, heads waggle, feet stamp with curiosity as if they all want to burst out of their glass prison and get to us. He grins again, staring up at our audience. His big hands squeeze my tits, pulls them to his mouth so he can suck and bite the waiting hard nipples again. 204

‘So easy. Just what I needed,’ he murmurs, stopping for a moment to watch my cunt swallowing him whole, tightening his grip as I slither down to the base of his cock and we both wait for the violent rhythm to begin. ‘You’ve made this so easy for me.’ His cock seems to swell inside me, igniting at all my nerve endings, and I have no choice but to move, easing myself up and down the long shaft, and once I start I can’t stop, so aware of those shocked, curious, horrified, titillated eyes above us, watching. Every inch of him rubs against every screaming inch of me so that I can only go so far before slamming back down on him, groin on groin. I start to buck faster against him, my tits bouncing, my hair flying, my thighs tensing to grip his. ‘Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget,’ I shout. He echoes my rhythm as if we’re dancing. How intimate you can get, so quickly, with a stranger. How hungry you can get for him. Joined to him by sex. He draws himself back as I rise off him, then slams back up inside as I ram back down. My voice is rising in a crescendo of desire, whimpering with the powerful sensations ripping through me, the cold morning air, so bright, lighting us up so everyone can see what we’re doing, more pleasure, rising to the peak of the pleasure, getting harder, getting wetter, tongues of fire streaking up inside me. ‘Watch, everyone!’ I shout out. ‘This is what that couple in the hotel were doing. Watch!’ Mr Grey’s eyes gleam behind the glasses and I see my breasts reflected there, bouncing frantically as I ride. Suddenly he plunges his cock in as deep as it will go. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. My thighs spread round him, my breasts smothering him, the red silk shirt slipping over his face. He grips me and pumps into me so hard that I’m thrown back by the force of it. Then I’m 205

moaning as he thrusts at me and I can tell he’s climaxing and now I’m coming too, arching away from him, the shape of us both reflected in the dim glass as we descend to the ground. The wheel is coming on to the level, carrying us slowly towards the halt. I pull away from him, still panting. I’ve made his trousers wet. Mr Grey smiles. I pull the shirt across my bosom. He casually fastens one button. The gesture is almost as sexy as fucking me. We both glance at the pod sliding in behind us, and laugh. Everyone inside is pressed as close to the glass as they can get. The men are clutching their crotches. Several have video cameras. The women are crossing their legs, wriggling as if they want to wee. Everyone’s mouth is open. My Mr Grey zips up his trousers. Then he stands, holds out my knickers, helps me on with them as if I’m a child. Helps me on with my jeans and my old Parka. What a complete gentleman. Something else in me stirs now. Lust, sure, but something else. I like him. ‘Thank you, Annabelle,’ he says. The tense, sad man of earlier has vanished. He looks positively cocky. I’ve done that for him. As for me, I’m shaking, and hot, and euphoric. ‘How did you know my name?’ The doors slide open, surprising us with the cold air blasting in. Mr Grey pushes his glasses up his nose, once more the bashful stranger. He gives a curious farewell bow. I want to burst into tears as he walks away. I think of that battered suit, the amazing cock inside, which just filled me. I want to do it again. I bet he’d think of somewhere we cold go. The British Library, for example. Or the Reptile House at Regent’s Park zoo. ‘Label sewn into your anorak.’ 206

I wriggle with amusement, but he’s gone. I walk along the Embankment for a while, my stomach rumbling with hunger now that the morning has started. Mr Grey calls to me from the bridge above my head. ‘Same time tomorrow, Annabelle?’ Commuters are scurrying to work, heads down, eyes fixed on the pavement, faces white and drawn at the prospect of the week ahead. But I can’t wait.

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