Archive for June, 2012

The Ivory Coast

I toured with the circus for several years when I was younger. It was definitely an interesting life– hard work, and by-and-large a lot of fun, and it gave me a good stock of stories; but quite frankly, touring with the circus is really only a good job when you’re young. So I taught myself some code, took a few online classes, and set myself up as a website developer.

I’ve done alright for myself too. I’ve got plenty of clients, and I was able to buy my own place in the city, a converted industrial space in Long Island City, kind of near the waterfront, before the neighborhood got all gentrified.

They started offering free yoga in the park over the summer near my studio. Flexibility has always been my bugbear, and it’s only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. I don’t fit inside most yoga studios. This class was on the lawn at a sculpture garden near the East River. I decided to give it a try.

I actually quite enjoyed myself. People stared at me, because of my size and clumsiness, but I’m used to that. And I wasn’t even the clumsiest in the class. There was a woman in her mid-thirties on a matt next to me, and she was nearly as awkward and stiff as me. I thought she was really cute. We nearly blundered into each other several times during the class. I suppose we must have looked like a pair of spastic marionettes, as we jerked and staggered from pose to pose.

After the class, we got to talking, and we went for a little stroll together. She got an iced latte from a cart, and I got some lemonade and peanuts, and next thing I knew, we were sitting on the grass together, chatting away like old friends. Her name, she told me, was Karen.

She asked me if it was my first time doing yoga, and I said “Yes”, and asked if it showed. She laughed and said ‘Not at all’. She had been a bit of a dancer in her teens and early twenties, but hadn’t kept up with it. She was an ex-lawyer, now a schoolteacher, and she had the summer off. She said it had been a while since she had done anything very physical. It kind of startled me, like when a songbird flies up into your face out of an unsuspecting shrub, to realize that we were flirting. It had been ages and ages since anyone, of any species, had flirted with me.

Ever get an erection, one that is completely unbidden and inappropriate, and it feels like the whole world is staring at it? Well, in your case they aren’t: you’re wearing pants and underwear, and if there is a bit of a tent going on in the front of your slacks, someone would probably have to be looking for it to notice that it’s going on at all. In my case, well, it’s pretty glaringly obvious. First of all, I don’t wear pants; second of all, my penis is as long as a man is tall, and will drag on the ground if I’m not careful. I was flirting with this pretty woman who I’d just met, and who seemed to be enjoying my company, and I was sporting a boner that she could have used as a dress mannequin. Mortifying is not the word.

“You’re not embarrassed by that thing, are you?” she asked me, gesturing toward my gigantic misbehaving cock.

I shook my ears sheepishly, feeling the hot blood rush to my head in a deep red blush.

“Well you shouldn’t be,” she said, “It’s magnificent. Besides, I’m in much the same state myself. It’s just less visible with me.”

We decided to go back to my place, and she climbed up on my shoulders and rode. I swear I could feel the warmth of her pussy squishing against my skin up there, all the way through her capri pants.

Once we were there, it was less immediately clear what to do. Or rather, how we would do it. With anyone else, the situation would have been awkward. With Karen, it was just fun, as if we were solving a tricky puzzle game. Obviously I couldn’t simply fuck her, which is what we would have both liked given our druthers. Our anatomies were wildly incompatible, even if our attraction was mutual and urgently intense.

She tried giving me a handjob, but it simply didn’t work. It was way too awkward; she had to wrap both her arms around my cock and sort of bounce up and down, like she was working a jackhammer or something. It felt kind of nice, especially with her bare breasts pressed against my dick, but it wasn’t taking me anywhere, and she periodically hit a spot that made my dick jump and sent her, squealing and laughing, flying across my living room.

She tried playing with my balls while I jerked off in the standard way, but that wasn’t doing it either: her touch was either so delicate on my testicles that I couldn’t feel it, or if she tried to be more forceful, it made me jump and flinch in a way that was downright dangerous to her well-being.

The method that we hit on, and that served us well in the future, was her (with the aid of a large quantity of Astroglide that I just happened to have lying around the apartment) shoving her arm up my asshole, all the way up to the shoulder, and giving me a vigorous butt-fucking, while I masturbated with my trunk. That did the trick all right. When I came, I let out a bellow that quite literally rattled the windows in their panes.

I smothered her with kisses. Very nearly literally. My trunk can be an amazingly dexterous tool: it can type on a keyboard, operate a mouse, and apparently, it can locate and manipulate a human clitoris. With the tip of my trunk, I kissed my way down Karen’s body, starting with her face and neck, pausing at her small, round breasts, teasing each nipple to pink erectness, before travelling further south. I let my snuffling trunk slowly snake down her body, avoiding that sticky, needy spot between her legs until she was positively crooning for it.

She was intoxicating. Her legs were spread wide apart, further apart than I would ever have imagined possible, based on her performance in the yoga class. I gently teased and snuffled at her sex, savoring her tastes and textures, stimulating her swollen clit. Her head lolled back and forth as I nuzzled her. It was beautiful to watch.

When she came, she was almost as loud as I had been. Her body seemed to come suddenly unsprung, like a watch that has been over-wound, the clockwork all going haywire. She rolled and thrashed and screamed, wrapping her legs around my trunk and pulling me into her slippery wet pussy. I stayed with her the whole way, until the screaming stopped and she lazily and regretfully pulled away.

We both had big fat grins on our faces, and even though it was lunchtime, we couldn’t bring ourselves to leave the apartment. She lounged around the place naked, and we ordered in: Chinese for her, a dozen Caesar salads for me. Later that afternoon, we masturbated together, with her sitting on my lap: my cock lying on top of her like a fallen young sapling draped across her chest, while she fingered her pussy and I jerked off with my trunk. We managed to come at almost exactly the same time. It was glorious.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you not to sleep with someone on the first date. It was the best thing that ever happened to us. We bought an electric buffer, with a big soft cloth wheel, and sometimes we do a sort of modified sixty-nine; I lay down on my side, and she lies down between my legs and softly polishes my cock up, down, and sideways, while I slip my trunk between her legs and gently nuzzle at her pussy and clit until we are both excited to the point of no return. Then I snuffle hard at her clit, and she works the humming buffer up and down the length of my cock until I explode all over her, squirting my come all over her face, neck, and chest, which invariably sets her off like rolling thunder.

People stare at us, of course. When we’re out around town together, and she is wearing cut-offs and a halter top, riding atop my shoulders, and I can just feel her pussy squishing away against my skin up there, and she leans down and whispers in my ear exactly what she is going to do to me later on, and I get a woody the size of the state of Florida, I can feel their eyes on us, but I don’t care. Someday I’ll have to meet her parents, and that day I am dreading, but we’ll get through it.

I honestly don’t know what she sees in me, but I’ve honestly never been so happy in my life. We’ve stuck it out with the yoga; she is getting more and more flexible, and I can do a headstand.

Sometimes I indulge in a fantasy where she is sixteen feet tall, and I can really fuck her. She gets down on her hands and knees, and I take her from behind, carefully easing my cock into her pussy, sliding it all the way up inside until my balls are pressed up against he soft flesh. Then I raise my trunk to the sky and let out a bellow that echoes against the skyscrapers of Manhattan, and I fuck her pussy hard and deep until I feel her coming. Her orgasm sets me off, and I come inside her, and then we just lay like that for a while, enjoying the closeness. But that is just a fantasy.

END

Comments (7)

Three For Cassandra

1.

The devil is in the details. You like the general idea, but we spend a lot of time negotiating the nitty-gritty. Just talking about it over the phone, and back and forth in emails and texts makes us both squirmy, restless, and hot. The anticipation builds and builds.

