Now, about Krzysztof. I met him at a so-so bar one Tuesday night. We decided to go back to his place. He was Polish, had actually come from Poland, still had an nice accent, had that fine-boned look some Polish guys have and light blond hair that, unstylishly, touched his shoulders.

“Nice car,” he said as he climbed into my Jaguar.

“I bought it used.”

“It’s still nice,” he said. I looked over at him. Now that we were outside the bar, he looked a little shabby around the edges.

“You sure going over to your place is a good idea?”

“Sure. I have a roommate, but he won’t mind.”

When we got to his apartment building, in a marginal part of town that left me worried about parking the Jag, his roommate was awake, padding around in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He was good-looking, but not as handsome as Krzysztof.

“Hey,” the roommate said.

“Hi,” said my date. “Rick, this is… sorry, I forgot your name.”

I lied, figuring I could backtrack later.

Krzysztof’s room was monastically bare. Not messy, not dirty, just bare, nothing on the walls but a plain wooden crucifix. A mattress on the floor. Some of those candles in glass holders decorated with pictures of Jesus and the saints, which Krzysztof went around lighting. A pile of books in one corner, next to a small CD player. An open closet with a handful of clothes on hangers.

“I have to take a pee,” Krzysztof said. “Be right back.” He closed the door behind himself.

I picked up one of the books. The poems of Saint John of the Cross. Not the kind of thing I’d find in most of my tricks’ rooms. I opened it up, and Krzysztof’s name was written on a bookplate inside. So that’s how you spell it, I thought.

The door opened. “Back,” Krzysztof said. He was already pulling off his shirt. Even in the candlelight, I could see how pale he was. There was a flurry of golden-brown hair on his lean chest, a little thicket between large nipples. He never took his eyes off me as he unbuttoned his pants and let them fall to the floor. His briefs had a couple of holes in them. My dick leapt to attention. I put the book down.

Krzysztof walked over to me and dropped to his knees, rubbing his face hard against my crotch, gnawing at my stiff cock thorough my pants. I grabbed a handful of his candlelight-blond hair and pushed his head into me. He whimpered and squirmed.

“Unzip my fly,” I said. He did. “Take my dick out.”

“Can I suck it?”

“Not yet. Stand up.”

Krzysztof rose to his feet. His torn-up briefs were stretched by his hard-on, the distended holes revealing the pallor of a hip, a flurry of honeyish pubic hair.

“Now turn around.” The rest of him was slim, but his ass was perfectly formed, curves and masses beneath the white cotton briefs. There was a rip in the fabric, running halfway down his butt, exposing part of his crack. I went over to him and laid my hand on his ass and he shivered slightly. I grabbed hold of the cloth with both hands and pulled hard, till his briefs gave way with a rip. He trembled even more.

His ass was pale as milk, smooth as silk, beautiful. Most of his body might have verged on the scrawny, but his butt was astonishing. At the top of the cleft there was a dark tone to his skin, bruiselike, the kind of thing you sometimes see with very pale guys. I ran my fingers over the spot, then down into the crack. He shifted, relaxing so I could slide my fingertips over the moist heat of his hole.

“Okay,” I said. “Get down on the bed, on your belly. Keep what’s left of those briefs on.”

“Yes,” he said, lying down, looking expectant, nervous.

“Untie my boots,” I said, standing on the mattress to either side of his head. He squirmed around and untied the laces, then pulled my shoes off. He kissed my right foot.

“Now get your butt in the air.”

The shreds of white cotton fell away, exposing even whiter ass cheeks which, slightly parted, revealed a trail of dark blond hair. I reached down and spread his ass. His hole was perfectly shaped, clean pink nested in a halo of cinnamon-colored fur, and I wanted it.

“Can I turn on music? My roommate…”

“Sure.”

He reached over and hit the button on the player. The chanting of medieval nuns. Unbelievable.

There was so much I could have done with Krzysztof. I could have fucked his mouth, his ass, from the looks of things I could have tied him up and beaten him. I could have shown the weedy fucker what a truly demanding top I could be. I didn’t, though. I knew then, with the certainty of damnation, that I was going to eat out Krzysztof’s ass. His ass. My mouth. Magic. Poison.

I breathed in. Slightly musty but clean.

“What?”

Krzysztof repeated himself. “Yes, please,” he said.

The nuns chanted away about salvation or something. I dove face-first into the Eye of God, started at the bruise-dark beginnings of his crack, tonguing flesh against bone, then lower, towards darkness. My spit matted down the hair. Lower. Lower. Toward the heat. My tongue brushed, just brushed, the soft pucker of flesh, then moved down to the ridge between his furry blond upper thighs, to the base of his balls, my chin resting against the baby-soft sac, the smell of his asshole sweet in my nostrils.

This time I understood what he was muttering into his pillow: “Yes yes yes.” I pulled his perfect asscheeks apart and looked down at the now-shiny hole nestled in swirls of damp hair. A hole that led to Krzysztof’s guts, to his shit, his heart, his soul, his essence. An Easter egg. Gobble it down.

I spit on my forefinger, rubbed it tentatively around the damp hole, pushed in slightly, met initial resistance, then welcome. I sank in to the first knuckle, pulled my finger out, sniffed at it, sucked at my fingertip. My passion. His asshole was my passion. I lowered myself to his butt and stuck my tongue in. Krzysztof sighed and pushed his ass up at me. I burrowed deeper, tasting the brink of his insides, wanting to go further, to commit myself utterly to him, to eat my way to wherever he truly was, whoever he was. Krzysztof.

The door opened. The roommate. I gave him a sidelong look, then I backed off and spread the pale asscheeks so he could see where I’d been. The hole was wide now, shiny, engorged. Licking, kissing, sucking, I dove back inside Krzysztof.

I hadn’t thought of my dick for what seemed like a long time. Why would I, when it was my tongue, my heedless, hungry mouth that connected me with the risky blond boy lying askew on his barren bed? But now I realized that I’d been leaking precum like a motherfucker, that my cock was slimy-slick inside my pants.

I reared back, kneeling, and brought my hand down hard on Krzysztof’s ass. I didn’t want to hurt him; I’m not a sadist. I just wanted to leave my mark on him, the way he was leaving his mark on me, the way I could smell his asshole on my upper lip. The angry-pink print of my hand rose on his very pale flesh, tearing with unexpected ferocity at my heart. I bent over and kissed the mark I’d left, then spread his cheeks and trailed my tongue again towards Krzysztof’s musky hole.

“Let me get on my back,” he said.

While he rolled over, I looked up at the roommate. Rick. The guy was just standing there, not even touching the hard-on that bulged inside his jeans. I didn’t know if he was waiting to be asked to join in or what. I didn’t even know whether he was Krzysztof’s boyfriend.

“Leave, please,” I said. He didn’t. I was in no mood to argue with him.

