I had always gone all natural; I had never even thought of shaving until Mark brought it up. He had mentioned it casually in the midst of a conversation about our turn-ons, something like “I think it’s really hot when a woman shaves her pussy.” But I could tell by the furtive way he looked at me when he said it that a woman shaved was somehow different than the other turn-ons he’d confessed to me — threesomes, teasing, lingerie. I could tell somehow that it was something he’d longed for, fantasized about. Something he wanted in a way that made me wet.

By the time we met again, I was smooth and ready. The first couple of days had been torture — never having shaved, I didn’t expect it to make me so sensitive. It felt like my clit was rubbing against my underwear all day long, and I was more easily turned on than usual. Then again, maybe it was thinking about Mark and how much — I suspected — it would turn him on. Or maybe it was just the knowledge that I was naked down there, my sex exposed in a way it never had been.

I didn’t tell Mark about it. I figured he would discover soon enough, and the excitement of keeping a secret made me hungry all night long.

When we went back to his place, I wasted no time in kissing him, holding him, practically dragging him into the bedroom and stripping his clothes off. We fooled around for a bit with me still dressed, the feel of his hardening cock pressing through my thin cotton dress arousing me more and more as we neared the moment when he would discover my secret.

By the time he eased me onto my back and slipped his hands under my dress, I was hotter than I had ever been. Mark took down my panties while I wriggled my way out of the dress, pulling it over my head and tossing it in a ball on the floor. His bedroom was dark; I hadn’t even taken the time to light candles, the way I usually did before making love. He wouldn’t know until he touched me.

Mark kissed his way up my thighs. I spread my legs for him, anticipating the moment when his tongue would contact my newly shaved pussy. It was one of the things I loved about Mark; he always lingered on me, taking his time, making love to me with his mouth like it was the most wonderful thing in the world. When his hungry tongue found my sex, it was like a bolt of lightning shot through both of us; I could feel him stiffen against me as he realized that I had shaved for him.

He didn’t say a word, but he said “thank you” with his mouth in a way that made me arch my back and cry out in pleasure. His tongue slid between my parted lips and caressed my pussy eagerly. He began to lick as if he’d never tasted a woman in his life, as if he’d been waiting forever for this single, frozen moment. His tongue found my clit and I clawed at the bed as he began to suckle eagerly, devouring me. I wanted to tell him to go slow — if he kept on like that, I was going to come without a chance to fuck him. But I had waited days for this experience, and as Mark’s face bobbed eagerly up and down between my spread thighs, I mounted quickly toward orgasm, my moans rising with each stroke of his tongue.

I came like a flash, my whole body lit up with sensation. I rocked back and forth on the bed, shuddering as my orgasm tore through me. He didn’t stop when I came. Normally, I’m too sensitive to take more right after climax — but this time, I lifted my hips and pumped my body against him, begging for more. His tongue seethed against me without missing a beat. He moved from my clit to my lips, savoring every millimeter of flesh that I had shaved for him. He licked my smooth sex all over, his tongue snaking from my entrance, up one lip and down the other, in swirls around my upper thighs, then back to my clit, driving me toward a second orgasm.

When I came again, even harder than before, I begged him to enter me, and rose to meet him with shuddering thrusts of my body as his cock slid smoothly into me. I was so sensitive from my orgasms, my cunt still spasming around his shaft, that the sensations of his cock inside me seemed heightened in a way they never had been before. I grabbed him and pushed him onto his back, rolling him over. His cock slid out of me, and as I mounted him, pushing it in again, it felt like he was fucking me anew. I worked my hips wildly up and down, fucking him deep into me, kissing him hard. Each stroke felt like a pulse through my naked body, heat flooding us both as I came again just before he let himself go, his cock filling me with his come. I trembled to a halt atop him, breathing hard, my pussy alive with new sensation.

Only one thing was disappointing: I’ll never be able to harbor that particular secret from Mark again. But with a man like Mark, there are so many secrets to discover.

Well, whether you own a set of male genitalia or just like playing with them (or both), I’m here to tell you that a handjob can be one of the most mind-blowing sexual experiences there is. The extreme flexibility of the hands, coupled with the fact that there are two of them (who decided humans would have only one mouth, anyway?) makes the handjob a realm of infinite possibilities. Best of all, handjobs can be combined in liberal quantities with any number of other activities — anal play, fellatio, dirty talk, spanking, you name it.

To get us started on the handjob frontier, I’ll offer a few salient points and then five concrete suggestions for strokes and techniques you can use with lube, and five without lube.

First: If you can’t get over the cultural idea that a handjob is a furtive act offered as second best when a blowjob is out of the question, then work with that. A “furtive” handjob can be part of a naughty fantasy, given in a porn theater, back seat, classroom, locker room — all real or imagined. And as far as a handjob being “second best,” well, that lends itself to any number of scenarios of tease and denial. A handjob allows you to vary the sensation he’s receiving from the lightest tickle to the most intense stroke. Add that to the fact that many men find it relatively difficult to come from a handjob, and you can have hours of teasing fun. Whether he’s begging you for “more” by the end, or he’s perfectly satisfied with your jerking him off — or he doesn’t come at all, in common outcome of the denial fantasy — the handjob can send him into the stratosphere.

Second, and most important: Lube, or lack thereof, will determine what you can and can’t do with a handjob. So, to an extent, will latex gloves, which you might want to use if you’re not fluid-bonded with your partner and/or don’t know his HIV/STD/virus status; if he comes on your hand, cuts in your hand or hangnails could transmit HIV. Accordingly, if he has other sexually transmitted infections, your hands can carry bacteria containing infections such as herpes (if he’s experiencing an outbreak), gonorrhea, syphilis and possibly HPV to other membranes (like your genitals, eyes, mouth or nose). Latex gloves are also great to keep your hands clean; you can just peel them off and you’re ready for your piano recital.

