Wednesday, January 19, 2011
What a race *this* was! Each piece in the Inspiration Challenge received a healthy share of votes, proving something I say over and over: there is an audience for every story. Never be discouraged if something you write doesn't land a home on the first, or second, or 37th try. (I just read that Lemony Snicket's first novel was rejected 37 times!)
The authors with their stories are:
Lover's Eclipse by Angell Brooks
Behind the Blue Door by May Deva
The Alley by Joss Lockwood
Young and Free by Emma Hillman
Partnering by Dorla Moorehouse
We unfortunately have to say goodbye to Ms. Moorehouse. Please drop me a note with your snail mail address at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. I have parting gifts. The two winners this round are Ms. Brooks (chosen by the poll) and Ms. Hillman (chosen by Lucy Felthouse of Erotica for All).
Both of these stories will be featured on the EFA website shortly.
I'll be hitting the final four authors with a new challenge after the coffee takes effect!
Congrats to you all!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Here we are at the Smut Marathon, Round 9. This time, I challenged our five fierce competitors to write a story inspired by a photo (of their choice). I asked that they submit both the story and the pictures so that we could all see their inspirations. I'm going to run the poll for two weeks, as these are the longest stories yet. Guest judge Lucy Felthouse will choose her favorite—our poll will determine the reader favorite. Both winning stories will be featured on Erotica for All, about which Violet Blue said, "I love UK site Erotica For All; it’s an indie erotica review and interview site that runs features on new erotica in all formats, while creating an author and editor resource, in addition to forums."
Ready, set, read!
Entry #1: Partnering
I shouldn't be here. Everyone on the dance floor is so smooth, so graceful, so in tune with the music. They all know each other, too, exchanging hugs and familiar smiles. But I'm not a very good dancer. And while there are a few familiar faces from my dance studio, theses are all merely acqaintances, not friends. I don't deserve to be in this crowd.
Lingering on the sidelines, watching everyone else groove, my gaze is drawn to a particularly beautiful dancer. I wish I could see his eyes, which are closed as he loses himself in sound and movement. I can't help but stare as he guides his partner around the floor, guiding her into spins with just a flick of his wrist. As though he senses that he's being ogled, he opens his eyes, and when he turns they lock on mine. Immediately, I look away, suddenly focused on the mirror ball overhead.
Another song comes on, and a guy from the studio named Dave asks me to dance. As self-conscious as I am, I didn't come here to just sit and watch, so I say yes, nervousness coming alive in my stomach. On the floor, nothing feels smooth or sexy. I'm overthinking everything, missing steps, turning too fast, triping over my own feet. The dancer I was watching before is sitting out this song, and he's staring at me and my fumbling awkwardness. My face flushes with embarrassment and my clit heats up as I take in his dark eyes, his tousled hair, the way his jeans hang on his hips. I'm making a fool of myself; I can't imagine what he must think of me.
When the song ends, I retreat to the safety of the restroom, where I don't have to make eye contact with everyone, where I don't have to look foolish with my clumsy beginner dance moves. Hiding in a stall, I listen as two songs pass, overhear gossip and laughter of women coming in to freshen up. Finally, even though I've only danced once, I decide to go home. Turning towards the exit, Dave grabs my hand.
“Leaving so soon?” he asks. “Come on, you can't take off now. One more dance with me, and you'll change your mind. I love this song.”
“Okay,” I sigh as he pulls me onto the floor. The DJ has put on slow music this time, and I'm a little more comfortable. Since I don't feel like I have to rush along with the tempo, I relax and start to follow Dave's lead, and am bordering on confidence when that stranger and his partner brush past us, so close that I can smell his sweat and find myself craving his body. The nerves simmering in my belly mingle with the flutterings of desire that are waking up between my legs. Looking up, our eyes meet again, my legs go limp, and I fumble a spin. I'm humiliated.
Once the song ends, I push through the crowd on the floor, eager to escape. But before I can escape, a hand grabs my wrist. I turn and gaze into the brown eyes I've been lusting after. He doesn't ask me to dance, doesn't say a word, just burns his eyes into mine. I follow him onto the floor without a second thought.
He's already drenched in sweat from so much dancing, but I don't care. I want to run my hands through the shaggy damp auburn hair. I want traces of him left on my body when we're done. So I press myself close, closer than I usually get to men I don't know, and wonder how much of his scent will rub off on my skin.
I want magic, to suddenly be a perfect dancer in his arms. But I'm no more confident than I was five minutes ago, and in fact even more nervous now that his hands are one me, now that he's guiding me along the floor. I can barely look him in those beautiful eyes. I keep my own half-closed, looking towards the floor. I hope he can't feel the tremors in my hands, though he probably can. Rushing my steps, panicking, trying to guess which direction each lead will take, my weight won't stay over my feet, my steps sputter. But when I do dare to look up, he doesn't seem to be disappointed; in fact, he smiles. And I can't help but smile back, an automatic response as his grin lights my skin up, generates even more heat than the dancing does. Finally, the ice between us melts. I'm no better of a dancer, but at least I'm not afraid anymore. He pulls me even tighter and I can feel his whole body, notice the length of his cock pressed against my pelvis. No longer worried, I focus on the moment, the way his hand feels against my back, the sound and heat of his breath rushing against my ear, the beads of sweat dripping off his hair and onto my shoulders, mingling with my own perspiration.
Halfway through the song, he leads what I think is going to be a turn, but I realize I don't know where I'm going, and I fumble to a halt. I look at him apologetically, but he looks even more sheepish than I feel.
“Sorry. I had something in mind, but then I got distracted.” Shaking his head and grinning, he pulls me back against his body and resumes dancing. Realizing he's not perfect either, I start shedding my inhibitions. I drag my foot up his leg, grind into him. When his hand grips my ass, I let him keep it there as long as he wants. When it moves up to cup my breast, I don't pull it away, completely oblivious to the other people on the floor. And when the song ends, he leans forward and kisses me, all heat and pressure and salt. When he pulls away, I linger, dazed on the dance floor, barely noticing when the next song starts and someone else takes my hand.
I'm only half-aware of how I dance the rest of the night. I'm not nervous anymore, I approach other dancers willingly, and I'm so in tune with the pulsing and burning under my skin that I don't care if I make a mistake, don't rush or panic. But the entire time I'm on the floor, though I'm dancing with other people, I'm dancing for him, showing off whenever I have the opportunity, making sure he sees every step I take. My eyes drift away from my partners to him, sometimes on the sidelines, usually with other dancers, all of them better than me. But I don't care about their technique, because he doesn't stare at them the way he stares at me, doesn't pull them quite so close as they dance.
When the DJ announces the last song, I feel his hand on my shoulder again. I should introduce myself, should ask his name, but before I can open my mouth we're pivoting and gyrating, his hand gripping my waist, pulling me to grind against him. Finally feeling bold, I lean in for a kiss, only to turn my face away at the last second, his lips brushing my cheek.
“That's how you play, is it?”
He pulls me even tighter, my thigh pressing directly against his stiffening cock. His hand snakes up my back, stops at my shoulder, and when he goes to kiss me, I can't slip out of the way. My thighs tremble as his tongue explores my mouth; my cunt starts to pulse in time with the music. I dig my nails into his back, fill my hand with his flesh. He becomes even more daring, slides his fingers under my shirt, plays with my nipples. Never once do we stop moving or feeling the music. When the song ends, he's slow to let go of me. But the lights are coming up; the music is over, it's time to leave.