Krzysztof was on his back now, knees up to his chest, his arms looped around his bent legs, ass stretched, open, his hole wet, exposed, his dick stiff against his lean, hairy belly. Nice dick, uncut, dripping, but it was his ass I wanted, needed. I lay on the floor and licked at his asshole, which quivered, responded, opened even wider for my mouth. My tongue strained to go up inside him, as far as I could go. It was all that mattered. I reached up and spread his hole with my thumbs. I had to taste Krzysztof, devour him, be devoured by him, his ass, my desire for him, for his hole, for Krzysztof’s ass. The nuns had stopped singing.

“Oh fuck!” said Krzysztof, as I lay there shooting my tongue in and out, flicking it against his secret flesh.

“Have fun,” the roommate or boyfriend or whoever said, shutting the door behind himself with a small slam. Whatever. I took my mouth off the deep, dark abyss and looked up, across dick and belly and chest, at Krzysztof’s beautiful, blissed-out face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, and nothing was. Nothing at all, not in the whole world, a world that smelled like Krzysztof’s ass, a world that was Krzysztof’s ass, a world that was heaven, pure heaven.

He said, “I need to come soon.”

“I want you to sit on my face,” I said.

“I can do that.”

I tugged off my shirt, pulled my pants down to mid-thigh, scooted onto the mattress and lay on my back. Krzysztof straddled me and squatted down, his butt just inches from my face. I marveled at his ass, its curves, its pallor, even the one small blemish on the left cheek. That blemish made him human; otherwise the perfection of it would have been too much, would have maybe made me cry.

I inhaled his smell again, then stuck out my tongue. He lowered himself onto my mouth and I gobbled at him, starving. I could tell he was jacking himself off; as waves of pleasure rolled through his body, his asshole tightened and expanded, again and again. My world, my universe, was his ass, his pleasure my utter subjugation, my triumph, my access to Krzysztof’s ass. Heaven. Heaven. No one who hasn’t been there could possibly understand.

He bent over and grabbed my dick. I was too close. I pulled his hand away. Too late — I was going to shoot. I didn’t want to, didn’t want to leave Krzysztof’s ass, not ever, but it was too late. I squirmed, arched upward, burrowed my tongue as far up into him as fate and love allowed, and could feel him pumping away, could feel cum landing on my chest and belly. His cum, my cum, ours.

Some moments are perfect moments. Krzysztof’s asshole was a perfect moment. There was nothing, really, to say or do after that. He pulled himself off me and I felt alone. He reached over to the CD player and the nuns started chanting again. He stood, walked to the closet, threw me a towel. I wiped off and got dressed. He wrote his name and phone number down on a slip of paper. When he handed it to me, I didn’t offer mine in return.

I knew that in a perfect world I would have spent the rest of my life rimming Krzysztof’s ass, but it isn’t, and I wouldn’t.

We kissed.

“I can taste my ass on your lips,” he said.

“Romantic,” I said, and meant it. “I’ll show myself out.”

I hoped I wouldn’t run into his roommate or boyfriend or whatever, and I didn’t. When I got outside, I crumpled up the paper with his phone number and let it drop to the gutter. I got to the Jaguar, paused, went back and picked up the paper, smoothed it out, put it in my pocket.

I was glad my Jag was in still in one piece. I was glad to be leaving that part of town. I was even glad, in a way I didn’t quite understand, to be driving away from Krzysztof.

Some moments are perfect. Just like that.

The passenger-side window hissed down. “Depends,” said the guy inside the car. “How much?”

“Twenty bucks,” she said. She pursed her lips and let her tongue laze out, drawing an appealing circle around her full, red-painted mouth. “I’ll make it worth every penny.”

“Twenty bucks? That cover everything?”

She crouched down and leaned against the door, propping her full tits on the edge of it, well aware that his eyes roved over her cleavage.

“Depends what you want,” she said flirtatiously.

“Can I fuck you in the ass?”

She giggled. “Not for twenty bucks,” she said. “I don’t do that. But you can do everything else.”

“Get in.”

She reached in and popped the lock. She was about to say something when the guy held out a twenty.

“Here,” he said. “And you better make it worth that.”

She giggled again, feeling insecure about the girlish sound of it. She took the twenty and tucked it into her push-up bra.

“Oh, I will,” she said, reaching over and running her hand over his crotch. She felt a surge of heat in her when she realized the guy was already hard, his cock bulging in his suit pants. “I’ll make it worth every fucking cent, um…what’s your name?”

“Joe,” he said.

“Right,” she sighed. “Joe. I’m…Tanya.”

“Nice to meet you, Tanya. You better suck my dick good.”

“Oh, I’m the best in town,” she said. “There’s a place up here you can park.”

“The cops ever come by?”

“If they did, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

He pulled the Cadillac into the coin-op parking lot. It was dark, shadowed by the overhang of tall buildings and unhealthy city trees.

Joe leaned back in his seat. “Get to it,” he said.

She felt her pussy moistening as she took out her gum and tossed it out the window. She leaned forward and pressed her mouth against the bulge in his pants.

“Don’t get lipstick on them,” he said. “The wife does my dry cleaning. She’ll freak.”

Tanya began to unfasten his belt. “She must be a real bitch.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But she gives great head.”

“Not as good as me,” said Tanya, unzipping Joe’s pants.

“Prove it,” he said.

Tanya took Joe’s hard cock out of his pants, feeling her pussy clench as she wrapped her hand tightly around its thickness. “For another five bucks I’ll do it without a condom.”

He already had a five in his hand. He handed it to Tanya and she stuffed it in her bra alongside the twenty. She felt his hand on her head as she went down on his cock, opening her mouth and puckering it around the head, tasting lipstick as she slid up and down on the thick shaft. She could feel her pussy moistening in her thong as she began to suck him.

“So far you ain’t any better than the wife,” he said. “I can get that for free.”

Tanya started working her tongue around the head, swirling it eagerly. She slid her mouth down his shaft until she felt him pressing at the entrance to her throat. Then she gulped him down, easily feeling her throat spread around him.

“That’s more like it,” sighed Joe. “Yeah, that’s more like it.”

Tanya could feel her clit rubbing hard against her tight thong as her throat muscles constricted around Joe’s cock. She couldn’t believe she was doing this; the thrill of it sent a surge of moisture into her pussy. She could feel the ache in her that made her want this stranger’s cock inside her cunt.

Her mouth came up off his cock. As a car passed the parking lot, Tanya saw in the flash of light that his cock was slick with cocksucker red lipstick. Tanya was breathing hard from the effort of swallowing Joe’s cock.

“Just tell me when you want to fuck me,” she said.

“Now’s good,” said Joe. “Do I have to use a condom for that?”

“No,” she said. “The five dollars is good. Do you want my panties on or off?”

“Take ‘em off.”

Tanya reached under her spandex miniskirt and slid off her thong, wondering if Joe could tell how wet she was, that her thong was soaked through. She tucked the thong into her lime-green purse as Joe scooted over to the middle of the front seat, away from the steering wheel.

Tanya hiked up her skirt almost to her waist and crawled into his lap facing him, her pussy feeling tight and hungry for him. She was so wet that he slid right in as she pressed down on him, and she almost came the second she felt his naked cock inside her.

“You’re good and wet,” he said. “You must like your job.”

