Rowan’s a foxy, bucolic boy from the south with shoulder length, honey colored hair and long flirty eyelashes that droop down over his mossy green eyes so he always looks sleepy and wistful. He’s also got a very nice penis and plays guitar like his hair’s on fire. He shows up on my doorstep at 1:30 am Thursday morning. We start fucking around 3.

The night is like a dream. We drink beer and smoke weed until he decides he has to go move his car so it won’t get towed in the morning. His hand on the doorknob, spare key in his pocket, and before either of us knows what’s happening, our bodies mesh. A trail of clothing to the bedroom and the two of us are a heaving, moaning tangle of flesh. It’s hard to tell where he ends, where I begin. His cock. My breasts. Our tongues. Our sweat.

It ceases to matter that he hasn’t showered in a few days, that I haven’t brushed my teeth, that the sheets on my bed are far from fresh, the cat’s incessant meowing, or the dirty laundry on the floor. It ceases to matter that we don’t know each other’s last names, star signs, or dietary habits. All that matters is the visceral functioning of our bodies; a galaxy of nerve endings; a pool of erogenous zones. . .

I wake to him looking at me, touching my hair. The vortex of sex pulls us into each other again until finally, at noon, we get out of bed. The coffee is strong and bitter and it pulls the sleep out of our eyes. Outside, it’s sunny. I offer to show Rowan around San Francisco before I go to rehearsal. We amble through Chinatown, munching dim sum and staring in the strange windows of the Chinese butcher shops, at roasted duck and hen hanging by their bony necks, giant frogs crammed in tiny aquariums awaiting their doom.

I lose myself in the poetry room of City Lights bookstore and am brought back to reality by Rowan’s soft hand on my waist. “Want to get a cup of coffee?”

Drinking cappuccinos out of gigantic teacups, our glassy-eyed gazes shift from the black and white photographs of Lawrence Ferlinghetti to the toothless man outside banging on a guitar with no strings. We walk down nudie strip, the couple blocks of Broadway that become a neon porn jungle at night. It’s still light out, and the strippers stand outside the clubs smoking and chatting with the security guys

When we get to Kearney street, I say “Oh, look! The Lusty Lady,” and act surprised. Rowan raises his eyebrows as I proceed to elucidate the finer points of the only unionized peep show in the continental U.S.

“But I don’t have any quarters.” Rowan smiles sheepishly, shuffling his feet.

“I do!” Grabbing his hand, I drag him through the lobby and into the dark, carpeted room. “Okay. Don’t touch the walls or the door and don’t put anything on the ground.” Inside, it’s stuffy. The scent of semen stains the air and try as I might, I can’t keep the sleeve of my jacket from touching the wall.

“The floor is sticky.” Rowan mutters in my ear, but the booth is tiny, so tiny he has to stand extremely close to me, and I can feel through his pants that he likes the situation. I give him the quarters and he starts feeding them into the coin slot, one by one. The window shade rises.

On the other side of the plexi glass are 4 or 5 women, all naked, most of them wearing high heels. A few have jewelry, dangling earrings, necklaces with heavy pendants that rest in their cleavage, or belly chains. One girl has been haphazard with her depilatory ritual. Her “racing stripe” is off center. A patch of dark hair sprouts behind one of her knees. She comes over to our window and starts to gyrate. Rowan giggles nervously, but other parts of him are getting aroused. The woman lifts her leg and starts to touch herself, gently peeling back the petals of her labia to give us a better view of her. Then she looks at me. I smile. She looks at me again and bends down to get a closer view. “Hannah?”

“Uh, hi.” I wave awkwardly. I don’t know who she is, but I have been caught with my muff in the proverbial dildo bin, and I hope she either goes back to the pussy show or just goes away. The last thing I want is a conversation from one side of the glass to the other. But I guess that’s what she has in mind, because she says, “How are you?”

“I’m, uh, good. Here with a friend.” I point to Rowan, who grins like an idiot and says, “Hi, I’m Rowan.”

“Oh,” says the girl. Puzzlement in her eyes, she stands back up and sways away, back to her pole or to gyrate in front of someone else. The window shade is descending and all our quarters are gone. I feel completely embarrassed, humiliated even, like my mother has caught me with my finger on my happy button, but Rowan is still grinning. He thinks I’m the coolest shit on earth at this moment, and he says, “Wow, all the girls know you at the peepshow. That is so hot!” And for some reason this makes me feel grateful. So grateful that I take him. Right there. In my mouth. And I go to rehearsal happy. Knowing he’s leaving tomorrow. Knowing we may not see each other again.

Afterward, she wondered how it had ever gotten to that point. It certainly wasn’t what she’d expected when she agreed to spend the night with friends of Amy’s parents on the way to Bar Harbor.

Amy, her best friend from college, was spending the summer working in Acadia National Park. Becca had agreed to visit her for a week before they headed back to school together for their senior year. Because the trip from Philadelphia to Maine was too far to do in a day, however, Becca had needed to stop somewhere for the night.

“I can just find a cheap motel,” she’d told Amy. “I don’t want to put these people out.”

Truth be told, Becca wasn’t sure she wanted to stay with a strange family, even if it was for just one night. But Amy insisted that her parents’ friends wouldn’t mind, and Becca was trying to watch her money, so she’d finally said yes.

“Their house is in southern New Hampshire and it’s right on the beach,” Amy told her, “so you’ll be able to jump in the ocean after your long drive. I know you’ll love the Turners. Bill and Elaine are super friendly, and their kids are great too.”

As Becca pulled up to the gray-shingled house with the spectacular ocean view, she realized she’d forgotten to ask Amy about Bill and Elaine’s children. But that wasn’t the chief thing on her mind. About an hour earlier, as she was rounding Boston and heading north, the “check engine” light in her car had come on. She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but she had a feeling it wasn’t good.

Bill and Elaine were all that Amy had said they would be: warm, friendly, and welcoming. And she’d barely gotten her concerns about her car out of her mouth before Bill was bustling her down to a trusted mechanic he’d used for years. That was the good news.