“Where do you live?” I blurt out, and the second the words escape my mouth, I'm embarrassed by my audacity.
But he answered as though I had asked him something completely innocuous. “Rockmoor and Enfield. Want a ride?”
I have my own car, somewhere, but for the life of me I can't remember where I parked it. I don't even say anything, just follow him out to the parking lot, climb into the passenger seat. Once we're on the road, I slide my left hand across his thigh, run my fingers up the hard ridge in his pants, slide down the zipper and slip my fingers inside, toying with him as the car slips through the dark streets. When he pulls up into his driveway, he stops me from leaving, pulls me into a kiss and buries his face into my cleavage, licking and biting. Getting desperate, I take his hand and guide it up my skirt, but he pulls away.
“You tease me, I tease you right back.” Then he hops out of the car, and I scramble after him.
Once the door is locked, he shoves me up against it, rips my shirt off, grabs my breasts. Leaning in, I bight the flesh on his neck, taste the hard ridge of his collarbone.
“Upstairs,” he growls, and I oblige, dropping an article of clothing every few steps. He pauses as he enters the room.
“You are gorgeous,” he murmurs, before burying his face between my legs. His fingers dance across my thighs and hips as his tongue slides between my slit, settles on my clit, flicks and massages and swirls. One hand leaves my hip and slides inside me, hooking right at my G-spot. My knees twitch, then convulse, as waves emanate from my cunt and overtake my body.
When he slides up to kiss me, I decide it's my turn to lead. I roll over, grinding against him, leaving teeth marks on his shoulders and chest. Moving down, I glide the tip of my tongue over his cock, feel him writhe beneath me, and change my mind about the blow job. Pulling myself up, I set the tip of his cock against my cunt, run my hands through his hair, bite his earlobes, but don't allow him the satisfaction of being inside me. He pushes up with his hips, tries to enter, but I'm one step ahead, and pull away.
“Not yet.” I jab my tongue in his earlobe.
“You're just going to tease me all night, aren't you?”
“Maybe. I'm good at it, aren't I?” I ask, reaching back to stroke his balls.
“Yes,” he gasps, and I rake my nails down his chest. “Now please fuck me.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” I murmur, sliding him inside me. My cunt muscles envelope him; we
fit together perfectly. Now I know the rhythm, not to any song, but to our bodies, connected, communicating through pheromones and breath. I thrust, move, shake, glide up and down his cock. Reaching my peak, he follows almost immediately. I collapse with reverence across his chest.
Now that the coupling is over, I don't feel compelled to stay. In fact, I'm restless. You never linger on the dance floor, always off to the next partner, the next song. I stay long enough to catch my breath, to take some final deep inhalations of his sweat-soaked skin, and then I roll over, start to look for my clothes scattered down the hall.
“You can stay if you want,” he calls.
“Maybe next time.”
“But you left your car.”
“I'll take the late bus.”
“Really, stay. I can give you a lift to your car in the morning.”
I don't ask when that will be, nor do I make a suggestion. Part of me wants to know, but suspense is more delicious.
He walks me to the door, gives me one more kiss, and as I head toward the bus stop, I make a mental note to introduce myself when we dance again.
Entry #2: Behind The Blue Door
“Laura! Stop daydreaming and get me that fabric! Prego or I'll find someone who will!”
Stephan whirled away from her, in high dudgeon at being made to wait. She grinned. Who else would put up with his drama queen antics and high-handed attitude? Brilliant, but the newest enfant terrible of the fashion world. She scanned the shelves and pulled several swatches, hurrying back to him.
“These will work better, Stephan, trust me.” Offering the duppioni silk and handspun tweed she'd selected, she held her breath.
“Hmm.” He rubbed his thumb and middle finger together, as he always did when considering something that interested him. After a moment, he grinned and clapped his hands together.
“Yes! Yes – these are perfect! You are right, as always, my dear. What would I do without your eye?”
He kissed her cheeks, commanding that she take the rest of the day off. As there was only an hour left, this wasn't as generous as it sounded but she was delighted nonetheless. She shrugged out of her black smock and hung it next to her desk, slipped on her walking shoes and left, throwing a kiss over her shoulder as she pulled the gate of the industrial lift down and pressed the button.
She pondered food as the ground floor approached. The lift stopped and she pulled up the gate, stepping into the service entrance of their building. Turning towards home, she remembered a little place one of the cutters had been talking about, just a little out of her way, that served excellent mezze. How perfect!
They didn't do take-out, so she allowed the waitress to show her to a small table, seemingly for one, in the window. She ordered rice-filled dolmades, hummus, and spiced feta with black olives. It was delicious, fresh and satisfying. Sipping her ouzo, she watched the street. People came and went, cars stopped and left. Her eye kept being drawn back to a curious building diagonally across from the restaurant. Painted bright red, with black accents and a sapphire blue door, it had no identifying signage but was obviously meant to be noticed. She asked the waitress, but she had no clue either. Laura paid her bill and began to head once more for home as night began to fall.
She paused across from the odd building, as a chauffeured car drew up. A dark haired man emerged from the black Lexus, holding his hand out to help a stunning blonde alight. A long dark cloak swirled around her, flashing long legs with precariously high Louboutin peeptoes and... Laura gasped! As the woman turned to her escort, the cape slid to one side and exposed the entire length of her left side, making it quite clear that she wore nothing underneath it. The blue door opened and they entered, with no more clue for Laura as to what was behind it than she'd had previous. As the door shut, she gathered her wits and fled for home, unsure of what she'd seen but oddly aroused by it.
The next week flew by in whirl, as it was wont to do so close to a show. She found herself dining at the Greek restaurant nightly, musing about the red building as she ate but nothing else of interest occurred. As Friday approached, Laura was delighted to see the garments starting to take real shape, beginning to drape and fold the way they had envisoned them.
“Last day of the week!”
She froze halfway to her desk. Standing with Stephan was the most singularly handsome man she'd ever seen. Sapphire blue eyes and carefully mussed black hair topped a tailored suit that accentuated broad shoulders and narrow waist. Oh My! She stepped forward, offering her hand.
“Hello, I'm Laura...”
“My muse!” Stephan interjected, darting forward to hug her. “James – is she not all I've told you?”
She began to bristle, feeling a bit like meat, but found herself staring into amused blue eyes. At this distance, they were even more impressive. Actually, all of him was more impressive at this distance. Then she realized that he was staring back. A small smirk crossed his lips, he swept his gaze from her eyes to her toes and back again. He took her still proffered hand and raised it to his lips.
“Why yes, Stephan, I think I could accuse you of understatement in this case. Not at all like you, I might add.” His voice poured over her as he held her eyes with his, obviously uncaring of what Stephan thought.
It wasn't like her at all to be so swayed by a pretty face and some manners. Get a grip, girl! She extricated her hand and smiled tightly.
“Nice to meet you, James. I'm not at all sure what Stephan might be alluding to, but I assure you that he does not know me well enough to offer any real summary of my person.” She shot a poisonous look at Stephan, who looked rather bemused. “If you will both excuse me, I have work to attend to, we have a show in less than a week.”
With that, she turned on her heel and strode across the floor intending to consult with one of the milliners about a headpiece she'd brainstormed during the night.