“Love it,” gasped Tanya, starting to grind her hips back and forth. The tight fit of Joe’s big cock in her pussy made her lips stretch around the shaft and tug on her clit. She could feel his cockhead rubbing firmly inside her. She couldn’t move much, but she didn’t need to.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she gasped, and then she came, unexpectedly, intensely, grasping Joe and pushing her body against him as she panted heavily. He went to kiss her and she pulled away.

“Not on the lips,” she said.

“Then show me your tits,” he growled.

Tanya skimmed off the tight halter-top and unhitched the front of her push-up bra. Joe stared at her tits as she rocked up and down on him, gasping as the after-effects of her orgasm shuddered through her. Joe leaned forward and began to suckle her nipples. The feel of his mouth hot on them made her shiver, and she could feel her cunt tightening around his cock as she started to slide up and down on him. She fucked him harder, loving the feel of the hard thrusts as she mounted him again and again. She was so wet that she could feel droplets of moisture scattering across her upper thighs as she rose up each time.

“Nice tits,” he said. “Your boyfriend like to fuck them?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “And come on my face.”

“Does he fuck you in the ass, too?”

Tanya gasped as Joe reached behind her and she felt his fingers prying open her ass-cheeks. One finger found her asshole and began to press. She tried to push up off of him.

“No,” she said, gasping. “I don’t do that…”

“Oh, I bet you do,” said Joe. “I bet you put out for your boyfriend all the time. You let him slip it in your back door.”

Another finger slipped forward, rubbing along the bottom of his shaft, getting all moist with her pussy. Then he forced it into her ass, making her muscles clench tight around his finger. Tanya began to bounce up and down hungrily on Joe as she felt another orgasm coming. Joe fingered her ass deep, his tongue roving over her breasts as she fucked him faster.

“I’m gonna shoot,” he growled. “I’m gonna fucking shoot in your pussy.”

Then Tanya came, a full minute before Joe did. But her orgasm was still throbbing through her, her ass and cunt feeling full as Joe suckled on her nipples and bit down as he came. The angle was so tight that she could feel the pulse of his cock injecting her, feel the slickness that flooded her as he filled her with his come. The sensations overwhelmed her and she slumped on him, whimpering.

Joe grasped her hair, pulled her head back slightly, and pressed his mouth to hers.

She opened wide, feeling his tongue sliding into her, feeling it savage her. Another spasm of post-climactic pleasure went through her, and she gripped his head with her hands, pushing her tongue back against him.

“Fuck,” she said when their lips parted. “That was good.”

“Surprised?”

“I didn’t even think you knew where the theater was,” she said. “How did you know I’d walk to my car in costume?”

“Lucky guess. You’ve always wanted to play a whore in a musical, right? You certainly sang a pretty song tonight.”

“Well,” she said. “It’s much more fun playing them in real life.”

“And real whores don’t kiss on the lips,” he said.

She kissed him softly, smiled, and said, “This one does. Let’s go home.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want to be with you, have a little fun.”

“Sure, why not.” I said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Okay, babe, let’s pretend that I just walked in and caught you seducing my boy. Obviously you’ll have to be punished.”

Going along with the theme I begged, “Oh please, Mr. Peeler, I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I wouldn’t be doing you any favors by letting you get away with this young lady,” he scolded as he sat down on the bed and turned me over his knee.

At first the spanking I was getting stung a bit, but after the first couple slaps, my ass began to tingle and, much to my surprise, I started really getting into the whole scenario.

When my paddling was finished I sat up in his lap, put my arms around his neck and whispered into his ear, “I’m so sorry I was bad, daddy. Don’t stay mad at me, I can make it up to you.”

This new “daddy” twist caught Grayson’s attention and turned him on immediately.

“Okay baby, daddy’s not mad anymore.” He reached between my legs, finding the juices Ben had left behind. “We’ll have to do something about cleaning up this mess though.”

With that, he scooped me up effortlessly in his arms and placed me on the bed. He stripped off his suit, revealing a very muscular body covered with salt-and-pepper hair. Climbing onto the bed, he pushed my feet up and spread my knees wide, revealing my wet pink pussy. “Let’s see what we have here. I thought I taught that boy to clean up after himself.”

He lowered his face down onto my wet, swollen mound and the instant his tongue touched my pussy I felt jolts of sexual energy run through my body. Pulling one of his strong hands to my mouth, I sucked his fingers until they were dripping wet. He understood my hint and started finger fucking me-one in my pussy and one in my tight little asshole. Between the magic his tongue was working on my clit and the forceful thrusts I was receiving, I couldn’t tell where one sensation stopped and the next one started.

Wild Side SexAs my body exploded in one orgasm after another, he made his way up to my face. I licked and sucked the juices off his face like a happy puppy.

“What does my girl want?”

“Daddy’s dick!”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please, please give me your dick!” I wasn’t playing anymore; I couldn’t wait for this man to fuck me.

“Have you been a good girl?”

“Yes, I’ve been very good.”

“Who’s my princess?”

“I’m your princess and I need a royal fucking.”

He laughed softly as he rammed his big, hard cock into me. I could feel his manhood probing, searching, and finding each and every raw nerve between my legs.

“Princess, princess,” he repeated over and over as he rode me with a pounding rhythm that reverberated through my body.

My moans turned to screams as my body gave in to the orgasm that was washing over it. When he was sure that I was satisfied, he pulled his pulsing cock out and shot his load onto my belly and breasts. Without thinking I sat up and gently cleaned our juices off his dick, savoring every salty lick.

Taking my hair in his hand, he pulled my mouth away from him and walked into the bathroom. I heard the water in the tub running as steam began to come out into the room. Returning to the bed, he picked me up and carried me to the tub setting my gently down in a cloud of fragrant bubbles. He washed my hair and body, helped me out of the tub and dried me with the most luxurious towel I’d ever felt. Leading me into the dressing area, he helped me into one of the hotel’s robes and sat me in the chair at the vanity.

While I watched, he combed out my long, blond curls and dried them with the hair dryer. Somehow he’d turned a common daily routine into one of the most sensual experiences I’d ever had.

“You’ve had a long day, princess. It’s time for your nap.”

Normally I don’t hang around once my services have been rendered, but I felt so secure and relaxed with this man that I was in no hurry to leave. I let him lead me back to the bed and tuck me under the covers. I drifted off to sleep in his arms.

When I woke up Mr. Peeler had gone, but the amount of cash he’d left on the nightstand let me know that he’d been happy with our time together.

As I finished dressing, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door to a delivery man with a dozen pink roses. After I took the flowers, I noticed that the man was wearing a business suit and was obviously not from the florist.

I’m here on behalf of Mr. Peeler. I’ll be downstairs waiting in the car, ma’am,” he said.

“But, I…..I don’t understand.” I stammered.

“You will once you read the letter,” he answered.

With that, he turned and walked down the hall to the elevator. I opened the envelope and unfolded the paper inside.

Dear Princess,
I don’t want our afternoon to end. If you feel the same way, go down to the limo parked in front of the hotel and get inside. My driver will take you to your apartment to collect your things. He has a key to a penthouse that’s yours to use. Enclosed is a certified check for $10,000 for your first month’s allowance. If this proposal appeals to you, burn your client list and let me take care of you.

