Archive for erotica

The Monkey On My Back

She died suddenly and unexpectedly. Everyone around her was understandably shocked: until very recently she’d been so healthy and so full of life. The bug that killed her wasn’t cancer; it was something more exotic than that, and much more virulent. I don’t remember the name. It was one of those diseases from Nigeria or some shit-hole like that that you hear about on the eleven o’clock news and don’t ever really believe in. The way I heard it, she went in to her doctor with a minor infection, and came out of the hospital six days later in the back of a refrigerator truck. I guess it was pretty ugly.

I met him at the Starbucks near University at 6 a.m. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, shell-shocked and unshaved and almost gaunt. For all that, he still looked pretty damn good to me, James Bond on a rough morning. It was nearly the first time we had been alone together. We sat on a couch by a low table piled with magazines near the back, as blurry-eyed college kids lined up for the low-wage barristas. My head was throbbing through a red wine hangover.

He did most of the talking. I mostly just nodded and made sympathetic noises and tried to concentrate on what he was saying, battling the twin distractions of my aching head and my horny, twitching pussy. He rambled, talking about everything and anything other than his wife. I noticed that he hadn’t removed his wedding band. Not yet. I placed my palm softly on his trouser-covered thigh, and he appeared not to notice. I felt a secret thrill, a tingle that resonated up and down my body and left me moist and hungry for more. When the opportunity presented itself, I rested my head on his broad shoulder, a gesture of sympathy and support. He idly stroked my hair.

Emboldened, I slid my hand up his leg until I found his package. He did not pull away. I softly petted him, up and down, back and forth, the way you might pet a nervous cat who had finally consented to sit on your lap but might bolt or scratch at any second. I felt him grow and stiffen under the soft touch of my roving fingers, until he was fully hard inside his trousers and I could feel his entire topography, every bump and ridge and valley. It felt delicious, excruciating, and I was sweating cheap malbec and making a sticky mess inside my panties as he idly rambled, talking about baseball, the weather, the Republican caucuses, the Eurozone mess, anything but the passing of his beloved. All the while I kept petting, and he kept getting harder and harder, until he was straining against the fabric that constricted him, about to burst a seam in his crotch. I finally took his hand in mine and tugged him up and away in the direction of the bathroom, and he obediently followed.

I’ve never been a huge fan of bathroom sex. Frankly, I’ve always thought it’s kind of gross, the lingering smell of old urine and other people’s farts is definitely un-sexy in my book. Fortunately this bathroom was freshly cleaned and sanitized, thank you Starbucks employees! It smelled slightly medicinal, eau de industrial cleaning product.

I sat on his lap for a little while, sliding my rump up and down his jutting, pants-covered erection and letting him fondle my tits through my shirt and bra while I craned my neck around and kissed him. I could tell he wasn’t really into the kissing, so I didn’t force the issue. Soon enough, I climbed down off his lap and got down on my knees.

The floor was tile: tiny beige and grey and white tiles set into grout, each one just a hair crooked, like a monochrome mosaic. I unfastened his fly and tugged his trousers and then his briefs down as he perched atop the toilet. His erection flapped up into my face, hard and swollen and eager.

His cock was gorgeous. It was just as I had imagined it, big and hard and thick and beautifully sculpted, crowned with a fat, moist, scarlet head.

There was nothing subtle about the blowjob I gave him. I simply opened my mouth wide, tucked my teeth behind my lips, and bobbed my head rhythmically up and down, letting the underside of his hot dick slide along my tongue. He seemed to appreciate my efforts, and within a few minutes he was actively humping back, urgently and spasmodically fucking my face. His balls were firm and swollen, like over-ripe fruit, and he was squirming on the toilet seat and making little grunting sounds. I knew he was just about there.

I closed my lips around the bulbous head of his cock and did my best impression of a vacuum-pack machine while I wrapped both hands around his shaft and jerked him off as hard and fast as I could. His whole body went rigid and he emitted a strangled, choking cry, and then he came, squirting gob after gob of hot, salty-bitter semen straight into my mouth. I swallowed, and swallowed again. It seemed like he was never going to stop coming. I kept my mouth on his dick until he was soft, swallowing all his come and then fastidiously lapping up the stray droplets I had missed.

He was sprawled, panting across the toilet, head lolled back, shirt disheveled, his pants around his ankles. I couldn’t believe how much come he had just shot off. It was as if he hadn’t gotten off in weeks. Which, upon reflection, was probably true.

I left him there, sitting on the john, while I checked my makeup in the mirror. Before exiting the restroom, I flashed him a smile and a flutter of my fingers. He looked dazed. I’m not sure he even noticed me leave. Outside, the morning rush was in full swing. I could still taste him in my mouth, and my cunt was swollen and juicy. My hangover felt much better already.


I texted him a few days later, asked if I could come over. He responded ‘ok’, which wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic endorsement, but was all the invitation I needed.

He looked rough. He still wasn’t sleeping, and it didn’t look like he’d even changed his clothes. The kitchen was overflowing with used to-go containers, and there was a small mountain of junk mail on the counter.

As soon as the front door had closed behind me, I pulled my shirt off over my head. I hadn’t worn a bra. I felt brazen and dangerous, an amazon princess. He looked at me questioningly, his eyes lingering on my swaying tits. I told him that what he needed was a good massage, and he didn’t argue.

He took off his rumpled shirt and his slacks, but left his briefs on. He lay face-down on the brownish-orange carpet of his living room, his arms folded under his head.

I slithered out of my jeans and straddled him, nothing but the skimpiest layer of pink cotton between his naked flesh and my horny pussy. I swear, I was already soaking through my panties. For a few minutes, I made a good-faith effort at rubbing his shoulders, which were tight and knotted with tension.

When I felt like I’d done enough kneading to justify calling it a massage, when I couldn’t stand to wait any longer, I gave it up and dragged my breasts up and down his back, nibbling on the nape of his neck. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his undies, and tugged. He lifted his hips to help me.

His ass was pale, and tight and muscular, beautifully shaped. He could have been a male tush-model. His rear-end reminded me of some exotic fruit. I stuck out my tongue and sampled him, licking his fat, dangling balls, and then dragging the tip of my tongue lightly all the way up and down his dark, furry crevice, studiously avoiding his butt hole. He tasted clean and musky, male. He groaned audibly as I licked. I felt a jolt of anticipatory pleasure course through my body. My clit throbbed palpably and my pussy drooled with hunger.

His anus was impossibly tiny and pink, like the knotted end of a balloon. He was closed up tight: a bona fide virgin. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I simply couldn’t wait. I pried his butt cheeks apart, as wide as I could, one taut globe in each hand, and pressed my extended tongue hard against his anus. I was rewarded with a sigh and a squirm as he raised his hips, pressing back against me.

His cock was harder than hard, straining straight out underneath him. I slipped one hand under his body and wrapped my fist around his hot shaft as my tongue continued tunneling, insistently drilling my way up his tight, clenched asshole.

He was up on all fours now, his dick thrusting and shaking like a spear. He was nice and thick, and my fingertips barely touched around his girth. I could feel his pulse pounding in his cock as my tongue invaded his asshole, deeper, ever deeper. I wasn’t moving my hand, but he was humping excitedly, like a boy playing air guitar, and I could feel his cock swelling and trembling against my grip. His butt was finally relaxing a little, and my extended tongue was sliding in and out of his dark, musky hole. His balls rested warmly against my chin.

I withdrew my tongue, and gently but firmly and insistently worked on sliding one wet finger up his ass. He whimpered like a kitten and tried to pull away, but I was unrelenting. His asshole was hot, and impossibly tight, but persistence paid off. He was slick with excitement and drenched in my saliva, and my persistent finger slid slowly deeper and deeper until I was buried up to the knuckle in his ass. His anus clenched and grasped at my finger. He was obviously balanced right on the edge, and obviously hungry for more.

Every muscle in his back was flexed in a gorgeous, sweaty bas-relief. He was a pornographic renaissance sculpture, a greek warrior impaled on my extended digit. My panties were soaked through and through, and my thighs were slick with my own oozing come.

The second finger was easier. He was moaning nonstop, and I wasn’t sure if it was asking for more or begging me to stop, but I didn’t really care either. His anus was becoming more and more pliable as I finger-fucked him, deeper and harder until my shoulder ached with the effort and I was groaning just as loud as he was moaning.

Without warning, he came. His entire body went rigid and I felt his dick spasm in my hand, and he made a cute little strangled noise and shot off, his come jetting out a yard and more, splattering all over the hideous orange carpet beneath him. His asshole squeezed my finger hard, relaxed, and clenched again. His cock trembled spasmodically, his big fat balls gathered up tight, and I milked him, squeezing every last drop of come out of his body.

Finally, I withdrew my invading finger. We were both breathing hard. I think he may have been crying. I pulled on my jeans and put on my shoes, and left him there, lying naked on the floor in a self-made puddle of his own sperm.


The next time I came over, I didn’t ask permission. Sometimes it’s better that way, and this time it worked out just perfect.

I was wearing nothing but my oversized punk-rock biker’s jacket (a relic of James, my first real boyfriend, who never came back to retrieve it after he broke up with me), and a pair of black leather motorcycle boots that came almost up to my knees. I was naked other than that, and a cool wind caressed my buttocks and tickled the fur of my pussy as I stood at his front door, waiting for him to respond to my knock. My nipples stood out hard, and it wasn’t just the chilly air.

My timing couldn’t have been better. Apparently he’d just gotten back from a jog, and he was still stretching out, adorable in a pair of nylon shorts and a sweat-soaked white t-shirt. The look of surprise on his face when he answered the door was priceless: I don’t know if it was my unexpected presence that was the shock, or the outfit; this was a polar opposite of the image I projected at work, the only context he had for me.

The house was still a mess, but not as bad as it had been. He’d thrown away the empty pizza boxes and to-go containers. I bet if I’d looked hard, there were come stains in the orange carpet. He should get rid of that thing anyway, it looked like something out of the seventies.

I unzipped my jacket, jangling with chains and studs, and appreciated the hungry look on his face when he saw that I was naked underneath. Already his cock was making a delicious lump in the front of his running shorts, straining to be set free.

The bedroom looked as if it hadn’t been touched since she’d been rushed to the hospital. Her stuff was all over the place; her clothes hung up and laid out ready for her to come home. The dresser was covered with her cosmetics and a dish of jewelry that was totally not to my taste. There were photographs of them together, wholesome and happy, a picture of republican family values. I imagined that they’d met since high school, exchanged bracelets, dated all the way through college even though they went to school in different states, and married shortly after graduation, but that was all just fantasy on my part. He was pulling off his running clothes, his cock erect, bobbing and pointing at the ceiling. He’d shaved, and his pubes looked freshly trimmed, as if he’d anticipated my visit.

There was a picture of her on the dresser, overlooking the bed. She was pretty in a way, I supposed, her hair coiffed and frosty and remorselessly hairsprayed into position, shoulder pads under her jacket, an artificial looking blush painted on her cheek, and a slight, possibly smug pout in her lips. I wondered if she used to suck his cock. It was hard to imagine those glossy lips wrapped around his veiny, hard, throbbing dick. Her eyes were slate blue behind her glasses, and it felt like she was watching the whole scene unfold. If she were watching, I could only imagine that she would be horrified.

I sucked his dick a little bit, just an appetizer. He tasted nice, salty and clean. He was already leaking pre-come, and I savored the sweet taste. Just for a moment, though.

His dick flopped wetly out of my mouth as I fell onto my back onto his bed, my legs splayed wide, the matte-black leather of my boots in stark contrast with the white sheets. He got down on his knees and licked, just a perfunctory slurp or two up and down my slit, strictly a pro-forma gesture.

I was more than ready for him, hot and wet and wide open and slippery. He penetrated me, slipped his big cock straight up my hungry cunt, and I savored the exquisite sensation of it, reveling in the filled-up feeling, my clit bulging eagerly out. I craned my neck to watch his come-slick dick sliding in and out of my pussy, and crooned out loud with the pleasure of it. He only fucked me for a few moments though, before pulling out, leaving me gasping, and wanting. His slick, wet dick stood straight up, the crown a livid red, harder and more swollen and erect than ever.

I lifted my legs, hugging my knees toward my chest, exposing myself fully to him. He nuzzled the head of his dick between my ass cheeks, bumping up against my anus, and I gurgled incoherently. Now I was the one squirming in agonizing frustrated desire.

It took him a little while to work his cock up my ass. He was big, thick, and he did it right, taking his time. He’d nudge forward a little bit, then withdraw, rub his fingers up and down my juicy slit, spreading joy juice all over his cock and my ass before once more renewing his assault on my anus. By the time he finally skewered me irrevocably, sliding the bulbous ridges of his fat glans up past my quivering ring of sphincter muscles, I was delirious.

He slid a thumb up my cunt and fucked my ass, forceful but slow, like a wildcat oil drilling rig, sinking his cock deeper and deeper into my butt until he was all the way inside, his entire length and girth crammed up my ass, his balls pressed snugly against my butt cheeks. My clit got a little jolt from his thumb every time he thrust, and now he was fucking me faster, sodomizing me, taking his own pleasure and running with it.

His lips were twisted in a grimace, his eyes were scrunched up, his brow furled. He was pounding my ass hard, and I was just along for the ride. Finally, he made a loud, low animal growl, and came. I felt his cock twitch and twitch again as he squirted off inside me, filling my butt to overflowing with his hot semen.

I was limp as a boneless chicken. He extracted his already softening cock from my ass with an audible *pop*, and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving me lying there on the bed, gasping like a trout plucked suddenly from a brook.

I could hear the shower running. I stood up and zipped my jacket and let myself out.

It was cool outside, late morning now, and there were cars and people out. I felt naked, exposed, barely covered up in my oversized biker’s leather. His come was already leaking out my ass, dribbling down the backs of my thighs. I got into my car and drove home, making a sticky puddle of our combined juices on the front seat that squooshed under my butt cheeks as I drove.

I’d whack off all that afternoon and into the night, filthy porn on the computer screen and vibrators and dildos up my cunt, my asshole still too frazzled to be toyed with, my clit swollen and tender and insatiable, visions of his face as he came playing over and over in my mind’s eye, and an image of her face watching implacably over us from her spot on the dresser, prim and disapproving. I’d gotten the monkey off my back, at least for the time being.


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Broken Up

Our break-up sex was stellar, ferocious, furious, better than any sex we’d had in months. It was so hot it was almost worth the splitting up.

Claudia bit my lips hard and pulled and twisted my nipples until I cried out and tried to pull away. She slapped me across the face and shoved me down on the bed.

She straddled my chest, facing my feet so I couldn’t see anything but her glorious ass. She hawked and spat on my pussy; smeared my juices and her spit all up and down my vulva; and then proceeded to brutally finger-fuck me.

She crammed four fingers up my wet cunt, and fucked me hard, jamming her fingers in and out and grinding her palm against my clit and chanting rhythmically as she fucked me: “Fucking whore! Fucking slut! Spoiled bitch! Stuck-up little cunt!”

Just before I came, she yanked her fingers out of my pussy, leaving me empty and drooling. She flipped me over onto my stomach, shoved my face hard into a pillow, and fucked my ass with multiple fingers, slick with my own juice.

I came hard, my whole body shaking, sobbing into the pillow as I shook and shuddered. Then she left me there, wet with tears and sweat and come, all alone and quivering on the bed like a big lump of jelly.

That was when I left. I needed to be someplace else. I needed to be in a city I’d never been in before, a place where I could walk down the street or go into a bar and not wonder if I was going to run into someone I knew. Fuck it: my royalty checks, such as they were, got direct deposited. Fuck it. Eyes red and teary and blurred, I threw together a quick bag: a change of clothes, a couple spare pairs of panties, my vibrator, my laptop; I left the apartment keys in the lock and walked down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, and I headed to the A-train to JFK.

On my way to the subway, I threw my cell phone under the wheels of the caravan of taxicabs parading up 8th avenue. Fuck it, I never liked that cell phone anyway.

