First off, Happy Happy Happy! I love Valentine's Day! I'm a dinosaur. I like to cut out my own Valentine's. And use stickers. And glue. So happy to you and yours! Second off, here is the final story in second-to-last Smut Marathon challenge. Wow! I'm dead chuffed and all that. Tomorrow, I'll put up the poll. For now, enjoy the ride.
The Subway
by Joss Lockwood
Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public can become wildly inappropriate and fast.
Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone around, but still. If it hadn't been for the rattle and hum they all would have heard my breath speed up, catch, come out: a sigh about to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I didn't control myself. The way your tongue thrust and withdrew had my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you held my face in both hands, the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth, which made me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right there, onlookers be damned…and then you pinched my nipple, secret, close to the wall where no one could see, and I gasped, trembling, lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.
And when we got home you made me wait, wait until I begged.
Something Like Love
by Joss Lockwood
Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public - walking to the bagel store Sunday morning, say, or the train home after a night out - can become wildly inappropriate and fast.
Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away, to break off the kiss, to save it for later. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone on our car, but still. If it weren't for the rattle and hum they all would have been able to hear my breath speeding up, catching, coming out on a sigh that was going to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I wasn't careful. The way your tongue probes, circles, thrusts and withdraws…you've got my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you hold my face in both hands the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth. And that makes me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right now, and it's all I can do to stop myself, and then you pinch my nipple, close to the wall where no one can see, and I gasp. I'm trembling, I want you so badly. You start a rhythm with your lips and tongue on mine and I receive you into me greedily, gratefully, and it's silly but I’m actually lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.
Which is why, when you press the side of your hand edgeways into my crotch, I nearly stop breathing. You just leave it there for me to rub against. You know I won't be able to stop myself, and you're right. I try to move as little as possible but if anyone looks at me for longer than a glance they will see that I am rocking my pelvis against you like an animal in heat. I can feel you smile and I halfway hate you for it. Letting me make a spectacle of myself in a public place like this. Even if it's less obvious than I think it is and probably no one will even notice. It's downright mean is what it is, because you know I tend to get carried away. I can't be counted on to maintain any sort of decorum, so it's up to you to keep us out of trouble, and sometimes you decide to walk that line. Sometimes you tease me and get me all hot and bothered and position your hand just so in front of me, so that I can't help but lean into it.
I realize I'm going to come soon, and I panic just a little, because I don’t come quietly and have no poker face to speak of. If I've stayed undetected up until now, I may be just about to blow my cover.
I mumble something aloud which is supposed to alert you to this fact, but if it's words, I don't know what language they're in. I think maybe I'll bite down on your shoulder, bury my face in your chest.
And you snicker at me, at my lack of restraint and my unwillingness to delay these moments of pleasure. And you say low into my ear, "Can't even wait until we get home? Ten more minutes? Dirty little slut."
And it's as if you've touched me, the words affect me that much. I grit my teeth and groan – not too loudly, I hope. You're only making it worse, cranking up my arousal level another several notches with that one snide remark, the laughter, the label. I feel that prickle of goosebumps that precedes orgasm and shudder. My head tips back just a bit of its own accord, and you lean down to bite my neck, which often pushes me over the edge.
And that's when I feel it. Fingertips.
From behind me. Between my knees, just underneath the hem of my skirt. Gentle, skillful. Short strokes upward. Can't be yours, the direction is all wrong. I freeze, orgasm stopped dead in its tracks, animal lust replaced by animal fear. Who the fuck is that?
In the split second before I turn to look, a hand snakes into my hair, grasps at the roots and holds tight, immobilizing my head in its slightly upturned position. You glance at me for just a second and then fall back to devouring my neck, and that moment, realizing that you're not stopping, that this is okay with you – that it's maybe even part of a plan you've made? That moment makes me lose my mind just the tiniest bit. Without you setting limits, there may *be* no limits. Certainly I'm in no position to make decisions. I'm no longer aware of who else is in the train with us or if any of our behavior can possibly be construed as appropriate anymore. As soon as that other person touched me, crash zoom: my world shrank down to you, me, and him.