I was stunned to say the least. Thoughts swirled through my head in the elevator on the way to the lobby. I’d always had to fend for myself. I’d prided myself in not depending on anyone else. Walking through the foyer I reminded myself that I was a strong, self-sufficient woman. By the time the doorman let me out I was thinking of all the years it had been me against the world, never with any help, all on my own.

Then, with a smile on my face and a strong belief in my heart that I was doing the right thing, I stepped into the limo and thought to myself how nice it would feel to let someone take care of me for a change.

Tempest DuMoor is a registered nurse and a single mother of four.

The cause tonight was the removal of his youngest son’s virginity. Ben Peeler was the youngest of Grayson’s four sons. Apparently he had confided to one of his brothers that he was still a virgin. Not for lack of desire, although Ben was attractive and intelligent, socially speaking he was almost backward. Grayson Peeler, being the “man’s man” that he was couldn’t stand the thought of his son’s lack of experience, so he decided that for Ben’s birthday he’d arrange for his maiden voyage into the world of sex. He’d gotten my name and number from a colleague who was one of my regular customers.

He’d been told that I was an expert at keeping my men happy and my mouth shut, which was apparently a strong selling point for him. He had some very specific and unusual requests, but was paying me a fortune, so I was obliging. Not only did he want me to service his son; he wanted to watch me do so. Ben, of course, knew nothing of this. From what I’d heard, it was none too easy to convince him to do it at all, much less with an audience. The hotel’s owner was an old friend of Grayson’s and had a suite equipped with a two way mirror that he was letting Grayson borrow for the afternoon. I found the suite and knocked. Grayson let me in and introduced himself.

He was strikingly handsome and looked younger than I’d expected. He had a large, muscular build and an air of confidence that must have played a major role in his success in the business world. Ben was due any minute, so he showed me where he would be watching from and left the room. Just as I tuned in some sultry jazz on the stereo, I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised when I answered at how different father and son were in appearance.

Ben was attractive, but not ruggedly handsome like his father. He was average in height and on the thin side. He wore glasses and looked as though he’d be most comfortable in the company of periodic charts and Bunsen burners. As he came through the door, he tripped over his feet and turned the brightest shade of crimson I’d ever seen.

“Relax, hon,” I told him. “Come over here and let me make you comfortable.”

My original plan had been to loosen him up with a little slow dancing, but based on his entrance, I decided that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Taking his hand, I led him over to the bed and helped him out of his jacket.

“Would you give me a hand?” I asked him. Turning around, I lifted my hair so he could get to my zipper. When he’d gotten it down, I dropped my dress to the floor, revealing the lacy, white teddy underneath. Stepping out of the pile my dress had made on the floor, I began swaying slowly to the music.

“You’re really beautiful,” Ben stuttered.

“That’s sweet of you to say, I’m glad you approve.”

Still dancing, I began to unbutton his shirt. There was not one hair to be found on his young body. Pulling his shirt off, I ran my tongue over the sort, smooth skin of his chest pausing to tease each nipple with playful bites.

As we kissed, I parted his lips and explored his mouth with my tongue. He began to moan as I reached down, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and freed what turned out to be a very impressive dick.

“I’ve got to have a taste of this,” I whispered. Pushing him gently down onto the bed, I planted kisses down his neck and chest and began running my tongue around the head of his bulging penis. I had positioned him on the bed so that Grayson could watch the pleasure on his boy’s face. After teasing him long enough with my tongue, I took his entire cock in my warm mouth, licking and sucking greedily.

“I need to feel this inside me. Please don’t make me beg, baby,” I cooed. After all, this was his day to feel like a man. He was out of his pants in a heart beat and I let him pull off my skimpy lingerie, exposing my ample breasts.

“They need some love and attention,” I told him when I saw the look of awe and admiration apparent on his face. He touched them gently, as if they were fine pieces of china liable to break at any minute.

“They’re sweet too,” I said as I guided his lips to my hard nipples. He sucked and bit them, forgetting at this point to be gentle.

“Come over here, I don’t want to wait any longer,” I breathed.

Taking him by the hand, I climbed onto the bed and laid across it sideways so that Grayson had a perfect view of Ben in action.

As he climbed on top of me, I guided his cock to its target. He was awkward at first, but soon got a rhythm going and, while not perfect, showed great potential.

His body shuddered as he came and he collapsed onto me. I ran my fingers through his hair and told him how great he’d made me feel. When the euphoria of the moment passed he must have begun to feel embarrassed. He made some excuses about having to meet a friend. He got dressed quickly and kissed me on the cheek. Watching as he closed the door behind him, I felt sure that some day he would be a wonderful lover.

As soon as the door closed behind Ben, Grayson come into the room. I could tell by the look in his eye that he’d been totally turned on by the scene he’d just witnessed. I started to gather up my clothes, but he came over and put his hands on my shoulders.

“How would you like to double your money while you’re here?” he asked………..

End of Part One-Look for Last Day on the Job, Part Two, in an upcoming issue of the GV Magazine!

Tempest DuMoor is a registered nurse and a single mother of four.

I fucked an inflatable doll.

It was disgusting. Shameful. So I fucked it again. Oh dear. And again.

Why? I hear you ask. You’re a normal guy. You’re not bad looking. You’re not “sad” or “lonely”. No, you’re right. I’m not.

Then, young sir, WHY DID YOU FUCK A BLOW UP DOLL?

I suppose, to paraphrase the great Sir Edmund Hillary, the intrepid explorer and conqueror of Mount Everest, I did it because THEY ARE THERE.

They exist. Some bugger invented them. They were made for fucking. So, I wanted to try it. I’m in a relationship. I’m happy. I love sex. But I like to take the occasional solo flight too. And, with these dolls, the temptation was just too much. And who really wants to resist temptation? Resist, and you’ll never have any fun. Now, that really is for losers.

And so, I did it. I had to.

But it was not straightforward.

Firstly, there was the continual nagging guilt. A guilt that’s kind of hard to put into words. It’s akin to be caught humping the new sofa by your mother. Or being spied touching up a family pet in the wrong way.

Or at least it was for me.

I’ve never touched up a pet, I might add, be it cat, dog, Vietnamese pot bellied pig, hamster or goldfish. Or been caught astride the arm of a sofa (although my eyes have shifted longingly towards a few piled up cushions).

Then there was the continuing excitement. The thinking about it. That started even before the package-a plain brown parcel, of course-arrived.

I’d ordered a cheap one. I didn’t want to become obsessed with a beautiful $1,000 lump of plastic. Mine cost less than an average night out. I didn’t pick it for any other reason than the cost. Although, I had insisted on the traditional three realistic holes. I have some standards.

(It was actually meant to be a “Puerto Rican Jenny from the Block” model; it turned out to be more “Jenny from the Docks”.)

Anyway, it arrived within 24 hours and I put it in a cupboard to await the weekend.