You come over to the house early in the morning, pink and eager and freshly showered. You ring the doorbell right on time, and my dick twitches and swells inside my pants. Out of sheer perversity, I let you wait a while on the doorstep. Five minutes, ten minutes click by with excruciating deliberateness. Time has slowed down to dentist office speed. When I do let you in, you smother me in a big, warm hug. Your body feels nice pressed up against mine. My cock is already hard. I have made you a big, hot breakfast. We eat, and then we make out for a while, lolling together on the couch like a pair of spoons, my erection pressed up against the cleft of your ass while I squeeze and fondle your breasts and we kiss. Then you get undressed, and I lead you downstairs.

It is dark and cool in the basement. The cement floor is gritty and a little moist. I fasten a leather dog collar around your throat, secure it with a padlock to a length of chain attached to the plumbing. There is a bowl of water for you to drink from, and a few granola bars. I kiss you once more, hard this time, biting your lip until I draw blood, and pinching and twisting your nipple, making you cry out. Then I switch off the light and leave you down there.

There is work for me to do, calls to make, open projects clamoring for my attention on the computer. My dick stays obnoxiously hard between my legs as I try to concentrate. Knowing that you are down there waiting for me is a powerful aphrodisiac. I feel your pull like a magnet.

When I can’t stand the wait anymore, I set work aside and make the trip down the stairs. You are lying down on the cement floor. Maybe you were asleep. I pull your lead, forcing you up onto your knees. I take out my cock and feed it to you, savoring the feeling of your mouth on my dick. You are an eager fellator.  You use your tongue and your lips and your hands on my erection, my balls, my asshole. You are good. The pleasure is almost too much for me. Before you push me past that event horizon, before I slip past the point of no return, I wrench myself away, leaving you there, gasping and panting. Upstairs, my dick is now constantly hard, a heavy ingot between my legs. I keep thinking of you down in the cellar waiting for me. I am not very productive.

From time to time during the day, I come down and let you suck my dick. Sometimes I shove it into your mouth, cramming it down your throat, grabbing a fistful of hair and fucking your face. Other times I torment you with it, holding it just out of reach so that the collar chokes you, and every muscle strains as you stick out your tongue, trying to lick the red, swollen head.

My friend Bryan comes over for lunch, and I tell him I’ve got something to show him downstairs. We go down to the basement, and I watch while you suck his dick. You look really sexy like that, with your lips wrapped earnestly around his cock, his balls rubbing against your chin, your breasts swaying and jiggling as your mouth goes up and down on him. I join in, and you try to swallow us both at once. It feels weird to have my cock rubbing up against his inside your mouth. I realize that I have never touched another man’s dick before, and now I am. You use both hands on our cocks, massaging our dicks while you slather your tongue across both of the swollen heads. You take my hand, place it on his shaft; and his hand on mine. We jerk each other off while you suck us both. Suddenly, I am kissing him. If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it. It is weird to kiss a guy: his lips feel hard and rough, his stubble is scratchy.  It feels strange to hold another guy’s cock in my hand. Now Bryan is kissing me back, our hands pumping hard and fast on each other’s cocks while you struggle to keep both the heads between your lips. I feel him shoot off into your mouth, and that is what sets me off. We spurt into your hungry mouth like a pair of roman candles. You lick our dicks clean as they slowly wilt and diminish. Afterward, Bryan seems embarrassed by what happened. I offer him a beer, but he makes an excuse and leaves.

During the afternoon, you suck my dick some more. I play with your pussy, choking you with one hand while I run my fingers roughly up and down your slit. I’m not going to fuck you this time, though I want to and you want me to. You are shockingly wet. I slip a finger into your asshole, and you yelp. I let you masturbate while I jerk off into your open mouth.

I unlock you, and bring you upstairs where you shower and get dressed. Then I treat you to a big, beautiful dinner with flowers and a nice twenty-dollar wine. We sit outside together and look at the stars. You tell me this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

2.

You are still kneeling when I get home, which is good, because I know you don’t want to spend another night in the box. You are just where I left you, dead center in the middle of the living room, down on your knees, back straight; arms trussed up and bound behind your back.

The girl I brought home is young, skinny, pretty, and a little drunk. She giggles too loudly when she sees you. You hate her already. I can see it in your eyes, glinting through your glasses.

We make out for a while on the couch, right in front of you. She is a sloppy kisser, and over-eager to get my cock out. I get her top off, toss her bra aside. She has a pretty cute set of tits, the nipples hard and pink, pointing up and out.

She sucks my dick a little bit. She isn’t very good at it. She tries to swallow it whole, but gags and chokes. She bobs her head up and down, and uses her hand, but can’t find a good rhythm. She licks it like an ice cream cone, which is kind of sweet, but mostly frustrating.

I get annoyed and have her stand up and pull her skirt up and her panties down. I have her stand in front of you, and I tell you to lick her pussy. You don’t want to do it, but you do it anyway, sticking out your tongue and dragging it up her pouting, waxed, puffy-lipped slit. She grins, and giggles too loudly again.

I fuck her. I can feel your eyes on us every second of it. Her pussy feels really good on my cock, hot, tight, and very wet. She is gloating, chuckling as I fuck her bald twat, high on the thrill of fucking your lover right in front of you. She rubs her clit, and kicks her legs and comes loudly and dramatically on my thrusting dick.

I pull out, and tell her that you are going to show her how a real whore sucks cock. I peel off the condom and present my straining dick to you, and you devour it eagerly, devouring my erection like a prime cut of meat. Her juices are all over me. I reek of her sex. I pull your hair and fuck your face. Your mouth is, as always, amazing; hot and wet and talented. I can bear it no longer. With a cry and a whimper, I come, filling your mouth with my hot semen. You swallow eagerly, milking me dry.

I give her a cab fare and send her on her way. She looks resentful, as if she had expected something more. You smile triumphantly as I shoo her out the door. I untie you. We kiss and cuddle, and go to bed together, where I find your pussy slick and wet and ready to go. I lick your clit until you can’t stand it any more, and beg me to please fuck your cunt. I gladly oblige.

3.

We find this one on Craigslist, of course. She taps softly at the front door, ignoring the doorbell. She’s cute; a little heavy, a little unsure of herself, with frizzy not-quite-blonde hair and skin so pale that it is almost transparent. I ask her in and offer her a drink, which she nervously accepts. She yelps when she sees you, even though we had told her beforehand exactly what to expect. I ask her if she’s ok, and she flashes me a disarming little smile and says ‘Yes’.

You are flat on your back on the coffee table, bound tight, your arms and legs lashed securely to the table legs. Your breasts are pancaked, and your labia peek out, betraying your excitement. The rope presses into your skin, carving out valleys in your flesh. To me it looks uncomfortable, but I don’t hear you complaining.

She sits on the couch and primly sips her drink, watching intensely as I step out of my pants and underwear. My cock and balls feel heavy, pendulous, as I climb up onto the table and straddle your face. You eagerly begin licking the underside of my cock, making me swell and grow hard. I shift position, and you licked and nuzzled my balls. I shift again, arching my back and spreading my cheeks, and you lick up and down the cleft of my ass, extending your tongue, licking all around my asshole before darting up inside. My cock is fully erect now, arching up and out, straining with excitement. I could come just from this. I stand up before we get too carried away.

“I think a woman looks so beautiful in a strap-on.” I say to the room. I produce our harness, with the large, purple, silicone dildo already in place, the one you like to fuck me with when the mood is upon us. This time, instead of buckling it around your hips, like we usually do, I fasten the straps around your face, so that the base of the dildo is pressed against your lips like a gag. You look strangely sexy that way, artificial phallus protruding obscenely from your face. I kind of like it. “Go ahead,” I tell her, “Be our guest. Please, don’t be shy!”