“I'm sorry if I've offended you, though I'm not quite sure how I managed that in such a short span.” He touched her elbow, causing her to stop, turn toward his warm-caramel voice. “I was being quite serious. While Stephan does sing your praises on a regular basis, he has never done your physical presence justice. Though he may have gotten your temperament bang on.” He grinned, causing her to smile slightly back.
“I'm not used to being discussed in any way at all, so you'll excuse me if I find it a tad discomfiting.” Oh my lord, she was sounding like such a priss even to herself! “I really do have to get to work, it's a very busy time here right now.”
His chuckle followed her to her desk. Who the hell was this guy and why was Stephan talking to him about her? She slammed some drawers, tried to look busy, studiously avoided looking at him. Perhaps 5 minutes had passed when Stephan called across the floor.
“Darling, is this not Friday? Do we ever end a week without pastries and latte? See to it, will you?” He flashed her his most winning smile and turned back to James.
She grabbed her purse, grateful for a reason to escape, and flew to the lift. She pulled the gate down and pressed the button. It wasn't until his voice sounded just behind her ear that she realized she'd not escaped at all.
“Do you want to know about the blue door? I've seen you there every evening for a week. What are you looking for, Laura?”
His fingers trailed up the back of her thigh as he spoke, every nerve sparking to her cunt. She gasped, jumped slightly away from him. He was the man she'd seen with the caped blonde!
“H-how do you know that? Are you stalking me?” She whispered back at him, afraid to speak normally. His fingers pulled her skirt higher, traced the outline of her panties at the top of her thigh. She was shaking with lust and he was barely touching her!
“I am not stalking you, Laura, I had an appointment with Stephan last week and saw you leaving. I asked who you were, he told me. That evening, I noticed you across the road from my building. That's all. Now, do you want to know, or are you content with simply wandering by and wondering?”
His fingers worked their way forward as he spoke. Moving slightly, he tucked her hips into his groin, sliding his fingers across her clothed slit and nudging her clit, making her jump. She saw the ground floor coming towards the lift and realized her precarious position. He was making her as hot as hell, but some decorum was needed. She pulled away as far as the gate would allow, which wasn't far at all.
“No, thank you James. I don't own a cloak.”
She heard a surprised chuckle and moved to pull the gate up, then she felt his hand again at her hip. A sharp tug as she reached up and she realized that he now held her underwear in his hands. She stepped out of the lift and turned around, furious. He raised the tattered scrap to his nose, holding her eyes until he took a deep breath. His eyes closed briefly then he stepped up to whisper to her:
“Oh Laura, you smell divine. Feel what you do to me.” He brushed himself against her hip, making his erection obvious to them both. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. When she opened her eyes, he held up a business card, and then slipped it into the pocket of her smock.
“How long can your curiosity hold out, lovely one? Call me when you change your mind, and you will change your mind I assure you. A cloak can be arranged. See you soon, Laura.”
Stepping around her, he sauntered out onto the street, into the black Lexus waiting at the curb. She sagged slightly, wrung out from their encounter in the lift. If she'd ever met anyone remotely like him, she couldn't recall it. She took a deep, steadying breath and went to fetch the morning refreshments, uncomfortably aware of the dampness between her thighs. She avoided the red building that night and went straight home from work.
James devilled her all weekend, with dreams of cloaks and ripped panties, to the point of waking her in mid-come just before her alarm went off Monday morning. His dream-self had done more to her in a few rem cycles than any boyfriend had ever dared. Yawning, she dragged herself to the shower fighting the urge to indulge in one more orgasm before work.
“Morning Stephan. What's on the agen...” Her breath ran out before the words. Completely covering her desk were flowers. A riot of red, blue and black, she needed no card to tell her who had sent them but read it anyway. I've missed you. Are you avoiding me, bellissima? - J. Looking over the lush spray, she suddenly realized that there was a lacy fabric rose set dead-center in the arrangement. Part of her underwear, made into a flower!
She flushed, set the card down. Stephan hovered, waiting to hear the details of what was surely a new boyfriend.
“This must be a mistake. I don't recognize the sender. Perhaps one of the other girls?” The lie flowed off her tongue easily, she was unwilling to answer the questions if she admitted ownership.
No one claimed the flowers, of course, so she divvied them up after removing the fabric rose and card surreptitiously, placing bouquets around the workroom. It wasn't the success that she'd hoped, she was reminded of him all day as they perfumed the space and added splashes of colour everywhere. Predictably, she spent the day wet, and slightly angry as she was sure this was exactly what he'd intended.
Kicking off her shoes at home, late in the evening, she flung herself onto the sofa and sighed deeply. He shouldn't be able to rattle her so badly, she didn't even know him! She was rustling around the kitchen, trying to find something palatable, when the doorbell rang. She answered, surprised to find a courier standing in front of her.
“Oh, I – are you sure?”
“Quite. The directions were very specific.”
She signed and took the brown paper bags from him. A quick peek inside revealed the contents: dolmades, hummus, spiced feta – from the restaurant that didn't do take out. A handwritten note was inside:
Laura - Not eating may be fine for your models, but not you. I hope you liked all of your flowers this morning. You're not being very polite. - J.
Polite? Ooo - how dare he pull that?! She grabbed her purse and pulled out his card. Punching the numbers into her phone, she prepared to give him a piece of her mind.
“Laura, I am delighted.” Warm caramel trickled into her ear.
“James. I- ”
“Would you join me for a drink? Ouzo perhaps?
Her doorbell rang as he spoke. She opened it quickly, assuming the delivery man had forgotten something. Instead, James smiled down at her, a bottle of ouzo in his hand and a cell phone to his ear. He was dressed in jeans and a button-down, ice-blue shirt under a dark chocolate leather jacket. Sweet lord, he was even more beautiful casual. She was lost, but tried to fight it.
“James! I don't recall ever giving you my phone number or address. Please, stop this.”
His face fell. “Really? Seriously, Laura? I will, you know, if you really don't want to play.”
He stepped closer, almost through her door. His eyes were burning through her, she found herself unable to move.
“I don't think you want me to though. Do you Laura?”
He slid his free hand up the side of her throat, cupping her face and sliding his thumb under her chin so that she couldn't turn away. He lowered his lips to hers very slowly, giving her every opportunity to say no. The touch of his lips sparked her senses back to life, she parted her lips slightly and gave herself over to him, tentatively touching his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Without breaking the kiss, he edged her back into her apartment and kicked the door closed behind him.
“A little privacy may be needed.” He growled into her neck as he feasted there, dropping the bottle of ouzo and pinning her hands above her head. He traced the outline of her ear with his tongue, whispering “I think I'd like to take you right here, the first time. What do you think, hmmm? Should I fuck you up against the wall, or should I just drop to my knees and bury my face in your sticky, sweet pussy? It was all I could think about since we last met, your pussy and my tongue. It was torture.”
She felt as though she were spiralling out of control, no one had ever said anything like this to her before. Arching into him, she felt his cock hard against her hip as he reclaimed her mouth. He shifted slightly, freed one hand to travel down her arm and across her body to the buttons on her shirt. He flicked them open expertly, slowly pinching each nipple until she moaned into his mouth. He reached around her, popped the button on her skirt and dropped it to the floor. Only then did he pull away, drinking in the sight of her, near-naked against the wall, panting with need. She reached out, dropped his coat to join her skirt and unbuttoned his shirt quickly. He stopped her hands as she reached for his belt.
“What?” She was almost incoherent with need.
“No. This is all for you. Next time we'll even it out, but I want this to be all about you.”