My eyes were drawn to that cupboard for days. It seemed to have a radioactive glow. Every now and then I kept hearing my doll calling me: “You don’t want to wait until the weekend. Take me now, you naughty boy!”

See what trouble I was already in? My doll had a voice!

Then, there was doll etiquette. I was a virgin. I did not know what to do. Do I give my doll a name? Do I dress her? Do I blow her up each time or leave her inflated and sit her in the window like Norman Bates’ mother?

The Norman Bates’ mother thing proved a right turn-off. I would have to keep the puff to inflate her each time I wanted a ride.

The name: would naming her make me a crazy person? Any name would have to be exotic-like Takita or Consuela or Fahita. Maybe not Fahita. Spicy Mexican did not agree with me.

For top tips on use, I went to the Internet. Yes, I know, it seems simple enough: put a little lubricant on your old fella and slip him inside. But I wanted to check what the veterans did, and there are plenty out there. For a start, there are loads of Yahoo! groups dedicated to Love-Doll loving. They are loaded with members and messages, photos of love dolls in different positions, dressed and undressed, sitting at desks, being pummeled by thin, fat, hairy, smooth men; dolls for women too-with rubber dicks like half-inflated balloons.

And there are loads of film clips. Men in anonymous-looking rooms, lying between lifeless legs and humping away. Masked men lining up two “lovers” to take them doggie-dolly style in turn (not to make the dolls jealous?).

Appetite whetted, my time came. I puffed and puffed and Tatiana-for that is what she had become-appeared.

It was an exciting, frustrating, arousing, confusing experience.

The holes were, ahem, a little tight. We tangoed together into different positions. Found one we liked. Stuck with it. I got greedy. Moved on top. The air shifted inside Tatiana. Her legs swelled, then her arms, her pelvis. Ouch. It all depended where I put my weight.

Our first night ended in one of those strange half-climaxes and I was glad to pull Tatiana’s plug-although not completely put off.

We agreed on a second date. When I’d got my breath back.

I decided she needed some stockings to add to the thong and t-shirt I’d placed over her small, pointed, plastic breasts. I casually popped a pair in my shopping basket at the superstore and rushed home.

The excitement was too much. Mid-morning, I was bringing Tatiana back to life. I began to dress her and discovered the stockings were tights. A schoolboy error. I quickly made them crotchless with my fumbling fingers.

Going to work, I suddenly found that Tatiana and I had clicked. Huge excitement. Much panting (me) and squeaking (Tatiana).

At the end my legs went to jelly. I walked to the bathroom like a newborn foal.

A fair-minded kind of guy, I used all of Tatiana’s holes and ended with a money shot across her balloon-like buttocks. Hurrah!

I only ever planned to keep Tatiana, my experiment, for the weekend. In the end, she stayed three days. Then it was goodbye. Ours was a love that burned brightly, but briefly. Now I can’t stop thinking about her.

Of course, she doesn’t call and I doubt she thinks about me at all.

Before our vacation last year I would have said that there were no taboos between us, no secret sex fantasies that we wouldn’t share with one another. I would have been wrong.

At the time of our vacation I was in the process of weaning our baby; Keith and I weren’t going to take him (or his older brother) with us. This would have been a problem a couple of months ago, back when my breasts became uncomfortably full after just a few hours away from the baby’s eager little mouth. But now he was down to nursing once a day, and I wasn’t producing much milk. I decided that it would also be safe to leave my loathsome little electric breast pump at home. (Using a breast pump to get milk out is like using a string and doorknob to extract a tooth-it works, but it’s not exactly something you do for fun.)

So we left the pump, but we packed plenty of toys. We filled a small suitcase with wrist and ankle restraints, a couple of ropes, a posture collar, a blindfold, and a nice selection of whips. After all, a good vacation requires the proper gear. We packed our stuff in the car, waved bye-bye to the kids and their grandma, and drove for five hours to get to the hotel where we were staying. I spent most of the first evening hog-tied, collared, and blindfolded, being spanked and fucked silly. A most auspicious beginning.

But by the second evening, I knew I’d made a mistake, breast-wise–my boobs had become uncomfortably engorged with milk. They felt like basketballs and were becoming more painful with every passing hour. I knew from past experience that if I didn’t do something to relieve the pressure I was going to end up with a breast infection, which would be a real vacation killer. Unfortunately, I’d never been good at expressing milk by hand-I needed a baby or a pump, and at that point I had neither.

I told Keith that we had a small problem.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked, concerned.

“No, and anyway we couldn’t get there fast enough.” I told him.

“Well, should I go try to get you a breast pump?”

I didn’t answer him, because I’d already come up with another solution.

“Can you suck on me? I mean, really suck, and empty the milk out?”

Keith didn’t respond, and I felt my cheeks flush. During the periods when I had been breastfeeding, he had kneaded my breasts, he’d licked them, and he’d occasionally gently bitten them or sucked them for a moment. But he had never tried “nursing,” as I was asking him to do now. He just never seemed interested. Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe the idea grossed him out. Maybe the reason he wasn’t answering was that he was sitting there thinking, “Ewww.”

I felt like I’d asked him to help me pee or something.

But finally he said, “Ok, why don’t you lie down on your back and take off your shirt.”

I climbed on the bed and obediently did as he asked, stretching my arms above my head and closing my eyes. I felt like there were two big cantaloupes pressing on my chest. Keith lay down beside me and circled one of my nipples with a wet finger. Immediately it hardened and strained upward, becoming an inviting target just as Mother Nature intended. He leaned over, took it into his warm mouth, and began sucking.

His suck was much different than the baby’s. It was rougher, and I felt his teeth more. I wasn’t sure this was going to work; my breasts were programmed to yield their milk to a small, soft baby mouth. But he kept at it and suddenly I felt the familiar tingling in my breast that signaled that the milk was “letting down,” that the sacs inside were contracting and forcing the milk out to the nipple. I’d been known to shoot an arc of milk to a distance of eight inches when I let down in the shower; I felt myself shooting milk into the back of Keith’s throat now. I tensed up for a moment, worried that I might gag him, but then I felt him swallow and start sucking again.

After a few minutes he developed a rhythm: suck-suck-swallow, suck-suck-swallow. He appeared to be in it for the long haul, so I began to relax and focus on the sensations, not thinking about whether he liked it or he didn’t. Not thinking about whether this was weird or it wasn’t. Just… feeling.

His body was half on top of mine, his head bent to my breast. I became aware that he was getting a hard-on. I felt an electric shock as I realized that he was definitely not turned off. He appeared to be thinking the opposite of “Ewww.” As he sucked, he rubbed his dick against my thigh insistently, and my cunt unexpectedly started throbbing in response.

Keith moved one of his hands from my breast down to my crotch and slipped it inside my panties. I was already getting slick and I swear he must have been able to feel the throbbing with his fingers. Suck-suck-swallow, suck-suck swallow. A hot line ran straight from the nipple he was sucking all the way down to my clit. He put three fingers inside of me and rubbed the heel of his hand against me, making big, slow circles. My hips moved to meet him.