The bad news was that the part the mechanic needed to fix her car would take three days to get.

“I can just find a motel after tonight,” Becca offered when she and Bill got back to the house.”

“Nonsense,” Elaine replied firmly. “You’re staying right here.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” Becca said.

“You won’t be. Any friend of Amy’s is a friend of ours. Now come and meet the kids.”

For some reason Becca had expected Bill and Elaine’s kids to be much younger, so she was surprised to find two teenage girls lounging around in the family room. They both jumped up when she came in and gave her warm smiles as they shook hands. It turned out that Jess, the younger of the two, was fourteen, while Alice was sixteen.

“There are two girls in my family too,” Becca told them.

“Actually,” Elaine began, but she was interrupted before she could finish.

“You must be Amy’s friend,” a voice said.

Becca turned to find a young man standing in the doorway smiling at her. He had light-brown, curly hair and intense blue eyes, and he was drop-dead gorgeous. To her annoyance, she could feel herself blushing.

“I’m Brad,” the young man said, extending his hand.

‘I’m Becca.”

Was it her imagination or did Brad let his fingers stroke her palm after they shook hands?

“Brad is the same age as you and Amy,” Elaine was saying now. “He’s going into his senior year at Williams.”

“Amy’s told me a lot about you.” Brad said. There was something about the way he said it that triggered a small wave of heat in Becca’s lower abdomen.

“She has?”

Becca couldn’t imagine what Amy had told him. She was also puzzled why her friend hadn’t told her that the Turners had a son her age.

Brad just smiled at her.

By the time Becca went to bed the following night, she was feeling thoroughly unsettled. It wasn’t Bill and Elaine’s fault. They couldn’t have been friendlier or made her feel more at home. Jess and Alice had been great as well, showing her around town and taking her to the beach.

It was Brad who was the problem. As she lay on her back, hands behind her head, she tried to figure out what exactly he was doing to make her feel so uneasy. Like Bill, Elaine, and the girls, he couldn’t have been nicer or friendlier to her. At the same time, there was something subtly seductive in his manner that had stirred an intense response in her.

In fact, “intense response” didn’t begin to do justice to what she was feeling. The physical attraction she felt toward Brad was nothing short of electric. Although Becca thought of herself as a girl with a healthy sex drive, she’d never felt as horny as this before.

Her mind drifted to an incident yesterday afternoon right before she’d gone to the beach with Jess and Alice, Brad had run into her in the front hallway and complimented her on her bathing suit. That wasn’t a big deal in and of itself, but he’d followed it up with a gesture she couldn’t get out of her head. He’d rested his fingers lightly on her back for a moment and then let them slide down to the hollow place right above her ass. Then he’d made a little circle with his fingers and pressed them into her spine.

It was as if he’d pressed a button on her body that suddenly shifted her libido from low to overdrive.

Becca had gone through a nasty breakup at college six months earlier, and for several months her sex drive had gone south. Recently, however, she’d experienced some gentle stirrings in her loins that made her think she was getting her groove back. But there was nothing gentle about the stirrings that Brad’s touch evoked. Afterwards she realized that her clit was pulsing and the crotch of her bathing suit was damp and getting wetter by the moment.

The memory of the encounter made Becca squirm in bed. Turning on her side, she remembered what Elaine had told her after dinner. Jess was competing in a gymnastics event the next morning, and the family would be leaving early to get her there and attend the meet. It would be a chance for her to sleep in and relax on the beach.

Becca was grateful that Brad would be gone for a good part of the day and that she wouldn’t have to worry about the effect he was having on her. Although this was a comforting thought, she continued to toss and turn long after she turned out the light.

When Becca awoke the next morning, the house was quiet. She quickly donned her bathing suit and headed down to the beach for an early morning swim. Then she returned to the house and took a long, hot shower. Afterwards, she pulled on a pair of panties and her cover-up, deciding to get dressed after breakfast.

As it turned out, she never made it to the kitchen. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to get Brad out of her mind while she was showering. She ended up lingering much longer than usual when soaping herself between the legs, and by the time she got out of the shower her clit wouldn’t stop throbbing.

Becca couldn’t fight it any longer. Surrendering to her needs, she undid the top buttons on her cover-up and released her breasts. Then she lay back in the overstuffed armchair in her bedroom and spread her legs wide. She rubbed her tits with one hand while letting the other slide down between her legs. Although she’d dried herself thoroughly after her shower, she could feel that the crotch of her panties was already wet as she kneaded her pussy through the thin cotton.

After a couple of minutes, Becca hooked a finger underneath her panties, pulling them aside. The feel of the cool air against her burning pussy made her moan softly, and she began rubbing herself vigorously, slipping a finger into her wet opening from time to time. When she began to feel restricted by her panties, she stood up and stripped them off before flopping back in the chair.

As she worked on her clit, Becca gradually became aware that something was wrong. Although she was enjoying the intense sensation of pleasure between her legs, she was also conscious that she didn’t seem to be getting any closer to coming. She didn’t understand how she could be having a problem reaching orgasm when she was so intensely aroused, but the realization made her feel increasingly frustrated.

Standing up abruptly, she crossed the room and crawled onto her bed. There she sank down on her forearms with her ass in the air and her legs spread wide. Getting fucked doggy-style had always made Becca feel hotter than any other sexual position, and she thought if she imagined Brad doing her from behind she would climax sooner. But however much she rubbed and massaged and coaxed her pulsing clit, she couldn’t seem to make herself come.

It was at that moment her eyes fell on the bed rail.

The bed in the guest bedroom was one of those old-fashioned affairs with a large, ornate headboard at one end and two posts at the other. Both of the posts had what looked like carved pineapples on top, and they were connected by a round, wooden rail.

But it was the design of the bed rail that riveted Becca’s attention. Every foot or so, the otherwise smooth wood was broken by a series of five or six raised ridges that made her think of corduroy. The thought of what she might do with those ridges made her a little dizzy.