Spit makes a lousy lube; it will help in a pinch, but if you want to subject him to the kind of brain-bursting sensations the handjob can truly offer, you’ll need something like Astroglide, Good Lubrications, Liquid Silk, Probe or the like. Thinner, water-based lubes and especially silicone lubes like Eros and Wet tend to be better for handjobs in my experience, and are easier to clean up since they wash away with water.

Some men like oil-based lubes like Men’s Cream and Boy Butter. They are thicker and slicker, pretty much don’t ever lose their slipperiness, and they’re much, much more work to clean up. I personally find them way too much trouble; after using oil-based lubes, my male partners have reported literally spending a whole day with slimy privates despite repeated showers and scrubbing.

But the sensations that oil-based lubes provide are definitely a little different — warmer, slipperier and non-tacky, which is why silicone lube (which closely mimics oil) is a great. Oil based lubes are also not compatible with latex, so if you plan to slip a condom on him in the next, oh, day or so, don’t use them. They will also degrade your latex glove — that is, they’ll eat holes in it, undermining the whole reason you put them on in the first place.

Now, we get to the “meat” — pun intended. When giving a handjob, here are five things you can do with lube and five without lube. I should note that these are particularly adapted for circumcised men; for men with foreskins, the architecture will be a little different. Pull his foreskin back before starting the handjob, and you’ll expose the head, the most sensitive part, allowing you to use all these techniques flawlessly.

There’s no need to pick one — mix and match these techniques. And remember that most men need a steady onslaught of repetitive

sensation to reach orgasm, so if you mix and match you’ll tease him longer. If you want him to come, stick to one thing or use the tried-and-true #1 “without lube” technique, whether or not you’ve got lube.

Pay attention to his reactions as you try these techniques: Not all guys will like all of these. His pleasure (and your own) will determine what works and what doesn’t.

With Lube

1. Hold his cock upright and slowly draw your lubed palm in circles around the head, paying special attention to the underside (the glans). This one also works without lube.
2. Make your fingers into a “duck” and slide them up and down over the head — not unlike a Come Cup.
3. Hold his shaft with both hands (if possible). Gripping gently with lots of lube, twist each hand in opposite directions around his shaft. This one feels incredible with lube but it is not recommended without lube — remember getting “rope burn” on the playground, where someone twists his or her hands in opposite directions around your forearm? Ouch.
4. Put one hand around his shaft so that your thumb rests on the glans (the underside of the head). Work your thumb up and down on his glans. You’re barely making any movement here, but it’s on the most sensitive part of his penis.
5. Since you’re just using one hand in the above technique, you can use that technique with this one: Grasp his balls while you’re stroking his cock — many men like the sensation of gentle tugging on their family jewels (and, for some men, not so gentle). Holding his balls will give you a better grip and add some sensation to his experience.

Bonus technique to maximize the use of lube: Stroke one hand from the base of his cock to the head, and just as you’re sliding it off the head, stroke with the other hand starting at his base. Repeat this over and over again, alternating hands. This is an intense technique that may well bring him to orgasm — or could just be a fabulous tease.

Without (or With) Lube

1. Here’s the old classic: Wrap your hand around the middle of his shaft and stroke up and down. This can work with lube, but without lube, it offers an intense, rhythmic sensation that many men use in their private masturbation sessions to bring themselves off as quickly as possible. Now you know his secret.
2. Wrap your hand around his head so that you’re covering it. Now squeeze rhythmically, like you’re squeezing one of those cushy stress-balls. Don’t crush him (unless he likes that sort of thing). This will also work with lube, though the resulting sensation will be somewhat different.
3. Hold his cock upright with one hand and, touching him very, very gently with the other, run your fingertips up and down his cock from his glans to about the midpoint of his shaft. Essentially, you’re tickling him. Depending on how sensitive he is, he’ll either love or hate this. This technique works better if you don’t have long fingernails, and is also dandy with lube.
4. Perform #3 on the “With Lube” list, but — and this is important — do it while barely touching him. He may love the sensation, in which case you can try it a little harder, but don’t twist his cock too enthusiastically until you’re sure you can do it without hurting him.
5. Use your forearms! While even the softest hands among us have ridges, fingerprints and folds, the skin on the underside of your arms is usually very smooth. Rubbing that skin against his glans while holding his cock still with your other hand provides a new and different sensation. This also works great with lube.

A few advanced techniques: The GV Massage Bar (oil-based) melts into a thick, non-drippy oil perfect for stroking any part of the anatomy, and the GV Massage Candle (oil-based) allows you to give handjobs with heated-lotion lube. (thanks to GV Magazine editor Violet Blue for this extra-special tip). Motion Lotion is edible and gets hot when you blow on it, which, I have it on good authority, makes for some interesting sensations on the male member.

For further reading on this exciting topic, try The Kama Sutra of Erotic Massage, and The Joy of Erotic Massage on VHS and DVD offers some stimulating viewing.

Happy handjobs!

We’re leaning back against a big set of pillows, my body against his. He’s wearing sweats because he was chilly; I’m wrapped in a light blanket, and stark naked underneath, as I usually am when we’re relaxing around the house. My hand casually rests in between his legs, and I can just see the bulge of his soft cock through his light-gray sweatpants.

Without saying a word, without making another move or telling him that he’s going to come for me, I slide it up and place it on his cock, palm open, fingers slightly curved — not quite gripping him. I feel his softness in my grasp and my heart immediately begins to quicken. It quickens more when I feel his softness start to go hard, slowly spreading and stretching against my hand, distending the thin material.