After a few minutes he rolled his body completely on top of mine and switched his mouth to my other breast. I groaned as I let down again-the feeling of release is, in some small way, similar to an orgasm. He finished off that breast quickly, much more quickly than the first. Then he shifted his body upwards to kiss me, and I tasted traces of my own milk, much sweeter than the stuff at the grocery store. I could feel his cock pushing against the center of my panties. He was actually forcing himself partway inside of me, with the thin lace forming only the flimsiest of barriers. The feel of him in me, but not in me, was making me crazy.

I could tell from the way he began to crush my mouth under his and thrust faster against me that he was on the verge of losing control. He yanked my panties aside and pushed inside me, fucking me hard. He was so horny that he came within a minute, but he was courteous enough to keep moving and rubbing until I came, too, about 30 seconds later.

Afterwards, he lay there panting, collapsed on top of me.

“Oh, my,” I said. “Why didn’t we ever do that before?”

“I was too embarrassed to ask,” he answered, sounding slightly sheepish.

I looked up at him, thinking that he was full of surprises. Thinking that even the most open-minded of perverts can have unexpected taboos. Thinking that maybe it was too soon to wean the baby after all.

Like any good Queer program house would, we threw monthly parties for all the lovely students on campus. Well, Cherry and I were assigned to flyer duty. The October air nipped at her short skirt and ruffled my cropped hair as we gaily skipped from dormitory to dormitory posting notices of our “Lick Bush” party.

At the last dorm, Cherry paused. Inching her skirt up to reveal her hip flask attached to her leg, she took a swig as she leaned against a safer-sex poster. I leaned forward for a swallow of the burning whiskey. My hand grazed her gartered legs as I reached for the flask and our eyes caught one another for a brief moment.

As the campus safety shuttle escorted us back to our yellow gingerbread house, replete with peeling paint, our legs pressed into one another. We were daring the other to make the first move, to attempt to exert power. As I stepped from the van her hand pressed into the small of my back. “Move dyke!” she laughed as she pushed me from the shuttle.

We stumbled into the house dropping our tape and tacks.

“Do you want some cocoa?” she cooed, her voice greasy with coy pleasantry. She grabbed the milk and headed toward the stove.

Cherry was a high femme. Her dark hair, though short and spiky, emphasized her mascara-ed eyes and tight skirts. Her long legs always looked longer because of her tendency to wear seamed stockings and stilettos, or maybe it was her bright red lipstick. Tonight, donning an apron three times as long as her red leather mini, was no exception.

She stood in front of the stove, stirring, her legs apart, the lines of her stockings weaving a slightly crooked path up the back of her skirt. I traced this with my eyes, before I walked behind her, sensing my chance. I acted suddenly and surprised her. Grinding my hips into her ass I moved her crotch into the warm oven bar in front of her. She released a quick, “Oh” and nearly turned to teach me who was boss before succumbing to the pleasure in front of her.

We stayed like this, rubbing circles into the corner of the stove until her stirring hand began to go limp and I felt the flood of cunt juice seeping through her stockings. Flicking the stove off so the cocoa wouldn’t burn I grabbed both of her wrists and held them behind her back, turning her to face me. With my free hand I hooked the waist of her skirt and dragged her toward my red table.

When I had moved in I had found this table straight from some 1960’s housewife’s kitchen at the Goodwill downtown. It was white Formica flecked with gold and the shape of some strange amoeba. Determined to have a red table, I spent many hours in the beginning of the year inhaling shellac fumes and painting coat upon coat of candy apple red on the table. When I finished it was quite the gem.

Now, in the sweeping motion I had only ever before seen in movies, I pushed the bell hook’s articles, Ben and Jerry’s cartons, leftover dishes, and remaining flyers off the table. I pushed Cherry down on top of it. The sight of her writhing on my red table in a short skirt and apron, her seamed garter stockings drenched with her juices was just about enough to make me cum right then and there.

Keeping her wrists pinned above her head I freed her swollen cunt from her lacy thong and pushed her short skirt up to her waist. She moaned with pleasure as I blew cool air all over her clit and hot pussy. I grabbed a glove from the safer sex box on the door and snapped it on. Slowly, I pressed my thumb, rough from woodworking class, against her clit. I began to make deliberate circles and her cunt clenched in pleasure. It was as if her cunt was waiting for me to take her, sucking and spasming to bring my hand closer. Her cries echoed her body. “Please. Fuck me. Please.” God, it was so hot to hear her beg.

As I eased two, three, four fingers into her aching chasm I released her wrists. She clawed at my back leaving marks through my shirt. I grabbed the wooden spatula hanging on the wall behind me and continued fucking her hard with my fingers. I plunged deep and she moaned in pleasure. Spatula in hand I moved her toward the edge of the table. Her stiletto-ed feet were on my shoulders; my arm deep inside her, and her ass, pink, exposed, waiting to be spanked hovered at the rim of my red table.

While I fucked Cherry with my left hand, I began to spank her with the wooden spatula in my right. Her ass began to turn bright pink, nearing the shiny red gloss of my table. She screamed with satisfaction as my paddle hit her ass with steady syncopations. Her hips pounded into my left wrist asking for more.

I increased my rhythm fucking and spanking her. Her jaw clenched and released as I moved her toward climax, until she began to shriek in a high-pitched wail of pleasure. She came hard, flooding my table, the glove, the spatula, and her skirt with her wetness. Her orgasm reverberated making waves on my hand, finally slowing and then ceasing.

Drenched in sweat and cum, her face and ass as red as my table, she looked at me and sighed. “Guess I taught you right,” she breathed out hard.

Meanwhile, her stiletto was working its way up my thigh, digging into my crotch. Guess I was about to be taught some more.

Z.G. Rankenstein went to a small liberal arts college and is currently an elementary school teacher in the Southwest. This is her first go at erotic writing.

She was dressed from neck to toe in latex.

From my vantage point, behind a hawthorn tree, I couldn’t tell the exact design of her boots, but what I could see, beneath the hem of her dress, was sharp looking, pointy toed and stiletto heeled. Dangerous footwear to stamp and crush and pierce a submissive boy or girl, leaving little metallic love bites on tender, willing flesh. The dress was ankle-length and a curious hybrid of old and new. It had a demure high collar and fitted bodice, as might have been worn by a Victorian maid.

It clung to the young woman’s hips like a second skin, accentuating her high, tight buttocks. She couldn’t have been wearing panties, not even a thong. The skirt flared elegantly down, again demure, concealing every inch of leg. In any other fabric, it would have been a chaste dress, a return to the days of parasols and fans and blushing innuendo. But in shiny, shiny black latex, it was a wicked temptress of a frock. I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl and I sensed that she knew it.

She looked like a librarian.

There was a studious, serious expression about her and her spectacles were of an unglamorous design. The sharp contrast between virgin and whore delighted my sensibilities. I leaned against the tree and watched, still and silent, worshiping her with my thirsty eyes. Every fiber of my being desired her, yet she wasn’t mine to possess. I saw her clasp the cold iron curlicues of the big old gate in shiny black-gloved hands. Even her fingers were coated with the dark wet-looking cloth. It made me think of fresh paint or black ice or a slick of oil. She was poisonous as a deadly snake and completely unattainable.