She didn’t need to think long. Keeping one knee on the bed, she threw her other leg over the rail until she was balanced with one foot on the floor. Then she slowly lowered her body until her pussy—and only her pussy—was resting against the cool wood. The rail nestled in her wet slit while the lips of her cunt hung down on either side of it. She moved back and forth a few times to get the feel of it and then slid back until she hit the first series of ridges.

Becca let out a high-pitched wail as her cunt ran over the ridges for the first time. The raised circles of wood bumped over the nub of her clit one after another triggering a delicious sensation of pleasure. And when she got to the end of them, all she had to do was reverse directions to keep that sensation going. She was so wet by now that her pussy was making a loud squelching noise, and she could feel the throbbing in her clit intensify as she began to move toward orgasm. The sudden thought that she was fucking a bed rail made her feel a little sheepish (what would Amy think?), but she wasn’t about to stop now.

Distracted as she was, it probably wasn’t surprising that she didn’t sense another person’s presence in the room. But the sound of someone clearing his throat made her jump up and swing around in horror. Brad was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her with that sly smile of his.

It took Becca a moment to find her voice. “I thought you were. . .”

“Gone?” Brad finished the sentence for her. He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve seen enough of Jess’s gymnastics meets to last me a lifetime,” he said. “Besides,” he added, looking her right in the eyes, “I was hoping to spend some quality time with you.”

Without asking her if he could come in, he walked over to the bed until he was standing right in front of her. Becca was aware that she was still holding her cover-up bunched around her waist—her tits exposed and her pussy hanging in the wind—but she felt momentarily frozen in place.

“You look like you could use some help,” Brad said. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out his hand and cupped Becca’s cunt, rubbing the heel of his palm back and forth across her clit.

Becca let out an involuntary moan. “Wait,” she said.

Brad kept right on rubbing. “Don’t you think you’ve waited long enough?” he asked, finding her opening with his middle finger and sliding it in.

“But,” Becca began.

Brad interrupted her again, leaning in closer and whispering in a conspiratorial manner. “I’ll get to your butt later,” he said as he began to massage her clit with his thumb. “First things first.”

Letting go of her cunt, Brad took Becca by the shoulders and pushed her gently but firmly back onto the bed. Then he pushed her legs up so that her knees were almost to her ears and made her hook her arms under her knees to hold them there. Finally he knelt down on the floor, his head between her legs, his mouth inches away from her sex. For a moment he did nothing, as if admiring the view, and Becca became aware that her juices were sliding down onto her asshole.

“When I was watching you from the doorway, your pussy looked like a mouth sucking on the bed rail,” he said dreamily. “In fact, I could hear it sucking,” he added with a laugh.

Becca was mortified at the idea of Brad watching her, and she felt her face burning with embarrassment. At the same time, his words made the ache between her legs grow even stronger.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl with a wetter pussy,” Brad continued in an admiring tone. Then he leant forward and let his tongue run back and forth in her slit, occasionally dipping it into her hole. After a while he began to lick her cunt from bottom to top, lingering at the end, letting his tongue swirl around her swollen clit. He seemed to sense when she was getting close to orgasm, backing her off, increasing her sense of urgency.

Without warning he suddenly stood up, took hold of one of her hands, and pulled her to a standing position. Then he turned her around and bent her over the bedrail so that she was resting on the bed on her forearms. Becca spread her legs and tilted her pelvis invitingly. She could hear Brad pulling off his shorts and underwear, and she was aware that she had never wanted to be fucked so badly in her life.

Brad didn’t keep her waiting long. He ran the head of his cock back and forth in her dripping slit and then slid the full length of his shaft inside her. He pulled out and slid it in again several times before he began to fuck her in strong, steady thrusts. As Becca pumped her hips in time with his thrusts, she could feel the bedrail rubbing against her thighs. The sensation made her feel more aroused than ever, and she slipped one hand between her legs until she found her clit. A minute later she began to come in a series of spasms so intense that it took her a moment to realize that the high-pitched squeals filling the room were coming from her mouth.

“God, you really needed that,” Brad said before emptying his load into her still-quivering cunt.

Drifting in a post-orgasmic daze, Becca lost track of how much time had passed. She may even have dropped off for a few minutes. What brought her back to consciousness was the sensation of Brad’s thumb stroking the patch of skin that separated her anus from her vagina. After a moment, he let it drift up to the rim around her asshole, first on one side, then on the other. She felt the nerve endings in her backdoor stir to life and start to tingle. She also felt a growing urgency to be touched there.

As if reading her mind, Brad dipped his thumb into her still dripping cunt and lowered it onto the tight bud of her asshole. Becca felt a shockwave of pleasure run through her body and let out a low groan. Using a deft corkscrew motion, he slid his thumb into her ass to the first knuckle, and after moving it back and forth for a few seconds, slid it in the rest of the way.

“What are you doing?” Becca gasped, knowing it was a stupid question the second it came out of her mouth.

“Don’t you remember?” Brad reminded her. “I told you I was going to take care of your butt later.”

Becca hadn’t thought he’d meant that literally, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about doing “that” with a boy she barely knew. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but she was panting so hard now that the words seemed to stick in her throat. It was getting difficult to think clearly with Brad’s thumb sliding in and out of her ass in such an insistent manner. And when he removed it a moment later and began rubbing the head of his cock back and forth across her asshole, all she could think about was how much she wanted his dick to be where his thumb had been a moment earlier.

Why not? she told herself. The morning couldn’t get any crazier. Just go for it.

Reaching back with both hands, she pulled her ass cheeks open as wide as she could. “What are you waiting for?” she demanded.

To Becca’s disappointment, Brad had to leave the next day to visit a friend before returning to Williams. As good as the sex with him had been, it left her wanting more rather than satisfied, and she awoke her last morning at the Turners feeling hornier than ever. It didn’t take her long to decide that what she needed most was a final date with the bed rail.