He raised her arm to his lips, kissed her wrist at the pulse and continued up her arm, across her shoulder. Lowering his lips to her nipple, he used his tongue to flick and circle until she was moaning again, finally sucking her into his mouth and biting hard enough to make her squeal. She could feel him grin against her breast. He moved lower slowly, kissing across her belly and down as he peeled her sopping panties down her legs. Looking up at her, he inhaled sharply and grinned as she flushed.
“Even more divine first-hand.”
He leaned in and she felt the tip of his tongue trace her cleft. She sank her hands into his hair, pulled him to her as his tongue delved between her lips and slipped across her clit, making her gasp as her cunt spasmed. She was already so close, couldn't believe how fast her body was responding to him.
He moved his hands up the insides of her thighs to spread her open to him, flicking faster across her rock hard nub and slowly filling her with both thumbs. She groaned and caught their reflection in the hall mirror. The sight of his dark head between her thighs, moving slowly against the background of her body was too much, her orgasm spilled up her spine and exploded behind her eyelids, fireworks like she'd never seen. He caught her as she started to sag, carried her to the sofa nearby, pulling a throw over her as she rested in his lap. Drifting on post-orgasmic bliss for a few minutes, she finally opened her eyes.
“Sapphire blue.” She gave him a sidelong glance, with a slight smile.
“My cloak. Sapphire blue.”
He grinned and slid his hand down her belly. “Clever girl. Round two, Miss Laura?”
The next day, a package arrived via courier at work. Inside was a sapphire blue cloak, scattered with tiny diamonds. The note read:
You are magnificent! If you still wish to know about the blue door, I will collect you at 9 this evening. Regardless, I must have you in my life, knowing what I've missed. - J.
Laura took a deep breath, knowing that she would meet him with the cloak in place. She had some suspicions but whatever was behind the blue door, she knew he would be worth the risk.
Entry # 3: Lover's Eclipse
Ali slammed her front door, shaking off her anger with her jacket. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, whipping the leather across the room. Of all fucking nights for her car to be a stubborn piece of machinery, tonight was not the night she would have chosen.
She glanced at her watch. Less than one hour until the lunar eclipse, and she couldn’t get to her destination.
Stomping up the stairs, she allowed herself to be a twelve-year old brat for just one minute. Two weeks planning this and it would all be for naught because her goddamned alternator belt snapped. She poured out a shot of Jack, tossed it back and poured another.
Flopping on the sofa, she picked up the phone and dialled Brent. She didn’t look forward to telling him that their romantic night was going to be non-existent. He was going to be pissed. He’d warned her that the belt was going, but she figured she could hold off until the New Year. Yep, that was her - the procrastination queen.
He answered on the first ring. “Why aren’t you on your way here?” Her heart raced at the sound of his voice. They were new - THIS was new. She’d never had her heart race like this before, not from the sound of someone’s voice.
“I’m sorry. You were right. I should have listened. The car...” her voice broke and trailed off, and she shot back the rest of her drink. A sob hitched in her throat. She heard him sigh.
“Ali, relax. The belt went, didn’t it?” She nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see her. She bit her lip, fighting back the tears. Tonight was supposed to be their night - their first time. By now she should be racing along the highway to his place, where he would have gotten the living room ready.
She could see the preparations in her mind - the fire burning red hot, the polar fleece blanket she gave him spread in the middle of the rug, with fluffy pillows spread out all over. The moon would be shining through his picture window, full, romantic. SIGH. He would have opened the wine, two glasses poured and waiting on the coffee table. She had the strawberries and chocolate in her car, all ready to go.
The plan was to have their first night together, under the lunar eclipse. He had these giant picture windows and an uninterrupted view of the night sky. She was dying to fuck him. They’d teased each other for weeks, not wanting to rush things, but unable to keep their hands off each other. And now, because she was such an idiot, it wasn’t going to happen. She felt like she could just crawl into a hole and die at that very minute.
“Ali? It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I mean, well, it IS since you wouldn’t listen to me and I was RIGHT...” his voice trailed off, realizing that he couldn’t tease her right now.
“It’s just...I want to be with you so badly, and it would have been so romantic...” her voice trailed off again.
Sitting in his living room, Brent’s mind raced. He was waiting for this night for a long time too. But he didn’t drive and the cab wouldn’t get there in time. Was there still a way to pull this off?
“Ali.” his voice was soothing, slow, trying to keep her calm. “Breathe honey.” He could hear her fighting back the tears. “I’ve got this. Listen to me, and do what I say.” He outlined his instructions to her, making sure that she understood what he wanted. Making sure that she was calm. “When you’re done, and everything is ready, call me back.”
She took a deep breath. “Ok. I’ll call you soon.” She hung up the phone, her eyes sparkling again. She wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but she couldn’t wait to find out.
When she called him back thirty minutes later, her living room looked like the oasis she had pictured in her mind. A fluffy blanket was in front of the sliding glass doors that led out to her back deck, with pillows, and a bottle of wine with a full glass poured. The strawberries were on a platter next to her, and in the background, Bruce Springsteen was crooning about everybody having a hungry heart. She nodded in agreement with him. Only it wasn’t just her heart that was hungry for Brent - it was her body too. Too bad it wouldn’t be satisfied tonight.
She lay down in the center of the rug, gazing up at the night sky. The moon was full and bright white, casting a spotlight on her naked form. But it wouldn’t be for long. She picked up her cordless phone, punched the hands free button, and dialled his number, her heart racing in anticipation.
“Hi. I’m ready.” She breathed.
“Have some wine. I am.” She reached for her glass, sipping at the cold sweet liquid. He heard her gasp. “Should have sat up before drinking sweetie.” He could see the droplets running between her breasts as she laughed. “How did you know?”
“Because I know you. Now, see that moon? We’re the only ones in the world; it’s just for us. Lay back, close your eyes, and imagine I’m beside you. Really feel the heat from my body as I lie down.” She sighed. “Ok…”
His voice lowered. “I can’t wait to touch you. Your skin looks so soft, so silky. My hand is caressing your cheek, my fingers tracing your full, plump lips.” Her eyes closed, her hands moved at his suggestion. “Can you feel me?”
“Mm hmm.” Her hand slid down the side of her face, fingertips feeling their way across her cheekbone to the edge of her mouth. His voice continued to lull her. “Those beautiful lips. One kiss will take my breath away. Kiss me Ali. Make me breathless.” Her lips parted as her tongue peeked out, moving from memory. Her neck arched up, as if he were laying there, waiting.
“I move down your neck, tracing my initials behind your ear, trailing across your nape. I can feel you shiver.” Her fingers followed his directions, pressing gently at the spot where her jaw met her earlobe, the spot guaranteed to make her moan.
Brent smiled at the sound. He lay there, sipping his glass of wine, gazing into the fire. With the moon out, there was no need for more light, and the balcony door was opened just a crack to allow the heat from the fireplace to escape. He pictured her lithe body, naked in the openness of her living room. If her neighbours had their binoculars out, they would be getting quite the show. Her breast, full and round, would be rosy with her excitement. Her nipples would be hard, straining and begging for attention.
His cock throbbed in his boxers, and he forced himself not to touch it. Soon enough – tonight they would come together. He took another sip of wine, and whispered into the phone. “Your breasts are gorgeous. Look at those nipples. I can’t resist a taste. But, well...” he paused, “maybe I should play with them first.”