A shiver goes through me as I feel his cock get hard. I turn my body just enough to look into his eyes, and start stroking him up and down, through the soft fabric. He gets all the way hard in another moment, his eyes locked in mine. I bite my lip flirtatiously and slide my hand into his pants.

He’s not wearing underwear. Feeling his naked, hard cock in my hand sends a thrill through me. I wrap my fingers around his shaft and start to stroke him up and down.

Casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he clicks a button on the remote control, and I understand why he insisted on buying the five-disk DVD player instead of the cheaper one-disk model. He’s slipped a porn movie into one of the free slots, replacing the cheesy romantic comedy we were watching with the throbbing strains of bad porn music and the faked moans of female pleasure. With my free hand I pull his sweatpants down further so I can get at his cock more completely. He glances from the TV screen to my eyes, and I get more and more turned on as I watch him getting turned on, the porn working its magic. Even though I don’t like porn all that much, nothing gets me hotter than watching him watch porn. There’s something so visceral, so intense about the way it turns him on, driving him to jerk off frenetically.

But tonight, I’m the one who’s going to jerk him off.

“You like that porn, you dirty boy?” I ask him, my voice hoarse with desire for his cock. “You’re so filthy to watch it with your girlfriend in the room. I bet you’d jerk off right now, if I wasn’t jerking you off, wouldn’t you?”

His only answer his a moan as his hips rock in time with my stroking. I squeeze his cock shaft firmly and stroke up and down, bringing my other hand around to tease his glans with my thumb while I pump his shaft. I’m incredibly wet now, feeling the moisture forming on my inner thighs as I enjoy the way his cock surges with the action on the TV screen. I move my hand down and tickle his balls, then stroke back up to his head and rub the tip, moistening his cockhead with his pre-come. There’s quite a lot of it, and as I start to stroke hungrily up and down, locking my eyes in his, I see that both the porn and my eagerness are having the desired effect. He’s going to come.

“Are you going to come for me? Are you going to shoot your hot come all over my hand, baby? Are you going to drench me in it?”

But I can’t bear to let his hard cock go. I slow down and move my hands, loosening my grip so that I’m barely touching him, just tickling him with my palms as I twist back and forth. He squirms under me, his eyes glazed as he writhes and lifts his ass off the couch. I close just thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft and slide it gently up and down halfway, barely touching him with the pads of my fingers, wrapping my other hand around his head and squeezing firmly and rhythmically. His head snaps back and he presses hard against the pillows, his back arching. He’s grasping the back of the sofa, now, trying to steady himself as I lose all composure, consumed with hunger for his orgasm.

I grasp his cockshaft firmly with both hands and start jerking him off hungrily, desperate for his come. I pump my double-fist up and down on him, eyes fixed on his face as it twists and reddens in pleasure, his gaze never leaving me. When the first spurt explodes from the tip of his cock, I feel a rush of excitement and bring my face down to smell it, still looking at him. More come shoots out over my breasts, coats my hand and arm, even splatters on my extended tongue as I open my mouth hungrily. The whole time, he’s forgotten about the porn movie; as he comes, he’s staring at me as I stroke his cock.

As his cock softens, I lay my face against his chest, smelling the sharpness of his come and enjoying the way it slickens against my hand as I stroke his balls and belly. My breasts move slick against his stomach, moistened with his come.

Casually, he clicks the remote control again and our romantic comedy comes back; I feel a vague thrill at the way he just blithely took us back to what we were doing before I jerked him off.

Until the next time, that is. I know just how to get him hard again, and I think about 10 minutes more of this movie is all I can stand. It won’t be long, now. I can already feel his cock stirring against me.

Normally, I hold it. I mean, I just put it out of my mind, bringing it back out between meetings, when I’m sitting at my desk answering voice mail messages. I sit there and think about you while some lower-level manager is telling me her problems, blathering on about one thing or another. I sit there and get wet thinking about you, but I don’t do anything about it. I don’t rush home and fuck you, no matter how badly I want to.

This time, though, I can’t sit still. I can’t handle it. Sitting in meetings, all I can think about was you: your lips, pressed against mine; your tongue, pressing urgently into my mouth; your chest, thrusting hard against me, teasing my nipples with your soft hair; and, most importantly, your glorious cock, sliding between my lips while I kneel in front of you, or sinking deep into me as you enter me.

I call you on your cell phone. I know you’ll answer, because you’re on a job, in the middle of construction on a half-million dollar home up in the hills.

“Are you free for lunch?” I ask you breathlessly.

“Sure,” you say. “Everyone else is going down to the deli, but I can meet you someplace.”

Our home is more than 20 minutes away, but the construction site is only 10. “No,” I tell you. “Stay right where you are. Give me the address.”

“I’m a little tight on time,” you say. “We’ll have to go somewhere close.”

“I’ll bring something to eat,” I tell you.

“Oh, a picnic,” you say.

“You could say that.”

I call my client’s cell phone and cancel our lunch meeting.

Hit with pangs of guilt, I grab an apple off my desk and stuff it into the pocket of my business suit. I make a quick stop in the restroom, race out the door of my office and hop into my car.

Seven minutes later, I find you sitting on the unfinished wooden steps of the house, reading a paperback.

“Hi,” you smile. “Did you bring food?”

“I brought something to eat,” I tell you, taking your hand. “Is anyone else here?”

“Everyone else is down at the deli,” you say, looking at me suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

I walk into the construction site, seeing you start to say something. You’ve said it before: I’m not on your payroll, so you’re risking serious insurance consequences if you let me on your site. But this time, I’m not taking no for an answer.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” I say, walking through what I suppose will be the entryway. Most of the walls are nothing more than two-by-fours, unfinished plywood nail-gunned up to keep the vagrants out. I walk deeper into the house-in-progress and find the kitchen.