As she rubbed her swollen clit back and forth across the raised wooden ridges, she could tell that the rail was now slick with her juices, could hear her wet pussy sucking on the rounded wood like a hungry mouth. And when she finally started to come, she had to chew on her fist to keep from waking the house.

Driving to Bar Harbor later that day, Becca found herself pondering a difficult question. Both were good, she had to admit. But in the final analysis, who was the better fuck: Brad or the bed rail?

For me, the fear is same sensation as when you’re standing in line at the largest roller coaster at Magic Mountain—the one that drops you down five stories in three seconds. I want to ride the ride, and I want to slowly back away and hide in the nearest cave.

Garret uses cuffs regularly, because he likes to find my weaknesses and press on them. Jules was going for the cuffs from the start, which told me that he and Garret had spoken in depth ahead of time. I could imagine the conversation.

What does she like?

What does she hate?

What turns her on?

Or maybe they’d had a different conversation altogether:

What do you do to her when she’s bad?

What do you do to her when she’s good?

How do you punish her when she misbehaves?

I knew that Garret could have given identical answers to almost all of the questions. The same things I love—the crops, the paddles, the ball gags, the whips, the floggers, the butt plugs—are all the things I hate.  There are plenty of days when I work to convince myself that I don’t need to walk on the kinky side of the street. That light and good and sweet and rainbow-colored sunshine candy-cane-flavored fun is all I’ll ever need.

And then Garret will stroke my ass, or kiss the side of my neck, or put his hand on my belt buckle, and I’m down in the pit once more, craving what I crave. Needing what I need.

Now, Garret handed over a set—not the standard stainless steel, but a pretty blue pair that he’d given me one Christmas. How was Jules going to use the cuffs? Would he capture one wrist only, and bind me to the bedframe with the other? Would he cuff me with my hands over my head, or behind my back?

I know I could have asked. They hadn’t gagged me after all. I could have whispered, “What are you going to do?” But that never helps. Testing a dominant isn’t the name of this game. Fucking with his power wasn’t how I hoped to start our interaction.

Meek—that was me. I was as meek as possible as Jules played with the cuffs in his hands. And then I was still—showing him, hey, I made a mistake. You don’t need to use those. Look at what a good girl I can be! Gold star for me!

My act made Garret smile. I was won for a moment by the beauty of him. The way his eyes took on the color of the room. Normally, silver, they have the possibility of becoming mirrors—reflecting. I could see the excitement there, the color in my man’s cheeks as he watched Jules attach one cuff to my right wrist and then move my hands behind my head—oh, holy fuck, I’d seen a movie recently like this. Well, I say a movie, but a clip of porn on the internet, a gorgeous black girl with her hands cuffed behind her head—pink furry cuffs, as if to add fashion victim to her list of made up flaws. The man spanking her kept grabbing onto the cuffs and pulling her back into position—what I’d remembered the most other than the color of the marabou covering those cuffs was the fact that she was entirely nude except for cute little ballet slippers. I never wear shoes like that—far too dainty for a girl who lives in knee-high Docs. But she’d looked so sweet, her feet kicking in those flats, that I’d considered going on a shoe shopping spree myself!

There. That’s why I need cuffs. Because my mind takes off onto scenes like this, when there is a man—namely Jules—expecting, requesting, my total concentration. What’s wrong with me? Garret says I have a mind like a Seurat painting. All those tiny little dots work together to form one main thought. He says I’m the only person he’s ever met who thinks like I do. Who looks at the tiniest details and sees something new.

For whatever reason, this type of thought process puts me in situations like this, where I completely missed whatever Jules had just said to me, where I find myself in a panic as I try to say the right thing.

Yes, Jules.

No, Jules.

Whatever you say, Jules.

Fucking hell, Jules.

Just spank me and get it over with, won’t you, Jules?

“We’re going to try that again,” Jules said. “Over my lap, young lady.” That brought a smile to my face—young lady is such a treat to be called when there’s a streak of silver in your long, dark hair.

Jules helped me bend, my wrists behind my head, my skirt offering nothing in the way of protection, tiny little bandaid of plaid. Next time, I’d wear a chain mail one.

“I’m starting with twenty,” he said, “and then I’m going to take out those beads and blindfold you. And then Garret and I are going to fuck you, while you do your best to guess which one of us is in you. Do you think you can handle that?”

No. I didn’t think I could handle that. I wanted that. My pussy, already wet, was wetter than ever. But one thing was for sure. I was completely focused now. No dot-to-dots filled my brain. Seurat had been replaced by Rothko. Big swatches of color. Three stripes—Jules, Garret, and me. I was 100% on the same canvas as the two men.

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Good girl,” Jules replied. “We begin.”

Many thanks to all of the authors for being part of the contest and to you, our readers.

Cheers!

A smile and a lick and I was backstage. Musicians were sitting around drinking, jamming, laughing, tripping. I knew what I wanted and I would find it. I sat down next to a deserted fire, shivering under the full moon. I turned around and there she was. A bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She was laughing wildly like a goddess possessed by the fire. I walked up to her and smiled.

She looked me up and down. “Here I am, baby. You were looking for me, weren’t you?” She knew what I was here for. She pulled me into her. She was wearing a burgundy suit, the top barely covering her nipples. I kissed her long and hard. She was so fierce, so hot against my body. I grabbed her hair and it felt coarse against my fingertips. She liked it rough. I could tell by the way she wailed into her microphone, screaming and cumming with the music. My passion beat into her body as we danced together. She was singing her sultry blues into my body. As her tongue stroked my lips, I was her song.

Suddenly, I felt him press against me. He pulled us into him. Janis looked up and said “Hey Jimi, what took you so long?”  I smiled without looking back. I could feel his hard cock against my tiny purple dress. Suddenly we were all dancing. He kissed my neck. He kissed Janis as I wrapped my hands around and felt his hard ass. He was beautiful. Fire lived in his eyes, in his soul. I could see right through him, into another dimension.