I hadn’t showered. I reeked of sex, and my cunt was squishy between my legs, and I felt shaky and unreal. I got myself on the redeye to SeaTac, and mercifully got an entire row to myself. I drank airplane vodka with trembling hands, and slept my way across the flat part of the country, and didn’t wake up until the wheels hit the tarmac.

The taxi driver was beautiful, a wispy, ethereal Pakistani guy about my own age with a pleasant, lilting accent and a hook nose that might have looked cruel on another face, but somehow came across as ironic on his. He was friendly and talkative, which normally drives me crazy, but that grey morning I really didn’t mind. It turns out he was a singer/songwriter, when he wasn’t driving a cab; he invited me to his next show. I would have totally done him, right there, blown him in the back of his cab, if he had just hit on me a tiny bit. I was in that kind of a mood.

Hanif dropped me off in downtown Tacoma, a city I’d never been to before. It seemed grey, grimy and grim and industrial. I paid him off, tipped him generously, and he gave me a flyer for his show. Then he drove away, leaving me blinking and disoriented in the overcast Northwestern morning light. It looked like rain.

The bars weren’t open yet, so I found a Starbucks. Over steaming hot, deeply overpriced coffee, I got on craigslist and started looking for someplace to stay.

Marcy was looking for a roommate. The price was right, and the address was within walking distance. I regretted, for a moment, tossing my cell phone. I’d have to get a new one. She responded to my email before I finished my third tall cup of coffee, and I said I’d be over in ten minutes. I took a piss and started walking.

When she answered the door, I knew I’d hit jackpot. Marcy was beautiful, and I wanted her right away. She was a little frumpy, in her mid- or late-thirties, an ex-punk rocker gone domestic. Her light brown hair was bleached blonde; she had tattoos, and a discrete ring in her nose. She was taller than me, and her breasts were bigger, and she wore a bathrobe that I was pretty sure she had nothing on underneath. She looked intelligent and rather jaded, a smart woman who knew better and did it anyway. I was in lust.

Her husband was an Army captain, on his third tour in Afghanistan. She was renting out the spare bedroom, for the extra money, and to keep her and her daughter company. It was a tiny room, with a view of an empty lot across the way, and occasional views of Mt. Rainier looming through the clouds behind. I took it.

She introduced me to her daughter. Blossom was a younger version of Marcy, with darker hair and solemn brown eyes. Her hair was chopped into a shaggy faux-hawk, and she wore a man’s red-checked flannel shirt and too much mascara and eye-liner. She hung back sullenly as Marcy introduced her, giving her mom the ‘I-am-going-to-murder-you’ look. You couldn’t pay me to live through that age again. No way.

I moved in. I got a new cell phone, and a new number. I drank too much and didn’t care. I lurked in my room and tried to write, starting a new story just about every morning, abandoning it by nightfall. I got intimately familiar with the Tacoma Mall, and with all the local bars.

Blossom was infatuated with New York. She was always bugging me for details of life in the city, and the fact that I was a published author seemed to elevate me to rock star status in her world. Which was all very complimentary; but also kind of annoying. I’d never been subjected to hero-worship before.

The house seemed oddly unlived in, more like a full-scale diorama than an actual home. It was too neat and tidy to be real. A photograph of the captain presided over the living room. He was handsome, a clean-cut version of a young Henry Rollins: a square jaw, and big, brown sensitive eyes. He looked kind but taut, a man of discipline. I bet he was a tiger in bed.

Marcy had a bad habit of wandering around the house in nothing but her bathrobe, and I developed a bad habit of following her around the house, perving on her and trying to catch a glimpse. Her boobs were large and bouncy, and looked delicious, and I was always hoping that one of them would slip out of her bathrobe, but it never did.

More than once, I accidentally/on purpose tried the bathroom door when I knew Marcy was in the shower, but she always kept it locked.

I went to see Hanif’s show. It was in a dark little café, no alcohol but very strong dark sweet coffee. The show was poorly attended; I may have been the only person who was there just to see him play. Hanif’s singing was hypnotic and soulful, a weird blend of middle-eastern and folk, whimsically political, like a Persian Arlo Guthrie.

He gave me a ride home in his taxi, and I sat in the front, and he wouldn’t let me pay for the ride. We parked in front of Marcy’s house and made out for a while. He was an amazing kisser. I liked his soft, brown skin. I liked his lips and his tongue. I liked his smell: sweet and spicy. I felt up his cock through his trousers. It was big and hard. I wanted to suck on it right then and there, but he gently pushed me away, saying thank you, but he wasn’t like that. He thanked me for coming out to see him play, squeezed me hand earnestly, and said that we should hang out again soon.

I went up to my room, horny and frustrated. When was the last time I had fooled around with a guy? College. Early college. I suddenly missed it: straightforward sex, penis-in-vagina action. It seemed satisfying and uncomplicated, like beer-and-pizza.

My vibrator wasn’t where I left it, in my underwear/sock drawer. It was lying out on the bed, as if someone had used it and left it there on purpose so I would know. I even imagined that it smelled faintly of pussy, not my pussy. I imagined Marcy lying on my bed, masturbating with my toy, fingers sliding in and out of her juicy pussy, vibrator pressed against her fat clitoris, her big boobs jiggling with every movement. I imagined licking Marcy’s pussy, teasing her and tasting her with my tongue, while Hanif took me from behind, agonizingly slowly inserting his long hard dick into my hungry pussy.

I came hard, flat on my stomach with the humming tip of the vibe pressed against my clit, and one finger halfway up my asshole, imagining licking Marcy’s wet pussy while Harif fucked me, thinking about the noises they would make. I pictured Harif sliding his thumb up my ass just before he came, shooting off inside me with a tortured howl, and that is what set me off. I shuddered and gasped through a long, drawn-out orgasm, and fell asleep, naked on the sheets.

I woke up early the next morning, fuzzy-headed and uncharacteristically non-hung over. I took my towel and went to the bathroom, but someone was already in the shower. I tried the door anyway and it swung open.

Marcy wasn’t in the shower, but her daughter Blossom was. She looked surprised to see me, but she didn’t say anything. Her skin was pale, and she had a fluffy black bush of pubic hair and dark little nipples on her small, tender breasts, and I could go to jail for even thinking what I was thinking. Tall and skinny, she didn’t have a lot of curves; her body was much more girl than woman. I excused myself and sat down on the toilet and peed. She didn’t close the shower curtain, and when she turned around, I had a fine view of her shapely little butt. I am definitely going to hell for the things I thought about that butt.

I made a serious pass at Marcy that night. I came home a little drunk after abandoning a frustrating day of ineffective writing, and found Marcy home alone drinking red wine. Blossom was off hanging out with friends, and I helped Marcy finish the bottle.

We were talking and flirting and she was wearing these faded old jeans with the knees blown out, and I kept catching glimpses of her pink panties down the gap of the back whenever she leaned forward to refill her glass, and she was wearing a tight Dead Kennedys t-shirt that showed off every detail of her magnificent big round breasts, and I kept imagining peeling that shirt off over her head and squeezing her beautiful ass in both hands and sucking those prominent nipples into my mouth, and I kept getting hornier and hornier and wetter and more frustrated, and finally, near the bottom of the bottle, I broke down and told her that I was really attracted to her.

She told me she knew, and that she was really attracted to me too, and she put her hand on my knee, and I realized that my panties were soaked all the way through and moistening my pants.

I clumsily put my arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her, and she gently pushed me away. She said she was married. She said her husband would kill her. She said he’d divorce her if he ever found out.

Maybe we could do a threesome when he comes back. I was grasping at straws. She smiled ruefully and shook her head ‘No’.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay in the dark in my bed, the afternoon drunk gradually wearing off, the room slowly revolving on two axes. I masturbated until my pussy was sore and my clit was too tender to touch, and eventually passed out and dreamed frustrating and confusing sexual dreams.

The next morning, Blossom hovered over me as I ingested my first cup of coffee of the day, bugging me for details of life in the East Village. I wasn’t really in the mood for it, and answered her questions with grunts and monosyllables. I was hung-over, achingly horny and unsatisfied, and stung from being spurned by her hot but moral mother. It was a school day, and Blossom was wearing a lumberjack’s flannel shirt and a black studded leather choker around her neck that looked disturbingly sexy on her pale, slender throat.

I felt kind of bad, blowing her off, but Blossom eventually got the hint that I didn’t feel like chatting, and left me alone, and I made more coffee and locked myself in the bedroom and tried to write, but the words just wouldn’t come. I kept picturing Blossom on my bedroom floor, naked except for that black leather collar, tied and bound and helpless, with me towering gloating above her. I am going to burn in hell.

Two nights later, a little drunk and horny, but mostly just horny, I let myself into Marcy’s room after we had all gone to bed. The lights were off. Marcy always slept in the nude, she’d told me that before in a flirtatious sort of way; and when I slipped under the covers next to her, she was in fact bare-ass naked.

She was not asleep. She made a little Mmm-Mmm noise and snuggled up against me as I spooned her, pressing her wide, ample rump against my crotch.

I reached around and cupped one large, soft, warm breast in my hand, craning my neck around her neck to kiss her lips. She responded eagerly. I felt her nipple stiffen against my palm. Our tongues danced in the darkness, our mouths open and our lips pressed together.

Squeezing her breast tight, I slid one hand down between her thick thighs. There was a soft pelt of fur down there, and when my fingers parted her slit, she was very wet. I ran my index finger up and down her vulva, delighting in her folds, navigating my way up and across the slippery nubbin of her clitoris. Marcy sighed eloquently, arching her back and pressing back hard against me. My eyes were adjusting to the dim light of the bedroom, and I could just make out the tattoo across her shoulder blades: a busty blonde cowgirl on horseback herding cattle.

I slid down her body, pulling the sheets back with me, opening her ass-cheeks like a book. I could smell her excitement. Her butt was firm, wide, and hot. She had a tiny, tightly crinkled little anus; I was almost certain she was a virgin back there. I longed to sodomize her, jam my slick fingers up her anus until she whined and whimpered for mercy; butt fuck her so hard and deep that she wouldn’t know what had hit her. Restraint. I licked up and down the inside of those soft pale cheeks, avoiding her drooling pussy, avoiding her musky little asshole for the moment. She sighed and wiggled in response, straining back against my probing tongue.

She jumped when the tip of my tongue made contact with her anus. I drilled at that little hole, burrowing my tongue up inside her ass, working my way deeper and deeper. The taste was intoxicating. I let my hand find her pussy again. She was drenched, slippery wetness oozing out and running down her thighs. I slid two fingers up her hot, wet cunt, and pressed my thumb up against the swollen knob of her clitoris and furiously tongued her anus, shoving my face deeply between her butt cheeks, licking her asshole with everything I had, craning my tongue until it ached.

Marcy came, sobbing and shaking, and I stayed with her all the way through it though I couldn’t breathe. Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, the aftershocks pulsing through her body, making her shiver and quake again and again. Finally I extracted myself. I was covered in her come: my fingers were coated in it, my face was all wet. I got out of bed, retrieved my night clothes from where they had landed on the floor, and slipped quietly out of the room.

I was woken up early the next morning, far earlier than I was accustomed to waking, by the sensation of someone licking my pussy. At first I thought it was a dream, and it may have started out as one, but as I slowly gained consciousness, the sensation became more and more real. Whatever was going on down there felt nice, really nice, but it was frustrating. It felt like I was being licked by a puppy dog: eager and enthusiastic, but totally indiscriminate.

I blinked my eyes lazily open, and saw Blossom, naked but for a pair of baby-blue panties, sprawled out across my bed, her faux-hawk a shaggy mess, her pretty young face buried between my thighs. She was licking my pussy the way a cat might lap at a bowl of melting ice cream.

I spread my legs wide to accommodate her efforts, and she paused, looking up and grinning shyly at me, her big brown eyes sparkling with mischief. I couldn’t believe how young she looked from that perspective, but I certainly wasn’t about to stop her. Multiple gold earrings flashed in the early morning light as she dove back in, and I parted my labia for her, guiding her eagerly searching tongue toward my aching, swollen, horny clit.

When she found the spot, she knew exactly what to do, increasing her tempo and flicking her tongue up, down, around and around, bringing me rapidly toward the brink. I found myself raising my hips up to meet her, gasping for breath, straining up toward her. I took her small hand in mine and pressed it clumsily between my ass cheeks, willing her to take a hint and fuck my asshole. She took the hint, a little tentatively, inserting the tip of one finger into my hungry anus as her thumb slipped up my gasping pussy and her tongue continued its erotic dance on my clit. I came, the orgasm washing over me like a tsunami, groaning out loud, reveling in the sensations. It went on and on and seemed like it was never going to stop.

At last she extracted her various digits, and came up smiling, asking me if she’d done ok. I assured her that she had. Her young breasts were pink and excited. I asked her if she’d mind taking off her panties, and she did, almost shyly, sliding them off and exposing the soft, sparse bush of black hair that covered her little pussy.

I licked her pussy. She was sweet and wet and super sensitive down there. The lips were petite, her clitoris was tiny and shy, and she flinched away every time my tongue came close to it. I tried inserting a finger gently up her vagina, but it was too small and tight, and she whimpered like a scared kitten when I pressed, so I withdrew and concentrated on dragging my tongue lightly up and down the moist, pouting seam of her pussy, which she seemed to appreciate greatly.

We ended up with her bent over the bed, her face buried in the pillows, me licking her pussy from behind. I was deeply tempted to go for her cute little winking asshole, but somehow I restrained myself, limiting my debauchery to squeezing her sassy boyish ass-cheeks hard as I dragged the flat of my tongue up and down her vulva. While I did that, she masturbated, grinding herself against her own fist, and she came silently, her body tensing suddenly and shaking as if she were caught in a bout of violent hiccups.

Blossom left me then, grinning naughtily with her panties in one hand as she pranced out of the bedroom. She had to get ready for school. I could already hear her mother stirring downstairs.

I felt a little guilty, but not very. I knew I was a hopeless pervert, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about it. Instead I rolled over, groped for my vibrator, and masturbated to what had just happened, coming deep and softly, and slipping back asleep and sleeping late.

When I got home that evening, half-loaded from an unusually productive afternoon of drinking and writing, Marcy met me at the front door.

Her husband was getting rotated home, she told me. It would be best if I found somewhere else to live. Her voice was strange and her mouth flapped open and closed like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

I gathered up my things, packed my bag, and called Hanif for a ride. He said he’d pick me up in twenty minutes. I sat in the shadow of a decrepit Dairy Queen on Pearl Street and waited. I thought about Marcy and her straight-as-a-ruler husband, I wondered if the sex they had was good. I thought about Blossom, imagined spanking her petite little ass till my hand stung and the welts rose red on her tender cheeks. I imagined her kneeling in front of me, wrists cuffed behind her back. I pictured myself fucking her with a buzzing toy while I choked her with my hand, my fingers wrapped around her delicate throat as she gazed up into my eyes, pulling my vibrator out of her cunt every time I let her breathe. I wondered when she’d lose her virginity and to who; I wondered if she’d ever think of me when she was grown-up and married. I thought about Claudia; wondered if she ever thought about me, wondered if she ever worried about me or wondered where I’d gone. I wondered if she was sorry for any of the things she’d said.

Hanif showed up in his cab, and I climbed in front next to him. He asked me where to, and I told him the airport. He told me that his boyfriend wasn’t home, and if I wanted to I could come over to his apartment and hang out for a while. I told him no, just SeaTac please, and he smiled at me in a sheepish and understanding way and pressed his hand warmly on my thigh.

We pulled out onto heavy traffic on I-5 north under a troubled sky heavy with low, dark clouds.


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Too Much of a Good Thing

‘Looking for a rideshare to San Fran. Can leave any time. Will split gas and tolls.’

I posted it the old-fashioned way, with a thumbtack on an old-fashioned bulletin board, because I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.