You’re tagging along behind me. I shrug off my blazer and toss it on a sawdust-covered belt sander. I reach up and unclip my hair, letting it fall in a dark curtain all around my shoulders and face as I run my fingers through it.

“Hey,” you say. “You really shouldn’t be hanging out in here…”

I turn around and face you, smiling.

“I don’t intend to hang out anywhere,” I say, and slowly unzip my conservative navy-blue skirt.

It falls in a pool around my feet, and I step out of it.

On my top half, I’m now wearing only my skintight pale yellow camisole, no bra underneath. I’m small enough that I don’t need to wear one — as long as I don’t take off my blazer. Now that it’s off, I can feel the cool air of the dark construction site brushing my nipples, which are standing out, peaked and firm, aching. On my bottom half, I’m wearing only a pair of lace-top white stockings, hitched to my garter belt with thin white garters and businesslike navy pumps with three-inch heels. My pussy, feeling slick and messy with the juice of wanting you, is bare. My panties are tucked in the top drawer of my desk. I removed them before coming over.

“I need a quick fix,” I tell you, reaching between my legs and gently teasing my pussy. “Very quick.”

Glancing around, you see that we’re close to several open areas that passersby might be able to see through. You look from me to the street, then to me again.

I lift my hand to my face, slipping my finger into my mouth. I’ve been playing with my pussy and it tastes like me. And you know it. I lick my finger sensuously, and that’s all it takes. You come for me.

I’m down on my knees before you reach me. I’ve got your filthy, paint-stained work pants open in a split second, and I reach in to pull out your cock. When I take it into my mouth, it’s only half-hard. By the time it reaches the back of my throat, it’s hard all the way.

I feel a quiver go through you as I swallow your cock. You moan softly as I pump it into me, feeling the sawdust and fragments of plasterboard abrading my knees, tearing my stockings. The roughness of the environment turns me on even more, as does the smell of fresh sawdust and the street noise so close to us, making me feel exposed and vulnerable as I suck you. Vulnerable to humiliation, because I know if you get caught you’ll be in big, big trouble. Supervisor or not, you’re not supposed to be doing that. That knowledge sends a surge of excitement through me as your hips began to rock back and forth, pushing your cock deeper into my mouth, deeper into my throat. I caress your balls with my fingers, coaxing you into greater thrusts, fucking me as I kneel in front of you.

You grasp my hair and pull me back gently; my mouth keeps working, inches from your glistening cockhead, my tongue aching to touch you more, my throat open and hungry for your shaft. I look up at you, at your beautiful dark eyes.

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” you tell me. “I want you on the counter.”

You gesture toward the skeletal beginnings of a built-in kitchen island. Obediently, I stand up and bend over it, leaning fully on it so my legs leave the ground and my ass hovers in the air, my legs dangling helplessly and my pussy exposed. Now that I’m higher, off the ground, I’m acutely aware of the unfinished windows, bare emptiness facing what will be the back yard, what will be the side. The street noise excites me; almost anyone could look in, if they just walked on to the unprotected site.

“Close your eyes,” you tell me, and I do.

I’m full of surprises; I guess you know that. But I don’t think I gave you enough credit for being the same, because what I feel next sends a shiver through my body.

You’ve grabbed some rope. You wrap it around my wrist and start to tie me to the island.

I hear myself gasping; I feel my whole body tensing as I realize that you’ve pushed this so much further than I intended to go. I feel the sharp pang of fear deep in my body giving rise to a slow pulse of desire as I feel you quickly, expertly knotting the ropes around my wrists, tying me to the skeletal frame of the unfinished kitchen island. I don’t struggle at first; I feel safe with you. Then, when I test the bonds and feel how tight you’ve tied them, I feel a rush of excitement and fear mingling deep in my pussy. It floods wet and I can practically feel it dripping down my inner thighs. When I pull against the bonds, squirming and struggling, you grab firm hold of my leg and that excites me more. Forcing my legs apart, you quickly tie first one ankle, then the other, to the framework of the island.

When I test the bonds, I find myself immobile. I’m helpless, bent over, ass in the air, spread, vulnerable. Anyone could walk in here and have me. And you know it.

As I squirm, I feel my hard nipples rubbing against the rough plywood under me. They hurt a little from the roughness, but strangely I don’t mind it. I want it more. The more I squirm, the more my nipples ache and tingle. Meanwhile, I feel your hand on my ass — and it’s not empty. You’re holding a sander.

You barely press at all as you draw the sandpaper slowly down the backs of my thighs, then over my smooth, slim ass. I catch my breath, overwhelmed with sensation: With the dusty smell of the ropes, the sharp tang of sawdust and plywood, the scent of your sweat-soaked, unwashed body, the sound of the street so close by, the cool breeze through the open framework of the house. The heat of my pussy as you bend close to me and put your mouth against the back of my neck.

“I’ve been wondering how to reward my men for working so hard,” you growl into my hear, and my back stiffens, my pussy flooding with heat as you torment me. I feel one hand grinding the sandpaper very lightly against my ass and thighs, the other hand pressing against my pussy and clit. Two fingers enter me, and I gasp. “A monetary bonus just didn’t seem like it would satisfy them. How kind of you to provide the perfect reward for a hard day’s work.”

The heat rises in my pussy as I push back onto you, your fingers pumping me as your growl intensifies, your breath hot and the smell of your sweat close in my nostrils.

“How about if I just leave you here and let them use you for as long as they like? We wouldn’t get much work done this afternoon, but I’m sure they’d work twice as hard tomorrow.”

I moan softly, writhing in the bonds, pushing back onto you as hard as I can as you fingerfuck me. Your cock still hangs out of your open pants, still moist with my spittle, still hard. When you ease your fingers out of my pussy and toss the sandpaper away, I know what’s coming.