She is shy though, and it is cute. She is hesitant and self-conscious about undressing. I think she has a lovely body, even though she isn’t anything like model-thin. Her boobs are small and sweet, she sports a neatly-trimmed little bush. I think her best feature is her ass, large and curvaceous.

Nervously, as if she’s afraid it won’t bear her weight, she climbs up onto the coffee table. I can see your breathing get shallower and more rapid, see your lips swelling, pouting out like a blooming flower, see the wetness oozing between your legs. She slowly and tentatively starts to lower herself onto the dildo that is strapped to your face. She smiles… she likes it! She sighs loudly, and lets it slip slowly all the way up inside, until her pussy is mashed up against your face. She grins up at me: this is good!

She starts riding you, like an equestrian atop a galloping horse, bouncing up and down, grinding against you. I’m not sure how you can breathe: your head is captured between her thick, meaty thighs; when she bears down your nose disappears between her ass cheeks. She bends over and starts finger-fucking you. I don’t think she has ever been with a girl before. It looks like she is stabbing at your pussy. Two fingers plunge in and out like daggers. I know you are enjoying this, but I also know it will not make you come.

I pour lube all over my hard dick until it glistens and shines like an amphibian thing. I maneuver myself into position, pry her cheeks apart, take aim. She stops moving, and holds her breath. I slide my cock slowly, inexorably up her ass. She grunts as she is penetrated. I am fucking her ass now, and you have a front-row seat.

She starts moving on the dildo again, rocking back and forth as I sodomize her. She whimpers and whines. She is going to come. Her asshole squeezes me very tight; the motion of the dildo in her cunt drives me crazy. I am not going to last very long.

She orgasms, loudly, high-pitched, broken, unintelligible screams, mashing herself down hard against your face. Her orgasm triggers my own, and I shoot off with a shout, squirting deep inside her asshole.

We slowly, gently untangle. I untie you, massage the blood back into your hands and feet. Your face is sticky, shiny with her juices. I let the two of you kiss for a little while, then gently tell her it is time to go home.

I make you walk naked out to the car. Anyone could see you if they were looking, but they probably aren’t. You have a tiara on your head, and a butt-plug in your ass, with three enormous, gaudy peacock feathers sticking out of the base. I think you look lovely like that.

I follow you out to the car, and take off my pants, so that I am naked from the waist down. We get in and drive. When we get out on the thruway, I turn on the dome light, roll down the windows, and set the cruise control.

You masturbate as you suck my cock. The peacock feathers protruding from your rear end flap and flutter in the slipstream like a cavalry standard. The big rigs slow down and lay on their horns appreciatively as they pass us.

I love the way you suck my cock. You are so good at it! You play me like an instrument, like you are performing a symphony on my dick. With my free hand, I play with your breasts, pinching and twisting your nipples as your head bobs up and down on my lap. There are bruises on your wrists from where the rope cut into you. They look pretty. Your tongue is swirling all over the head of my cock, making me squirm with desire, making me hump back against your mouth. I am having trouble keeping the car in our lane.

Your fingers are making squishing sounds as you masturbate. You smile up at me around my cock, your eyes flashing merrily in the low light. The plastic tiara is sitting crooked on top of your head. I tell you I want to come in your mouth, but you already know that. You slip a finger up my asshole, and start sucking me in earnest, no more teasing. You are a woman on a mission.

I reach over and slide a pair of fingers up inside your pussy. You are hot and slippery and dripping wet. I finger-fuck you while you play with your clit. You suck my cock and torment my asshole. Somehow we manage to come at the same time. I cry out loud and shoot off into your mouth as you buck and shake through an orgasm on my probing finger. You swallow my come. I lick my fingers clean. You remove the butt-plug, and I turn off the interior lights and roll up the windows, and we drive home, taking the slow route, feeling deeply, deeply satisfied.

And they lived happily ever after.

END

Comments (3)

The New Economy

It was corporate espionage, right down there at the very bottom of the food chain, where grotesque, blind organisms flail around in the muck, competing for whatever scraps filter down through the dark. Salem, the sole owner and proprietor of El Rey Del Taco was asking me to get a job over at Our Lady of Tacos so that I could spy on them and sabotage their product and find out why Belinda Moldover had a line out her door at lunch time and he didn’t.

I could have told him: Belinda hired cute high school girls, and had them wear skimpy, sassy little outfits, and their tacos were five cents cheaper than ours. But I didn’t. What would have been the fun in that?

“Just think, Sugarbuns, you’ll be making twice what you make now.”

Yes, and that was still less than half what I used to make over at the Rep for hanging and focusing light plots; before I got fired for, among other things, fucking the lighting director and for not fucking the production manager.

This job was the crusty bottom of the high fructose corn syrup barrel, a last-ditch Hail Mary pass. I was already way behind on the rent, and the cable company was threatening to cut off my internet. The measly salary Salem paid me didn’t even start to cover rent, but at least it allowed me to maintain my coffee habit, and I got to eat free tacos.

Salem wanted me to spy on the competition, but that wasn’t all he wanted. Underneath his expansive gut, his crotch bulged lewdly. He leered at me and licked his lips in an effort, I suspect, to appear seductive.

I had sucked Salem’s dick exactly once; I had more or less explicitly promised to do so at the job interview; if nothing else I am a girl who keeps her promises; and I had no desire to do so again. It wasn’t awful; it’s not like he had terrible personal hygiene or anything. It just wasn’t pleasant. He’s not very well hung, which isn’t really a problem for me, especially when it comes to blowjobs, but he’s also a combination of fat and reptilian that I find particularly repulsive. He’s the kind of guy who feels cheated if he doesn’t get to come on your face, the type who feels free to grab you with both hands by the back of the head if he doesn’t feel like you’re giving it your all. So I just played dumb and ignored the hints he kept dropping.

I wondered if he beat his wife, in addition to cheating on her and neglecting her. Probably not. Too much work.

So I got a job over at Our Lady of Tacos. And I didn’t even have to suck any dicks to get it.

Belinda Moldover ran Our Lady, and Salem hated her worse than he hated anything other than the Feds. I don’t think Belinda even knew Salem was alive, which of course only made him loathe her all the more.

Belinda had been an investment banker before the big crash, and she still dressed like it, in snappy pantsuits and pinstripes. Everything about her screamed ‘dyke’, and she overcompensated with too much pink and frilly stuff, and cheesy posters of half- to three quarters- naked muscle boys on her office walls. There was absolutely no sexual innuendo during the interview; it was very professional and above-board. She hired me. I knew right away that I wanted to fuck her. One way or another, I was going to lick her pussy.

As far as the spying went, there really wasn’t much to it: the tacos were almost exactly the same as the ones over at El Rey. Same brand of shells even, same supplier. Like I said before, the only difference was more teeny-boppers, and the price. Belinda made less money per unit, and she more than made up for it in volume; a concept that was utterly foreign to Salem. So I made shit up. I told him they used kangaroo meat in the ground beef, marijuana sweepings in the salsa. He ate that shit up.

As for sabotage, I did what I could. I spit in the lettuce. I squirted ketchup into the salsa. If I were a guy, I would have jerked off into the guacamole. Once I got brave and wiped pussy-sweat onto a tray of fish sticks. I broke taco shells and skimped on lettuce. Nobody noticed my efforts, but I was certainly enjoying myself. I have to hand it to Salem, he picked the right girl for the job. I’ve always been a bit of a junior-league terrorist, a mean little bitch. I guess it’s just the way I’m wired.