Within a week, I got a response. Alyssa was driving across the country and wanted company. She sent me an email with a barrage of questions, some of which were pretty personal, and a lot of which seemed totally irrelevant; and she asked me to include a picture with my answers. I filled out her questionnaire and sent her a photo of myself; a couple hours later she said I’d do. She told me she was planning on taking her time, staying off the major roads as much as possible, making the coast-to-coast journey in a week or ten days or so. That was fine by me. She sounded cute. I figured I’d just hit the jackpot.

I met her on 8th avenue, over by the Port Authority, my overstuffed backpack slung over my shoulder. She was driving a little brown Honda that looked like it had seen better days.

“Get in” she said, and grinned, showing off two rows of perfect, sharp little teeth. She had frizzy brown hair, speckled with grey, freckles on her cheeks, and little crow’s feet in the corners or her eyes that showed whenever she smiled.

I got in. Alyssa must have stood a full head shorter than me, but she radiated a ferocious energy, like a pretty wolverine. I wouldn’t have wanted to tangle with her. All her features seemed to be sharp and pointy, and her slate blue eyes flashed dangerously in the morning sunlight. She was older than me, it’s hard to say how much, I’m lousy at that; at least ten years, maybe more. I sat down in the passenger seat next to her and buckled up as she pulled out into traffic.

There wasn’t much small talk as she deftly maneuvered the little car through the crowded corridors of midtown; traffic was heavy. As we inched our way toward the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel, she placed her right hand lightly but decisively on my thigh. Inside my jeans, my cock snapped rigidly to attention.

Well. This was certainly going to be an interesting car trip.

By the time we emerged into New Jersey, Alyssa had fished my dick out of my pants, and was happily playing with my cock, petting it like a playful puppy.

“Why don’t you take off your jeans, Boy-O?” she said, “They’re only getting in the way.”

I was happy to comply, kicking off my pants and my underwear, sitting nude from the waist down as we sped along the Jersey Turnpike, my cock pointing eagerly up like a flagpole.

“Much better,” Alyssa said, and smiled sweetly. She set the cruise control at 65, and got down to the serious business of jerking me off, her thumb and forefinger wrapped around my erection, stroking constantly, sometimes fast and sometimes slow; sometimes squeezing me tight and sometimes barely touching my aching flesh.

“Let me know before you come.” she told me, and after fifteen or twenty minutes of exquisite torture, I yelped out that I was about to blow.

“Here, take the wheel!” she commanded, and before I could protest, she had dropped her head into my lap, opened up her thin red lips, and swallowed the top half of my cock whole, cupping my balls tightly with one  hand while she deftly jerked me off with the other.

I managed to keep the car on the road, though I swerved like a drunk all over three lanes of traffic as I came, lifting my ass up off the seat and pumping what seemed like gallon after gallon of semen into her incessantly sucking, insatiable mouth. She stayed with me all the way through, swallowing every drop of my come and leaving my dick wet, soft, and tired.

Finally she came back up for air, taking the steering wheel back from my shaking hands.

“Mmmm. Oh yeah Boy-O, that was delicious. I’ll never get tired of that stuff! No, leave your pants off. I like you better that way. I’m married, by the way. I hope that isn’t a problem for you.”

I hadn’t noticed the gold ring on her finger before. It wasn’t a problem for me.

She chose an exit, seemingly at random, and we pulled off the interstate and onto the rolling back roads of Pennsylvania farm country. As we drove, she toyed idly with my dick, which slowly rose back into a state of erect excitement.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” she said, “Why don’t we stop right here?”

We pulled off at a wide place in the road next to a farmer’s fields. Brown cows watched us incuriously as we got out of the car and stretched our legs. I sat on the trunk and Alyssa bent over and started giving me an expert blowjob.

“Don’t hold back,” she said, “we’ve got plenty more driving to do. Would this help?” She pulled up her top and unsnapped her bra, exposing a pert pair of smallish, lightly freckled breasts with pink, pointy nipples. They jiggled nicely every time she moved.

A semi-truck blew by and honked his horn appreciatively. Alyssa buried her face in my crotch, swallowing most of my dick, bobbing up and down on me and swirling her tongue round and around my shaft, licking the ridges of my head and slurping at the underside. It didn’t take me too long before I was humping back at her pretty face, fucking her mouth, coming once again, moaning and shouting out loud in the warm open air, filling her mouth with my semen.

We got back on the road, making our way along lazy country roads, sometimes making wrong turns and having to backtrack; but generally heading south and west. Alyssa had me strip nude in the passenger seat next to her. She said I looked cute that way. She let me put a t-shirt on when we stopped for gas, and I got fully dressed when we stopped for lunch at a greasy-spoon diner in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t ask me to pay for either the gas or the food, and I didn’t offer.

She played with my cock and balls from time to time as we drove. It seemed to amuse her no end to make me hard and then to watch me wilt all over again.

Our first day’s drive ended at a hotel somewhere outside of Parkersburg. It was a way nicer hotel than I would have picked, but then again, I hadn’t paid for any of the gas or tolls, and Alyssa had bought me lunch. I half-expected her to get a room for the both of us, but she got her own room, and I ponied up the credit card and got a room for myself. We got our stuff our of Alyssa’s decrepit Honda, and then we went our separate ways.

I took a very hot shower and ordered a pizza and sat on my bed, watching stupid tv and feeling kind of numb. It had been quite a day, a lot of driving, and a lot of stimulations, and I felt a little bit shell-shocked.

There was a knock on my door. It was Alyssa, in a blue denim dress. She sat on the edge of the bed, and I gave her a foot massage for the better part of an hour while she chatted with her husband on the phone. That’s a long time to rub someone’s feet, and my hands started to get tired, but every time I started to think about quitting, Alyssa gave me a sharp look that made me change my mind and got me right back on task.

Every now and then, as I massaged her petite feet, I’d catch a glimpse of her skimpy green panties up her skirt. Toward the end of the conversation, she hiked up her dress, and slid her fingers up underneath her panties. Inside my pants, my cock was straining hard.

Finally, she hung up the phone. “Why are you not naked yet?” she asked.

I hurriedly got undressed as she pulled off her blue dress and stripped out of her bra and panties. She had a lovely, taut little body, with a mostly flat tummy, curvaceous hips, and short but thick, almost stubby thighs. Her breasts seemed perfect for her frame, small and pert; and her pussy was crowned with a neat little triangle of dark, curly hair. She lay back on the bed, spreading her legs wide, opening her pussy with two fingers. The inner lips were delicate-looking, small, pink, and wet.

“Saddle up, Cowboy!”

Feeling kind of awkward, I rolled on a condom and climbed on top of her, slipping my erection straight up her eagerly salivating hole.

She was shockingly hot inside, tight, wet, and slippery. Her pussy felt amazing on my cock. Right away she grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me deeper inside.

“Fuck me! Fuck me hard, Boy-O! Harder!”

I complied, fucking her little pussy with a vengeance, as hard and as deep as I was able. She loved it, bucking back against every stroke, her hands on my ass cheeks pulling me insistently deeper, hissing encouragement through clenched teeth. In other circumstances, I would have had to fight to not come right away; but since I had already gotten off twice already that day (three times if you counted my late night/early morning masturbation session), I was in no danger of shooting off early.

“Harder! Faster! Harder, damn you, harder!” She was writhing underneath me, squirming and wiggling, arching her back and lolling her neck from side to side, every muscle in her face clenched. I knew she was right on the edge. Breathing hard, my heart pounding inside my chest, I complied, fucking her with everything I had, until my muscles were quivering and sweat was running down my face.

When she came, it was a beautiful sight. She threw her head back, and her whole chest flushed mottled red. I could feel her pussy spasmodically squeezing my cock, her abdomen shook as every muscle clenched and relaxed, and she screamed loud enough to let everyone in that hotel know exactly how good her orgasm felt.

I was glowing. I felt like I had just run a 10k, and fast. I fucked her a little more, but we were both pretty exhausted, so I ended up pulling out and removing the condom and jerking off into her open mouth, which she seemed to appreciate.

Then she got dressed and went back to her own room, leaving me to my tv and my congealing pizza. I crashed out hard, and didn’t dream.

We hit the road the next morning, nice and early, right after breakfast. Alyssa was all smiley and cheerful and chipper. The character of the land had changed, we were in distinctly Midwestern territory now, driving past farmland that seemed to go on for miles, interspersed with colonies of McMansions, sprouting up like toadstools.

“Come on Boy-O,” Alyssa said, “You know how I like to see you. Nude and lewd. Lose the clothes.”

I dutifully stripped, and Alyssa reached right over and started squeezing my dick.

“Are you serious?” I asked, “Again? Already?”

She raised an arch eyebrow at me. “You’re not complaining are you Boy-O? ‘Cause you can always get out and start walking.”

I wasn’t complaining. And soon enough my dick was bobbing merrily up and down, hard as a dry stick, and I was squirming in the seat as her hand pumped up and down.

She had me take the wheel while she blew me for a while, but thought her mouth was talented, and it felt glorious, she wasn’t able to make me come that way. So she pulled the car off onto the shoulder and had me get out and stand behind the door as she knelt in front of me, licking my balls and working her tongue up between my butt cheeks as she jerked me off. It took a little while, but she knew what she was doing, and the orgasm was well worth the wait. Her hand was a blur, and her tongue was brushing up against my asshole, and I finally came, spattering semen into her waiting palm. She licked it all up, like a hungry cat, and we resumed our drive.

After lunch, in the parking lot of some small-town diner, she climbed into the back seat and pulled down her pants. She told me to jerk off onto her pussy while she masturbated, and I did, crouched in front of her crotch, pumping my own cock hard and fast as she fingered her pink little clit. I kept having visions of a small-town sheriff tapping on the window, and that motivated me to get off as quickly as I could. Seeing my pearly-white come splashing on her pouting pussy lips seemed to set her off, and she came with a long, drawn-out yawning groan and a satisfied smirk.

Another hotel, once again outside of my price range, but since I wasn’t paying for gas, I figured it kind of equaled out. I rubbed her shoulders while she talked to her husband on the phone, and then she went down on me. Nothing happened. I was kind of mortified; I wasn’t used to getting anything like this much attention, but still, I had always been up and ready for any action that came my way.

Alyssa didn’t appear to be too concerned. If anything, she seemed mildly annoyed, as if her car had developed a minor mechanical problem that would necessitate an unplanned stop. New wiper blades, for instance.

She had me lay on my back on the hotel bed, and licked my body all over, starting with my neck, pausing at my nipples, and working her way down from there. My dick stayed stubbornly soft as she licked it like a big wet noodle. She nudged my thighs apart, licking and sucking my balls exquisitely, and then pushed my knees back and started licking my ass, dragging her tongue up and down my crack, pressing her tongue against my anus.

It felt amazing, and I started to feel a tell-tale tingling in my cock. She was fingering her pussy as she licked my asshole, and it was almost too sexy for words. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, she slipped a wet finger straight up my ass.

I yelped, and she giggled. It didn’t hurt. It felt weird. She was moving her finger around in there, making little beckoning motions. If it wasn’t exactly pleasurable, it certainly wasn’t unpleasant either. And my cock responded right away, rising tall and stiff, like a circus tent pole.

She withdrew her invading finger, leaving me feeling tingly and hollow; tossed me a condom, and climbed on board for the ride. She bounced up and down on my dick, grinding her pubes against mine until she came. Then she clambered off, removed the condom, and told me to masturbate into her mouth. I dutifully did as I was told, but I just couldn’t bring myself off. I whacked off until my toes curled and my ass cramped, but I couldn’t quite push myself past the threshold. Eventually she left me there in the hotel room, hard, sore, and frustrated.

We were worming our way into the American Heartland, long stretches of two-lane back road winding through industrial-sized fields of soy, wheat, and corn. I sat naked next to her as she drove, leaning back in the seat and enjoying my morning hand/blow job. Once again, I came in her mouth, and once again she slurped it all up and wrung me out like a damp sponge.

It was a frustrating day of driving; construction, wrong turns, backtracking, and pokey local traffic. Several times I offered to take a turn behind the wheel, but Alyssa curtly turned me down.

“It’s my damn car, and I’ll do the driving, thank you. Your job, Boy-O, is to sit there and look good.”

So I did. She played with my dick on and off all day, sometimes even handing me the wheel and having me steer for a while she sucked on me for a few miles, but never bringing me to orgasm, or anywhere even close. At one point we pulled off the road, and she had me fuck her face, holding the back of her head and jamming my cock down her throat until she choked and coughed, but I still couldn’t come, which seemed to annoy her.

We seemed to have ended up in the absolute middle of nowheresville. It was one giant strip mall, with plenty of Wallmarts, used car dealerships, and hot-tub outlets, but not a decent hotel to be found. It was getting dark before Alyssa finally settled on a dingy-looking Motel 6. She may not have been thrilled about the place, but I wasn’t complaining. This joint was much more in line with my own personal budget.

After checking in, we each made our own separate way over to the bar that shared a parking lot with our motel. I took a corner table and ordered a beer and started reading one of the books I had brought along, a Jack Kerouac road-trip novel. It was the first time I had so much as opened a book the whole journey.

As I sipped my beer, I observed Alyssa in action over at the bar, chatting up one of the locals. The object of her flirtation was a heavy-set blonde guy in a grey suit, who looked like he might sell tractor tires for a living. I felt an odd mixture of jealousy and relief as I watched her put the moves on him. She was, of course, free to do as she pleased; and frankly I could use the break.

It was after midnight when Alyssa rapped on my door. She smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, and her curly mop of hair was wayward and disheveled. She pushed her way into the room, rubbing her body against mine.

“He had a pretty big dick,” she said, “but he had no idea how to use it. Oaf. Pretty useless. He lasted all of about thirty seconds. I didn’t even get to taste a single drop.” She added petulantly.

Alyssa shrugged off her floral summer dress, which cascaded into a heap around her ankles. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She lay down on her back on my bed and spread her legs wide apart, and I got down between her thick, stumpy thighs and started licking her pussy.

She was very wet, salty and musky and delicious. Her pussy was freshly fucked, relaxed and open and squishy. I really enjoyed going down on her, dragging my tongue up and down her vulva, nibbling at her lips, flicking my tongue at her erect little clit. She seemed to enjoy it too, rubbing back against my face and making appreciative noises; but all too soon she pulled away from me.

“Thank you, that was nice,” she said, “But I really need to feel you inside me. Not my pussy; it’s too tender right now. Fuck my ass.”

It was not an invitation I’d ever received before, though it was something I’d always wanted to try. She rolled over and got on her hands and knees on the bed, her rump thrust lewdly up in the air.

“Do you have any lube?” I asked dumbly, my cock sticking straight out from my crotch like the bowsprit of a sailing ship.

“Use spit,” Alyssa told me, “That’ll work, if you use a lot of it.”

I stuck my face between her pretty ass-cheeks and started licking.

Her asshole was a tiny little button, crinkled and tight. I teased it with the tip of my tongue, eliciting a throaty sigh and a groan. She tasted clean and earthy. I lapped at her ass with the flat of my tongue, spreading spit all over back there as she fingered herself. Her juice mixed with my saliva, and I drilled my tongue up into her anus. I was getting really into it when she interrupted me.

“That should do it, Boy-O. Fuck my ass now.”

I repositioned myself and took careful aim. I wasn’t sure how my dick was going to fit into that teensy little hole. I pressed the bulbous red head of my cock against her tiny asshole, and carefully nudged forward. Amazingly, she opened right up and accepted my dick. The head of my cock slid right up inside her and she grunted.

She was tight, insanely tight. It was like trying to fuck a clenched fist. Her sphincter muscles formed a ring, squeezing my shaft as my dick invaded her ass, slipping gradually deeper and deeper up her butt.

“Don’t… be… so… uh… fucking gentle!” she growled at me through clenched teeth, wiggling her ass and pressing back hard against me.