“Think you could handle that?” you ask me. “There are 15 of them.”

That sends a shiver through me as you position yourself behind me, your cock finding the slick furrow between my pussy lips without delay. You enter me in one hard thrust, and I’m so open I take you all, gasping as your cock hits my G-spot. I squirm and try to press back onto you, but your weight bears me down, and the bonds keep me firmly in place. As you start to pound me, my nipples rub raw against the plywood, through the thin silk of my camisole. My hips press into the edge of the wood; I can feel my flesh scraping, but I’m not worrying about splinters. I’m imagining all your workmen fucking me, even as your cock begins to plumb my depths faster and faster with each thrust.

“Come on,” you sigh. “You don’t mind contributing a little extra to the family business, do you, honey?”

Your cock is hitting exactly the right spot; it always does when you fuck me in this position. From behind, I mean — you’ve never fucked me in a construction site while I’m bent over a half-done counter. But you know what angle is the perfect one to shove your cock into me, and your cockhead is rubbing me in just the right place to make me…

Come.

But I don’t, yet, not quite; you seem to sense I’m closing in on it and slow down just enough to keep me hovering on the edge.

“Say you’ll do it, honey,” you say, tormenting me with the slowness of your thrusts. “Say you’ll let my men use you.”

I want to come so bad I would say anything to make you fuck me harder. “Oh God,” I gasp. “Of course I will. Of course I will. Anything you want.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” I whimper, straining against the bonds and trying to force myself back onto your cock, harder. “Every last one. I’ll fuck them all… oh God –”

You start pounding into me again, the head of your cock striking my G-spot in exactly the way it takes to send me over the edge. You grip my slender thighs and hold me down as you ravage me, your cock pumping deep into my cunt and wrenching my orgasm from me.

“Oh God,” I moan. “I’m going to –”

Then I do, uncontrollably, your cock savaging me with every thrust, invading me, possessing me. I come so hard my eyes go dim, my whole body goes numb except my exploding clit, my pulsing pussy. I moan, helpless, not even caring who on the street can hear me, bound and naked, getting fucked in a kitchen where rich people will make their California Cuisine. Toward the end I hear myself screaming, as the intensity of my orgasm gets to be more than I can handle. And still you pound me, forcing me to handle it, forcing me to take it, forcing me to experience the most intense orgasm of my life. An orgasm so intense I’m afraid, for a moment, I’m going to pass out.

Then I hear you moaning, feel your cock clenching, feel the thick flood of semen that spells your release. I moan softly, savoring the feel of wetness that comes when you fill me. I lay there, immobile, bent over, exposed, bound — your slave. A bonus for your men, or whoever else you want to possess me.

You slip out of my pussy, your cock softening in its post-coital satisfaction. A thin stream of your come starts to leak down my thigh; it makes me shiver to feel it.

You make short work of the knots on my wrists and ankles. You help me down off the counter and hand me my skirt. My arms go around you and you hug me close, kissing the top of my head.

“What,” I say. “No bonus for your men?”

“Nope,” you tell me. “I’m keeping this one all to myself.”

Enter Joel, the skinny geek boy, and his girlfriend Kerry, the buxom bad girl. I guess it took sex, wine and 1950s kitsch to make me really appreciate comic books.

Divisadero Comix is a mélange of pop culture, with a stunning collection of lunchboxes — from Superman to Star Trek: The Motion Picture — lining its walls above impressive bins of ancient, dusty comic books, and the shelf over the counter covered with a neat array of He Man dolls, Micronauts and G.I. Joes. Joel and Kerry, the couple who own the place and are its only employees, are both obsessed with the stuff. Well, I guess it’s mostly Joel, but Kerry can certainly appreciate a good Flaming Torch thermos or Fonzie belt buckle.

It really is quite impressive. There are potato guns ordered from the back of Fantastic Four comics long before Joel, Kerry or I were born. There are little metal robots from the ’50s — worth a thousand bucks apiece, Joel once told me — displayed under glass in the back of the store, and the window displays change weekly, drawing in a stream of tourists and comic book nuts. Joel and Kerry figure if they kept the place interesting enough, they can stay in business.

I guess it works, sort of. I mean, I did live upstairs from the place, but I never would have come down and bought all those comics if I hadn’t spotted the window display that featured Jabba the Hutt eating Barbie.

Then again, it wasn’t really Jabba the Hutt that kept me coming back. It was the fact that Joel and Kerry were the cutest couple I had ever seen in my life. I guess they were about what you’d expect — both twenty-somethings with tattoos and piercings, Joel with his long blonde hair streaked with purple and Kerry with hers dyed raven-black, Joel wearing mostly skintight shirts that showed off his slim physique and always — no matter what day of the week it was — wearing tight leather pants. And Kerry’s outfits were equally exciting, little plaid schoolgirl skirts and knee-high boots showing off fantastic legs sheathed with fishnets or spiderweb stockings.

And her tops. I mean, Kerry is cute, don’t get me wrong. But I sometimes have trouble looking her in the eye when I’m talking to her. I’m a slim girl, and I guess I’ve always been attracted to busty ones. If Joel, with his dark eyes, haunted smiles and skintight pants hadn’t kept me coming back for more, then Kerry, with her low-cut shirts and full lips, would have.

But it’s weird flirting with couples. You never know when or whether to make the move. For us, it finally boiled down to a pair of X-Ray Specs.