Once, when I was little, I walked in on my Mom and her boyfriend doing it. My dad was at work, and I was supposed to be over at my friend Molly’s, but I ditched that and walked home. I insinuated myself silently into our suburban ranch house, and tip-toed down the hall to my parents’ room. The door was ajar. I stood there in the doorway to their bedroom for a long time, just watching.

I’m not sure exactly how old I was at the time, but I was certainly old enough to enjoy the spectacle. He had a high forehead, and a pronounced farmer’s tan. His butt was skinny and pale, and his penis hung down between his legs, thick and heavy, dwarfed by his big, hairy, dangling balls. He was kneeling on the bed, with his face planted squarely in between my mother’s wide-spread thighs. She was sprawled out, a big lazy kitty-cat, practically purring with bliss as he busily licked and slurped.

What I saw made my cunny all moist and tingly. I stood there silently for a long time, just watching. I think I could have been bouncing up and down on a pogo stick and playing the cymbals; they would never have noticed me there in the doorway. They were completely wrapped up in what they were doing with each other.

She kicked her legs and lifted her ass off the bed and yipped like a coyote. I guessed that meant she was having an orgasm. He stayed with her all the way through it, her hands buried in his thinning hair, pressing him hard into her muff. I squeezed my thighs together. Inside my panties, my young pussy felt hot and wet and squishy.

Mom climbed on top of him, facing his toes. She could have plainly seen me, except that she was totally focused on the cock in her face, like a greedy kid confronted with a big candy cane. As she played with it, his thing magically grew and stiffened, until it was tall and rigid, standing straight up like a rocket ship poised for launch.

At this point, they switched positions again. My mom lay flat on her back on the bed, her legs held straight up in the air, her toes pointing at the ceiling. He climbed on top of her, his hard cock jutting out and bobbing around. It was bigger, hairier, and uglier than I had expected. Cocks, I decided, were not especially aesthetically pleasing. Still, it was damn sexy.

I actually heard her pussy squelch as he entered her. They both started moaning softly. I stuck one hand down my pants. My fingers came back wet and sticky.

I waited and watched while they got more and more into it, humping faster and faster, louder and louder. My mom was screaming incoherently. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was butchering her alive, chopping her up for stew meat. I held my breath, counted to five, and made my entrance.

“Mom! I’m home… oh!”

I couldn’t have timed it better. They both jumped like they had stumbled into a yellow-jacket nest. Mom squealed like a bunny rabbit, and they disengaged in a flurry of limbs.

His dick twitched, and fat, viscous globs of white stuff oozed out the end, falling like raindrops on the shag carpeting of my parents’ bedroom. He looked abashed and uncomfortable; she looked embarrassed and irritated. I was thrilled.

“Molly wasn’t around, so I just came home…” I let my voice trail off. “I’m gonna make a peanut butter sandwich. I’ll be playing with my Barbies in the back yard!” I finished brightly, leaving them to pick up whatever pieces they wanted to.

Later, Mom sat me down and explained that she had been playing a special grown-up game with my “Uncle Jim”, and that I shouldn’t mention what I had seen to my father.

A few days after that, after dinner, when Mom and Dad were watching TV, I knocked her porcelain elephant off the shelf where it sat. It shattered into a million little pieces. She had gotten it from her own mother, who had supposedly gotten it as a present from her fiancé, who was killed in the war.

“Why did you do that?” she asked sharply as she swept up the scattered shards. I knew that elephant had been precious to her. I just smiled and shrugged.

A couple years later, after she and Dad had gotten divorced, I blew one of her suitors. He had come over to pick her up for a date, and he was a little early, and she was still getting ready, so she told me to entertain him while he waited.

She went into her bedroom to put on makeup and fuck with her hair. I climbed up onto his lap. He wasn’t bad looking; sort of tall and gangly. I smiled sweetly up at him. I felt a certain something shift and twitch inside his pants, so I shifted my butt accordingly. That something responded. I slid my tush up and down his lap, and it responded even more. There was quite an impressive lump going on in his trousers.

I clambered down off his lap, and unzipped his pants. He certainly didn’t make any moves to stop me. The head of his dick was swollen, red and juicy. I popped it into my mouth like a big candy plum. He tasted nice, kind of salty and freshly washed. I wrapped my small hands around his shaft and slid them up and down, up and down.

He started rocking his hips back and forth, trying to get more of his dick inside my mouth. I persevered, keeping the head of his dick — but no more – captured between my lips, and pumping my hands up and down until my shoulders ached.

Suddenly he grunted. Strong hands grabbed me by the back of the head and pressed down, hard. His cock filled my mouth, plunging against the back of my throat, obstructing my breathing, making me choke and gag. I started to panic, but he held me tight. He was breathing hard, thrusting at me, fucking my mouth. He whispered “Bitch” in a raspy voice, and flooded my mouth with hot, thick, salty, bitter semen.

The hands grasping my head relaxed, and I fell onto the floor, grinning up at him, my mouth full of his come. I savored it, delighted in it, drank it with relish, knowing that it rightfully belonged to my mother. Just as he finished zipping up his wet, soft noodle, my Mom walked back into the room, ready for her date. I swallowed, and smiled sweetly.

It wasn’t long after that that she stopped speaking to me.

Back at Our Lady of Tacos, I was running out of lies to tell Salem, and my petty attempts at sabotage were going completely unnoticed. I was bored. I decided it was time for more drastic action. I would seduce Belinda Moldover.

In terms of seduction, I’ve always favored the direct approach. Friday night, after my shift was over, I ditched my apron, pinched my nipples to make them show clearly through my tight t-shirt, and slipped discretely into her office while my co-workers were busily cleaning up and putting away.

She was sitting behind her desk, a mahogany antique the size of an aircraft carrier. A ream of paperwork was spread out in front of her. She looked up at me through prim, rimless bifocals, looking for all the world like a sexy, dykey librarian. The poster of the oiled-up muscle boy behind her, wearing nothing but a black g-string and bow tie kind of spoiled the effect.

I spilled my guts to her, laid it all on the line. I told her I wasn’t sure I should say anything, but that it had been eating a hole in my gut. I told her I thought she was an amazing, beautiful woman. I told her that I was finding myself strongly attracted to her, and I thought we had chemistry, and I hoped that the feeling was mutual. I told her I’d never done anything with another girl before, but that I was curious to try.

I told her a bunch of untruths, filthy, filthy lies. Almost all of it was pure fabrication. I did think she was really hot though. I guess I have a thing for older women.

She took off her glasses and gave me a look that was pretty much smoldering. I melted like butter on a hot day, feeling myself get all wet and gushy inside my pants. I really wanted to fuck her, right then and there, right across that massive, cluttered desk. I wanted to spread her legs and lick her up, down, and left and right until she screamed.

“You’re a very attractive young lady,” she told me, “And I have to say I’m complimented… as well as tempted.”

I knew what she was going to say, and my gut tightened up and my mouth went sour.

“It really wouldn’t be ethical, as you’re an employee and I’m your employer… and anyway I have to confide in you that I’m sort of involved with someone else.”

She said it like it was some kind of big secret, but everyone knew. She and Dolores Breakwell were lovers. Dolores ran a garage a couple doors down and on the other side of the street from Our Lady. She was a classic dyke, short and stocky, with closely trimmed fingernails, muscular forearms, and a mullet.

If there’s anything I truly hate in this world, it’s being thwarted.

I decided that if I couldn’t fuck Belinda, I would definitely fuck her girlfriend. And Dolores proved to have far fewer ethical qualms about cheating on her lover and boinking me. I barely had to work at it to get into her pants.