That was the attraction.

It was late autumn and a handful of dead leaves blew along the churchyard path, orange-brown against gray. The girl began to walk, each sinuous step crunching softly on the humble gravel as she moved sensuously, confidently, the dull November light playing on her liquid gown. I thought of deep, thick water, of drowning ecstatically beneath the twin daggers of her stabbing heels. Her small, firm bottom moved deliciously, like a pair of perfect round peaches dipped in glossy caramel.

At the end of the path, there stood an ancient crypt, its crumbling sandstone walls almost black with age and overgrown with ivy. The young woman looked back once then entered, stooping slightly beneath the low lintel of the door. Cautiously, I crept out from my concealment. The pale November sun was low in the sky as I tiptoed softly across the damp grass of the graveyard, lingering like a ghost amongst the neglected headstones and vases of dead chrysanthemums. I held my breath when I reached the path and, spotting a small ivy-draped window on one wall of the crypt, I moved towards it instinctively and peered into the gloom.

She lay on her back on a tombstone, her long blonde hair spread over the dark, dank surface like a halo. With gloved hands, she caressed her breasts through the bodice of the shiny dress. It was as if the feel of the fabric aroused her. I imagined the beautiful body beneath the fetishistic clothes.

She was encased.

Then her gleaming black fingers strayed to her crotch, again pressing and stroking the slippery, clinging cloth, molding it to her pubic mound, pushing warm, malleable latex into the cleft between her open thighs. The heels of her boots clicked and scraped against the tombstone as she ground her hips, sliding one shiny finger up and down the plastic imprint of her pussy lips, finding her clit and rubbing hard.

I felt as if I might explode.

There was no need for nudity when the second skin was infinitely more exciting than the first. Like real flesh, it carried the heat of the blood and softened, stretched, accommodating the strong, lithe movements of the girl. I could see the definite outline of her nipples pushing at the latex dress. The bodice molded to her breasts as she writhed, taking up her fevered warmth, seemingly painting her luscious contours with wet paint or melted tar. I wanted to come.

As her ecstasy rose, my arousal grew. I pressed my body against the cold, damp stone and felt energy play between my mind and my loins, like an alternating current of pleasure. The girl on the tombstone cried out, both hands moving frantically in her liquid, pulsing cleft. White light seemed to explode in my head as I came, grinding my hips against the wall of the crypt like a creature possessed. A cascade of bright hair streamed over the edge of the stone as the young woman arched her spine and parted her lips to moan her release. Her mouth remained open as her orgasm ebbed away. She looked spent, as if every last ounce of her body was used up in the intensity of gaining relief.

“It’s getting dark.”

I jumped at the sound of her voice, a mere whisper in the gathering gloom. Embarrassed, I drew back, retreating behind the tendrils of ivy as she slowly moved to a sitting position.

“I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

My heart skipped a beat. There was no one else in the churchyard but me. Perhaps she had known I was there all along. Had I been a prop in her Gothic arousal? Silently, I backed away from the crypt, across the gravel and the grass, running away like a thief or a child, half frightened, half overjoyed, almost catching my skirt on the gate as I fled.

Celia shut the door quietly behind her and sighed. This was the third night this week Brian had promised her sex, and the third night she had come home to find him asleep. She moved around the room silently, taking off her shoes and jewelry, trying hard not to scream in frustration. She muttered softly to herself as she unbuttoned her blouse, slipped off her skirt and tossed them both into the laundry basket. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed as she stared down at him. Damn, but he was fine. He was naked to the waist and she could just make out the lines of his sexy, muscular back in the moonlight. She laid her hand on his back, and slid it slowly down, her hand itching to squeeze his taut ass when suddenly he groaned and pulled away and began to snore.

She sighed deeply. This was not going to do at all. She was tired of being the one to initiate sex, and she wasn’t doing it anymore. She searched her memory for the moment things had changed between them. The moment he stopped looking at her like he wanted her to bend her over something, and she had stopped looking back at him like she wanted him to. Where had they gone wrong? She still loved him to pieces, and when they had sex she always came… but the hot, wild fucking that had been a huge part of their relationship for so long, it was just gone. She still wanted to fuck him, but sometimes she wondered if it was him or just her healthy sex drive telling her she was overdue for an orgasm. Which is exactly how she felt tonight. And rather than wake him up when fucking her was clearly not a priority, she would just take care of it herself.

She lay down next to him, and scrunched to her side of the bed. She had masturbated in front of him before, but it was always a prelude to sex. She felt both a little weird and a little naughty doing it with him sleeping next to her, but she needed to come and she would be quiet. She reached down between her legs and gave her pussy and gentle squeeze through her panties and almost groaned aloud… oh yeah, she was way overdue.

She slipped her hand down the front of her thong and slid a finger slowly down the slit of her already damp pussy. She stifled a moan as she moved her other hand over her lace-clad tit and squeezed her nipple hard. She arched her hips upward and slid two fingers deep inside her hungry pussy. Her eyes drifted closed as she focused on the feeling of her fingers plunging in and out of her pulsing hot cunt. Faster and faster her fingers pounded in and out, her pussy getting wetter and hotter. Her breath came quick as she slipped her fingers out and began to massage her clit, first soft and slow then faster and harder. Her body went stiff as she felt her orgasm closing in. Her hips pumped up and down, blood pounded in her ears and she let out a long thin scream as she came hard against her own fingers.

It was a long moment before she came back into herself and she realized how loud she had been. She opened her eyes slowly and yelped when she saw Brian staring back at her intently, half sitting up. “Shit, I’m sorry, Bri, I… ” she broke off as she took in the intensity of his stare, the tension in his jaw. She glanced down and smiled when she saw his thick cock in his hand, him stroking it slowly. He growled deep in his throat and ground out “This is no joke babe, this is dead fucking serious.” He released his cock, grabbed her with both hands and dragged her to the edge of the bed. He then flipped her, ass up, over his lap. He still had his boxers on, but she could feel his cock pushing against her and knew it was still bare, hard and waiting for her. She tried to reach down and squeeze it but he slapped her sharply on the ass and hissed “Not this time.”

She groaned as she felt his palm connect, felt the sting, the rush of heat pool to her ass and swell her clit again. She rubbed herself against his cock, straining to get closer. He swore, and then slapped her again, a little harder.

“Again.” She pleaded, and he obliged her. He alternated sharp slaps with hard squeezes, kneading her firm ass cheeks while grinding her against his dick. He could feel the wetness of her pussy as his cock throbbed against it, and he fought not to ram himself into her every time she moved. She could feel it too, and begged him for it.

“Fuck me… please fuck me.” She sobbed, but that only made him smack her harder as he fought to control himself. He stopped abruptly, resting his hand lightly on her ass as he took a steadying breath. He ran his palm gently over the slope of her ass, and reached around underneath her to lightly pinch her nipple. She shuddered on top of him and began to grind her hips against him urgently. He slid one finger underneath the back of her thong and down the crack of her ass, slid it down, down into the hot wet of her pussy. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, recognized the tension in her limbs and knew if he moved she would come. He stayed perfectly still as she shook, her body straining toward release.