It was late on a summer Saturday; I’d spent the day in the park on my bicycle and after locking it in the lobby of my building, I’d stopped in at the comic shop for a visit before going up to my apartment. Exercising always makes me feel really aware of my body, and I was still wearing my workout clothes — tight sports bra, cycling shorts and tennis shoes. I was way too sweaty and exhausted to feel sexy, but something made me feel invigorated, too. I made a half-hearted loop through the stacks of comics, not really wanting to pick up anything new; I still hadn’t read the last pile Joel had talked me into. Kerry and I chatted as she counted out the register, and Joel fiddled around with a display of ’50s tchotchkes. They both looked particularly cute that evening, despite the long day they’d just put in.

I wandered over to Joel and smiled at him.

“What are those?” I asked, pointing to a pair of plastic glasses with weird-looking spirals on the lenses. “3-D glasses?”

Joel made an insulted sound. “My dear Sarah, these little gems of the mid-20th century are” — he put them on with a flourish — “X-Ray Specs.”

“X-Ray Specs?”

“You used to be able to buy them in the back of comic books,” said Joel, looking me up and down with a devilish smile on his face. “Still can, sometimes.”

“What do they do?” I asked.

He took a long, slow moment to lean over the counter, close to me, and look me up and down slowly once, then twice, then a third time.

He grinned at me. “They let you see through people’s clothes,” he said.

“Nuh-uh,” I said, grabbing for them.

He stepped back from the counter, out of my grasp. “Yes-huh,” he said, still staring at me. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, Sarah, that’s a very naughty tattoo.”

I instinctively felt my skin prickling. I stood up straight and tried to think of what to say. I giggled.

“You lie,” I said. “I don’t have any tattoos.”

“Oh yes you do,” said Joel, looking right at my crotch, where I sport one of my two tattoos. I felt my blood run cold, then hot in a weird rush of sensation. “And it’s a naughty one.”

The tattoo just above my pubic bone is a small, full-color one of a ’40s-style blonde bombshell — touching herself. I felt suddenly exposed, half of me believing that Joel really could see right through my tight bicycling shorts, could see the tattoo — could see my pussy. I knew it was bullshit, but I felt suddenly naked, strangely excited at the thought of Joel undressing me with his eyes. With that, I could feel my nipples hardening, and I became painfully aware that they were quite evident through the sports bra. Joel’s red-spiraled eyes lingered over them shamelessly. He licked his lips and smiled.

“You are so full of shit,” I said. “You lie, you lie, you lie,” I laughed. “You can’t see through my clothes.”

“Kerry,” said Joel. “Get over here.”

Kerry came over, and Joel slipped off the glasses and handed them to his girlfriend.

She put them on and gasped.

“Sarah, really! A blonde bombshell masturbating? You are more naughty than you let on. And you really should wear underwear with those shorts.”

It was silly, really. I knew they were joking with me, but for a moment I actually believed they were both looking at me, inspecting my naked body. I felt my nipples harden still more and felt a warm pulse go through my pussy. I had been flirting with Joel and Kerry for months, but I never really thought anything would happen — I mean, I didn’t even know if Kerry was bi.

“You guys are so full of it.”

“Then how did I know what your tattoo is?” smirked Kerry. “And you really aren’t wearing any underwear.”

“Cut the crap,” I giggled, turning and walking away from the counter. Kerry handed the X-Ray Specs back to Joel; he donned them and followed me with his eyes.

“Great ass, too,” he said. “That one’s cute, too. Who’s ‘Jordan?’”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I swallowed nervously. I was starting to really believe it — really believe they could see through my clothes.

My other tattoo, you see, is my ex-boyfriend’s name on a red heart — bright, red, on my ass. I got it only three months before Jordan and I broke up, but I decided to keep it — it kept things interesting whenever I got naked with people.

I don’t know what I thought. I guess part of me believed they could really see through my clothes.

I turned around. “Give me those,” I said, half smiling.

“No way,” said Joel. “You think I want you evaluating my genital piercings?”

“Tit for tat,” I said, coming toward the counter, leaning over and reaching for the glasses.

Joel, who’s six-four and skinny, swept the glasses off his face and put them on the top shelf with the line of Skeletor figures.

“Gimme!” I said bitterly.

Kerry sighed and came around the counter. “I’ve got a much more interesting way for you to evaluate his genital piercings,” she whispered, leaning close to me.

I froze, my eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” I said, smiling.

“We’re almost done here,” said Kerry. “Why don’t you come upstairs for a drink, Sarah?”

I hesitated, not sure what to say.

Kerry put her arms around me and kissed me, softly, on the lips.

“I mean, we’ve already seen you naked,” she laughed.

I could feel my face flushing hot as she took me by the hand and led me back to the little door that led to their upstairs apartment.

Joel was right behind us. I glanced back and saw him pluck the glasses off their shelf and put them on, smiling and shaking his head as he looked at my ass. I suppressed a giggle, feeling his hot gaze on my body.

As we mounted the stairs, I could hardly believe I was doing this — I mean, they were adorable, hot and sexy, but I had never really thought anything would happen with them. And now here I was, after a long workout in the park, sweaty and still dressed in workout clothes, going up to have a drink with this couple that had just embarrassed the hell out of me.

Problem was, it had really turned me on.

I guess I’m a little bit of an exhibitionist. Just the idea of these two sexy flirts looking me over naked, discussing my body so casually, had excited me. The fact of the matter is, if they’d just up and asked me, I might have been too nervous to say yes. But after working me up like that, they had me at their mercy.

Kerry and Joel live in a single converted room above their comic book store. They’ve decorated it in the esteemed style of a late-1800s’ New Orleans bordello, complete with opium pipes hanging on the walls. The memorabilia was relegated to the shop; their apartment had more dignified and decadent adornments. The place smelled of incense, alcohol and the close scent of their bodies. Just smelling it excited me.

The only furniture in the small room was a low-slung velvet loveseat and a beanbag chair. I wondered where they slept.