He ripped off my tiny dress and I stood there naked in my brown leather boots. I was painted waves of purple, blue, silver and gold. He put his finger in my mouth and I licked it, sucked it, showing him how I would suck his hard dick. He took his finger and slowly trailed it down my body. The colors became a rainbow, dripping, making love to one another. He pressed his finger against my clit and  played me like his guitar. Janis had her fingers on my breasts, pinching and squeezing. She was kissing my neck like I was her favorite song. I turned and pulled Janis’s pants to the ground. I bent down to the wet earth and began licking her pussy. She was so wet. I pulled her clit in my mouth, making tiny circles against her pussy.

Jimi told me to get down on all fours. Janis laid down against the dirt and I licked and sucked and fucked her like I had been doing it for years. She moaned with pleasure in her deep, wispy voice, singing with soul. I wanted to prove I could sing, too. Jimi stuck his hard, huge cock inside of me. I felt so full. He started slow, like he was dancing to a mellow groove. As I started dripping he played harder and faster and didn’t stop. He was making sweet music. Deep blues penetrated my body. He pulled out of me as I whimpered, wanting more. He laid down next to the fire and said “Come here baby and sit on top of me, ride me, fuck me, dance with me. Let me see what you’ve got.” I danced toward him, slowly, caressing my breasts, pinching my nipples, swaying my hips. Janis danced against me. I could feel her hard clit against my ass and her fingers on my waist as we moved for Jimi.

I sat on top of his cock and she sat on his face. I started fucking him, grooving on him. He licked her pussy while I watched. I looked deep into her eyes and watched the ecstasy on her face. He could move his tongue like he could move his hips. He worked his tongue on her clit, strumming those chords, making her cum. I leaned over and put her tit in my mouth. I sucked and bit and she screamed… cumming all over his face. She sat back and laughed, taking a swig of  bourbon. I continued to fuck Jimi. He told me how to move without saying a word. His hands pressed firmly against my body. Faster, slower, harder… He grabbed my nipples and touched them slowly, then pinched them harder. Janis came behind us and stuck her finger in my ass. I was so into it, I started to cum. He pulled me off of him. He stuck his finger in my pussy so he could feel my muscles dance with orgasm. I was so wet.

I grabbed his cock and put it in my mouth. I sucked hard, up and down. I created a rhythm that drove him wild. I pretended that I was playing his instrument and the entire crowd was in complete amazement. I was a rock star- of Jimi’s cock. I sucked and he moaned and I sucked harder and he started to jolt . His body convulsed as I felt his warm cum explode in my mouth. I swallowed and  pulled his cock out as he finished cumming on my tits. I rubbed his sweet juice all over my nipples and spanked his hard ass. He stood, panting, exhausted and exhilarated. “Damn girl, you can play that cock.” I smiled and headed  to the fire to sit next to Janis. She took my hand and began singing the most beautiful, soulful song I have ever heard. The fire danced as I shut my eyes and convened with the moon.  I suddenly heard someone singing along and I opened my eyes as Otis Redding walked toward us.

He sang quietly, bringing tears to my eyes. “These arms of mine. They are yearning, yearning from wanting you.”  He sang with the most devotion and heart I had ever felt. I stood up and took Janis’s hand. We were both naked under the moonlight. I pressed my body against hers and held her waist against mine. We danced, slowly, lovingly, passionately to this serenade. Jimi watched with a cigarette in one hand, his cock in the other.  I watched him watch us. I looked into Janis’s eyes and kissed her deeply with gratitude and respect. I looked up at Otis and mouthed the words “thank you”. He smiled… as the melody melted into the night.

It was not with my first girlfriend. Back then she was all closed eyes and clenched fists and I was stumbling around like a coal miner without a light on his helmet following my idiot best friend’s advice to just lick the alphabet.

The best sex I ever had was definitely not in college. Being raised good, Jewish, and liberal meant that in college I made a very common mistake – I mistook respect for a kind of kink. As if you could walk into a sex shop and there on the wall would be soft pack, strap on, flogger, respect.

Note to self, respect never got anyone off, ever.

Looking back I can now read the look in poor coed Henrietta’s eyes. “It’s nice that you respect me, really it is. Now can we get to the part where you throw me down?”

But she didn’t have the language and I did not have the courage.

The best sex I ever had was not a ménage-a-trois. Good Lord definitely not that. I swear you have one of two choices if you’re going to enjoy that.

One – record in writing everything any one of you has said leading up to the event. Included in this document should be a section defining all words and phrases that, when uttered, actually mean – get your hands off her right now.

Two – Be a complete and utter emotional dumb ass. Most emotional dumb asses I know love ménage-a-trois.

But for those of us with some emotional awareness ménage-a-trios are not fun. They’re really like Masterpiece Theatre, only naked. You read into every word, every moan. Every caress has meaning.

And if you’re with two women god help you if you don’t know the history between them – Because you will get caught in that crossfire.

I remember once laying on my back, a woman in either hand, and taking a moment to appreciate the sheer awesomeness of San Francisco’s cultural norms. It was a reverie. And then I was ripped from it.

Out of nowhere, on my left, Moon Goddess was in tears. On my right Paisley’s chest was heaving, and not in a good way. I sat up quickly. I’m still a good Jewish liberal. If women are crying I’m going to be there for them.

There was just one thing. Have you ever seen a man who is turned on, and naked, sit up? It’s a little bit ridiculous. Parts are touching each other that usually do not, like the tip of my penis and my belly. I crossed my legs under me but only seemed to serve as a pedestal to my, ah, statue.

It was in this absurd position that I put an arm around Paisley, I put an arm around Moon Goddess, and I said, “Right now, I really wish I was an emotional dumb ass.”

The best sex you’ve ever had never comes on a birthday or an anniversary or over a special weekend. It doesn’t come when you plan it.

Here’s an example. I was dating this woman, let’s call her Britney. She was having a few close friends over for her birthday and she and I had been talking about the great sex we were going to have after they left. We were young and we were psyching ourselves up for it.