I started fucking her ass in earnest, abandoning myself to the pleasure of it, casting off all restraint. She grunted with each thrust as if she were getting punched in the gut. Her fingers were squishing loudly between her legs as she masturbated furiously.

I wasn’t going to be able to last much longer, and I started fucking her ass hard and deep, howling out loud, and she joined me, baying like a she-wolf. She came, her entire body going rigid underneath me, and that set me off. I slammed into her one last time, my cock twitching and pumping hot sticky semen straight up her butt. Then I collapsed on top of her, and we lay there for a while, breathing hard, our hot, sweaty flesh pressed together, my soft, leaking cock captured by her ass.

“Thanks,” she said at last, “I needed that.”

She extracted herself and pulled on her sundress, and left me lying there, a tired and sweaty-sticky heap.

I slept hard that night.

Alyssa woke me up early the next morning, looking to take advantage of my morning wood. She climbed naked into bed with me, and had me straddle her chest and rub my dick between her tits while she masturbated. It felt nice, and it looked incredibly sexy, my hard cock sliding up and down between her perky, freckled tits, while she craned her neck down for a lick or two, her fingers busily strumming between her legs.

Then, without warning, she jammed a finger (or two!) up my asshole, all the way up to the knuckles. I jumped and yelped, and suddenly I was coming, squirting all over her chest and neck and tits. It actually hurt when I came, as if Alyssa was making lemonade, and I was an used-up lemon that she was wringing every last drop of juice from.

She laughed merrily and wiped up my splattered semen with her finger and licked her finger clean, and we got dressed and had breakfast and hit the road.

She played with my cock in the car, but I stayed persistently soft, even when she took me in her mouth and sucked on me like a strand of spaghetti, swirling her tongue all around the crown, and even reaching underneath me and tickling my asshole.

“Are we going to have to put you on the little blue pills?” she asked crossly.

My dick was tender and a little raw from all the fucking and sucking, and my balls ached, a deep-down worn-out ache.

“Can we just give it a little rest?” I asked, “I’m not a dildo. I’m not your own personal sex toy.”

She swerved to the side of the road, stomping on the brakes hard enough to make as skid a little on the gravel shoulder.

“Was that a complaint? Are you complaining, Boy-O?”

Without a word, I gathered up my clothes and took my backpack and climbed out of the car, feeling her slate-blue eyes burning into my flesh like James Bond lasers. As soon as I was out, she slammed the Honda into drive and pulled away with squealing tires, disappearing after a few seconds over a low hill up ahead, the sound of her engine slowy fading away.

Feeling shaky and rattly, like a dried-out husk blowing in the wind, I got dressed a few steps into the field, surrounded by a dense forest of cornstalks that loomed taller than me. Stepping back onto the side of the road, I shouldered my backpack and started to walk.


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Taken For a Ride

I knew from the start that it must be a put-on. I was a high-school nerd-girl; short and chunky and bookish and rather shy, a dweeb and a geek and a sexually frustrated more-or-less virgin. Vince was thirty-something, with a fancy car, a receding hairline, a wedding ring, and the body of an ex-competitive swimmer not yet gone completely to seed. He had to be taking me for a ride. So I went along for the ride with him.

He picked me up after school. He didn’t want to pick me up right at my school, because he didn’t want people to see me getting into some strange dude’s car, and he didn’t want to pick me up at home for the same reason. So he met me in front of the post office, a couple blocks down the street. It was all pretty sketch.

He drove a little black sports car. I don’t really pay attention to that kind of thing, but it looked expensive. When I asked him what he did for a living, he said he was an investor.

We drove for quite a while, and about ten minutes into the ride, he casually slid his hand over past the stick shift, and rested it on the exposed naked skin of my thigh. Despite myself, I felt my pussy getting all gushy wet and horny under my stretchy black cotton skirt. I don’t wear skirts very often, and I hoped this one didn’t make my butt look absolutely vast. I asked Vince if he was still married, and he said yeah, and asked if that was a problem for me. I said ‘No’, and it really wasn’t, and I didn’t ask him any more questions.

We had dinner at a tiny, dark, fancy, expensive Italian restaurant. Vince ordered for me, which was kind of annoying, but the food was delicious. He also ordered me a glass of wine, which the waiter brought without any comment about my age. I didn’t mind the taste, not at all, and it quickly made me a little light-headed and giggly.

Conversation was stilted; when it came right down to it, Vince and I didn’t really have much of anything in common. The copious amounts of homemade Italian food helped fill the awkward gaps. He kept running his hand up and down my thigh under the table, which kept my pussy juicy and squishy all through the meal, my clit obnoxiously pert underneath my panties.

We went back to the car, and he opened the door for me. I was pleasantly nervous and tipsy from the big glass of red wine I’d drunk. It was dark in this part of town, there weren’t any street lights, and it was starting to rain. I was all trembly with anticipation.

He got in beside me and closed the door, but didn’t start the engine. The dome light faded to black.

“Well, how about it?”

“How about what?” I asked. I knew exactly how about what, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“How about a little blowjob?” he asked. For the first time that night, he sounded just a tiny little bit vulnerable.

“Sure,” I said, putting on my best smile, “No problem.”

I actually didn’t have a lot in the way of experience at the time; I hadn’t attempted an actual blowjob in several years. The last time I’d gotten any genuine action had been with Karl. I still was a more-or-less a virgin. More-or-less, because the one and only time I’d been poised to have real, actual sex, three things had happened simultaneously:

1) Karl, my junior high school lab partner, fellow d&d enthusiast, and lately jerk-off partner, who’s basement it was that we had been fooling around in, had attempted to slip his stiff dick right up into my spread wide open, drooling, eager young virgin pussy;

2) Karl immediately orgasmed with a little choking squeal, pumping gob after gob of sticky white semen all over and around and up inside said pussy like a soft-serve dispenser gone haywire; and

3) Karl’s mom had walked in on us down in the basement and had started screaming and cursing at me and had chased me out of the house and banned me from ever seeing her son again.

I was of course, terrified that I’d gotten pregnant –pregnant and I didn’t even get laid!—but more than that I was bummed out that my one reliable source for sexual satisfaction had been taken away: Karl was moved to a different school, and I never saw him again. I got my period just fine, and resumed my steady but lonesome diet of porn and masturbation. I figured I’d just die a virgin. More-or-less.

Back to the present. Vince extracted his penis from his black slacks and tighty-whities. His cock wasn’t, as I had been a little afraid, intimidatingly enormous. It seemed like a nice sized cock, maybe a little on the small side, though I was basing that on very little real-world experience and a ton of porn. It was one of those funky dicks where the crown is smaller than the actual shaft, which was pale, and strained up and out, curved like a drawn bow. A glistening drop of precome was balanced on the tip, like a dewdrop on a spear of asparagus. I stuck out my tongue and licked it off.

And was momentarily blinded by the flash of his camera.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I just want something to remember this moment by.”

Yeah, right. I blinked a couple of times to get the dazzle out of my eyes, and then I got serious about sucking his dick.

I LOVE sucking cock, and while I hadn’t had much actual practice, I had watched an awful lot of blowjob videos with one hand on the mouse and one down the front of my panties, and I had spent a lot of time and energy daydreaming about just exactly how I would do it; so I didn’t think I would disapoint.

I started out just slurping the length, trailing my tongue along the underside of his rigid penis, kissing his balls and the petite scarlet crown; and then when he started to get really into it, I opened wide and swallowed. I admit it, I’d practiced on bananas before, and his cock wasn’t an especially big banana. I could get the whole thing in my mouth and keep it there, bobbing my head up and down and keeping my teeth well out of the way. I don’t know about him, but I was more or less in heaven.

He started to get really into it too, moaning and groaning and humping my face and calling me a horny bitch and a slutty little cunt. The more turned on he got, the hotter it was for me. His cock was swollen with excitement, trembling, practically pulsating. I could tell he was just about to come.

Right on cue, he yanked his slippery dick out of my mouth and started jerking off. It took about two seconds, and then he came, squirting his hot, sticky semen all over my face: into my eyes and hair, up my nose, across my cheeks and lips and chin. Again, the flashing camera. I smiled up at him as the shutter clicked again and again.

He tried, I guess I have to hand him that. After I had wiped up with a thoughtful handy Kleenex, he kissed me and squeezed and rubbed my breasts through my shirt, sliding his hand up under my skirt and fingering my pussy, which was admittedly, quite wet and slick by this point. But it just wasn’t working for me. Before I could even fake an orgasm, he gave up, withdrawing his sticky fingers and offering them up for me to lick off. Which I did, I might add, perfectly happily. More camera flashes. Then he zipped up, and stepped out of the car to smoke a cigarette in the drizzle.

While he was standing on the sidewalk smoking, I went through his wallet. There was his driver’s license, his credit cards, a fat wad of cash. I helped myself to a couple twenties. There was a picture in there of his wife and young child. They were both blonde, conventionally attractive, as if they were models for the Sears portrait studio. The kid looked to be about six; the mom wore too much mascara and had big hair and scary fingernails.

I put Vince’s wallet away and picked up the camera, flipped through the pictures he’d taken. The girl on the little LCD display looked pretty hot, I thought, mouth full of cock, come splattered all over her face. I felt oddly smug looking at those pornographic snapshots. I wondered what his wife would say if she ever saw them.

He drove me home, a long, silent ride. I don’t think a single word was spoken the whole drive.

“I’ll see you soon,” Vince said when he dropped me off up the street from my parent’s house. He didn’t kiss me, and I didn’t expect him to.

Three whole weeks, and he didn’t call, didn’t email, didn’t text. Despite myself I let it get to me. I brooded and obsessed and fretted. Was I not attractive enough for him? Didn’t I do a good job sucking his dick? Did he not like me?

Possibly surprisingly, I wasn’t worried about the pictures. Actually, there was a part of me that hoped that he’d posted them on the internet; that people would look at me and see a wild, sexy thing. Maybe some of the cute guys at school would jerk off to pictures of me sucking dick in a car. Maybe some of the prissy missies at school weren’t such prissies after all.

He texted me out of the blue, asked if I could ditch my afternoon classes. I responded ‘Of course’. He picked me up down the street from the school, in front of the post office.

We drove down to the reservoir and got high together, pre-rolled joints that looked like cigarettes. We kissed a lot and made out, and I groped him and found his cock nice and hard, and he groped me back. Then we drove back to his apartment.

His wife was at work, the kid was in school. He poured me a shot of vodka that made me choke and cough. We migrated inexorably into the bedroom.

I imagined that his wife had picked out the colors: the walls were avocado and the ceiling was pomegranate. There was a framed picture of the two of them together, atop the dresser. It might have been their senior prom; they both looked young, bright-eyed, All-American. They were smiling big and wide, showing off their perfect rows of white teeth. It might have been an advertisement for a high-end cosmetic dentist’s office.

Vince lifted me up and plopped me down on his bed, and then he lay down on top of me. We kissed and groped and fondled a bunch more, and then my shirt and my bra and then my jeans came off, one after the other. Vince sucked my nipples and played with my pussy until I was so drooling wet that the crotch of my panties was soaked through. His cock made a delicious looking tent in the front of his slacks, and I almost couldn’t wait to get my mouth wrapped around it. Almost.

“Would you mind?” I asked, feeling very shy and self-conscious about asking, “Would you mind going down on me a little bit?”

“Sure thing, Baby!” he said, “It would be a pleasure!” And he pulled off my soggy panties with a flourish.

I lay back on the sheets and spread my legs wide as he dove in. I was atremble with anticipation; no-one had ever done that to me yet, and from what I had read it was supposed to be orgasm-city.

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be very good at it, or maybe he wasn’t trying very hard. His tongue was excruciatingly clumsy, seeming to lick everywhere except the neediest parts. Which might have been ok if it had led in the end to sweet release, but he was only down there for about two minutes before he came up for air, beaming like a benevolent Santa Clause.

“How was that?” he asked, and I said “Thank You”, because I didn’t really know what else to say. And then the doorbell rang, and he got up and went to answer the door, still fully dressed, leaving me naked, wet, horny and frustrated on his marriage bed.

While he was out of the room, I did a quick bit of snooping. There was a bunch of fairly conventional ladies’ underwear in one of the top doors of the dresser; presumably his wife’s. In another one of the drawers was a glass pipe, a fat baggy of pot, a box of condoms, and chrome-plated egg-shaped vibrator. Sitting on top of the dresser, next to their prom night picture, was a dish with some spare change, a few paperclips, and a spare set of apartment keys. I lifted the keys and slipped them deep into my jeans pocket before resuming my position naked on the bed. I masturbated a little, because I wanted him to walk in and see me doing that, and to keep everything nice and wet down there, and because it felt nice.

I suppose I should have flipped out, or at least been discomfited when Vince walked back into the room with another man in tow, but between the pot and the vodka and the screamingly turned-on state of my vagina, I took it all in stride.

He introduced the new guy as his friend ‘Francis’. Francis was not someone I would normally think of as attractive at all. He looked to be about the same age as Vince, with a high forehead and hairy forearms and a bit of a belly and a greasy complexion. He smiled at me and shook my hand, big soft mitts that reminded me of warm Play-Doh.

The guys snorted a couple lines of coke off a mirror on the nightstand, but they didn’t offer me any. Which was ok, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to try that anyway. Then they both got naked and lay down side by side on the bed, and I went to town sucking their hard dicks, alternating between the two of them.

Francis’ cock wasn’t much longer than Vince’s, but it was notably thicker, and much hairier. I liked sucking Vince because it was easy to get the whole thing into my greedy mouth, and I didn’t get his hairs stuck in my teeth, but I really enjoyed sucking them both. The situation was hugely exciting, and I savored the strong, male taste in my mouth.

Then Vince got up and rolled on a condom and started fucking me from behind. It felt nice, and I was secure in the gleeful knowledge that I really and truly, without a doubt, was no longer a virgin. Francis grabbed Vince’s camera and started snapping pictures. He stood by the side of the bed and fed me his thick, hairy, strong-tasting cock while the shutter clicked away like a metronome.

Vince didn’t last very long. He slipped straight into overdrive, humping wildly away at me, his cock twitching inside the condom as he came inside my pussy, emitting a series of hiccupping, stuttering grunts as he came.

They traded off with the camera, and Francis maneuvered himself behind me. It took a little work to get his fat, condom-wrapped dick up my cunt, but Vince had limbered me up, and in the end it slipped right on in. He fucked me while Vince took pictures. His style of fucking reminded me of a steam locomotive: short, almost violent thrusts, starting out slow, and slowly chug-chugging into a fast, staccato rhythm.

I might have even come like that, he had me pretty close, but before I could slip over the precipice, he yanked his dick out of me, peeled off the condom, and with a deep, drawn-out, guttural growl, he shot off all over my back, splashing me with come from my butt-crack all the way up to my shoulder blades.

I collapsed onto the bed, a sweaty, panting mess. The two guys stood over me as I masturbated face down atop the sheets. They made small talk while I fingered myself, commenting on my body (‘horny little slut’ ‘look at that ass wiggle’ ‘fucking tight little pussy’) and snapping more pictures. I finally came, a long, deep orgasm that left me twitching, gasping into the bed linens.

We all got dressed, and Francis took off, and Vince gave me a ride back to school, which was just getting out. He told me he’d call me soon, within the next couple of days for sure. I got out of the car and mingled in with the kids streaming out toward the yellow busses. I was acutely aware of the smell of sex emanating from my body, the gooey wetness in my pussy, my damp panties, and his spare keys jingling in my pocket.

He didn’t call. A week passed. My period came and went. He still didn’t call, and I realized that he wasn’t going to.

I email him a couple of times, late at night, lonely and desperately horny. He never replied.

I was in a funk, and to get out of that funk, I decided to buy myself a toy. I walked down three concrete steps into an Adult Novelty Bookshop, up the street from the bus station. The place was lit with harsh fluorescents that cast no shadow. There were aisles and aisles of DVDs, every genre imaginable. I was the only female in the place, and distinctly underaged, and I felt acutely stared-at as I made my way to the back wall, where the sex toys were kept.