His fingers are still caressing the insides of my thighs, above my knees and slowly but steadily heading higher. God, is this total stranger going to start stroking my pussy right here in the middle of the subway? The idea is incredibly arousing but I'm not sure I can do it. I might have to stop this, stop you. It occurs to me that my knees are shaking, from excitement or nervousness, I'm not sure which. Your mouth is on my earlobe now, sucking insistently, and you're flicking my nipple repeatedly, setting up a rhythm that under normal circumstances would propel me straight back toward coming. But I'm jittery. Like an unswaddled newborn afraid of flying apart, I need to be contained, calmed. I realize I've grabbed your wrist, as if I might stop you. You sense my hesitation and murmur in my ear, "Hands behind your head."
And that's all it takes. I fleetingly consider refusing, but the truth is, I don't want this to stop, so I position my arms behind my head and grab my elbows, wincing just a bit at the conspicuousness of the pose but also loving the way it makes my tits jut forward. It makes me feel sexy, and helpless, and there's no more hesitation. I'm right there with you, ready for my fate, St. Sebastian waiting for the sting of the first arrow.
I can't see you with my head tipped back but again I hear the smile in your voice. "Good girl. Now spread your legs just a little for the nice man."
Can one's heart leap and stomach sink at the same time? I gulp. You want me even more obviously wanton, even more defenseless, than I already am? You twist a nipple hard in response, and the message is clear: Yes, you do. I take a breath that's almost a sob and widen my stance, not much, but enough, I think, for the man behind me to do whatever it is he's going to do. His fingers have almost, almost reached my labia, and the anticipation is intense. I desperately want him to touch me there, but think I might pass out if he does…
And he stops. Removes his hands from under my skirt and starts to maul me, grab me, take advantage of my body in its vulnerable state. He wraps one arm around my waist and draws me back to him, slams his crotch against my ass a few times, so perfectly emulating the rough fucking I crave that I almost cry out. He can tell, humps harder, and I push my pelvis back to meet his assault. I think, rather dimly, that everyone must have left the car by now or he wouldn't be acting so brazen, but the fact is that I don't know this guy, what he'd do or not do. He seems kind of crazy. Then again, none of us is indecent, so could we really get in too much trouble? And then all rational thought departs as he, in one swift motion, pushes forward on my shoulder blades, yanks up my skirt and hauls off and spanks me, hard. I fall forward into you, although I manage to keep hold of my elbows. I catch a quick glimpse of the expression on your face and know immediately that this was not part of the plan. You're clearly surprised, and a bit taken aback, but you've also got that gleam in your eyes that I know so well. The one that means I'm in for it.
I lose some of the details at that point in the chemical haze of adrenaline, endorphins, and hormones. He spanks me, not to my absolute limit, but close. You hold me, push your fingers into my mouth at first, then cover my mouth as I get nearer to an out-and-out howl. And then, without warning, the guy abruptly pulls my panties down to mid-thigh, exposing me to anyone who's still nearby, and plunges two fingers into my pussy, which is so ridiculously wet that they slide in without any resistance. And it is so exactly what I have wanted that it's a good thing your hand is still over my mouth because I let out a shriek, and I tense for the inevitable orgasm that always comes with penetration for me…but he pulls out just as suddenly as he thrust in. And I’m left gasping, gaping, empty and clenching around nothing. I whimper. You help me straighten up, and we're back where we started, you and I facing each other with him standing behind me. You look faintly puzzled, but not displeased. I have the distinct feeling again that this wasn't exactly the way it was supposed to go.