The party went well, Britney drank that perfect amount where you’re still coherent but just drunk enough to feel no shame. The gifts came out and as a joke one of her friends gave her the clapper. You know, clap on, clap off, and the lights go out.

Britney was thrilled because her bed was on the other side of the bedroom from the light switch and so she went and plugged it in immediately.

Fast-forward two hours. Britney and I are in the bedroom and it is awesome. The lights are off but there’s enough light coming in through the window to see. She’s into it. I’m into it. It’s just what we had been talking about.

Now I’m not usually a spanker. And I don’t really know what came over me. But there she was, bent over before me. I drew my hand back and tap, I spanked her, very lightly. She liked it. So I did it again. This time a little harder. And then again. Until finally I gave her a good old whack.

BOOM! The lights turned on. The damn clapper heard the spank. I was totally freaked out and for some reason was convinced her parents had shown up. So I leaned forward to throw the blanket over myself.

Just as I was leaning forward Britney backed into me. And that’s when it happened. That’s when I… I entered a place I shouldn’t have.

Yes dear reader, it was accidental butt sex.

Britney leapt forward slamming her head into the nightstand. She fell to the floor, one hand on her head, the other holding her bottom. Needless to say the night was ruined. And needless to say I comforted her.

In fairness there’s a certain geometry to human beings when we’re in that position. Things are close together. And it’s not always easy to know where you are.

But as I was saying the best sex I ever had never happens on special or planned for nights. The best sex I ever had was…

Well, you’ll have to wait till next week to find out.

Peyton, slowly puts on his black, fitted jacket in the soft light of the hotel room. Leans down, remembers he forgot, in his haste, to tuck his tight, muscle strained t-shirt into his dark blue jeans. He pulls it firmly over his chest, and one by one he slips the buttons of the jeans into their holes.

From the bed behind him, Drew says, “Who dat running away from my tight end? What’s your rush, big guy? I may have won MVP earlier tonight, but I can think of a couple of ways you can try to take the title away from me…”

Peyton shakes his head. It can’t be like this anymore. Not after tonight. Not after watching the sheen in Drew’s eyes on the big screen, not after seeing the black smudges under Drew’s eyes, after hearing his voice tremble as he spoke to millions. Let the other guys blame it on jealousy. They all wanted Drew’s tight ass—who didn’t? Drew gave new meaning to a forward pass. In Drew’s bed, Peyton could throw, bring the pass to completion and carry it across the line, all while burying his muffled yells in Drew’s 800-thread count pillows.

“Nope.” Peyton does up the last button and bites his lip, still raw from where Drew bit it not even half-an-hour ago.

“What?” Drew sits up and gives him the smile that lights a stadium. “We’re not done celebrating.”

“You may have won tonight, stud,” Peyton says, his voice breaking. Fuck, he doesn’t want to give anything away. “But I lost. And MVP? I’ve been there.” Peyton’s voice continues to crack, his interest continues to rise, “I’m considered the best quarterback playing today, and yet…” Peyton pauses, “What do I tell Eli? Or Dad? What do I tell my wife? I am the mother-fucking Joe Montana of the 2-0-1-0 and yet…” Peyton looks at Drew—celebratory, spread out on the bed, still in charge, and slightly vulnerable. Peyton wasn’t going to challenge this conversion and it was sure as hell worth more than two points.

Peyton’s eyes flash into concern, he reaches into his pocket, pulls his fat, platinum, dinged, super bowl ring from his tight pants. He puts Drew’s new, Superbowl winning finger into his soft, hot mouth. Licks the length, takes the ring  and shoves it, painfully, carelessly, on to Drew’s thick, hot, ball-playing finger. “Until your ring get here, use mine, mis-use mine, just don’t talk while you are doing it.”

He closes his eyes, pulls Drew’s hot arm next to his own arm, sinks into the luxurious pillows, wonders how the Cha-cha-Chargers would let go of such a treasure. Injured arm, or not, Drew certainly knew how to work that shoulder. He knew how to win the game. But Peyton knew that between winning and losing was a whole new reality. And he could tell, even when his eyes were closed in crazy, voo-doo fueled denial, that Drew felt it too.

“You’re MVP today and you sure as hell earned it, play by play; stroke by stroke. But I have more MVP’s than any active player in the game today. How are you going to wrestle that crown away from me?’ Peyton asks, eyes flashing, slightly angry from the game, but step by step, lick by lick, managing to get over it all, with his mouth, if not his heart…

Drew says,  “I still need to work through some of those plays. You think I made the right calls?” His eyes, God. Drew’s eyes only ever say one thing to Peyton, and they don’t say anything about lines of scrimmage or offsides.

“How can I pull you away from  the middle of your faux mardi gras celebration?” Peyton, doesn’t care about the actual answer, he pulls another button of his tight, blue jeans open and waits. Now, more aroused and pretending not to care, biting his bruised, used lip,  staring into Drew’s eyes, slightly scared about where he stands. He’s been in the game, he has played this before, last night even, but the longing, that is new. And he searches Drew’s all American eyes for the next steps of his fate. And slowly, lets a heavy sigh escape from his bruised, tough lips.

This is the only game that matters anymore.

Everyone falls into a rut sometimes…

“Don’t forget to count.”

…even the kinkiest of couples.

“Prepare yourself. If you flinch, we start at one again.”

I always get wet when Garret prepares me for punishment. My pussy clenches the second he tells me I’m due for discipline, and I can almost come when the crop smacks against my naked ass. But if this is all you’re doing 24/7, even hard-core, incendiary sex can become mundane.

Oh, my ass is red.

Oooh, he’s going to fuck my mouth again.

Ahh, where did we put the ball gag?

Yawn.

That’s why I was shocked, elated, and thrilled to my core, when I heard, “Is that how you do it? You start over? I tend to insert anal beads at the first fuck-up.”

Those words would have stirred something in me no matter what. The fact that the man talking was Garret’s best friend, Jules, turned a switch inside me. But I knew better than to look over my shoulder, knew better than to ask what the fuck was going on.