I guessed I would probably get to find out.

“Red wine okay?” asked Joel as Kerry steered me toward the loveseat. “Or would you prefer Scotch?”

“Definitely Scotch,” I said, sinking into the soft velvet as Kerry and I leaned close on the sofa. She began toying gently with my short hair and then kissed me on the lips, this time opening her mouth slightly. My lips parted, too, and I felt the warmth of her tongue against mine. I put my arms around her and felt her body pressing hot against mine. My pulse quickened as her hands moved down my back, then around to my belly. She pulled up my sports bra and her mouth descended to my hard nipple, suckling it. I moaned and ran my fingers through her raven-black hair, feeling a surge of pleasure go from my nipples to my pussy. She caressed one breast with her hand while her tongue traced a path around my nipple and she bit down gently.

“Since we already know what you look like naked,” said Kerry, “you may as well take those clothes off…”

My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t have said no even if I’d wanted to. Kerry slipped my sports bra over my head while I kicked off my shoes, and then she peeled the sweaty spandex shorts off my lower body and ran her hands up my thigh as I sank naked into the velvet of the sofa, feeling it caress my body.

“It’s smaller than it looked through the glasses,” said Joel, squeezing onto the sofa next to me.

He handed me my Scotch, neat, and I took a quick drink before kissing him, tasting the red wine he’d sipped. His tongue was pierced. As we started to make out, Kerry’s mouth returned to my breasts and she kissed them all over, her hand wriggling its way between my thighs. Lost, naked between these two clothed lovers, I let her part my legs and felt her fingers caressing my pussy. I was incredibly wet.

“I really quite prefer you naked,” said Joel between deep kisses. “Especially these marvelous tits of yours.”

“Tit for tat,” I said.

I helped Joel and Kerry out of their clothes and the three of us twined together on the sofa. Kerry was as beautiful out of her clothes as she was in them. She had tattoos all over her body — intricate green ivy with flowers around her round hips, a dagger above her pussy, a Chinese character on her upper thigh. Joel was long and lean, muscled, as I’d suspected he would be — but I didn’t expect the long, smooth curve of his cock to be so beautiful, so inviting. They took turns kissing me while the other teased my breasts, kissed down my belly. Then came the moment when Kerry kissed further down, spread my thighs, and melded her mouth to my pussy.

I moaned. I reached out for Joel’s cock, grasping it, and leaned down so I could take it in my mouth.

Kerry’s skilled tongue worked its way between my slick lips, teasing my clit and making me want Joel’s cock even more. I swallowed it all, long and slim as it was, and I felt Kerry focusing on the rhythms of my body as my hips pumped up against her face. She rode me flawlessly, seeming to sense exactly what I needed to come — and then pushing me further. By the time I began to shudder as my climax approached quickly, my mouth had slipped off of Joel’s cock and I was gripping it with my hand, my lips parted wide in a moan of orgasm.

The two of them wrapped their arms around me, Kerry kissing me on the lips and letting me taste my own pussy. When I went back to sucking Joel’s cock, she joined me and we traded off, kissing between strokes up and down on its hard length. Joel moaned louder, his hips rising, his ass lifting off the sofa.

“All yours,” whispered Kerry, kissing me. “If you want it.”

I did. I closed my mouth around Joel’s cock and slid up and down, hungry for him. When his cock jerked and I felt the first stream in my mouth, I decided in that instant to swallow it all. I missed only a tiny drop as he pumped into me, and Kerry bent forward to lick that off of my chin.

Joel was still moaning as Kerry and I kissed deeply. I could taste my juices mingled with Joel’s come.

I spotted the glasses on the coffee table. I reached out and snatched them before either one of them could stop me — but this time, they didn’t try.

I put them on.

Both of them were a big fuzzy mess of weird lines and radiant images.

“Hey!” I said. “You can’t see through peoples’ clothes with this.” I laughed.

“It’s because we’re naked,” said Joel, his voice thick with post-orgasmic pleasure.

“Bullshit,” I said, waving my hand in front of the glasses and watching the vague shadows dance back and forth incomprehensibly. Tell me the truth. How did you know about the tattoos?”

Joel shot Kerry a look.

“Well,” said Kerry. “I guess it might have something to do with the fact that Jordan buys his comics here.”

“That bastard.”

“His lips get real loose about ex-girlfriend’s tattoos when you throw in a few free books,” said Kerry, her face reddening.

She smiled at me weakly. “Are you mad?”

I picked up my Scotch from the coffee table and lifted it to my face, inhaling its aroma, loving the way it mingled with the scent of sex.

“At Jordan, maybe,” I said, eyeing Kerry’s illuminated, skeletonized face. “At you two… no.”

I smiled and kissed her, feeling vaguely nauseous as the room swirled, distorted, around me.

“Good,” said Joel. “Because I put sea monkeys in your Scotch.”

“Keep it up,” I said. “There’s a potato gun with your name on it, buster.”

“Such a filthy mouth.”

I drank the Scotch.

So much of the attention lavished on female genitals is about penetration — not that there’s anything wrong with that. But if you’re looking for a change of pace, either as a giver or receiver, think about forgoing that divine trip inside the vagina. Female genital massage is a technique that can vastly increase your pleasure whether or not you enjoy penetration.

Oftentimes the genital caress — for both genders — is seen as “foreplay,” a cursory diversion to get partners ready for “real sex,” or intercourse. Whether performed with a mouth or a pair of hands, stimulation of the woman’s vulva is sometimes seen as a prelude to the main event. That can be as true for two women as it can be for a man and a woman, especially now that so many delicious penetrative toys are available for our enjoyment. But if you’re looking to please and tease a woman beyond all bounds of decency, think about spending some time outside.