Ali’s palms smoothed their way down her neck to her breasts, her fingers instantly moving to her buds like a magnet. As she pinched them, rolling them between shaking fingers, she recalled the last time he’d done that. Lying on his bed, with his hazel eyes gazing into hers, his soft lips curled into his trademark smirk that she found so endearing. His fingers pulled at them, his palms flattened them, only to twist them back into stiff peaks before his mouth closed over them, sucking and nibbling on them until she was practically crying for release.
She whimpered again as her hands mimicked his from memory. He grinned on the other end of the phone. “Sweetheart, have some more wine. But don’t sit up to drink it.” With her eyes still closed, she obediently reached for the glass, squealing once again as the cold liquid dripped down her torso. “Hmmm, sloppy girl. I’ll bet the wine caused goose bumps. Am I right?”
Ali nodded. “Yes.” She softly replied, her voice dreamy as her one hand continued to play with her nipple. “Well, we shouldn’t waste the wine. Let me lick it up. Where did it drip to?”
“Down my stomach, it’s pooling in my belly button, and dripping down to my ...” her voice paused, shy for some reason. He smiled tenderly at the phone. He would go easy on her – for now. “I’m thirsty. I’m just going to lick this wine up. Interesting path it’s taken. Use your hands; tell me where I need to go next. I’m at your belly button...”
Her hands shook as they moved through the rivulet of wine down her body. “Move further down. My...my pussy is so wet, and not just from the wine.”
“Good girl.” He murmured. “Are you hot?”
“Mmm-hmm. And so wet.” Brent’s cock shot to full hardness and length again. Fuck this – it was time he got in on the game. “Baby, I’m so hard for you. Can you feel it? Pressed against your thigh?” He removed his boxers, his cock cooling in the night air. He lay back down on the blanket, reclining against the pillows, the moon in his view as he gently ran his hand around the head. A drop of pre-cum stuck to his palm, leaving a trailing string as he pulled away.
“Stroking it against your thigh baby, just the way you like it.” His hand stroked it lightly, rubbing across the top with one finger. He shuddered, his other hand moving to play with his balls. He groaned, closing his fist around the base, and stroking up, using the pre-cum as a lubricant.
“Ali...can you feel my fingers on your clit?” His voice was a little strangled, as he struggled to keep his breathing even. “Can you feel me flicking it?” Her breath came through the phone in a gasp. Brent smiled, picturing her fingers pinching and rolling that sensitive little bud, wishing that he was doing it for her. Instead he squeezed his balls, rolling his sack between his fingers, tugging on it.
Ali’s fingers were guided by Brent’s voice. She knew what he wanted her to do. Her hand slipped between her thighs, her middle finger running up her wet slit. As it skimmed over her clit, she paused, applying pressure on the tip. Her knees quivered. She opened her eyes, glancing at the night sky. The eclipse was starting. A shadow was moving just barely across the moon.
“Brent. The moon...”
“I see it baby. See, I told you we’d be together.” His voice was warm. “Now, slip one finger into your cunt.” He heard her gasp at the vulgarity – he knew it turned her on though. “How hot are you?”
Ali’s finger penetrated her hole. A moan escaped her lips as her muscles clenched around the invasion. “So. Hot.” She managed to get the words out.
Brent fisted his cock faster, his hand sliding effortlessly up and down the shaft. His gaze went out to the moon, and the shadow sliding across. His voice was low. “Suck on your finger. Tell me how you taste.”
Ali didn’t hesitate. She plunged her fingers into her mouth, sucking off her juices. “I’m sweet, and a little salty.” He moaned, not having had the pleasure of tasting her himself just yet. “I can’t wait to find out. Since I can’t tonight, let’s make it a little more enjoyable for you. Take the biggest strawberry you can find. Get one that’s longer than the rest.”
Her eyes widened at his suggestion. Surely he didn’t want her to...? Her pulse raced, and she felt dizzy. She’d never done this before. As she selected the longest one, she sent a quick prayer of thanks to the organic gardeners that grew the berries she bought at the market. “Got it.”
His voice seductive, he gave her more instructions. “Take a bite. Is it sweet?” He knew she loved strawberries. “Yes.” His hand stilled on his cock, which felt ready to explode at any minute. He knew that if he kept stroking, he wouldn’t last too much longer, and tonight wasn’t a race.
“Now rub it up and down your lips honey. And I’m not talking about that gorgeous mouth.” Ali’s hand moved slowly, relishing in the exotic feeling of the fruit on her clit. “Are you done?”
“Move the phone to between your thighs. Then, I want you to mix the juices together. I want to hear every sound.” He could hear the bump as she set it down hard. Then...there is was. The squelching, the moaning, the unmistakeable sounds of a wet, invaded pussy. He groaned, his hand moving back to his hard cock, which was sore from holding back.
“Now, finger yourself again. And then, tell me how you taste.” He glanced out at the moon, surprised to see it blocked by half now. He lay on his stomach, rubbing his hard on against the softness of the blanket beneath him. It felt so good, and would help delay coming for a while. Of course, imagining that he was fucking her wasn’t helping. Imagining being enveloped in that sweet body was only making him crazy.
“Mmm oh Brent.” She cooed his name. “I taste so good – so sweet, so ... delicious.” He groaned again. She was playing now. She was done being the playee and wanted to jump into the game. He could hear her take a slurp from her glass. “And it mixes so well with the wine.” His movements got more frantic.
“Brent?” She practically whispered into the phone. “I’m dying to come. Are you?”
He glanced out at the sky and the almost eclipsed moon. “Oh yeah baby. And we’re going to come together. Watch the moon, and listen to me.”
Ali scooted further towards the door. Her legs were spread wide, her breasts heaving. “Imagine me inside you. My hard cock thrusting against you, feeling your silky pussy around me.” He gasped. “Can you imagine how good that will feel?”
Ali panted, her fingers fucking her hole, her juices flowing down over her wrist. Her other hand rubbed frantically at her clit. “Mmmm yes. Oh god Brent, I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”
He leaned back against the pillows again, his prick in his fist, stroking hard, stroking fast. “I wish I was inside you right now. I want to feel you come. I want to feel how tight, how wet you are.” The moon was turning red.
“Bren...t. I’m going to...I need to...” Ali’s breath was coming in short gasps, and he could hear her on the edge of what he hoped was a gushing, cosmic orgasm. His hands flew and he gave her what she needed to hear.
As the last sliver of the pale moon disappeared behind the shadow, and the moon turned red, he felt his own load coming up. “Come for me Ali. Come with me Ali.”
As if triggered by his voice, her cunt spasmed around her fingers and she cried out his name. It was like a trigger for his own release. White hot jets of relief spurted over his stomach, and he collapsed on the floor, exhausted.
Ali was still panting. He pulled the phone over to his ear, clicking off the speaker phone. “Ali?”
“Brent?” She sounded exhausted.
“Are you ok, beautiful?”
“Yes.” And he could hear the smile in her voice. “But next week that damn belt is getting fixed.”
Entry #4: The Alley
He's cute as hell, this boy you've found me. I know within the space of thirty seconds that I wouldn't mind being plowed by him, and within five minutes that I'd happily get on my knees in front of him. It's not just his looks. He's polite, he's funny in a goofy sort of way, and maybe most importantly he's got that mischievous look in his eyes. Like he wants to bust shit up. To ruffle feathers just because he can.