It seemed like all the vibrators were marketed toward men: the packaging was all images of impossibly busty, big-hair women with a lot of make-up, licking their fingers seductively and making eyes at the camera as they nibbled their plastic toys.

Regardless, I hurriedly picked one out, a sparkly pink model, realistically modeled to look like a fairly enormous penis. I brought it over to the cash register, paid for it, watched the clerk pack it carefully into a brown paper bag, then I rushed home to try my new acquisition out in the privacy of my own bedroom.

I was surprised to discover that the vibrating did absolutely nothing for me. It felt like an annoying buzzing, a quasi-tickle, that’s all. There was nothing erotic-feeling about it.

I tried sliding the toy up my pussy next. It was difficult and a little uncomfortable to get it in; apparently my eyes were a little bigger than my pussy. Once the oversized phallus was lodged in my cunt, I felt full, stretched out, somewhat obscene, but not particularly turned on.

It was when I pushed it up against my asshole that I hit pay dirt. The toy didn’t go up inside my butt, exactly, but when I got everything all nice and slippery, and shoved the head hard up against my anus, hard enough that I was stretched open to the point just before it started to hurt; and if I kept it wedged right there, and played with my clit in the normal way, the orgasms were positively explosive. Especially if I were watching filthy porn at the same time. The pressure seemed to make my whole vulva super-sensitive. It made my clitty strain outward. I could whack off for hours like that, just dancing little circles around my horny, swollen clit, the big pink dildo nestled tight up against my anus.

I met a boy. His name was Henry, and he was a year younger than me, and he sat beside me in Creative Writing. He was one of those guys who’d probably be really really hot if he had a little self-confidence. He habitually wore these awful brown-and-orange polo shirts, and jeans that were too big for him. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him, and the cuter he seemed to become.

Henry drew cartoons, and if he was shy about showing me his work (he hardly ever showed anyone his cartoons), he was painfully reticent about showing me his pornographic drawings. Once I’d seen one, though, I was insistent.

They were really good. He drew in pencil, lifelike drawings of people having sex, sex of every variety imaginable. Straight couples, gay guys, lesbians, Vikings, fairies, punk rockers, multi-tentacled space aliens. I spent an afternoon sitting on a beat-up old couch in his basement, going through his secret portfolio. Then I insisted that he draw me.

I gave him his first-ever blowjob on that disreputable old couch. He kept holding back, I guess he thought I wouldn’t want him to come in my mouth. I quickly disabused him of that notion.

Henry had a nice dick, large but not too big, and he kept it shaved clean, and he liked to wear girls underwear. I didn’t think much of that the first time I fished his erection out of a silky pair of purple string bikini panties, other than that it was sexy. I didn’t find out until much later about his penchant for cross-dressing, or his secret fascination with strap-ons.

Henry was also, and it made him blush to admit it, a bon-a-fide virgin. I promised to relieve him of that condition at the earliest possible opportunity. I even went on the pill so that he could come inside me and we wouldn’t have to fuck around with condoms.

We ditched school, and went giggling past the doorman into Vince’s building. I had all kinds of butterflies in my stomach as we took the elevator up to his floor. What if the key didn’t work? What if he was home? What if his wife was home?

The key fit perfectly, and the apartment was empty. There were light rose-pink sheets on the bed, which clashed horrendously with the walls and ceiling.

We got naked. I extracted Henry’s big, smooth, hard dick from the red g-string he was wearing, already drooling pre-come with eager anticipation. I started off by giving him a vigorous blowjob (‘priming the pump’, we liked to call it); I rubbed my boobs up and down his shaft, and licked his fat balls and slurped the purple head until he was harder than hard. Then I put the big red juicy crown in my mouth, pressed my tongue against the underside of the head, and jerked him off hard and fast until he came in my mouth with a little wail; gobs and gobs and gobs of hot, sticky, salty-sweet boy-come. I swallowed with gusto.

Preliminary business taken care of, we raided the dresser drawer. I packed a nice fat pipe full of pot, and we got stoned.

All high and giggly, I lay down on the bed, and Henry proceeded to eat me out, a skill he had been perfecting over the last few weeks in his parents’ dingy basement.

He was really good at it, too. He knew how to find my clit with the tip of his tongue, and knew exactly how long he could avoid touching me there before I would self-immolate with pent-up frustrated desire. One or two fingers kept slipping in and out of my juicy, slurpy pussy as he licked all around down there, nibbling my thighs to make me jump, and just occasionally lavishing some focused attention on my needy clit. Pretty soon I was squirming all over the hideous pink sheets, literally begging him to suck my clit and let me come.

Instead, he flipped me over on my stomach, spread my ass like a ripe peach, and started licking up and down between my cheeks, dragging his tongue up and down my crack. It was something I’d wanted him to do, but he never had, and I had never asked for it. It was absolutely heavenly! Every time his tongue brushed against my asshole, I jumped and groaned out loud. I was shockingly, unbelievably wet. I was making a massive wet spot on the sheets, and still he kept licking. He concentrated on my anus, and it felt like his tongue was drilling it’s way meters and meters up into my ass. Meanwhile, he was still fingering my pussy. I came two or three times like that, his tongue buried in my asshole, his fingers tormenting my pussy and clit; little, speed-bump orgasms like distant thunder that foretold a massive come looming on my horizon.

“Stop it!” I gasped at him “Stop what you’re doing and fuck my butt hole!”

We didn’t have any lube with us, but we found a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil in the kitchen that we figured would work ok. Henry’s cock was hard all over again, bobbing cutely as he walked. I got on my hands and knees in the center of the bed, and he poured oil all over my backside and slathered his dick in the stuff.

He finger-fucked my butt a little bit, but I was too impatient for that. “Just stick it in!” I whined. I didn’t think I could take much more torture. The anticipation was killing me.

I was a little afraid it would hurt; I’d experimented with my own wet fingers before, but I’d never had anything as large as Henry’s cock actually up inside my butt. I needn’t have worried; he was almost too gentle and careful, and his dick slid right up my asshole like it was built for the purpose.

It was amazing! He seemed hesitant to fuck me really hard and deep, so I started rocking back and forth, impaling myself on his cock, forcing it deeper and deeper up my ass. I felt so full and sensitized and stretched to the limit! My pussy was drooling liberally, my tits were shaking, my clit was bulging out like a mini-erection.

Together, we slid past the point of no return. Henry started fucking my butt hard and fast. It was incredibly intense, right on the borderline of what I could take. We were both making a lot of noise, crying out loud with every thrust. I could feel his balls slapping against my engorged labia, the wetness running down my thighs.

I didn’t even have to touch my clit. I came, came hard, and it was like Hiroshima going off. Spasms rocked my entire body and I jumped and squirmed on his dick, setting him off as well. I could feel his dick pulsating inside me, pumping semen deep into my asshole.

We caught our breath for a few minutes after Henry extracted himself. We kissed and cuddled on the bed, his soft wet cock nestled between my butt cheeks. I could feel his come leaking out of me. Henry got up and used the bathroom and washed himself off.

Vince’s camera was out on the bedside table. I picked it up and turned it on while Henry was peeing. There were a bunch of pictures on it, a recent trip to the zoo with the wife and kid, a visit to the grandparents. Nothing dirty or sexy.

We helped ourselves to a little more of Vince’s pot. Then I fished my dildo out of my backpack (I had developed a nasty little habit of taking it with me everywhere I went), and I had Henry take a bunch of pictures of me masturbating.

I guess that turned him on all over again, because before I was finished, he had to set the camera down and jerk off onto my wide-spread pussy while I frantically fingered my sore, swollen clit and jammed the plastic toy against my tender asshole. He didn’t produce a ton of come this time, but when he did come, dribbling pearly white semen onto my splayed-out pussy, it was just what I needed to set me off one more time, and I came too, bucking and writhing, gasping for breath, my tits flushed red and my clit too tender to be touched.

Then we got all paranoid that someone would come home. We’d lost all track of time. We got dressed in a hurry, and straightened out the bed a little. The sheets were a mess; between my juices and Henry’s come and the olive oil, there were stains all over the place. I put Vince’s camera back where it had been on the table, and we made our exit, locking the door behind us, Henry still technically a virgin. For the time being.

We had a lot of fun together that year, me and Henry. We ended up getting together with another girl from school, Natasha, who I had known for years, but never really gotten to know. She wore all black, all the time, and never wore make-up. She spotted Henry’s panties down the gap in the back of his jeans in math class, and started following us around until we just naturally got together. It turned out she was smart, cynical, funny, deeply perverted, and an amateur cinematographer into the bargain. The three of us got along really well, and had some crazy adventures together, which is a different story entirely.

I’ve never come across the pictures that Vince took of me, though I’ve certainly spent plenty of wasted hours browsing through random homemade porn on the internet. They’re out there though, somewhere. I can almost guarantee that.


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Up Against the Scarlet Mage

We spent the afternoon rolling up characters, one oppressively hot summer afternoon, five of us crowded around a rough plywood table in a space hollowed out from the cardboard boxes and defunct appliances that crowded my parent’s basement. I was the oldest one there, by a good seven years.

I didn’t really feel like being there, but I didn’t really have anywhere better to be. Mom had been badgering me to start taking classes at the local community college, but so far I hadn’t done anything about that. I still had the same crappy job I’d picked up my senior year of high school, delivering pizzas. My twenty-fifth birthday was approaching, barreling down on me like an oncoming logging truck in the wrong lane. Where had it all gone wrong? All my friends had gotten real jobs or gone off to university and moved away. I felt like the troll who lives under the bridge: old, cranky, and getting covered in moss.

Judith had the D&D bug in a bad way. She’d inherited all my books and dice and miniature figures, and she had invited all three of her dweeby high school friends over: Amy, Ben, and Heather; honors students every one, prancing merrily into their senior year with bright eyes and great expectations. Judith had begged me to play too; and out of the spirit of brotherly cooperation, and because Amy was pretty cute, and because I was bored, I agreed.

The character I rolled had a fifteen strength and a seventeen dexterity, but was sadly low on wisdom, and the rest of her stats were all average. I made my character a female Halfling fighter/thief, and on a whim I named her Rosie.

The rest of the session was spent outfitting (Rosie got leather armor, a short sword and sling, along with the requisite thieves’ picks and tools); once supplied, the newly-formed adventuring party ventured out of the small provincial village where we had all met up in an inn, and hit the road in search of adventure.

We had just enough time that afternoon to find a little adventure, in the form of a small and poorly-armed group of brigands, just across the river under the eaves of the Wild Wood. A short, but scrappy fight netted us a few silver and copper pieces, not enough to cover the cost of outfitting, but a start; and a treasure map that depicted a goblin-infested cave not far away.

It was getting late, and I had to get on the road and deliver some ‘za, so our characters made camp along the side of the road, and we all agreed to play again the following week.

I hated to admit it, even to myself, but it had been a blast. When I told Judith, she laughed and gave me a hug. “I never see you smile anymore, Big Brother. It’s nice to see you relax and have a little fun.” I always felt a little weird getting hugged by Judith, ever since she had developed breasts.

It had been fun. D&D was kids stuff, part of my dorky juvenile past. I was an old man now, a legal drinker, and I thought I was supposed to be past all that. It had been years since I had played, and I had forgotten how much fun it really was, how you could really get lost in another, fictional world, where magic was real, and the worst you had to worry about were marauding monsters and trapped treasure chests, and minimum entry-level jobs and security deposits and university applications weren’t even part of the vocabulary. I could hardly wait for the game next week.

The next time we got together, we raided the goblins’ underground lair, fighting it out, cave by cave. There was subterranean combat, tricks, trap, and treasure. We played all afternoon and through the evening, and I called my manager (who had been our high school quarterback for one largely unsuccessful season) and wrangled us a free pizza for dinner.

I discovered that I actually liked Judith’s friends, despite the fact that they were a motley trio of high school dorks; academic overachievers who listened to classical music and were close onto a decade younger than me.

By the time we had defeated the evil goblins, it was dark out, and my eyeballs hurt from staring at graph paper in low light for so many hours. Rosie, my Halfling fighter/thief, had taken a nasty wound in an ill-advised attempt to backstab the Great Goblin; but Carla, Heather’s female wizard zapped him with a magic missile, and Rosie’s wound wasn’t anything Titania, our elf-druid (played by Amy; I imagined the character was fetchingly pale and lithe just like her player) couldn’t patch up with a few ‘cure light wounds’ spells. Rosie landed a magic short sword out of the loot. All in all a good day, for all concerned.

Rosie came to visit me that night in my bedroom. I suppose I should have been out at a bar, trying to meet girls, but I was pretty broke, and I’ve honestly never had any luck meeting girls out. Especially in bars. So I had watched some TV, read a little, and I was just trying to decide whether or not I had the energy in me to masturbate before I went to sleep; lanky, hyper-smart teenage Amy and her baggy jeans and loose-fitting t-shirt kept sneaking into the back of my mind; pudgy, cuddly, bitingly funny Heather kept intruding into my erotic meanderings; and Judith’s friend Ben (who played a ranger) kept fidgeting into the back of my mind; and Judith herself kept bugging me, just on the fringes of my overactive sexual imagination.

Rosie slipped silently into the room, opening and shutting my squeaky bedroom door behind her without so much as a creak.

“Well met,” she said with what I can only describe as a shy smirk.

“Well met indeed”, I replied, too startled to come up with anything more creative.

Rosie didn’t look very much the way I had pictured her, which I guess shouldn’t have surprised me. She was short, of course, if I had been standing next to her, the top of her head would have just about reached my belly button. She had an unruly mass of frizzy reddish-brown hair, and mischievous hazel eyes. Her features were kind of rough and her complexion was ruddy. Her eyes seemed like they were set slightly too far apart in her head. She looked sort of like a rustic doll, a farm girl whose face had been carved out of a turnip. After all, she only had an 8 charisma.

“Nice work today,” she said, padding quietly across the room and climbing up onto the bed next to me. She was wearing a stiff leather jerkin, and loose fitting pants. She wore no shoes, and her broad feet were covered in soft, curly hair, the same color as the hair on her head. “I got a little carried away, trying to sneak up on the Great Goblin like that. I do that… I’m a little impetuous sometimes.” She reached over and stroked my hair.

I was naked under the sheets, and as soon as she touched me, my cock jumped. I wasn’t used to having any girl sit next to me when I lay naked in bed; especially not hobbit girls who were supposed to be strictly figments of my imagination.

“You’re a good player,” she said, still stroking my hair, “You know I’m already second level, right? Of course you know that! I think we’re going to go far together.”

“I’ve never had a female Halfling character before,” I said, “So far I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“Well, I think you’re going to enjoy it a lot more,” Rosie said. She giggled, a high-pitched, stuttering giggle. “I’m being awfully forward, aren’t I? It’s that impetuousness again… I guess that’s what you get for having a low wisdom. But I’m not actually all that experienced.”

“Neither am I,” I said. She had stopped playing with my hair, and was now gently rubbing my neck. Under the sheets, my cock was twitching into a full-on erection.

“Really?” she said, stopping mid-massage. “I guess I’m surprised. You’re so much older, and you’re good-looking. But I guess we always think our players are more experienced than we are. Do you mind if I take off my leather armor? It’s kind of constricting.”

She was wearing a soft white linen blouse under her leathers. It didn’t exactly show off her body, but it did make her look much more soft and cuddly. She snuggled up against me.

“Is this ok?” she asked, stroking one finger up and down my bare sternum. I didn’t object, and her face came closer and closer to mine, and then we were kissing.

I’d only ever dated a few girls, and it had been a long while since I had kissed anyone. It felt really nice. Her lips were soft and warm, and as soon as they met mine, insatiable. She pressed hard against me, slipping her tongue into my mouth. I fell into her, kissing her back, losing myself into her mouth. She took my hand in hers and guided it to her breast. Her boob was small and firm, like a ripe peach, and felt nice in my hand. I squeezed, and she pressed back against me.