She liked to lash me to the bed and make me eat her pussy for what seemed like hours on end. That woman was insatiable! She also liked to fuck me in the ass with a strap-on dildo, my wrists bound together in front of me, tied securely to the frame of her bed, sodomizing me like it was a competitive sport. I liked it even more than I let on. I barely had to fake anything,

We pushed our luck, and I encouraged bad behavior. We fucked in customers cars. I hid in the garage bays while she and Belinda fucked, and when she was gone, I came out and licked Dolores’ wet pussy some more. We had sex in their bed, while Belinda was out shopping. And inevitably, we got caught.

They double-teamed me. My hands cuffed behind my back, I desperately licked at Dolores’ pussy and clit while Belinda worked over my rear end with a belt, making it whistle through the air . Then they switched places, and I buried my face in Belinda’s silky-smooth crotch while Dolores flogged me. She used the buckle end. It hurt a lot. I screamed until my throat was raw and my voice cracked. The more I screamed, the wetter Belinda seemed to get. She made me stick my tongue up her ass, and told Dolores to fist-fuck my rancid little cunt. I was on the rag at the time, and she pulled out my tampon and did her absolute damndest to cram all five fingers up my poor pussy. She didn’t quite do it, I think she had four fingers inside me, and another in my asshole when Belinda finally came, kicking and wailing and telling me I was a filthy slut and a cheap little whore. I must have completely ruined her expensive high-thread count sheets, a thought that gave me some bitter solace after she threw me out of her house to limp home with a sore, shell-shocked pussy and a wounded, bruised and bloody ass. I still have scars from some of the gouges that belt buckle made in my poor heinie.

Belinda and Dolores broke up after that, and Belinda took up with one of the assistant managers, a pixie-faced seventeen year old named Cassie. I was fired, of course. Fired from Our Lady, and than fired again from El Rey for having blown my mission and not having blown Salem. I was summarily, and probably illegally, thrown out of my apartment for non-payment of rent.

I took up residence in a house that had been foreclosed upon, on a street littered with empty houses. The copper wiring had all been stripped out, but at least the water still worked, though my showers were bitterly cold.

I spent a lot of time over at the Starbucks, where I could charge my laptop, and drink overpriced, mediocre coffee until my hands wouldn’t stop trembling and my gut felt like it had been knifed. I thought about going pro, peddling my ass on Craigslist, which made for a couple pretty nice masturbation sessions, but when it came right down to actually doing it, seemed too banal and depressing for words.

Back at the house, I pirated internet from the nice young couple who lived across the street. There house was one of the few on the block that had actual, legitimate residents, and they took good care of it. It was cute. She was pretty, in a friendly, slightly chunky, carefree sort of way; he was the spitting image of a ripped Buddy Holly, with square, black-rimmed glasses, and an intricate retro heart tattoo on his upper arm.

I figured out a way to file other people’s taxes online, and have their refunds sent to an anonymous debit card that I bought at the Seven-Eleven. That was more profitable and far less risky than turning tricks. So, for a while anyway, I could live high on the hog.

Sometimes I’d watch my neighbors across the street, from behind the cracked and moldy window panes of my dilapidated American Dream house. They seemed happy.

Sometimes she’d mow the lawn, wearing nothing but hiking boots, bike shorts, and a jog bra. She had long, wavy, not-quite-blonde hair, and big boobs. I thought about what it would be like to fuck her, what it would be like to have those strong, thick thighs wrapped around my head. I thought about what they must look like when they had sex, his beefy, cut body on top of her curvaceous one, sliding his thick, hard cock into her juicy pussy, squeezing each other’s hands and whispering endearments as they fucked. I bet they looked pretty hot, doing it. I thought about what it would feel like to slide my wet finger up his tight little butt, just before he came deep inside her pussy. Pretty nice, I bet.

I continued hogging their bandwidth, committing tax fraud and watching porn, eating junk food and occasionally wishing I was a better person.

END

Comments (5)

That Which Does Not Kill Me

1.
On Sunday night I took a bunch of pills, emptying out every bottle in my medicine cabinet and swallowing them by the handful, washing them down with warm Coke. Then I sat down on the couch and watched old Simpsons reruns while I waited. When my stomach started cramping, I panicked, and called 911. By this time the EMTs knew me by name.

“Oh, sweetheart,” they said, “Not again?”

They strapped me into the gurney, and hauled me downstairs to the ambulance, and I don’t know for sure, but I strongly suspect that they didn’t close my apartment door properly behind them. I think that’s when he got in.

It was a quick ride over to St. Luke’s, and I bypassed the usual interminable wait in the emergency room because my stomach was cramping something fierce and I was really scared and just a little hopeful I might have really fucked the pooch this time, and then a tired-looking resident had my stomach pumped, and they kept me overnight for observation, and then sent me on my way in the morning with my stuff in a clear plastic bag and a promise to never do it again.

I went straight from the hospital to work, which was neither any better nor any worse than usual: meetings all afternoon, pro forma sexual harassment from Brinks, and I had to stay late debugging. At home, I sat naked on the windowsill and ate cold pizza, drinking cheap vodka out of a pint glass and looking down through my window at the web of tangled traffic below.

It rained that night, and I stood out in the middle of the West Side Highway for a little over an hour, but apparently no-one felt like running over a drunk fat white chick in her skivvies, so eventually I got dressed and went home, bored and tired and wet.

The next day at work was more of the same: ‘self-assessment and inventory’. Brinks, my supervisor, speculated out loud as to what kind of panties I might be wearing. As usual, he was dead wrong. The new intern winced visibly. She was cute. I stayed in the office until 7:30, eating greasy Chinese food out of styrofoam containers. I wondered, if I hung myself in the supply closet, how long it would take them to find my body, who would handle the paperwork, and how many mandatory team-building seminars my suicide would generate.

That night, I briefly considered masturbating. I hadn’t done it in weeks. I used to be a dedicated twice-a-dayer. I even went so far as to put one of my old tapes on the VCR, but there was nothing. I was dry as autumn leaves.

Sometimes I couldn’t believe it was really me in those tapes; I couldn’t connect with that girl at all. It had been ten years and more since I’d had sex. Does your virginity ever grow back? I slept hard that night, and didn’t dream.

Ever get the feeling you’re not alone? I’ve lived by myself for a long time, and that’s the way I like it. When you live alone, you get used to things being a certain way; nobody messes around with your stuff. Something wasn’t quite right. There wasn’t enough toilet paper left on the roll. I could have sworn I still had a slice of left-over pizza in the fridge. I looked and looked, but couldn’t find my spare keys.

Once I knew what I was looking for, it didn’t take long to find it: my apartment isn’t that big. He’d made a little nest in the back of my coats closet. There was a battered blue sleeping bag and some candy wrappers and a roll of condoms. He was using my parka for a pillow. I touched nothing, beat a hasty retreat, and rode the subway up and down town for hours, dithering about what to do about it. It was one of those days when I wished I smoked.

2.
I remember when I was a little girl, my parents were always bringing ‘friends’ over to the house. These ‘friends’ always looked more or less the same: gym-sculpted bodies, golden deep-fried salon tans, perfect teeth, plastic smiles. When I was introduced to them, they always smiled really big and shook my hand in kind of a greasy, condescending way. I generally only saw them once, twice at the most. They stayed the night, and then they were gone. When I finally figured out what was going on, it was like somebody had thrown one of those ka-chung disconnect switches that turns on all the stadium lights.

There was always a ton of porn around the house: stacks of magazines, books, and video tapes filling up the bookshelves and spilling out across the counters and coffee tables. This was before the internet had come into its own, and VHS was king.

My mom got me a vibrator for my twelfth birthday, which was absolutely mortifying, but didn’t stop me from using it incessantly.

It was sort of all downhill from there.