He's nervous, though, too, and that's awfully endearing. He clearly doesn't know what he's doing, but then again neither do we. I guess we'll figure it out as we go along. I mean, I'm not even sure if you're both going to have me at the same time, or if you're just going to watch me with him or what. He ducks his head shyly at me during a pause in the conversation, and I have a moment of worry that he's going to be too young, too nice, that he won't give me the hard pounding I crave. But I give him the benefit of the doubt, and remind myself that you'll be there too, of course. And I know you by now. You'll make it plenty dirty.
His hands are big, but not ungraceful. I stare at them and try to guess what he's going to look like with his clothes off. I squeeze your hand under the table, our pre-arranged signal that I want to take him home with us. You squeeze back your assent, and I stand, intending to hit the ladies room before we head back to my place. But I stumble over your feet trying to extricate myself from the booth, and in that off-balance moment you topple me easily, bending me over the table. Immediately I feel your hands on my ass - you're lifting the hem of my skirt so my panties are exposed to him. I hear you murmur something but I can't make out the words, and I swallow nervously. We're tucked in a back corner but it's still a real risk that someone might see us. Then all rational thought ceases as I feel those marvelously thick fingers groping me through my panties. It's intoxicating. I can barely breathe, and it's a good thing I'm resting my weight on the tabletop or my knees would probably have buckled by now.
You pull the fabric aside and even I, with my spinning head, know that this is too much, that you're really pushing the boundaries of what we can get away with in public. I (or should I say my interesting bits) may be facing the two of you and away from the bar at large but still - my naked pussy on display at our local watering hole is beyond what I'm willing to risk. So I say, "No."
And you say, in the most offhanded, maddeningly patronizing tone, "Hush now"--like I'm from some bygone era and should be seen but not heard--"and don't move." I shudder, close my eyes. Now the two of you are stroking me, prying my pussy lips apart to see the wetness there, and you pinch my inner thigh suddenly, making me gasp. "Are you going to stay quiet, or do we need to stuff something in that loud mouth of yours?" you sneer. Without waiting for an answer you shove your thumb between my lips, making it slick with saliva. I can't speak, I want so badly to be penetrated. Propriety is no longer at the top of my list of concerns. I don't think it's even *on* the list at this point. My cunt is aching to be filled and you know it, deliberately rubbing my asshole, my clit, anything as long as it's not what I want. I try to tell you no again but what comes out instead is "Please."
If anyone's watching us I wouldn't know it. The rest of the world has gone blurry while the two of you tease me. I feel like I might swoon, my pussy clenching futilely around nothing. You press the tip of your thumb tantalizingly slowly into my asshole and my back arches involuntarily. You push my head back down onto the wooden surface. I know I'm going to start moaning in a second, I can't help it, the pleasure - and the anticipation - are too intense. He gently spreads my ass cheeks and I know he's watching your thumb disappear inside me. His fingertips run up and down my slit, never dipping into me. I'm going to burst, break, I spread my legs wider and try to wriggle onto both of your digits, I need the relief, the release. And that's when you smack my ass. The blow reverberates through my body. I'm shocked at how loud it is, dimly aware again of the total inappropriateness of the setting. But I can't stop you, or even try to, because I want another. I quiver, waiting.
Then your voice in my ear. "I told you not to move." You pull a fistful of my hair and I whimper, dizzy with need. "Naughty girl. If I wanted to, I could fuck you right here on the table, in the middle of all these people. We both could. And you'd let us. More than that - you'd love it, wouldn't you?" I say yes, I moan yes yes yes. "On your feet," you growl, "you dirty little slut."
I'm unsteady but the two of you propel me toward the exit, you whispering the filthy things the two of you are going to do to me into my ear with every step. At the last second before we reach the door, you spin me around to face the room, yank up my shirt and bra, hike up my skirt and rip my panties halfway down my thighs. The blood rushes to my face; my nipples are embarrassingly hard. A few curious faces turn our way, surprised when they see me, a leer or two from the men especially. I struggle to pull my clothes around me but your strong hands restrain my wrists. I'd cry if I wasn't so ridiculously turned on. I know this will get us kicked out, and as the bartender steps out from behind the bar (pseudo-menacingly but reluctantly, I can tell from his expression), the two of you push me out the door.
I'm tripping over my feet. My legs barely work and even if they did, the panties are still hampering my movement. The two of you manage to keep me upright and you lead us down the alley and behind a dumpster. "Hands on the wall," you bark, now that you don't have to keep your voice down. I groan, but comply, and once in position I can't help but stick my ass out shamelessly. You laugh condescendingly. "Now tell him what you want," you say.
"Oh no," I plead. "Don't make me say it." For all that this virtual stranger has just seen of me, I still balk at the notion of saying it straight out.
"Okay," you say, mock-kindly. "You don't have to say it." There's a long pause. "But if you don't say it, you don't get it."
There's a very real possibility that I may weep in frustration. I want him to just *know*, the way you did on our first date, somehow instinctively sussing out the stuff I'd never asked anyone to do to me. But then I remember: you had made me ask for it back then, too. You knew, but you wanted me to say it, to own up to it, to speak it into the air, the word made flesh. And if I could say it then, I can say it now. I bite back my timidity and blurt it out fast, like tearing off a bandaid.
"Spank me." It's the smallest of voices, a whisper really. But you hear me, and you grab one of my nipples and twist mercilessly. I howl, pain, pleasure, I can't even tell them apart now, it all just makes me want more. "Now now," you chide, "ask nicely."
"Will you please," another rough pull, the other nipple this time, "ah! please, spank me?"
It startles me when he moves into my peripheral vision, and I turn to look at him. It's not that I've forgotten he's there, but my focus has been so much on you that it takes me a second to remember that it's him I'm ostensibly begging. The funniest combination of expressions are at war on his face - he's hesitant, sort of concerned at the turn things have taken, but his eyes are bright and I can tell he's crazy turned on. "This is really what you want?" He wants to make sure. He's just met us. For all he knows you're some sick sadistic bastard who gets off on forcing yourself onto helpless women. (I mean, don't get me wrong, you *are* a sick sadistic bastard, but I mean that in the nicest possible way, and I am anything but helpless.)
He sees the look on my face, though, before I can say a word, and he gets it. "Yes," I say. Fuck the shyness, I want it too badly now, and he needs to know it's okay or he won't do it. "This is really what I want. I want you to spank me. Hard. Please." Again I push my ass out brazenly, like an animal waiting to be mounted, and I watch him for his response.
He seems to mentally dispel the last shred of uncertainly, shrugs, and grins broadly. "Well, since you asked..." The transformation only takes a second. Now he's practically rubbing his hands together gleefully. He tucks my skirt into the waistband, once again exposing my bare ass, and without a pause wallops the hell out of one cheek, then the other. I have to laugh, he's so clearly done this before. He may not have known what he was doing with the potential threesome thing, but he's sure spanked someone before. And oh, god, the instant relief, crossed with the burning for more, and it's only going to take a few more and I'll be coming from the blows alone...
"Enough," you snap, and he stops obediently. I whine miserably, thwarted again. I begin to worry that you're just not going to let me come, period, and wonder how long you'll keep it up. I don't think I can take much more, though, and be able maintain any sort of control at all. I'll be coming and I won't be able to stop it. "On your knees."