“Am I going too fast?” her hand slipped under the sheet, deft as any pickpocket, “Stop me if I am… Holy Cow!” Her small, clever hand found my erection. “Holy Cow!” she repeated, “By the hair on Cyrrollalee’s toes, that thing is huge!!”

It was the first (and last, so far) time that my equipment had been called ‘huge’. It’s not. Not that I’ve had any complaints; but my dick isn’t particularly big. As far as I can tell, I’m pretty much average, as far as size goes.

“Wow! There’s a lot of you going on down there!” Rosie was stroking my dick now, and it felt amazing. Her hand felt totally different from my own. I was the only one who had touched my cock in rather a long time. Her grip was soft, and yet really strong. The girl was ripped, she had forearms like tree trunks. A fifteen strength is nothing to be sneezed at; she could have beat me at arm wrestling any day of the week. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that thing… I may have to go down there and have a closer look.”

She peeled back the sheets, exposing my nakedness. Again, that high-pitched, nervous giggle. “Very nice!” she said, “Very nice indeed!”

Rosie took the opportunity to rid herself of her own vestments; the linen blouse and pantaloons fell on the floor. She had a taut, if squat and stocky, little body. The same curly brown hair that graced her feet blossomed between her legs and under her armpits. Her breasts were smallish, but perky, pointing outward in slightly different directions.

She climbed back onto my bed, on all fours, her little conical boobs hanging down. Grinning, she nudged my thighs apart, squatted comfortably between my legs, slowly tracing her stubby fingers up and down the length of my aching erection.

“I’m not sure that’s all going to fit inside… I’m going to have to work my way up to that.” My cock was harder than hard, straining up to meet her stroking finger. A long, clear strand of sticky pre-come oozed out of the purple head, attaching itself to my stomach. A flick of her tongue broke the strand.

“Could you…?” I stammered, “Would you… please…?”

Rosie grinned. “Suck you off? I was just waiting for you to ask… I’m not evil after all.”

One hand carefully cupped my floppy, sensitive balls, while the other wrapped around my shaft in a steely grip, pumping purposefully up and down. She opened up her mouth and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, which was so turned-on and sensitive by now that the touch of her hot tongue made me quake and buck.

It didn’t last very long. I was too far-gone already, and she was too skilled. Before I could even think to try and stop it, I was humping up off the bed, fucking at her face, trying to get more of my cock between her lips. She stayed with me as I came, gasping and gurgling and blissfully pumping semen into her hungry mouth as she pumped all the come out of my dick with her strong little hand.

Finally, I collapsed onto her bed, and she released my tired dick. She smiled up at me, licking her lips.

“Was that ok,” she asked, “I told you I’m not very experienced.”

“That was amazing!” I managed to gasp.

“Well thank you!” she said, climbing off the bed and starting to pull on her clothing. “I enjoyed that very much. I’m glad you did too.”

She was strapping on her leather armor. I didn’t know what to say. She tweaked my nose and kissed me on the forehead. “You guys are playing again next Thursday, right? I’ll see you there!”

And then she was gone, like a thief in the night.

I couldn’t wait for our next D&D session. I was antsy about it all week, simmering with impatience. It was a good session, too. After clearing out the last of the goblin caves, we made our way back to town, where we cashed in our treasure and purchased new supplies. Then it was back to adventuring. We had our first run-in with the minions of what would turn out to be our arch-nemesis, the Scarlet Mage. It turns out that Judith had designed an interesting and well-crafted campaign, not just a series of dungeon-crawls. She had put a lot of work into all this.

Somehow, I don’t know how she managed it, but somehow Rosie kept playing with my dick under the table. She started out just petting me through my jeans, until I discretely unzipped my fly and set my poor, straining erection free.

The rest of the afternoon, whenever she wasn’t actually in combat or picking a lock or disarming a trap or whatever, Rosie had her strong, dexterous little hand wrapped around my cock, slowly and methodically jerking me off. She never brought me anywhere close to coming. She had no intention of doing that. She was just teasing me, keeping me hard, frustrated, and horny. For later.

Finally the game wrapped up, the dice and figurines were put away, the undrunk soda refrigerated, and the uneaten Fritos closed up. I tucked my obnoxiously hard cock back inside my pants. Judith and her teenage friends were going out to Denny’s, and asked me along, but I declined. Hoping my hard-on wasn’t making too obvious of a bulge in my jeans, I retreated to my room.

I probably should have gone to Denny’s with the kids. My dick was painfully hard, and I was twitchingly horny, but I didn’t want to waste it by jerking off. I compromised by trying to read a book and sort of stroking myself at the same time.

I don’t know how long she was standing there watching. I looked up, and there she was, a big fat smirk across her oblong hobbit face.

“Are you having a lovely evening?” she asked, “Were you waiting for someone?”

I watched, speechless, as she unbuckled her short sword, peeled off her leather armor and under-linens, and clambered up on the bed to sit next to me. My dick felt hot and heavy.

“Did I do a good job last time? I don’t have a lot of experience, but I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“No,” I assured you, “it was fantastic!”

We lay side by side and kissed for a little while. Her furry toes kept tickling my erection. I liked the way her little body felt, her boobs pressed up against my chest. I liked the way she kissed.

Finally she broke off the kiss. “I liked playing with your big fat dick during the game today. It was very distracting though… I know I blew at least one ability check, and it’s all your fault.”

My ‘big fat’ dick was tremblingly hard, red and engorged, and leaking copiously out the swollen crown. Rosie had the situation well in hand.

“I got you off last time,” she said, “don’t you think it’s my turn to get a little action?”

I could hardly disagree.

She crawled up the bed and straddled my face, her thick, meaty thighs to either side of my head. Her plump, furry hobbit pussy was just inches from my mouth. Her folds pouted hungrily open. The smell of her sex was sharp and earthy, like a freshly plowed field. She was shockingly wet. Her pussy was literally drooling down onto my face.

I stuck out my tongue and craned my neck, carefully tracing her slit with the outstretched tip of my tongue. Her taste was strong, feminine, a little salty, not unpleasant, but deeply intoxicating. She sighed out loud, spreading herself wider open for me and lowering herself down so that she could rub her sopping wet pussy and bulging little clit on my tongue.

I don’t know how long I ate her. Time seemed irrelevant. I wallowed in her slippery folds, pressing my tongue against the slick button of her clit, straining to slide my tongue as far up her entrance as I could physically manage. I licked her until the wetness rolled down my cheeks and my tongue cramped up. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe. I even dared to slip my tongue up between her butt cheeks, tickling the dark region around her anus. The sounds she made were encouraging, and never let up, but I never seemed to be able to push her across that final threshold into orgasm.

At long, long last she rolled off me, panting with frustrated exasperation. I just lay there, gasping, trying to catch my breath. My cock was still hard, obnoxiously hard.

“Cyrrollalee! By Lolth, you’re good at that! What level cunninglingist did you say you were anyway?! Oh sweet Cyrrollalee, I need to come so bad I can taste it!”

With no further ado, she climbed back on to me, pressing her hot, wet pussy against my erection, which lay flat against my tummy, the head nestling into my navel. Her folds enveloped my shaft and she started grinding back and forth on me, pinching and pulling her own nipples cruelly as she worked.

She quickly got more and more excited, rocking faster and faster and harder and harder, her breath coming in sharp little gasps. I was right there with her. As her panting turned into a long, drawn-out squeal, and her furry toes curled and her breasts flushed livid pink, I humped hard back up against her, lifting us both up off the sheets, and with a throaty moan, my balls twitched, and I shot off, all over my stomach and chest, a veritable lake of pearly white semen.

“No reason to let that go to waste,” Rosie said; and she proceeded to lick the come up off my torso like a cat licking milk up out of a saucer. “I should get going,” she said when she was done, “It’s Titania’s watch, and I’m supposed to relieve her at midnight.”

“Next time I see you,” she said just before she slipped out the door, “I am going to fuck your little brains out.”

I jerked off a lot that week. I jerked off at work, in between pizza deliveries; I jerked off at night and in the shower and in the morning when I woke up. I mostly jerked off to Rosie and her fuzzy pussy and pert little breasts; but I was sort of indiscriminant, indulging myself. I imagined fucking Amy’s druid character; I pictured watching Rosie eat out Carla, Heather’s female wizard; I don’t consider myself bisexual really, but I pictured myself fucking around with Beren, Ben’s ranger, the only male character in the party. I wondered if he had a pretty big dick. I even whacked off thinking about getting it on with Judith, my own sister. Who was pretty hot, when it came right down to it.

The next D&D session was a dungeon crawl through one of the Scarlet Mage’s outpost castles. Rosie was kept pretty busy, out front with Beren, on the lookout for tricks and traps, of which there were many; and we were almost constantly in melee, battling orcs and bugbears and hobgoblins, as well as sinister apprentice magicians, occasional undead, hired thugs, and the less conventional but equally deadly clockwork knights that the Scarlet Mage was fabricating and winding up to conquer the world with. Even so, from time to time Rosie found an opportunity to stick her hand between my legs and cop a feel. She did that often enough to keep me hard through the entire session. Matters were complicated by the fact that Rubenesque Heather, who was sitting next to me on my left; and pale, skinny Amy, who was sitting immediately to my right, kept brushing up against me and pressing their knees against mine. I wasn’t sure it was on purpose, but I wasn’t sure it was entirely accidental either. And Judith, behind her DM’s screen, had her shirt unbuttoned at least one button too many, and I kept unsuccessfully trying to determine whether or not she was wearing a bra.

After the game, everybody hung out for a while. I had arranged my work schedule so I didn’t have to deliver ‘za on D&D nights. College applications had started to trickle back in, and these kids being smart geeks and overachievers, they were almost uniformly acceptance letters. They were all talking about which school they would decide to go to; our D&D game was going to be scattered across the fifty states in a fairly short time. I guess I’d always know that, but it made me a little sad to think of it.

I felt kind of weird socially, kind of left out. These were my sister’s friends, a bunch of dweeby kids almost ten years younger than me, with bright futures ahead of them. And yet they had become my friends too. I was going to miss them, when they all went away to school. I hoped I wouldn’t still be delivering pizzas by then. I made up my mind to swing by the community college and pick up an application. Maybe I could start taking some classes.

When Rosie came up to my room that night, I was ready. I had a box of condoms, I had lube, I had a cheap bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Never mind about those,” Rosie said, indicating the condoms, “I had Titania cast a spell on me, so I can’t get pregnant. She’s a really good kisser by the way. But I will take some of this…” she gulped a big swallow of red wine, “…and this.” She squirted a large quantity of lube onto her hairy pussy.

I guess I’d expected a little more foreplay, a little more warm-up. Rosie lay down on top of me, kissing me, letting the wine dribble into my own mouth, squishing her little breasts against my chest as she maneuvered my erection toward her sopping wet, slippery little entrance.

We tried really hard. We tried a bunch of different positions. We tried until it hurt. I tried fingering her first, but I could really only get one finger inside before she winced and pulled away. It just wasn’t happening.

We eventually got off together, with me kneeling between her stout thighs, pressing the head of my cock against her engorged labia, jerking off into her pussy while she furiously rubbed her clit. Even if we were both a little disappointed that we hadn’t gotten to actually fuck, it was pretty freaking hot.

We tried again the next week, and the week after that. Some things, however, are just not meant to be. Apparently Halfling and human parts just aren’t compatible; I guess that explains why there aren’t any ‘Three-Quarterlings’.

We tried anal sex, with much the same results. We discovered that (once I learned to be exceedingly gentle) keeping the head of my cock pressed firmly against her asshole and bathed in lube, was an incredibly pleasurable thing for both of us: I would reach around and finger her juicy little pussy while my cock squished and squashed between her butt cheeks, and we would both end up coming like nineteenth-level-fireballs.

But no penetration. It was frustrating until we accepted the situation for what it was and stopped trying. Rosie confessed to me that the two Halfling guys she’d been with had penises the size of my little finger, or slightly smaller. She talked (jokingly, I think) about having Carla, the party’s wizard, cast a reducing spell on my penis. In the meantime, there were other things to do than fuck.

She taught me to go down on her just the way she liked; after much practice I was able to make her come on my face. The technique involved carefully inserting a finger in her asshole; slipping one finger up her pussy and making beckoning motions, while I flicked at her clit with the tip of my tongue. The first time I hit on that combination, it drove her wild; I thought her orgasm would wake up the entire household, and when I finally came up for air, flushed and sticky, she hugged me tight and kissed me all over my come-coated face.

Rosie, in turn, got really, really good at sucking my cock. She got so that she could make me come in under a minute, or keep me balanced precariously on the edge for literally hours. We got pretty kinky, kinkier than I’d ever gotten with a human girl. Rosie proved devilishly good at tying me up, and she loved to stick her slippery, stubby fingers up my butt and pinch my nipples and masturbate on top of me until I was straining at my bonds and literally begging her to touch my dick. I was happier, happier by far, than I’d ever been in my life.

During the assault on one of the Scarlet Mage’s outposts, a castle/clockworks factory, Heather’s wizard character, Carla, was killed. Already wounded in combat with dungeon nasties, she got hit by a lightning bolt in the final battle with the Scarlet Mage himself (who turned tail and disappeared in the end, teleporting away from his workshop before we could claim final victory). She was at something like negative fifteen hit points, and there was nothing our druid could do. We all offered Heather our condolences, and she rolled up a new character, another wizard. It sort of didn’t matter, because it was May, and the school year was wrapping up, everybody was getting ready to graduate and go off to their college of choice. It felt like a sad and solemn event.

That night, up in my room after our orgasms, Rosie was uncharacteristically cuddly. Usually she was pretty quick about making herself scarce after we’d both gotten off. This time though, she lay with me for a while, and we spooned together, and I played with her thick, curly hair and listened to her breathe.

“You know,” she said to me, “we’re not afraid of dying. Death isn’t that bad for us, it’s part of the job description. We don’t really die, you know, because we were never really alive. We live in your imaginations, and after death we continue to live there. Do you know what really scares us though?”

“What?” I asked.

“Being forgotten. Being filed away in a dusty stack of paper, left unfinished, never to be played again. The unfinished campaign, the books and maps left to moulder in the attic. That is the saddest thing I can think of.”

I thought about Harley, the first D&D character I ever played, a feisty gnome fighter. The fame had petered out before he made third level. I hadn’t thought of him in years.

“Promise me something,” Rosie said, “Promise me that you won’t ever forget me.”

I promised.

The downfall of the Scarlet Mage was epic. The attack on his final stronghold took three full sessions, and the Mage and his minions and machinations fought for every square of grid. His fortress was laden with tricks and traps, and when the party prevailed, the Scarlet Mage backed into a corner in the highest tower of his clockwork castle, we were down to our very last spells and hit points. Fortunately so was he, and in the end, the forces of good (or at least neutral-good) prevailed.

It was Rosie’s impetuous nature that did her in. The final combat had occurred in the Scarlet Mage’s treasure room. After he fell dead, pierced by swords, arrows, and magic missiles, before she could get so much as a ‘cure light wounds’, she went straight for his treasure chest.

It was, of course, trapped. There was a dormant fireball spell on the lock, and the whole table groaned as she blew her saving throw. The blast killed her instantly, sending her deeply into negative hit-point territory.

There was silence all around the table. Finally Judith said “I’m sorry. Do you want to do that roll over?”

I didn’t know what to say. I shook my head ‘no’. Rules are, after all, rules. There wasn’t any point in rolling up a new character; this was to be our group’s final gaming session anyway. Despite myself, I felt my eyes welling up with tears. I got up from the table and went for a little walk while the rest of the party rested and healed, and divvied up the loot.