She felt his hot breath in her ear as he muttered softly “Do you want it?”

“Yes! Yes, yes!” she pleaded.

“Tell me,” he urged as he slowly slid his fingers in and out of her “tell me exactly what you want from me.”

She swallowed hard and replied “I want that cock inside me. I want you to slap my ass while I fuck that hard dick until I come. You know you want it too,” she taunted him and pressed her clit against his cock and rubbed against him.

He couldn’t take it any longer. He shoved his hand between them, grabbed himself in his fist and thrust into her wet hot cunt, hard. He let out a groan as he fucked her, his cock pounding into her. He slid one finger slick with the juice from her pussy back up between her ass cheeks and slowly slid it into her tight asshole and almost came from the feel of it.

She began to pump her hips up and down frantically muttering and swearing as she did. “Is this what you want?” he muttered hoarsely “You love my cock in you don’t you, you fucking bitch. That’s it,” he encouraged, “ride it hard.” And thrust up with his throbbing cock to meet her.

She could hear herself panting fast as he pumped in and out of her, his finger tight in her ass. She felt a sharp slap on her ass cheeks again and rode him faster, faster. She felt the tension coil tight in her belly and for a second couldn’t move as she began to come. The orgasm slammed into her, ripping through her body, causing her to buck wildly against him as she screamed his name.

Her pussy clenched tight on his cock as she came. He felt the hot liquid of his cum snaking up his swollen dick as he tried to keep himself from joining her, wanting to prolong the feeling for as long as he could. But her orgasm went on and on, sucking at him. He felt her asshole clench his finger hard and he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He let out a long groan, his cock throbbed and jerked as the hot cum spurt out, hard and fast into her. Her greedy pussy milked him like a tight fist until he was dry and spent.

He fell back to the bed with a thud and didn’t move for a long while. She thought maybe he had fallen asleep until he opened one eye to glance down at her. He smiled at her, still sprawled on top of him.

“We’re back, baby!” he shouted. She smiled into the blanket and nodded in agreement, they were back.

Joey concentrated on driving while the girl dug through her purse, reapplied her lipstick and popped a mint into her mouth.

“Want some?” she asked.

Joey went to reach for the mint but the girl was too fast — her fingers, and the mint were inside Joey’s mouth before she could say or do anything. Joey sucked hard on her fingers, while looking ahead at the road.

“I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours,” said the girl. “I’m going to bruise those pretty lips.”

Joey reached over and pulled the girl’s skirt up. She ran her finger along her clit, covered by a thin layer of white cotton. The girl moaned. She pulled her fingers out of Joey’s mouth and put them in her own. Joey had a hard time keeping her eyes on the road, and luckily she didn’t live far from the bar. They were at Joey’s place within minutes.

Joey opened the door and let the girl in first. As soon as Joey closed the door behind her, the girl turned to her and began running her tongue along Joey’s neck, up to her ear, and over to her mouth. Joey shoved the girl’s skirt up and hooked her finger under the underwear. The girl was really wet, and Joey felt her stomach jump a little as her finger slid easily inside her lips.

“Wait, I’m fucking you first,” said the girl, pulling away suddenly. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Joey pointed down the short hall.

“Go get naked,” she told Joey. “All the way, naked.”

Joey did as she was told. She lay on her bed, feeling a little self-conscious. She had grabbed a few of the condoms out of her pocket and put them on the nightstand. She was reaching to turn the light out when the girl came into the room.

“Don’t turn the light off, I like to see who I’m fucking.” She straddled Joey’s lap, and pushed her down on the bed. Though she still had her skirt on, Joey could see the girl had put on a harness and the dildo peaked out from the edge. Joey reached for it.

“Want to suck it?” said the girl. “What do you say?”

“Please and thank you,” said Joey. She grabbed a condom and pushed up the skirt. The dildo was long and curved, and Joey couldn’t wait to be filled by it. She quickly put the condom on and the girl moved forward so that Joey could wrap her mouth around the cock. The girl was gentle at first, pushing and pulling it out slowly, but soon she was testing Joey’s limits. Joey grabbed the base of the cock so that she could control the rhythm and depth. The girl continued to fuck her mouth. Joey’s hands gripped the girl’s ass as her pelvis rocked to and fro, and Joey opened her mouth wider and wider. The girl was demanding and Joey was wet. Her clit throbbed and it took everything she had not to touch herself. “How do your lips feel?” the girl asked, pulling the dildo away and pushing several fingers into Joey’s mouth. “I know you want to fuck me now,” she said, “but I’m not done yet. Get on your stomach.”

Joey flipped over and put a pillow under her pelvis. She ached to be fucked deep and fast.

“Where’s your lube?” the girl asked. Joey opened the top drawer of her nightstand, pulled out a bottle and handed it to the girl.

“You’re almost out… have you been a bad girl? Have you been fucking a lot of strangers?”

Joey wanted to explain that the last time she had used that lube it had been with her ex-girlfriend, and that she had never picked up anyone at a bar before, but she didn’t.

“I want you to fuck me hard,” is all she said.

And the girl did. She poured a small dot of lube on the tip of the cock and spread Joey’s ass cheeks. She pushed Joey’s head and neck down with her hand and held them there as she pushed and pulled the cock out of Joey’s pussy mercilessly. Joey screamed into her pillow when she came. She hadn’t even fingered her clit, like she usually had to do to come — the fucking was all she needed.

The girl pulled out and peeled the condom off. She threw it to the floor. She took the dildo out of the harness and laid it next to Joey’s face, on the pillow.

“Sit up darling, my ass needs you,” she said. “Put another condom on that and lots of lube… I want you to work me.”

Joey quickly did as she was asked. She grabbed two condoms. She put them on — one on the cock and one over a few fingers, and then smothered the dildo with thick lube. The girl stacked three pillows and laid forward across them. She was already rubbing her clit.

“Start slow,” she said.

Joey put two fingers slowly inside the girl’s pussy as she slowly slid the dildo in her ass. The girl moaned and began breathing faster. Joey followed the directions her breath gave her, and slowly started fucking her harder. The girl hands gripped the edge of the bed as she braced herself, and Joey took this as a sign the girl was ready for a fast fucking. Joey matched the rhythm of her fingers to the dildo. She closed her eyes, and with all of her strength, she pulled and pushed and pulled and pushed in and out of the girl’s ass and pussy. The girl writhed and moaned and pushed her face into the pillow. She was talking, but Joey couldn’t hear her. She continued fucking the girl fast and hard until the girl reached back between her legs and grabbed a hold of Joey’s wrist. Joey stopped and the girl went limp. Joey lay her head on the back of the girl’s legs, breathing hard.

“Hey, do you know where I left my purse?” the girl said, turning her head towards Joey. Joey jumped up to get it off of the floor. The girl sat up and began to dig through it. She held her hand out to Joey, offering a mint. Joey went to reach for it and the girl pulled back her hand.

“Open your mouth,” she said, “open those fucking lips.”