Garret and I had discussed inviting a third party into our boudoir. I’d always assumed he would want another girl, a second slave for him to work over, to dominate, to pleasure. Discovering he’d brought another dominant male into our castle, well, I could hardly believe my luck.

“Let’s see how she behaves,” Jules said. “I like to learn from watching.”

He was going to observe us. Fine. It’s not as if I’d never been on display before. Garret takes me out to Pamela’s Power Play a few times a month. I’ve been caned in front of a crowd, been part of a bondage display, been put over the leather spanking horse and properly paddled. But having Jules standing so close made my heart throb. An audience of one seemed more intense than one of hundreds.

“Don’t forget to count, baby,” Garret murmured, and I realized that my behavior would reflect on his skills as a master. He didn’t want me to fail, because that would make him look bad in front of his friend. His handsome friend. His friend with whom we’d been out on double dates and gone to clubs. I was so aware now that my ass was naked, that my cheeks were flushed, that my pussy was glistening with wetness.

“We’ll start with ten,” Garret said kindly. Thank god. Ten. I could do ten in my sleep. But then I felt the first blow and started to worry. He was using a crop from the start. No flogger warm-up. No bare hand to get me going. He was showing off for Jules, and I needed to get myself together, to count without flinching, begging, or standing up.

“One,” I said.

“Good girl.” Oh, that was Jules. I wanted to turn my head to look at him. I wanted to see the expression on his face. Was he pleased? Did he like the way I looked, palms flat, tiny little breath of a schoolgirl skirt pushed to my waist, panties around my ankles?

Garret struck again.

“Two,” I said.

And again.

“Three.”

I thought of the last time I’d seen Jules up onstage, doing a demo with one of his favorite subs. There had been ice in his tone when he’d told her what to expect. She had tears in her eyes before he even began, anticipation bringing fear.

Garret landed the crop in rapid succession, and I lost my ability to count. I’d been in the past, fantasizing, forgetting my place. “Five,” I said, “No, wait. Four. Four, five, six.”

Jules tsked me. “May I?” he asked Garret.

“Be my guest,” Garret said, magnanimously.

“Got any beads?” Jules asked Garret, all casual. Like “Do you have a light?” I heard Garret rummaging. I shut my eyes tight.

“Come over here.” There was that chilled tone again, but this time the voice was directed at me, and I swear I would have climaxed if I’d touched my clit at all. Just touched it.

In seconds, I found myself draped over Jules’ strong thighs. He had parted the cheeks of my ass and was roughly lubing me up. His fingertips slid inside me, and I moaned. Garret laughed. “She likes that.”

“This isn’t about her pleasure,” Jules said matter-of-factly, and I swallowed hard. He began to slip the beads inside me, one after the other. I was horrified in a way. This man—this best friend of my beau—was seeing me in a most indelicate position. But he liked it. That’s what I reminded myself. I felt his hard-on pressing against me. That gave me a tiny spark of power, just enough to keep my head together.

When he’d finished inserting the beads, he spoke to Garret. “The crop was nice—”

Nice! My mind screamed. Nice!

“But I’m going to use my hand now.” My heart rose and sank. A hand spanking wouldn’t hurt as much, but the intimacy was fifty times greater. Jules used his big palm on me, and I bit my lip to keep quiet. He spanked my right cheek over and over, and then my left, and then he parted my asscheeks again, as if checking on the beads. When he resumed the spanking, I couldn’t help myself; my feet began to kick in earnest.

“Hold yourself still,” Jules instructed. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

“Hold yourself still,” he repeated, “unless you want me to bind you down.”

Was that a trick question? Garret laughed, a low chuckle I knew well. He understood exactly what was going through my mind. Yes, I wanted to behave. Yes, I wanted prizes for being a good girl. And yes, more than anything else, I wanted Jules to bind me down.

I waited for the next blow—and waited. And then I squirmed.

“Ah, baby,” Jules said. “Time to get the cuffs…”

“It Most Certainly Does Exist!”

San Francisco, CA – January 26, 2010 – Good Vibrations, the legendary San Francisco-based company that takes pride in providing accurate information on sexuality and toys for grown-ups, is proud to announce that February is official National G-Spot Month.

There has been a lot of talk in the media lately about whether this part of the anatomy really exists. CNN recently published an article about research done at Kings College, London on a large group of female twins that claimed the G-Spot is a myth, since not all the women believed they had such a thing — even though the study itself was phrased in a way that showed the researchers didn’t know how to correctly describe the thing they were trying to discover. Joy Behar dedicated an entire show to the topic, and sex experts across the globe have raised their voices on the subject all over the Internet.

So, just as we did a decade and a half ago when masturbation was being misrepresented in the news,* we’ve decided it is necessary to put the speculation, uncertainty and inadequate science to rest and announce that yes, Virginia, there is indeed a G-Spot. We’re dedicating our educational resources for the entire month of February to help dispel the mystery.

Dr. Carol Queen, widely published sexuality and sexual health author and staff sexologist at Good Vibrations, who for almost 20 years has offered her personal and professional experience to explain the anatomy, history and function of the G-Spot, said, “While every woman probably has one, surprisingly few women or their partners know where the G-Spot is, let alone how best to stimulate it,” says Queen. “Without an understanding of how it functions, the G-Spot does indeed seem to be missing from many women’s anatomy — but the problem is with our sex information, not our bodies, and if you have the right map it’s much easier to find!”

Dr. Queen, who also writes for the City Brights bloggers section of the San Francisco Chronicle’s website, devoted her most recent column to debunking the problematic research on the topic.

For the entire month of February, we will feature the following crucial information for G-spot explorers:

• Clear, concise explanations of the anatomy and physiology of the G-Spot from the Good Vibrations’ sexologists, Dr. Carol Queen and Dr. Charlie Glickman
• How to find the G-Spot
• Insightful tales of the G-Spot’s cultural history
• Information about female ejaculation and Kegel exercises
• Techniques and variations for G-Spot play and female ejaculation
• A special G-Spot gift guide featuring all the Good Vibrations toys, books and videos dedicated to the G-spot

To further celebrate our commitment to helping men and women all over America find the special spot, we’re offering our exclusive new G-Swirl and G-Twist vibes at a discounted $69.00 (normally $82.00) for the entire month of February. The G-Swirl and G-Twist are from the newly launched Good Vibrations-designed and manufactured product line.