"Ohh..." I sigh. Finally. You nod at him and he unbuckles his belt, no longer hesitating in the slightest. I open my mouth and he thrusts in deep, one, two, three times until he lets me breathe again. Feeling the length of his cock against my tongue, then hitting the back of my throat, is heavenly. I don't know why I love that sensation so much--the fight not to gag, my eyes watering, the thick spit that coats him--but I do. His gaze is already unfocused, far away, and I don't think he's going to last long. He grabs my head and fucks my face roughly then, all concern for me instantly evaporated. I cup his ass, take him farther down my throat, my own excitement mirroring his. I could come from this, too, if he keeps going just a little longer...but he can't (or won't) hold back and shoots his load all over me - my face, my neck, my chest covered in his come. He rubs it into my skin, mauling my tits until I'm panting. Again I feel that orgasm gathering, hovering on the edges of my consciousness, but I push it back, knowing you have more for me.
I'm right. Before I even have a chance to catch my breath, you haul me up by my hips, leaving me bent forward at the waist, and resume the attack on my ass. God, it was sore already, it fucking hurts now, and I'm no longer worried that I'll come from it. Now I'm only focused on how much I can stand. It's like I go down a level somehow, focused inward, pain taking over my entire attention, but it's not the droning, muted kind of pain that wears you down every single day of your life. This is sharp, discrete, willful. This is something you give me, something with meaning. It sounds stupid, clichéd, to say that it's a gift, but it is, and one that nobody was willing or able to give me before you. But you - you know I can take it. You see strength in me that I didn't know I had, and it makes me more expansive somehow, more open to the world. The pain feels right. (Hell, most of the time it doesn't even feel like pain.) And it makes me want you, fiercely.
And suddenly we've crossed that threshold, without warning reached my limit. But as I draw in breath to blurt out my safeword, you know and slide into me before it reaches my lips. So sweetly - fuck it's good, I begin to hum in pleasure right away - but agonizingly slowly. God, you just won't give me a break, will you? When I realize you won't slam into me I do my best to shimmy back onto your hardness but you're having none of it and hold my hips still. And then there's a disorienting moment when another cock is forced into my mouth. Already? I think. I mean I know he's younger than us and all, but that was awfully quick to recharge, I'm thinking, and it's also odd because his girth fills me up even more this time, my lips stretching farther around him...and when I glance up I realize it's not him at all. It's the bartender, with the most wonderfully evil smile on his face. He's hot, too - or maybe all guys seem hot when I'm this worked up? - he's stocky, solid, not at all fat but substantial. He could throw me around in bed and good, I'm thinking greedily, when oh, was my mind having logical thoughts? because that's over, you're finally, blessedly, giving me what I want most, a good hard fucking, you're ramming so far into my cunt I think I may split apart for once and for all, and the bartender is hammering away at my mouth and it's so good I think I might pass out, disintegrate, cease to be, impaled upon the two of you with our boy watching, his rod in his fist (yes, quick to recharge after all, as it turns out), and did I say split apart? I meant I might ascend, float up into some other dimension, maybe, except instead of an out-of-body experience, I am wholly, transcendently *in* my body, my body is all there is, pulsing and throbbing uncontrollably, and I hear rather than feel myself wailing around the cock in my mouth, no words, only rapture, holiest of holies. There's just one long string of orgasms, one after another - mine could go on for days, I'm sure - and I'm vaguely aware of the bartender pulling out and spurting onto my back, and then you letting loose inside me, smashing your pelvis into mine until you can't do it anymore and slump against me, both of us leaning against the wall, spent and sweating, wrung out, yet still full of this weird energy, glowing, like embers once a fire's out.
I feel you slip out of me and you turn me toward you. You and I don't use words like "love" but in moments like this they'd be irrelevant anyway. There's this look on your face that's hard to identify or describe but it's so open, so present, it takes my breath away. What we have is better than what they call love, I sometimes think. It's this ancient, bedrock knowledge, a way of connecting with each other that goes back to when people were just barely even people. Its power feels limitless, but the vastness of it isn't intimidating. It's a ritual, a cleansing, that leaves us hollowed out and brimmingly full at the same time. Whatever we think of as "self" melts away and the juncture between us is all there is, this third thing that neither of us could create on our own. And now we breathe. We watch each other. My hand is on your chest and I can feel your heart beating. There's a split-second flash of tenderness (I think I hear you murmur "Baby" but I can't swear to it), and then it's gone again. Underground or wherever it goes.
And then without warning you grip my jaw in one hand, mutter "Good little whore." You bend down and take one of my nipples between your teeth, gnaw on me like you're a hungry dog and I'm a bone, and I throw my head back, lost again in an instant. You shove a finger into my cunt, still dripping with your come, then bury it, slowly, deep in my ass. Start to thrust a rhythm, in and out. And I'm moaning, writhing, ready for more. Yours.
Entry #5: Young and Free
It was as if his touch held lighting. I sat there, my hands on my thighs, my nails digging into thick denim as I tried to stop myself from reaching for him. I didn’t know him. I couldn’t just grab his fingers and shove them up my skirt. It wasn’t his fault his elusive touches had driven me to the point of no return.
The tapas bar was smoky and almost cavernous, loud voices erupting in high-pitched Spanish all around me, my surroundings an unending cacophony. I leaned forward to catch what my roommate was saying but didn’t manage to understand one word. I was here for a semester, having freshly arrived on the Barcelona campus like hundreds of other foreign students.
I was so out of my element it wasn’t funny. And yet, here I was on my first night out and I’d fallen incomprehensively in lust. He’d introduced himself as Nico and had sat down with us hours ago. He was funny and charming, had tried to include me in whatever they were saying but I’d quickly lost track. It probably hadn’t helped that his thigh had been pressing against mine, the sweet pressure almost more than I could handle.
So I sat there, unmoving in case he thought he had to move away from me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My fingers twitched. I wanted to touch him. Nico No-Last-Name was too tempting, like that last bravas piece on the plate in front of me. He was calling my name. No, it was calling my name. Damn, but I’d only had one glass of wine. Surely I couldn’t be drunk already? I rolled my neck and winced when it creaked.
“Are you okay?”
I turned to my left, gasping when our noses nearly bumped each other. So, so close. “Yes. I mean, si.”
His teeth glistened in the low lights as he grinned, dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. He was so handsome it was unfair. “I speak English, don’t worry.”
“Oh. That’s,” I paused and licked my lips, shyness warring with the urge to talk to him inside me, “great.”
“Louisa, right?” I nodded, admiring the way he brushed his hair off his forehead in a careless gesture. “How are you enjoying Spain so far?”
“Fine. It’s, huh, it’s great.” Stupid! I cringed inwardly. I couldn’t speak to him in such a state. I was seconds away from pulling his head down and planting my mouth on his. I wanted his hands on me, his thighs spreading my legs wide so he could push his way into me. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone before.
To this day, I still don’t know whether it was the look in my eyes that gave me away, or whether I’d been giving out signals he’d understood on a primitive basis. In any case, I found myself pulled out of my seat, his fingers finding mine as he tugged me out of the restaurant. It was dark outside, the fall weather still clement enough it wasn’t too cold. I stumbled a little on the cobbles lining the street, my high heels slowing down my movements.
“Nico?” I finally called out when I realized where he was taking me. He stopped in the middle of an alley, people walking only yards away. They all ignored us however. I found myself backed up against an old wall, the bricks harsh against my thin top.
He leaned down, pressing both his hands above me, effectively trapping me with his body. I should have been afraid. I should have. I was alone in a dark alley with an almost stranger. I was in a foreign country at night, with no purse or coat. And yet, all I could feel was exhilaration. Because I was pretty sure what was coming next… And he didn’t disappoint.