Amy came and found me first, up in my room. She was really sweet, and we sat on my bed and talked for a while. I told her I’d miss her when she went away to school. She smiled, and said she didn’t actually leave until mid-August. And then we ended up making out quite a lot. She was a really good kisser, utterly different from the way Rosie kissed. She reminded me of a wild bird: intelligent, frail, energetic; and her kisses fluttered like the wings of a sparrow. Nothing too sexual happened that night, but we made plans to get together again soon.

The rest of the gang was still hanging out down in the basement, polishing off the rest of the Doritos and Diet Coke. Ben made a pass at me; at least I was pretty sure he did. I’m not used to getting hit on, especially not by guys, but the way he stood really close to me and asked if I’d like to get together with him, sometime soon, over at his house while his parents’ were out of town made me feel distinctly hit on. I dumbly nodded, agreeing to his nervous suggestion. I’ve never thought of myself as being in any way bi, but the fact was Ben was cute, and I found myself attracted to him, and wondering just what was going on inside those lanky khakis he habitually wore.

After the rest of the kids had left, Judith gave me a big hug. Her big breasts squooshed pleasantly against my chest. “I’m sorry about Rosie,” she said, “I know how much she meant to you.”

“That’s ok,” I told her, hugging her back, “That’s the way the dice roll… She was an awesome character though. I’ll never forget her.”

Judith kept holding on to me, tight, and her hand slid down my back, cupping my butt and squeezing, pulling my crotch close against hers.

‘Oh my God’, I remember thinking, ‘Where is this going to take us?’

Judith’s boobs felt really good pressed against my chest, and her butt was soft and round and squeezable, but nothing really ended up happening, except for one hot and humid night in July, when we double-teamed Heather. There was a little touching and kissing that night, but both of us were focused on pleasuring Heather, and the two of us didn’t do anything strictly incestuous together, a fact that I remembered with relief and regret over the years.

I had a lot of sex that summer; with Amy, who liked it rough, so rough that sometimes it scared me a little; with Heather, who was jolly and horny and kinky and insatiable; with Ben, who was sweet and just as inexperienced as me; I even had a very brief fling with Ron, my manager; and another thing with a lonely married woman named Kay who ordered pizzas alone on Friday nights and gave amazing tips and even better head.

I held on to my job delivering pizza for another year, but I did start taking classes at the local community college that fall: economics, statistics, and creative writing. I applied to the state university, and I hooked up with a D&D group at the college.

My new character was a female human Paladin named Belinda. She was a good character, but I never felt like we had much of a rapport: she seemed like a bit of a prude. I never had another character like Rosie. I never forgot her.


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I rode the space elevator down to Darkside; two hundred and fifty kilometers of undulating, vertigo-inducing ten-centimeter monofilament, stretching all the way down from Needle’s Eye to the lunar surface, like the thread of some giant silkworm gone mad.

The scenery out the window was magnificent: the desolate moonscape below, slowly growing bigger and bigger until it filled nearly the entire field of view. The domes of Darkside became visible, like a virus under a scanning electron microscope, nestled on the lunar plane, an ancient lava flow spreading out beneath a great mountain range. I’d seen it before, but the raw, stark, alien beauty of the farside still stuck me like a knife. High above us, the stars shone, bright and unblinking in the hard vacuum, and the L4 platform steadily diminished until it was just one more pinprick of light in the crowded blackness.

My fellow passengers were a generic-looking bunch of sex tourists, to my jaded eyes. There was a clutch of South Asian business men, dressed in nearly identical, uncomfortable-looking black suits, as nervous and giggly as school girls; an older woman with blonde hair and boobs that were so enormous as to be parodies of real breasts, bouncing bra-less like weather balloons in the low gravity. She might have been in her mid sixties or seventies, it was hard to tell. She’d had a lot of work done. There was a pair of nearly identical Northern European body builders, blonde as albinos with bright blue eyes, wearing matching grey coveralls, biceps exposed and bulging with muscle grafts; a pretentious looking man with a mustache wearing a top hat and tails, who carried a riding crop, and his much younger girlfriend who knelt submissively simpering at his side, wearing nothing but skimpy black panties, pasties, and a spiked collar. I was the odd girl out; I wasn’t slumming it, here to gape at the horror and decadence; nor was I another tourist, up here for an expensive cheap thrill, a kinky but ultimately harmless vacation from earthly morality. I was coming home.

I got my ass out of the glitzy tourist trap of downtown Darkside as quickly as I could. Thirty-meter high billboards ran endless 3-D porno loops, and sidewalk boutiques offered up the very latest, most trendy designer drugs. Sex was measured out in blister packs, sterile and homogenized and vaguely medicinal. Downtown Darkside was a brightly lit circle of LED glow where tourists spiraled in ever-tightening concentric circles like so many horny moths, paying top dollar to dip their toes into a sampling of titillating, dilute, carefully refined, board-room-approved debauchery. It took just a few blocks of walking to escape the maze, but only if you knew which direction to go; the architects had done their job well, and very few of the tourists or the mere idly curious managed to escape the scripted loop. I left the mega-brothels and the Starbucks and casinos behind me for the seedier, darker, more dangerous neighborhoods that spread out from downtown like some particularly virulent kind of cancer.

I was in the real Darkside now, where needles crunched underfoot like hoar frost, where incandescent lights burned and fluorescent flickered, where the tattoos were real and permanent and hurt to get, where the prostitutes were flesh and blood, and cried when you hit them, and the smell of spilled piss and decaying garbage and sex and perspiration and freebase and corruption was never quite filtered out of the recycled air.

The one-third gravity put a spring into my step that I didn’t feel in my heart, but nevertheless I was glad I had come. I felt at home there, amid the perversion and the filth, in a way I’ve never felt anywhere else.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to Darkside. Literally, I couldn’t remember; I’d had two weeks of memory wiped as soon as I’d gotten home. That was how a memory wipe worked: you gave them a date, told them how far back you wanted erased, and it was gone. Nothing there, not a shadow. The only reason I knew I’d been back to Darkside at all was the credit card bills. I had no idea what had transpired, what had made me want to pay to have every memory of the visit expunged from my brain. No idea, but maybe a few nagging suspicions. Which, after all, was essentially why I was back here. Again.

I passed a ramshackle brothel with a non-ironic, non-retro neon sign that read GET EVERYTHING YOU DESERVE. The words were accompanied by a cartoon representation of a nude, busty woman in thigh-high boots, wielding a flickering stop-motion whip. The neon tubes were dusty and hummed and sputtered, but they spoke the truth. We all get what we deserve, don’t we?

The sign was crude, but effective; it might have been eight years old, or eighty. Whores are a dime a dozen in Darkside; a good glass bender is worth her Earth-weight in gold. And then some.

I had worked for a while in an unlicensed brothel like this one, when I first climbed up the gravity well. I had debts to pay off, big time; space travel isn’t cheap, and just the initial boost into low earth orbit had maxed out every credit card I owned. Prostitution was more lucrative than serving drinks, and there was no experience required. The less the better, in fact. Besides, from the perspective of my early twenties, there was something appealing about the idea of being paid to fuck and suck; and it seemed to me there was an honesty in the relationship between John and Whore, an honesty that was lacking in less obliquely commercial interactions between men and women. I still think there is truth to that, but I’d never willingly go back into the trade. No thanks.

I stopped in for a drink at a sidewalk café across the boulevard from the flickering neon dominatrix. I stretched out my feet, reveling in the low gravity, and watched the parade of humanity pass before me as I sipped what claimed to be a martini, but tasted more like a solution of methanol, phenylalanine, and ethylene glycol. It may not have been good for my poor, abused liver, but it did the trick, and for the first time since I left L4, I started to relax.

The two bleach-blonde muscle boys from the space elevator stopped in and sat down at my table. I was surprised to see them out here; clearly I had misread them. They weren’t dillitants or casual tourists; only the seriously perverted managed to escape the X-rated Disneyland of downtown.

They smiled at me, and raised their drinks. Amstel, imported from their own backyard at an almost unimaginable expense across a quarter million miles of vacuum, and up and down two formidable gravity wells. The economy of Darkside is perverse indeed!

My muscle boys were either twin brothers, or dedicated aficionados of high-end plastic surgery; they were nearly identical to my eyes. I didn’t understand the language they spoke to each other, it sounded Scandinavian; whether or not they spoke English I never found out.

It turns out I had misread them in another way too; I had assumed they were gay. The steroid-strong arms that reached out for me, confidently handling and groping at my body told me otherwise. Their advances were unexpected and uninvited, but not at all unwelcome. I signaled the waiter for another ‘martini’, and undid the top two buttons on my jumpsuit.

That, apparently, was all the invitation they needed. Huge, soft hands, like declawed polar bear paws cupped my breasts, bringing my nipples to instant, needy attention. Other hands pried my thighs apart, petting and squeezing all around the sensitive area of my pussy. My cunt drooled, and my clit swelled, anxiously erect inside my panties, hungry for action.

Action was just what I needed. Their dicks came out of the velcro closures at their bulging crotches. Their cocks were just as identical as the rest of their bodies; and obscenely, ridiculously, impractically long. Plastic surgery and bio-engineering, no doubt about it now. Good luck finding a vagina to accommodate those things! No wonder they had made the trek up to Darkside; there were pleasures available here that you couldn’t get in the seediest of Terran bordellos.

I wasn’t worried about their unnatural size; I had no intention of trying to fit either penis into any of my own orifices, and whatever the drawbacks to a half-meter cock might be, it was certainly visually interesting, at the very least. They weren’t as thick as they were long, so I was able to wrap my fist around each one, stroking the shafts as if I were petting a couple of tame boa constrictors.

The boys squeezed and manipulated my breasts as I jerked them off, kissing each other and kissing me, and rubbing my pussy up and down through the crotch of my jumpsuit. I was dimly aware that we had attracted a small crowd; the less jaded locals and the more adventurous voyeurs. The knowledge that I was performing, being watched, photographed, and videoed, only added to the pleasure. Once again, I was high on sex. Junkie that I am.

I varied my pace and my grip, torturing them sweetly, drawing out the act. My goal was to make them beg for it, and to bring them off at the exact same time. The first part was accomplished already: in husky, Germanic voices they were pleading for relief, the scarlet glans of their cocks straining and swollen, the slitted pee-holes winking with desire, clear pre-come oozing copiously out. My shoulders ached, but I kept it up, capturing them with a feather grip, just my thumbs and forefingers, barely touching the skin, sliding up and down and back up again, faster and faster, approaching escape velocity.

They were moaning now, moaning in earnest, and I loved it. I could feel the urgency in their bodies, their backs were arching and spasming, their hands clasping and unclasping, their pulses were thumping in their cocks. They came together, with a jerk and a howl, spraying parabolic arcs of semen across the table, onto me and each other, squirting impossibly far in the light lunar gravity. I milked every drop of come from both cocks, until they were soft and reduced. Their trouser-snakes were still oversized, but not so intimidating now, limp fire hoses hanging down their perfect quads, dangling down below their knees. The waiter beamed over us: drinks were on the house. Sex shows were good for business.

I left my muscle boys and moved on, pleasantly drunk now, and edgily horny. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I knew that I’d know it when I saw it.

I knew it when I saw it, like a bad batch of trouble. I found Jean-Claude hunched over a barstool at a dilapidated-looking meth bar where someone had told me one could also purchase black-market buproprion, my personal drug of choice. His pupils were the size of pinholes in the dingy darkness of the bar.

He had acquired a new scar, an angry-looking, jagged red line that meandered down the right side of his face, from the corner of his eye to halfway down his neck. Any reputable plastic surgeon could have erased that scar for about a nickel, so either Jean-Claude wore it as a badge of honor, or he was hard up for cash.

Otherwise, his looks were unchanged: the same ghostly pale skin, the same craggy old-young features that made him look like a space-age Marlboro Man.

He was hunched over the bar, in the exact pose of a dog taking a shit, balanced on the barstool with his rump thrust out, his balls hanging down, and his erection waggling like an obscene bowsprit.

A painfully young-looking, skinny girl knelt behind him, earnestly eating out his asshole. She was naked except for a mechanically impossible pair of red sequined high heels, and a mean-looking choke collar that was connected to a leash that led up to Jean-Claude’s fist. Every now and then, as she rimmed him, he would give that leash a tug, and the black collar would ratchet a little tighter. The veins stuck out angrily in her long, slender neck, her face was bright red, and her respiration was loud, forced, and raspy. I could tell at a glance that she was a professional, but I was equally certain that she wasn’t getting paid. This rim job was strictly pro-bono.

As soon as he saw me watching, it was as if somebody had thrown a switch. We made eye contact, his dilated pupils burning into mine, and it was like the spark of an electrode, white-hot current arcing between us.

He gave the leash a viscous yank, at the same time mule-kicking the poor girl in the chest, squarely between her tits, sending her flying across the room to land splayed out on her back, purple-faced, choking and sputtering on the filthy floor.

“Get lost” he told her, and she did, coughing and tottering feebly out the door in her ridiculous rhinestone high heels. But she’d be back. They always came back.

Jean-Claude smiled at me, a toothy, predatory smile. “Well well,” he said, sucking ice water through his sharp little teeth, “It’s certainly been a while. I must say, I’m surprised to see you here.”

I was a little surprised to be here. Jean-Claude is a miserable human being, a cad, a piece of shit, a liar and a sadist, a borderline sociopath. We’d been lovers, on and off, for the last ten years. I’d thought I’d finally gotten him out of my life.

“You look well,” he said, and rattled the ice in his empty glass. “Ah, but you’re looking at the scar.” He ran his finger down the side of his face, tracing the dimpled topography of the wound, “It’s nothing, a mountaineering accident.”

He dared me to ask him for details, so he could expound at length on the lie. Jean-Claude is no more a mountaineer than I am a birthday party clown. I didn’t take the bait.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he lied, “The others were only distractions, poor substitutes. You’re the only one who ever understood me. You’re the only woman I ever truly loved.”

He smiled again, and I felt nausea boiling up in my stomach, delayed-onset space sickness. Jean-Claude has a wife and children in Australia, another in Morocco, and another family in low earth orbit. And those are just the ones I know about. He can’t leave Darkside: besides the restraining orders, the shock of the child support payments would stop his heart.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked, hiking up his trousers. His penis was still eagerly erect, bobbing and straining as he crammed it back into his pants. His cock, at least, never lied. “Want to come back to my apartment? Want to watch me fuck?”

And the sick, sick, sick thing is that I really did.

His apartment was a single tube in a coffin stack, 32 stories up, near the edge of the gamma dome. There was a folding bed and a miniature sink and commode, and enough room to stand up and lie down, and not much else. The place was filthy, littered with dirty clothing, containers of half eaten Chinese food, drugs and paraphernalia, and it reeked of stale, nervous sweat and tobacco smoke. Jean-Claude eked out a sort of living as a drug dealer; a low-level middleman with a reputation for being able to find what you needed at a sharp mark-up. That, and a little pimping on the side.

There was a high-end, multi-function Simulacrum on the folding bed, lying dormant in sleep mode. She was an exact copy of me; or rather, an exact copy of me as I was ten years ago, down to the chewed-on nails, and the pubic hair shaved into a question mark, as was in vogue at the time.

“You see,” Jean-Claude said, thumbing her remote, “I’ve never forgotten you.”

Even though I knew she was just a hollow construct, a high-tech variation on a century-old shtick; a few millimeters of vat-grown flesh and hemoglobin surrounding a plastic shell that was hollow inside but for a few microchips, servo motors, and a twelve pack of double-A batteries; even though I knew she was just a fancy blow-up doll, a jerk-off toy, she still gave me the screaming willies. And I couldn’t make myself think of the Simulacrum as ‘it’; it was most definitely a ‘she’.

Jean-Claude was already shucking off his clothes, his hard-on scarlet and bent upward, the way I remembered. This situation was way too creepy. I had no business being here.

He shoved his cock into the Simulacrum’s mouth, and her lips closed automatically around the head, her tongue swirling mechanically all over his glans, her mouth humming almost inaudibly, generating a vacuum no human mouth could hope to match. I joined in, wrapping my hand around his shaft, stroking rhythmically up and down while I kissed and licked his shaved balls and tickled his anus.