We also invite you to come to the stores and register to win a deluxe G-Spot basket worth over $250 (toys, books, video, lubes), all dedicated to the G-Spot.

In addition, we’re hosting an Ask the Doctors session on the G-Spot at our Berkeley store on Feb. 7. Visit www.goodvibes.com for more details. Staff sexologist Carol Queen has also recently completed an informational film script about the G-Spot; that how-to movie, entitled Gush: The Official Guide to the G-Spot and Female Ejaculation, will be out this spring.

With all of these great things going on, we hope to dispel the myths around the G-spot, once and for all!

*National Masturbation Month was created by Good Vibrations in 1994 to raise awareness after President Bill Clinton fired then-Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders for saying masturbation was “perhaps something that should be taught” about to youth in the context of their sex education. It has been celebrated for 15 years as a way of correcting society’s pernicious anti-solo-sex bias.

Get ready for a hot and steamy read! Here’s an entry in our POP Erotica Contest. The contest rules are:

• We will tally the number of comments left for the submission during the first 2 weeks it is posted.
• Comments count as 1 vote; only one comment per person — we’ll be checking IP addresses!
• Winner will be determined Monday, February 15th.

If you want to see all of the entries, we’ve collected them here. Enjoy!

Encounter Behind the Counter

It was Christmas Eve and I had to work. The snow was falling ever so lightly. It almost had a very calming effect to it. I could not believe it, I was scheduled off and some had called in. I of course needing the money didn’t turn down the chance for extra time. Little did I know I was in for the biggest BONUS I could ever get.

I work at a quaint little liquor store in a well known ski resort town. Had I known what was going to happen to me that night I would have asked to work! I was busy refilling the hard liquor area when I was approached from behind. The voice was smooth, sexy and a bit familiar. I was so busy I didn’t turn around right away, as I should have.

Had I turned around I would have noticed that the voice fit a face I knew! Surprised and a bit taken, I shyly asked what his pleasure was? He smiled and ran his hands through his dark thick hair. He cocked his head back and cleared his voice. I could feel his sharp, beautiful light brown eyes pulling me into his own fantasy world. I could smell his cologne from where I was standing, it smelled inviting. I had to take a deep breath just to keep myself calm. He finally spoke and asked for his favorite scotch.

The brand he had wanted was behind the counter. I knew from his choice of liquor that he was a man with style, finesse, and charisma! It was very expensive and we only kept a limited quantity on hand. He quickly walked closer and asked what my pleasure was! I giggled and although wanting so badly to say YOU, I said he could choose! He softly said, thank you. You have made my decision very easy. I quickly said that is my job!

He moved closer and before I knew it he was behind the counter with me. I could feel those brown eyes already undressing me. I knew I was in for a surprise. I was breathing so quickly I knew he had to notice. His breath was on my neck, warm, and soft. And like his hand on my ass very tender! Before I could speak he had spun me around and his mouth was on mine. I could not move. It was if I was under a spell. And I was enjoying every sultry second of it. Hoping that no one would come in to the store, yet almost wanting someone to watch. This was a compulsive act, yet I was so stimulated emotionally and physically. There was no turning back!

He moved his hands from my ass to my wet moist pussy. Which he found very easily, since I had chosen to where my favorite small white leather skirt. I had already felt his hard cock through his khaki trousers, they fit loosely but the bulge was overwhelming. I found the zipper tough to unzip. But I wasn’t letting this get in my way! He patiently unbuttoned my skirt and it fell to the floor. He grabbed me by my ass and put me on the counter.

His kisses were gentle, but yet he let me know that he was in charge. As if he knew I wanted him from the moment I laid eyes on him. By this time my pussy was drenched and with his hand stroking and fingers probing, I was hot and ready. I grabbed his trouser button and with a twist his khakis were like silk softly falling to the floor. His cock was wet and I knew what had to be done. So I slithered down from the counter and knelt on my knees.

I took his cock and started on the tip running my tongue around the top. I could feel it throbbing between my lips. It was so big and hard. Slowly taking it in, inch by inch. His hands on my head began to move quicker and quicker. Making me take his whole 8 inches! I sucked hard and long. He made me stop several times fearing he would blow his wad. He said he wanted to save it for my hot wet pussy. Wanting nothing but the same I did what he commanded. His commands though silent, I followed with every motion. I knew he couldn’t take more when he picked me up and took one leg over his shoulder.

He slowed down and gently led his throbbing swollen cock into my pussy. Oh god, I had never wanted something so badly in my life!

Quickly I felt myself coming to the point of no return. I moaned with pleasure and he moaned back. I knew somehow he needed this tonight and now! So I let him have it, all of it. I grabbed his hips and thrust myself into him. As his head fell back I knew I had accomplished what I knew he wanted, pleasure! And I too shuddered with total relief. I too had needed this.

As quickly as he helped himself behind the counter he ushered himself out. Grabbed his scotch, and threw five one hundred dollar bills on the counter. And said the pleasure was all mine!

He smiled and fluttered his unforgettable brown eyes. And out the door he went. I didn’t get a chance to tell Charlie how much I enjoyed our encounter, but this I was sure from the smile on my face. I quickly dressed and tidied up, and gathered my thoughts. Exhausted from total gratification! This I knew when the customer asked me if Christmas always made me sheen like a star?

I replied yes and a certain someone. The rest of the night flew by. I restocked that expensive scotch; you never know when that certain someone is going to drop by for a bottle. I was going to be ready. I did not know until a few days later, Charlie and his wife had gotten into an argument. Charlie ended up in jail. All because Charlie Sheen went for a bottle of his favorite scotch, and came home smelling like pussy!