But the man behind me says, "Now then," as if we'd been in the middle of a civilized conversation and been rudely interrupted. And he slides his hands back up under my skirt, just as he had before, although with my panties still around my knees I can't open my legs as far as I would like. There's less teasing this time, though, and soon he's got both hands rubbing, kneading, pulling on my pussy lips, spreading me open and teasing my slit, and I'm panting and moaning and writhing and wanting wanting wanting his fingers back in me, god why won't he fuck me, I need something inside me, and you. Your hands, your fingers, join his, but from the front, and now there are four hands on me and I am making noise and there are no extra hands to stifle my voice now and I'm dizzy and on tiptoes and you sink your fingers deep into my cunt and it's like an electric current shoots through my whole body, the hair on the top of my head practically stands on end it's so good and my toes curl and you kiss me hard and sweet, the heel of your other hand grinding against my clit, and the other man is groping my ass, reaching around front to roll and twist my nipples, sinking his teeth into the nape of my neck…and then. And then. With the same hands, obviously, that he thrashed me with earlier, he gently pries apart my ass cheeks (which makes me arch my back, some primal instinct telling my body to open up and get fucked like a good girl, like a bad girl, like no kind of girl at all, like a woman), and begins to circle my asshole with his thumb. So slowly. It makes. Me. Crazy. Goddammit it makes me throw my head back and groan. You still have your fingers in my pussy and you aren't pounding into me, you are probing me the same way your tongue probes me when you kiss me, like there's no part of me you don't want to know, you want to see it all, touch it all, you want me laid open to you as if I was a particularly rare specimen and you were the world's foremost expert, and oh, god, what you do to me, you're doing that thing you do, I don't know if it's my g-spot or something else but I know no one ever found it before you, and I'm coming – and right then, he slides into me the tiniest bit, and one of you must have lube because his finger is wet, and each stroke goes a little bit farther into my ass, and it seems so simple – a finger in my ass, fingers in my pussy – that it's just silly that I've never had this done to me before, but I haven't and I've always wanted to and in and in and in until he can't push any farther, he's got his finger in me to the hilt, and it suddenly occurs to me, of course: You know that this is a fantasy of mine. Why didn't I recognize it earlier?
Now I remember telling you months ago, blushing furiously, that I didn't really have any shame about watching most porn, probably because most of what I watch is pretty "normal." Hardcore, definitely, but nothing all that extreme. But there is one thing I sometimes watch but had never admitted to anyone because it just seemed, well, wrong to be excited by. "It's, um," couldn't even look you in the face when I told you, "this Japanese porn where the girl's getting sort of manhandled by a group of guys." I swallowed, cleared my throat. (Why was I even telling you this? It's not like you had to know every single one of my fantasies, after all. But for some reason I was fessing up.) "It's always public places, mostly on trains. And there are just all these hands, and a lot of groping, and kind of fingers coming from all directions and stuff." I was aware that I was getting wet, but I wasn't sure if it was the fantasies themselves or the fact that I was revealing myself to you that was making me more worked up. "And, I don't know. She pushes the guys off at first, but then she's outnumbered, she can't stop them or get away and they finger her and shove their cocks into her mouth and fuck her, right there on the train car. And she makes a show of resisting, which, you know, is part of why I find it kind of disturbing, but it's also pretty obvious that she's coming by the end, and, I don't know…they turn me on," I finished sheepishly. And you had very casually said you'd have to check them out sometime and that was the last we ever said about it.
And now that his finger's fully buried inside me the two of you really start to work me over, and I am sweating and shaking and trying not to scream and talking about god the way atheists do in the throes of orgasm and I desperately want your cock in my mouth and beg you for it even but you say we have to wait and I want that stranger to fuck me but you say maybe another time and I know you're going to take me home and fuck my ass when we get off the train and then, like the two of you had arranged a signal or something – maybe you did – you each add a finger and I come so hard I see stuff, and that's when I can't make words anymore and the two of you practically have to hold me up because my legs give out. And when my vision clears the first thing I see is the complete delight on your face – it's close to joy, if one can feel joy vicariously, but no, a little less serene; glee, that's the word, like you can't wait to see what I do next, like I'm your own personal source of entertainment, just here for your amusement, wind her up and watch her go – and that's when I know that while you and I may not be monogamous or forever and while we scrupulously avoid making dramatic, hackneyed pronouncements, that's when I know that this is something like love.
I think I like this better.
XXX,
Alison