One day, she announced that it was time for me to learn to give a proper blowjob. It was a Saturday morning, we’d just finished breakfast, and next thing I knew, Dad was sitting on the kitchen counter with his pants around his ankles, and Mom was slurping up and down his erect dick, licking his fat hairy balls, lavishing her tongue around the purple head, and pausing now and then to give me pointers. “Don’t try to cram the whole thing in your mouth, at least not at first.” “Keep up a good rhythm with your hand” “If your mouth gets tired, guys like it when you rub your boobs on their cock.” Which she then proceeded to do, peeling off her tank top, and capturing my dad’s penis between her breasts, so that only the head peeked out. He slid his dick up and down her cleavage, and she stuck out her tongue to lick the tip. He was juicy. Her boobs completely enveloped his cock, so it looked sort of like a pig-in-a-blanket. My own breasts were still just speed bumps, not yet developed enough to capture anything of the sort; but my nipples were suddenly achingly hard.

Mom turned to me, releasing Dad’s hard cock, which waggled and bounced like a jack-in-the-box. “Do you want to try it, Honey? Here, have a lick!”

I fled upstairs to my room, and locked the door. My panties were sticky wet. I masturbated on my bed, pressing my vibrator hard against my agonized clit, coming over and over again.

“Do you think she’s ready?” Dad asked. We were in the car, driving home from the mall. I was in the back seat next to Sherry, another one of my parent’s ‘friends’.

“I think she’s ready” Mom replied, “What do you think, Sherry?”

“Oh, I think she’s definitely ready.” Sherry squeezed my hand and smiled at me, and I felt my tongue go dry and my cunt get involuntarily sopping wet.

“Why don’t we start her out on Eric?” Mom said thoughtfully, “He’s got a pretty small dick.”

Eric was an Asian guy, in his late twenties or early thirties, with a lot of tight, compact, toned muscles, and a receding hairline. He was actually pretty cute, except for his orange salon-bed tan. His dick was not “small” in any normal sense of the word. Dad prepped the cameras while Mom got Eric ready to go downstairs in the rec room and I sat in a chair and watched; horrified, on edge, nervous, and intensely turned on. Then we all went upstairs to my bedroom.

Mom and Dad swarmed around us, dancing and weaving with the bulky video cameras balanced on their shoulders. I sucked Eric’s dick a bit, which I enjoyed, though I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t really doing it right; and then he went down on me for a little, which actually didn’t do much of anything for me. Then he came up and snuggled next to me, and played with my titties while my hand discovered his cock, and suddenly, quite insidiously, I wanted him inside me more than anything.

I wasn’t really prepared for the idea that it might hurt. Eric held my hands and gazed into my eyes and slowly slid his dick straight up my pussy. “Ouch!” I cried out, “Ow, fuck!”

Eric looked questioningly over at my mother, who nodded and gave him a ‘thumbs up’. He was reasonably gentle about it, sliding his dick rhythmically in and out, a little deeper and a little harder with each thrust. Mom was zoomed in tight on my crotch. Dad had his camera jammed right in my face. I gritted my teeth and held on tight, clinging to Eric’s hands as he pistoned mechanically in and out of me, grunting audibly, his brown eyes vacant and fixed on my forehead. I couldn’t look. It felt like my pussy was being turned into hamburger. Suddenly he pulled out, leaving me vacant and gasping, scrambled up the bed, and jerked off onto my face, splashing his hot sticky semen all over my cheeks, nose, and into my eyes. That was the one part I never understood. When I asked Mom, she said “That’s the money shot”, as if that explained everything.

Torn-up, sore and tender, I was still ridiculously turned on. I lay on my stomach and masturbated, squeezing my thighs together and tracing circles around my swollen clit while Dad filmed and Mom hissed at me to roll over and to spread my legs. There was blood on the sheets, blood smeared on my thighs.

When it was all over, I was definitely sore and tender, but not actually torn to shreds. I wanted to try it again, and my parents were more than happy to acquiesce. Before I knew it, I was addicted.

The other girls at school had a view of sex that was completely alien to me. They talked in hushed and giggling tones about French kissing and heavy petting and blowjobs in cars, and getting felt up, and the various bases; trying to walk an impossibly fine line between being a prude and a slut. I think because I didn’t participate, because I didn’t date boys and get crushes and preen and pout and pose and shriek, people assumed I simply wasn’t sexual. How wrong they were!

There is a video of me, I don’t know how old I am – maybe sixteen – where I am naked, in a room full of older men. I have a penis in each hand, and I am trying to suck two cocks at once, and a bunch of the other guys are jerking off onto me, and you can see it in my face: I am an enthusiastic participant. I was having a blast, enjoying every minute of it.

I had sex with Sherry, which was a little like having sex with a dress mannequin. I guess I had secretly hoped that doing it with a girl might feel different, special, magical somehow; and the truth was it didn’t, though she did make me come.

From time to time, Mom would try to get me to do a scene with them. “Come on Honey, I could just eat you out while your Dad does me from behind. Then if you want we’ll switch” I always demurred. I’m still not sure whether they thought the idea was hot, or if they just thought an incest film would make them a ton of money. Either way, the idea made me slightly queasy.

Dad asked if I wanted to try anal, and I said “sure”. The guy they assigned the task – I don’t remember his name – was actually really good. He took his time and did it right. He got me on all fours and attacked me from behind, gently licking and fingering my pussy and my asshole until I was literally squirming with want. I was braced for it to hurt when he finally slipped his lubed-up cock up my ass, Dad right there with the camera in my face whispering “Hold that look for the shot, hold that look…”, and I was mildly surprised when it didn’t hurt at all. The sensation was decidedly strange, and not necessarily in a bad way. I started to relax and sort of get into it, as he started sliding his dick in and out of my rear end. It started to feel really good; really, really good, and I suddenly realized that this had the potential to make me come. I reached down and started playing with my clit; and that was when he pulled out and deftly flipped me over and squirted off all over my face.

I had always assumed that the money from the movies I’d been making was going into a trust fund or something, that it was going to pay my way through college. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised. My mom had a penchant for really good cocaine, and my dad had a bad habit of wrecking sports cars. Even while our house was being foreclosed on, they insisted on taking lavish Caribbean vacations and calling them ‘business expenses’. In the end, I didn’t even bother finishing high school. I walked out of their lives, got my own apartment, gained a lot of weight, taught myself how to code, and got a job. The first time I tried to kill myself, I jumped out the window and sprained both my ankles.

3.
I discovered that work can be a lot more tolerable if you have a project that you are actually interested in. On the sly, I wrote a bit of code that told the camera on my computer at home to take a still photograph every fifteen minutes, and to email the file to me. It mostly turned up blanks, shots of my empty apartment, but around nine, there was an intriguing blur in one corner of the image. I finally saw my new roommate in the next picture. He was naked, and his hard-on jutted straight out from his skinny frame. I’m a lousy judge of age, but if I were a bartender, I wouldn’t have served him, no way. He had a cute face, and a pretty nice dick.

Brinks wandered by on one of his ‘I-am-a-supervisor’ mini-tours of the office, and I alt-tabbed double quick into the spaghetti code that I was supposed to be sorting out. He congratulated me on my productivity, compared my breasts to a certain variety of melon, and then he retreated to the safety of his own double-wide cubicle.

The intern girl, whose name was Holly, I suddenly remembered, asked me why I put up with that shit. “Meh” I said, “I’ve had worse.” She was cute, cute with a capital C; messy pageboy haircut, sticky-out ears, long, clever fingers with carefully trimmed nails. She was lithe and graceful in a playful sort of way: she reminded me of an otter or a mongoose. Her breasts didn’t look like melons. Peaches, maybe.