“You’ve been looking at me,” he whispered, his soft breath like a shiver across my parted lips.
“Yes,” I admitted readily enough.
I looked up into his eyes and saw the same lust coursing through me reflected in his gaze. I did something I’d never done before, not with a stranger at least: I let go. I whispered, “You know why.” just before leaning up on my toes and aligning my mouth with his. My breasts brushed his hard chest, and a low growl escaped him. He took over the kiss then, his palms finding my hips, fingers squeezing the soft flesh there.
I looped my arms around his neck and held on, pressing myself into his body. I shouldn’t have worried. Seconds later, his mouth left mine to trace a heady path along my jaw, down my neck, teasing and biting sensitive skin. It made me shiver. He laughed, obviously pleased with my reaction.
When his right hand slipped under my top, I leaned my head back against the wall and looked up at the darkened sky. Stars winked down at me as his thumb brushed over my nipple, hardening it through the soft satin of my bra. Shadows moved, and it took me a little while to understand Nico had lowered his head. Fingers dug beneath the material, my breasts popping out soon after. He growled once more and latched onto one, sucking and pulling. When he switched sides, the nipple he’d just played with was wet and hard. It hardened even more when the wind teased it. I closed my eyes at the strange sensation, suddenly realizing I was half naked outside of all places.
“Nico…” I murmured as I opened my eyes once again and turned my head.
“What is it?” he asked, looking up. I looked at the street and the people walking past the alley where we stood. “Louisa?”
I looked at him then and blinked. His lips shone, as if he’d just licked them, tasting me maybe. He smirked and bent down, pressing the mouth I’d just been admiring against mine. His tongue slipped in, and he kissed me again. It was harsher this time, as if his patience was running out.
Fingers slid down my thighs, and ignoring everyone else but Nico, I parted my legs and moaned when his hand slid under my skirt. He broke the kiss and asked, his voice low, “Are you wet for me?”
Was I ever! It felt like I’d been wet for hours, my pussy patiently waiting for his touch, his tongue, his cock… Fingertips pressed against the thin cotton of my panties, his caresses assured as he brushed my clit, over and over. I heard his chuckle when he felt how ready I was for him, but even then I didn’t stop him. I could feel myself blushing, but I didn’t comment or tell him off. Instead, I parted my thighs wider. I wanted more of him. More of this, whatever it was.
“Should I fuck you here then?” he asked, his voice husky, his fingers slipping underneath my underwear.
A shock. Naked skin on my clit, rubbing, rubbing. A finger entering me for a quick caress, preparing me for his invasion. I threw my head back and forced myself to concentrate, to focus on something other than Nico and his clever hands. I should think about this, weigh the risks involved, ask him about contraception. I should really do all these things. But no, all I did was open my mouth and tell him to hurry.
He laughed again, sounding pleased and not a little bit proud. Yes, I thought, he was the man. He’d managed to seduce the foreigner in less than an hour, divest her of her clothing and now he was going to take her against a wall, half-naked for all the world to see. Take me, he was going to take me.
He pulled back then, the cold air suddenly brushing my uncovered parts making me jerk. I watched with hooded eyes as he popped his jeans open and drew them down his thighs. They hung at his knees, revealing a long, thick cock that was already oozing precome. I wondered for a second whether I shouldn’t give something back, whether he wouldn’t expect me to kneel at his feet and suck him into my mouth. I wondered too how he’d taste, if he’d grab my hair and control my movements. I shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
Those questions would be answered, but not that night.
That night, all Nico did was slide a condom over his erection, watching me watch him pump his cock a couple of times before pressing his body into mine once more. He kissed me then, surprising me with the softness of his lips. He was careful too when he hooked my leg high over his and held onto it, his other hand parting my flesh, caressing my hardened nub for a second or two before finding my entrance. I was ready. He was ready.
He nipped my lower lip and pushed inside me. I gasped, that feeling of being filled again shocking and yet so damn good all I could do was grab his biceps and close my eyes. He took his time, sliding inch after slow inch, until he finally bumped into my cervix. I let out a heavy breath then, full and aching. Yearning. “Fuck me,” I think I told him, too caught up in the sensations coursing my body my usual shyness in bed had gone out the window.
Considering we weren’t in a room or in a bed, that was probably a good thing.
He fucked me, like I’d asked him, upping the ante when he grabbed my breast, his fingers squeezing my nipple, twisting it. I moaned, loudly. He laughed, loudly. He never stopped thrusting however. When his left hand fell between our bodies, I let out a squeal of surprise. The noise that left my mouth seconds later as his thumb pressed into my clit was barely human.
“Come for me, Louisa,” he whispered against my hair, his right hand tightening around my thigh.
I was sure I’d have bruises the next day, and just the thought of it, of having his mark on my body for days on end, brought sparks behind my eyelids. I was wicked but I didn’t care. I was on my own here in Spain, no family, no friends. I could do whatever the hell I wanted. For the first time since my plane touched down at Barcelona’s airport, I relished my freedom. This semester was going to be great, I was sure of it.
His cock brushed something inside me at his next upward thrust, and I felt my inner walls clamp tight around his pounding length. “Nico!” I called out as warmth spread throughout me.
“Fuck!” he growled but accelerated, hoping maybe to catch up to me.
I came first though, shouting to the sky and the stars, my body bowed, my hips rocking back and forth as if they had a life of their own. He found my mouth and cut me off, growling low in his throat when his orgasm hit, his fingers digging into the skin of my hips. More bruises, I thought with a wide smile as I slowly came back down to earth.
He slumped against me, his breath coming out in short pants, his cock softening inside me. He drew back moments later and slipped the condom off, throwing it toward the end of the alley as if he did this every day. I watched him pull his pants back up and remembered about my own clothes. It was only then that I recalled too about the people in the street only yards away. I jerked my head to the left and breathed out a sigh of relief when I noticed no one there. We hadn’t been caught.
Well, not that time anyway, I thought as I remembered another evening in the park near my university lodgings. My husband’s snores echoed behind me as I stared at my computer screen. I hadn’t thought of Nico in years. That semester in Spain had been some of the best months of my life, and most of it had been thanks to him and his amazing cock. He’d been one of my first lovers, and definitely the first one to introduce me to the joys of sex. He’d played with me, teased me, taught me nearly everything he knew too. From positions to locations to toys and more, let’s say, spicy delights, he’d showed it all to me…and I’d gobbled it all up.
Chewing on my lower lip, I reread the notice I’d received on Facebook just an hour earlier. ‘Nico wants to be your friend.’ Did he really? What good could come out of this? It wasn’t as if I would ever see him again. I probably shouldn’t either, considering what we’d done the last time we’d been together.
I’d promptly forgotten him as soon as I’d arrived back home, back to my normal life that included the usual: parents, college, hometown friends. Then job, friends, long-term boyfriend who had turned into husband. House, mortgage, kids.
He had no part in my life anymore. I should say no. Right?
My mouse hovered. Approve or Deny.
Yes or No.
I closed my eyes, made a decision and when I reopened them, clicked on it.
… And you, what would you have picked?
There ya have it, folks. A whole slew of sexy stories to read and re-read at your leisure. Poll will run until midnight on January 18th. (I actually just wrote January 198th. That would be one long fucking month, no?) Help spread the news, if you please.
P.S. Can you guess which shots Riendo took?