“I love it when a partner spends a lot of time on the outside of my pussy,” says Emily, a Silicon Valley executive. “I had a lover who used to take an hour, even two hours, and use his hands to just stroke me gently, caressing my outer lips, inner lips, clit, thighs, and lower belly. It felt so good to be touched in that way — so different than intercourse, or even cunnilingus. By the time he was actually ready to put something inside me, I was so hot I’d come right away, sometimes after having come once already.”

But though Emily enjoys intercourse, it by no means has to be the end result of an extended genital caress. Christine, a Marin dance instructor, says she enjoys having her lover make her come through manual stimulation without penetrating her. “I love feeling her fingers inside me, but sometimes it’s so great just to focus on the outside. With the hands it feels so much different than cunnilingus, which I also love. It’s a great change of pace, especially with my current lover, who has no problem spending a long, long time pleasing me.”

That’s a good point — cunnilingus. Doesn’t cunnilingus represent a form of female genital massage? Well, yes — and pussy licking can certainly be part of a good massage. But there are a few important ways the hands differ from the mouth. First, while a tongue may feel divine, it’s essentially a gentle organ, and there’s a limit to its strength. Women receiving a genital massage with the hands can experience a huge variation in pressure — from gentle stroking to intense force to tickling and even slapping if that feels good. There are all sorts of different surfaces on the hands, including knuckles, fingers, the edge and flat of the palm, wrists, the heel of the hand — even elbows and shoulders can get into the act in a creative session. All of these surfaces offer a new and slightly different texture, giving the receiver all sorts of delicious sensations on which to focus.

Furthermore, during cunnilingus hands can add a whole new dimension. For one thing, tongues don’t get much of a physical workout in the real world, so sometimes they tire quickly. For a partner whose tongue gets tired, using hands can free up much-needed muscle to keep the fires burning almost indefinitely.

Below are a few suggestions for giving an intense massage to your female partner’s genitals. Remember that women’s genitals tend to vary in sensation even more than men’s do — what feels fantastic to one woman may annoy another. Be sure to communicate with your partner before, during and after the session.

• Give yourself a manicure even if you don’t plan to put your fingers inside your partner. One ragged fingernail can ruin her whole day — and yours!
• One advantage to female genital massage is that by caressing the outside and forgoing penetration, the risk of transmitting an STD (including HIV) is greatly reduced. However, HIV and other STDs do exist in transmissible levels in vaginal fluids, so it’s a good idea to use a latex glove — especially if you gave yourself a good enough manicure, which can break the skin. A glove also can smooth out any calluses, dry skin or hangnails, and any remaining ragged fingernails.
• For a different sensation, use lubricant — especially if you use a glove. Thinner lubes like Liquid Silk and Slippery Stuff Liquid tend to work better for this sort of thing (and they’re free of glycerines, which can contribute to irritation). If you’re not using a glove, you can use any kind of massage oil, which can add sexy scents (other than your partner’s) to the experience. However, if you do use massage oil, it will eat holes in a latex glove — so if you later decide to use one for protection, it won’t be effective. If you use massage oil, make sure your lover washes any residual oil away before using latex. In addition, oils may cause irritation if they get inside the vagina, so use water-based lube if you’re going to incorporate penetration.
• Try starting out with extremely light touch, perhaps before you apply the lube. Just gently tickle the pubic hair, outer lips, inner lips, upper thighs, vaginal entrance, and buttocks.
• Try drumming your fingers very lightly against the labia, vaginal opening, and clit hood.
• Add some lube and use your fingers and the palm of your hand to very gently stroke the labia, clitoral hood, and vaginal entrance. If your partner and you are feeling adventurous, you can get the anus into the act, but be sure not to move a finger from the anus to the vagina — dangerous bacteria can leapfrog that way. If you’re going to play with both the anus and the vagina, use separate hands or change latex gloves in between.
• Try putting your whole hand over the vulva with your fingers closed, and very gradually increase the pressure, paying close attention to your partner’s response. You can press harder for as long as it feels good, or until you reach a comfortable level, and gently move your hand around in circles. You can start out doing this slowly, and move up to a vibrator-like action if that draws a positive response.
• If you’ve got a free hand, reach up and touch her belly, breasts, face, hair, arms and shoulders, or hold her hand. That connection may make the play feel even more intimate.
• If she gets to the point where she wants to come, tell her not to be shy about doing it herself if she finds it easier to climax that way — you can, for instance, stroke her labia or slip your fingers inside her vagina while she rubs her clit to orgasm.
• Some women may enjoy the sensation of having their vulvas slapped or spanked, either lightly or firmly — but be sure to ask about this first, and to remember that when slapping, a little goes a looooooong way!
• Above all, enjoy yourself! If you’re just mechanically rubbing your lover’s pussy, she’s likely to get as bored as you are. If your mind tends to wander, find ways to keep it focused and engage your arousal as well as hers. Here are some ideas:
• Do this while watching video erotica that turns you both on.
• Try talking to your lover. This can range from “Yeah, does that feel good?” to “Your pussy’s all wet!” to “You slut, you love having your pussy rubbed, don’t you?” Whatever is sexy to you and your partner. It’ll increase communication and make it easier for you to tell if she’s enjoying what you’re doing — and what you should do more of.
• Listen to music you like to dance to. Engage your whole body while you’re stroking her — moving your shoulders, arms, and torso with the music and with your lover’s body.
• Have her read you erotica while you caress her pussy. Find a favorite sexy story and have her give you a dramatic reading — maybe commenting on what she finds sexy about it! She may, ahem, lose her place occasionally if you’re doing it right, but it’s all part of the game.

Happy hand jobs!

For further information:

Fire in the Valley: The Intimate Guide to Female Genital Massage