Brinks is a rodent. He wouldn’t dare sexually harass Holly. He just jerks off to fantasies about slipping her roofies and molesting her unconscious body.

I wondered what kind of panties Holly had on. Probably sexy boy shorts that don’t leave panty lines.

The pictures came in blank again for a while. Then, out of nowhere, there was a shot of a man in a shirt and tie and nothing else sitting on the edge of my bed, and my naked young roommate kneeling between his legs, blowing him.

Another picture, another man lying naked on my bed, my roommate sitting next to him, glancing up at the ceiling.

In yet another picture, he was squatting between the open legs of a thickset middle-aged lady in business attire, with her skirt piled up around her waist, her back arched, and her head thrown back in apparent ecstasy.

And then, starting around five o’clock, nothing. Just a series of blanks. He had either left, or retreated to his burrow in the back of my closet.

After work, I went straight to a bar I know and got thoroughly plastered on red wine. When I finally got home, I thought about climbing into the bathtub and slitting my wrists, but then I thought about him getting up to go to the bathroom and finding me there, cold and pale and bloated, floating in a tub full of pink water. I decided to wait.

My office has no specific sick-day allowance, which is a passive-aggressive way to shame employees into never calling in sick. On the other hand, if you don’t give a shit, it makes it really easy to ditch work. The next day, I stayed in bed, with the sheets pulled up over my head. About nine-thirty I got up to pee, and when I came out of the bathroom, I found myself face-to-face with a skinny, naked, surprised-looking kid.

“Who are you?”

“I live here,” I said, “Who the hell are you?”

His name was Jason, and he had run away from home. I didn’t ask him his age, so he didn’t have to bother lying to me. I told him he could stay as long as he wanted, but he had to stop bringing strange dudes home.

“I’m not gay,” he said defensively, “I just turn tricks to make a little money.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” I told him, “Just not in my apartment.”

Perhaps inevitably, we had sex. It was the first time I’d had sex in over ten years, the first time I’d done it with a guy wearing a condom, the first time I’d done it without a video camera pointed at me, recording every move. I’d like to say it was a fantastic, mind-blowing, life-altering experience, but I can’t. It was definitely nice though.

We lay naked in my bed together, and just kissed and touched for a while. That was probably the best part, for me. Then I sucked his dick a little bit, an activity that I’ve always enjoyed. Then he went down on me a little. For an amateur, he wasn’t bad at it. He could have stayed down there all day, as far as I was concerned. Then he put on a condom, climbed on top, and fucked me. He came pretty quickly, which I think embarrassed him, but I didn’t mind. I ordered a pizza, and we ate almost all of it, and then we did it again, and he lasted much longer this time, and I was even able to squeeze an orgasm out of the deal.

I set him up with sheets and blankets on the couch. He offered to sleep in bed with me, but I think we were both much more comfortable sleeping separately.

4.
The next morning at work, Holly asked if I’d gotten a haircut or something, and I actually caught myself blushing.

At the staff meeting, Brinks voiced the opinion that the company dress code should be amended to allow female staff members to wear lingerie to work, and suggested that he might be the ideal person to select said lingerie. That got a big chuckle all around the conference table.

After the meeting, Holly asked me completely out of the blue whether I’d ever dated a girl. I told her “No”, which was true: I’ve probably had sex with a couple dozen women, but to the best of my knowledge I’ve never dated anyone.

I stayed late, pretty much as per usual, and to my complete surprise, Holly totally seduced me while I was compiling. We did it right on the conference table.

It turns out that Holly eschews panties altogether, and prefers to go commando. Her pussy was unlike all the polished, waxed, professionally promiscuous vaginas I had encountered in the past: her kitty was covered in a dense matt of curly, soft fur, and the inner bits were petite and shy, and had to be gently coaxed out of hiding. And once she was really turned on, her pussy was wetter than I had ever imagined it was possible for a pussy to get.

She liked it when I played with her boobs, which were about peach-sized – firm, ripe, delicious peaches – and she seemed to enjoy me toying with her butt, and she definitely like it when I licked her tiny, erect clitoris; but what she really liked was getting finger-fucked, deep and hard. In the end, I had four fingers up inside her, my thumb curled up out of the way, and I fucked her pussy like I was karate-chopping a punching bag. When she came, her screaming should have brought a dozen or so security guards down on us. But somehow it didn’t.

Then she went to town on me. I had sex with a lot of different partners back in the day, and had a lot of orgasms. But I had never ever been with anyone as energetic, wriggly, playful, as fun as Holly.

She swarmed over my body like the Marines storming a beachhead. Her lips found mine and kissed me fiercely and urgently, without any restraint, as her hands roamed through my hair, down my neck, along my shoulders, across my breasts, down my torso, pausing to fondle and molest the twin mounds of my ass, before finally zeroing in on my pussy.

I rolled over onto my side and lifted one leg to give the camera a better shot, and then I remembered that there was no camera. It made me feel oddly naked.

“Is this good?” she whispered softly in my ear, “Do you want me?” It was an honest question. She really wanted to know if I was enjoying myself. One of the things that is so neat about guys is that it is always readily apparent just how turned on they are. There’s no lying: their cock is soft but firm; half-mast and mildly interested; standing up, hard and ready to go; or completely and utterly erect, swollen and rigid and drooling and practically quivering, ready to explode. That is exactly how my cunt felt at that moment. The things that her fingers were doing to me were driving me insane. Wetness isn’t an exact gauge of how horny a girl is, but it’s a pretty good barometer, and right then I felt like Niagara Falls. Sometimes we feel wetter than we actually are.

“Oh yes, oh yes I want you,” I told her, and in response, she slid down my body, kissing and licking all the way down, and dove straight into my almost painfully horny pussy.

I don’t think she had a lot of experience, but whatever she may have lacked in technique, she more than made up for with enthusiasm. She buried her face in my crotch, and her tongue and her fingers simply never stopped moving. I had to help her a little, stroking my clit while she alternated slurping at my pussy and running her fingers up and down and into my cunt, but I came, and I came good. And then I surprised myself by realizing that I was still turned on and ready for more.

She grinned up at me, and I rolled over so I was kneeling on top of the conference table, while I shamelessly masturbated, and she tongued and fingered my pussy and my asshole from behind. This time when I came, it knocked the breath out of me, and I ended up curled up into a fetal ball in the center of the big formica table, shaking and twitching and purring like a kitten. Holly snuggled up next to me, and we kissed and snuggled for a bit, and then she got herself off one last time by grinding her wet pussy up and down against the outside of my thigh.

We had made quite a mess on that conference table. The room smelled like sex, a huge improvement over the scent of stale potpourri and nervous sweat that usually pervaded the place.

When we finally scraped ourselves together and cleaned up, it was nearly eight. I felt dizzy, as if I’d just been picked up and spun around by a rampant tornado. My life, which until very recently had been depressingly monochromatic, had suddenly become a crazy-quilt of complications, and so far all the complications were pretty damn interesting. I wondered if my code had ever finished compiling; I wondered if I even cared.

“So, um, Holly,” I asked her as we strapped on our respective bras, “Did you imagine this being a one-time thing, or a recurring event?” Had I just been bushwhacked into a relationship? Because I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

She looked sheepish. “I didn’t exactly plan this…” she pulled her sweater on over her head, and flapped her hands at her adorably mussed-up hair. “I guess I’d say a one-off… with sequels?”

“Holly?” I asked just before we parted ways at the subway station, “Do you own a video camera?”

“Sure,” she said, “There’s one built right into my phone. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.”

As I walked home, I tried to picture tying a noose, putting my head through the loop and stepping off the chair, kicking and flailing until sweet asphyxiation took over and I slowly faded to black. But I couldn’t do it. Nothing about it sounded appealing at all.

When I got home, James was home, which was bizarre to me, but not all bad. He was naked on his couch-bed, watching one of my old pornos on tv, and looking delectable.

I had planned on just having a drink and going straight to bed – alone –; I was exhausted. But James had a hard-on, and he asked pretty-please if I could do him. He said he’d blown four different guys that day in the bathroom of a Starbucks. He wasn’t gay, he repeatedly defensively, but giving out all that action without receiving any in return had given him a bad case of the blue balls. Could I just fuck him, really quick, before I went to sleep?

Well, my parts were way too sore and tender for anything of the sort, but I’m not without compassion. Besides, like I said before, he had a really cute dick.

I knelt on the floor in front of the couch, while behind us, a younger, skinnier, less damaged version of me frolicked carelessly on the television screen. He rested his calves on my shoulders. I wet my middle finger and slipped it up his asshole, and made tiny beckoning motions while I flicked my tongue at the underside of his cock. It took him about ten minutes to come, but when he did, it was the strongest male orgasm I had ever seen in my life. He shot come all the way up his chest and onto his neck and chin. His dick twitched delightfully, his body wracked and spasmed, and his asshole clenched down on my invading finger like it wanted to squeeze the damn thing off. It was deeply gratifying.

5.
Video cameras had gotten a lot smaller during my sabbatical. Holly’s was the size of a tarot card, and the video it shot was much higher quality than anything my parents’ old Panasonic could do. She cradled it in the palm of her hand as I sucked Jason’s cock, zooming in tight for a super-close-up, and then pulling back and circling around for an overview of the action.

Horny didn’t even begin to describe it.

I could tell he was getting a little over-excited, so I had him flip over, and I rimmed him for a little bit, tracing my tongue all over his balls, and darting up between his buttocks to lick his asshole before meandering back down to his nuts again. It was pretty hot on my end, and it really made him moan! Holly was capturing it all in high-def. Her shirt had, at some point, come off, and her nipples were all swollen and pointy. I knew for a fact, though Jason didn’t, that she wasn’t wearing anything at all under her jeans.

Jason rolled a condom on, and lay on his back on my bed, his dick pointing straight up like a totem pole. I climbed on, and sat down, luxuriating in the feeling of being penetrated, pleasantly being filled up with cock, stretching the walls of my pussy. I rocked back and forth, savoring the sensations. I didn’t have to worry about him coming too soon; Holly and I had given him a combined hand-job before she had started filming. I bounced up and down, like a happy kid on a pogo stick.

After just a little of that, I extracted myself from his jutting cock, and clambered up his prone body, and presented my wide-open, dripping wet pussy for him to lick. Holly handed me the camera phone, peeled off her jeans, and climbed aboard for a ride of her own. Jason kind of forgot to lick me much for the next little while, but I didn’t really mind.

I watched, my eyes flicking between the tiny screen and real life, as his slimy, latex-sheathed cock nosed its way into Holly’s furry little pussy. I had never been the one behind the camera, and I found it a shockingly sexy place to be. Addictive, even.

I zoomed in on her crotch, until it filled the little screen, Jason’s dick sliding in and out, burying itself in her folds, pulling out until just the tip remained inside her, and then plunging back inside. She was madly rubbing at her clit all the while, like she was trying to erase indelible ink. I pulled back just in time to capture her full-body orgasm. She came hard, and she came loud, yipping like a coyote, her little tits shaking and blushing red.

One of the great things about having sex with Holly is that she is both multi-orgasmic, and really easy to bring off.

“Why don’t you fuck her in the ass?” My voice would show up clearly on the sound track, and the beautiful thing was that I didn’t care. At my parents’ house, ‘silence on the set’ had been the golden rule.

He repositioned himself behind her. She grunted softly as he entered her. Holly closed her eyes and rested her face on my lap as he slowly eased his cock up her asshole. Jason was pretty considerate and meticulous about it, for such a young kid. I assume he’d been on the receiving end himself at some point, and had some idea how it felt.

They got into it, and really started to fuck in earnest. Holly lapped a few times at my pussy, which felt juicy and swollen, but she soon forgot all about that. She was growling softly and humping back against Jason’s ever-more-desperate thrusts. Each time he shoved himself into her, she slid a little bit up my body, until her head was level with my boobs. I kept filming with one hand. The footage at this point started to get a little shaky. Jason was huffing and puffing like an old-time steam engine. I reached underneath Holly and found her fluffy little muff. I slipped two fingers up inside her cunt, which was soaking wet and slippery and tight with the cock in her ass. I could feel Jason’s cock thrusting inside her, rampant inside her asshole, making her pussy squeeze my finger every time he shoved into her. They both began to make urgent coming noises, and I struggled to hold the camera steady, or at least to keep them in the frame, as I finger-fucked Holly.

“Oh shit, I’m coming!” she looked up at me, craning her neck, her brow wrinkled with concentration, “I’m fucking coming!”

Jason was right behind her. Watching the video later, all by myself once again, with a tall glass of cheap red wine close at hand and fresh batteries in my vibrator, the best part was the way he came inside her. Instead of pulling out at the last moment and jerking off onto her face, he hugged her close, buried his face in her hair, and shot of silently, his whole body twitching with the effort. When I watch that video, I always time my own orgasm to coincide with his.

Holly and Jason really hit it off, and he ended up moving in with her, which was good by me. Like I said earlier, I like living alone.

Holly threatened a sexual harassment suit against our company; it was quietly settled out of court, but that was the end of her internship. Jason gave me back my spare keys and got a place of his own. I see him and Holly from time to time. Sometimes we get together to fuck, but more often to just hang out. Life sort of meandered back toward the status quo. Except that it was different. Staff meetings notwithstanding, I no longer had any interest whatsoever in killing myself.

6.
An epilogue of sorts, because the story doesn’t really have an end, and life keeps on going on. Holly is using the money from her settlement to go to grad school. Jason got his GED and is taking classes at a community college; he wants to be a NICU nurse.

I lost weight; not a ton, but a step in the right direction, and I’ve been trying not to drink so much. I blew my Christmas bonus on a decent digital video camera with built-in image stabilizers and crap, and an expensive tripod. When I got an email from Holly telling me that they’d just bought a strap-on and wanted to try it out, and could I come over and bring my new camera with me, I literally wet my pants.

Brinks got transferred to another division, upstairs or downstairs, I don’t honestly know, and I went and got myself a promotion, which meant a little more money, and a ton more meetings. I started to put together a résumé; but more and more I realized that what I really wanted was to be a pornographer. But not like my parents.

The other day, I was sitting around the apartment eating take-out sushi and getting quietly loaded, when the doorbell rang. I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. I opened the door with trepidation, half expecting a throng of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

It took me a second to recognize him out of uniform. He was one of my regular EMTs, one of the faithful guys who used to haul my butt over to the St. Luke’s emergency room on a regular basis. I couldn’t help but check out his package, which made a bulge in the crotch of his jeans, and looked pretty nice.

“I haven’t seen you in a couple months,” he explained, “I started to get worried. So I thought I’d, you know, swing by and check in on you. Make sure you’re ok and all.”

“I’m good.” I said, “I’m pretty good. Things have changed, I’m in a better place now. Thank you, you’re very sweet.”

“Great,” he said, standing there looking very sweet and appetizing, “I’m glad…”

We both stood there, like awkward teens on the sidelines of the school dance.

“Hey,” he said, “Would you like to get together sometime? Like for dinner, or whatever?”

“As in a date?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“That sounds great.”

He stood there in the door, still hesitating, so I felt compelled to ask him in.

His name is Henry. I wonder how he would feel about being videotaped.

END

Comments (5)