It was bizarre, erotic and surreal, giving my ex-lover a blowjob along with my robotic twin sister. I was kind of getting off on it. Maybe I’d jam a wet finger up his butt hole, and he’d come in her mouth, and then maybe he’d want to go to sleep, and maybe I’d jerk off next to his unconscious body, and then I’d go to sleep and leave in the morning before he even woke up.

But that wasn’t the way Jean-Claude wanted the evening to play out. As my fingertip toyed with his asshole, threatening to push past the sphincter, he yanked his wet cock out of her mouth.

“Watch me fuck her!” he said, nudging her thighs apart, spreading her legs wide and pushing her knees up so her feet were tucked behind her ears. I was never that limber.

Her pussy pouted open, slick and artificially wet, oozing lube. It was a mirror image of my own vagina. He speared her with one thrust, burying his hard cock in her cunt. Despite myself, I envied her, ached to feel that thick, meaty hardness filling me up. My pussy was wet and excited.

I watched him fuck her. It was oddly sexy, like watching old video of myself having sex. Her head lolled back and forth, making automated sex noises; her tits shook as he fucked. I wanted that. I wanted it for myself. I squeezed my thighs together, mashing my clit between my fat and juicy lips. He was going to make me masturbate for him, wasn’t he? The bastard, he’d planned this. And it was going to work.

He pulled his cock out of her cunt, shiny with lube; turned and grinned at me, and then lifted her ass up off the bed, and pried her cheeks apart. Her anus looked tiny and tender and vulnerable. With one savage thrust, he buried himself in her puckered little asshole.

I remembered the first time he’d done that to me. I had screamed. I thought I was being torn in half. Later on, he’d said he was sorry, but he wasn’t.

He fucked her ass viciously, like he meant it, burying himself up to the balls in her anus before pulling all the way out and then ramming his cock back in again.

“Put your fingers in her twat,” he told me, “I want you to feel this.”

For whatever reason, I did as he said, slipping two finger up inside her. The Simulacrum’s vagina felt almost exactly like a real pussy; hot, tight, and slimy, with the extra added bonus of a soft, persistent vibration.  I could feel Jean-Claude’s cock pistoning in and out of her asshole, rampant inside her rectum. I stroked his cock through the thin layer of artificial flesh, feeling his every ridge and texture.

He was sweating, breathing hard. His balls were drawn up tight. He was close. I stroked his dick even more aggressively through the Simulacrum’s wet cunt, pressing my fingers hard against his shaft.

Jean-Claude reached down underneath the bed, and came up with a big, high-mass boron steel connecting wrench, the kind that orbital mechanics use to join up big chunks of satellite. He lifted it high over his head, and brought it down with a grunt, splitting the Simulacrum’s head right at the temple. He smashed the wrench into her head again and again, crushing her plastic skull like a watermelon. Her head made a nasty wet scrunching sound as the wrench beat it into a shapeless pulp. Blood and tissue and gore spattered everywhere, soaking the bed sheets and splashing onto the cubicle walls.

He turned to look at me, baring his teeth in a manic grin, and brought the wrench down hard on her chest, punching through where her sternum would have been. Only then did he come, grimacing and grunting through his orgasm. I felt his dick twitch inside her as he pumped his semen into her ruined body cavity.

I managed to hold it together. That was the whole point of this little scene, to get a reaction out of me, and I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure, not if I could help it.

I left him there in his filthy little blood-stained coffin. He could clean up the mess; he’d have to, before the Simulacrum’s tissue started going rancid. There are no rats on the moon, but if there were, they’d live in Jean-Claude’s apartment.

The last I saw of him, he was sitting on the commode, snorting long, fat lines of some gunpowder-grey substance, some exotic and esoteric drug that would end up killing him.

I threw up down on the street, vomiting into a convenient public receptacle. After I’d puked, I felt a little better. I swallowed the last of my pills, and made my way through the perpetual night, back towards downtown, back to the space elevator, picking my way through crowds of red-eyed, hollow-faced sex tourists.

I stopped in at a McDonalds, and got myself a large fries, the comfort food of my girlhood. They always taste the same, no matter where you order them. I ate my hot, salty, greasy, extruded fries as I walked up the crowded sidewalks toward the elevator to Needle’s Eye, tears streaming down my cheeks.

As soon as I get back to L4, I’m going to get my brain scrubbed. A full ten-year memory wipe. I swear to fucking God.


Comments (6)

Going Down

It is three in the morning and I can’t sleep. The second-hand air conditioner in my window rattles and hums, fitfully blowing tepid air across my body. I lie atop the sheets naked except for an old pair of white panties. Is the coffee I drank in the afternoon keeping me up? Or is it work-related stress from the job I hate and I feel like I’m on the brink of getting downsized out of? Is it the stifling heat that has settled on top of New York City like a heavy wool rug? Is it the fact that I’m approaching thirty, adrift and single, and not even really trying? It’s probably all these things put together, plus the fact that I have to be up at seven, and if I don’t get some sleep soon, I am going to be a disaster in the morning.

I peel off the ratty panties and toss them onto the floor. I have a respectable toy collection: several different vibrators, a couple of nice dildos, and lately a large black silicone butt plug that I’ve taken to inserting when I whack off. But I’m not going to get the toys out now, not at 3:15 in the morning. I simply let my fingers do the walking.

My slit is furry, warm and moist. My clit is swollen and sensitive. I trace my fingers up and down, round and around, and think about getting stuck in an elevator. This is my stand-by fantasy, an old favorite.

He doesn’t look like a rapist. But then again, who ever does? He steps in beside me and presses the ‘down’ button, thumbs it repeatedly for emphasis. He is wearing a grey tweed business suit, double-breasted. It looks well-cut and expensive. He wears a low-key, wide tie. A gold band gleams dully on his left hand. I feel his body heat next to me, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at the bulge in his crotch.

It is easy to get away with staring at his package, because the walls of the elevator are mirrored. Presumably to make the tiny car seem less claustrophobic. It is one of those ancient New York elevators, small as a coffin, rattley and shakey and creaky.

He has a thick, veiney neck, big hands, hairy forearms. His package bulges in the front of his trousers. He doesn’t look like anyone I’d ever date, not in a million years. He looks like he’s got a pretty big dick, looks like he’s really proud of it. He probably drives a shiny black SUV, an Escalade, or possibly a Hummer. Played football in college. Just made vice-president, and won’t get any further up the corporate ladder. Gets half drunk on Bud in sports bars, yells at his mousy wife in public. Plays a decent game of golf. Intimidates his subordinates. A prick.

He stabs the door-close button, and the down button again, in rapid, angry succession, and at last the doors slide shut and the car begins it’s rattle-trap journey down to the ground floor.

And stops, with a lurch. We are somewhere between the fourteenth and fifteenth floors, stuck in the shaft. I look at him. He looks at me. My palms are sweaty, my stomach is tight and nervous. My cunt tingles and salivates.

A long minute, standing inches apart. The elevator car does not move. I can see myself in the mirrored walls in three separate reflections: paisley patterned summer dress down to my ankles, panty lines visible, open-toes shoes in defiance of the company’s dress code. No bra, nipples clearly visible through the flimsy light fabric.

He smiles, and I feel adrenaline course through my veins, the kind of rush a junkie must feel when she shoots up. He grabs me by the face, pinching my mouth in one giant hand, my own teeth cutting the insides of my cheeks until I taste blood; he forces me down onto my knees, cuffs me across the face with the flat of his hand, yanks down the front of my dress so that my tits spill out like an overturned cart full of melons.

He laughs out loud, a nasty, barking laugh. Unzips, fishes out his gear. He has a monster cock; stupid big, shaved bald, a pink glans that looks like an afterthought. The shaft is thick and riddled with veins. He could be a porno star, the kind of mainstream porno with a disco soundtrack that I loathe, the kind that always ends with the guy jerking off onto the girl’s face. I bet he bought his wife a boobjob for her birthday.

He crams that big dick into my mouth and I can’t breathe. He pulls my hair, fucking my face, making me choke and gag. Morbidly strong hands on the back of my head forcing me down his length, cramming that cock down my throat, past my tonsils, halfway down my neck. He reeks of stale sweat and cheap cologne. His balls are fat and plump, like grapes on a vine. My windpipe is blocked. I can’t breathe. I struggle and swallow convulsively as he callously fucks my throat.

Just as I start to think that I can take no more, that I am about to pass out, he yanks his cock out of my mouth without warning, leaving me coughing and gasping for air. He chuckles as he pulls me up onto my feet again, each of my erect nipples pinched between his thumb and forefingers like a pair of industrial vice-grips. His oversized dick is red with excitement, slick and wet with my saliva. He hikes my dress up, pulls my turquoise panties to one side, muscles his way in between my legs, and rams his penis straight up my cunt.

I am wet and slippery, and my pussy accepts the invasion almost without resistance. He fucks me hard and selfishly, slamming me up against the elevator doors. I watch us, almost abstractly, like seeing a porn film through the window in someone else’s apartment. His pale ass clenched tight, he, fucks my cunt like a rutting animal. I realize that I am crying out, realize that against my own will I am going to come, and when he sees this he grins, fucking me even harder, so my toes are lifted off the ground with every thrust.

I feel him come, his cock twitching, flooding my hungry cunt with semen. I am almost there, and he leaves me dangling. Withdraws his reduced, come-slick dick, tucks it back into his pants, zips up. I finger my clit shamelessly, and he sniggers.

With a sudden lurch, the elevator car starts up again, resumes it’s plodding way down to the lobby. My dress is a mess, my tits are still hanging out. I finger myself ruthlessly, strumming my clit like a demented banjo player, holding my breath, my lips curled back into a convulsive snarl.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open just as I come. I come, gasping and panting, trying not to scream, tremors rocking through my body. He exits the elevator, striding off into the crowded lobby as I slide down the wall, landing in a heap on my ass, crying with relief, his sticky white come still leaking out of my juicy cunt.

Oh yeah, that did it. Now there is a wet spot on the sheets, but I am way too tired to care. I close my eyes again, inhaling the scent of my pussy’s excitement, and drift off into a few precious hours of deep, dreamless sleep.

Work is stupid. There is not much to do there besides send out résumés and pretend to work. Bella halfhearted patrols the cubicles from time to time, pretending to care what we are doing. I keep a spreadsheet open for appearances sake, but I mostly just play solitaire. At one point I walk past Leah’s workstation and notice that she is browsing porn. Looks like she is into spanking stuff: blonde, waif-like highly tattooed models with big tits and pierced nipples getting bent over convenient furniture by stern-looking men in suits with large hands, wielding cruel-looking whips and canes and scary paddles. Not really my cup of tea, but I admire the spirit. She should really be more careful though. I make it a policy to stay away from porn at work. I need this stupid job.

After work, at long last, I go home and change clothes. My mom thinks I should be dating: get a hobby, join a club, post a personal, go to a bar, something! It is all too depressing for words. I pull on my baggy dungarees, an oversized sweatshirt, trail runners and a battered old baseball hat worn backward on my head. I take the cross-town bus and walk the final three blocks to the underpass where the gay boys like to cruise for anonymous sex.

There is a pretty good crowd there already, in the dripping dark, amidst the empty beer cans and the condom wrappers. It is hot, unrelentingly hot, and the humidity makes it feel like standing in a lukewarm swimming pool. A constant roar of traffic overhead drowns out any attempt at conversation. I try not to think about rats.

I find myself standing close to a skinny, fair-skinned boy. He might be painfully young, it is hard to tell in this low light. Our hands join, his body presses against mine, we kiss a little bit, and then my hand is rubbing the front of his jeans, up and down, feeling his hardness underneath the zipper, feeling his eagerness as I extract his cock.

I maneuver myself behind him so that my crotch is pressed against his tight butt. My fingers encircle his penis. He is stiff, hot, smooth and silky. I jerk him off in the grimy, crowded darkness, playing him like a musical instrument, varying my tempo, building, building, slowing, teasing, building again until he is trembling with excited tension. I bite the muscles of his shoulder as I go for the final crescendo, sliding my hand up and down his hyper-excited cock, faster and faster, his breathing raspy as I bring him to a shattering, long-delayed release. He shoots semen into the night air in a clean, mathematically-defined parabolic arc, and I am already detaching myself, moving away into the crowd.

Another boy. This one is kind of fat, wears a little goatee. We kiss and grope a little, then he unzips and delivers me the goods. He wants me to suck it, but I am not getting down on my knees in this environment. I stroke his cock with my hand, enjoying the texture, enjoying his hardness. His dick is on the small side, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. My hand is wrapped around his penis, pumping happily away.

He wants to feel me too. Evasive action fails, and his hand worms in through the open side of my dungarees, down inside my boxers. I feel his consternation and surprise at what he finds and does not find down there. He pulls away, and I lose my grip on his penis.

‘False Advertising’, he whispers in my ear. I giggle coquettishly and shrug. His dick is still hard, still hanging out there, wagging like a dog tail in the subterranean gloom. He whispers to me again, his goatee tickling my ear. He wants to fuck me in the ass. I ask if he has a condom. He does, so I say okay.

I unclip the shoulder straps and my dungarees fall in a heap around my ankles. I pull down my boxer shorts. He stands behind me, hands on my hips, breathing hard on the back of my neck as he maneuvers his erection between my butt cheeks.

He doesn’t actually fuck my asshole; he is too eager and over-excited, and I am not relaxed or lubed up enough. He tries for a little bit, and then gives up on penetration, and concentrates on sliding his cock up and down my ass crack, like a bratwurst sliding up and down a hot dog bun, until he comes. It feels really nice, and I catch myself wishing he wasn’t wearing a condom. When he does come, he squeezes his body really hard against me, and I can feel his cock twitch against my anus as he convulsively squirts hot come into the condom wedged between my cheeks. We stay like that for a few heartbeats, and then he disengages, melting quietly away into the crowded darkness, leaving me to pull my clothes back on.

A couple more gay boys, a couple more handjobs, and I am through for the night. My arm muscles ache, my clit is humming and impatient, and my cunt is drooling down my legs. It takes forever for the bus to arrive, and by the time I get home I am exhausted and frustrated. I skip the porn, and land directly on my bed, naked and horny. I insert the butt plug, and apply the vibrating egg to my swollen clit, and indulge in another elevator fantasy.

I have to work late, and by the time I leave the office, the only thing on my mind is Chinese take-out and the half-full bottle of red wine sitting on my kitchen counter. A trio of workers in navy-blue coveralls gets into the car a couple floors below me. Repairmen or technicians of some sort; two guys and a girl. Are they electricians? With the phone company? I don’t really give the matter two thoughts. The doors slide closed, and the car glides down toward the lobby.

And stops. Someone groans. One of the repairmen pushes the ‘Trouble’ button, and a few seconds later a lit-up button informs us that ‘Help Is On The Way’. He sighs and slumps against the elevator wall. He is black, tall and rangy, with ropey muscles and short, tight dreads. His partner is white, shorter, curly hair and an angular face like a weasel. He is chewing gum loudly. The girl is about my age, stocky and thick but not what I’d call fat, a clunky leather tool belt perched on her hips, glasses balanced on an upturned nose and heavy-looking breasts like two-liter bottles.


All six eyes are fixed on me. It is suddenly uncomfortably hot and close in here. I feel self-conscious in my white blouse, heels and slacks. The girl yawns and nudges her partner, the weasel-faced white guy. Black dude stretches and lazily unbuttons the top of his coveralls, exposing a smooth chocolate chest, nipples like Hershey Kisses.

I am kissing his pecs, the hollow of his sternum, nuzzling at his nipples. He tastes nice, sweaty and spicy. I can feel the other two watching, and it only makes me wetter, knowing that I am being minutely observed. The coveralls slide easily down his body. He is not wearing anything underneath.

He has a tight, ripped body. Very short, very kinky black pubic patch, big fat knobbly dick, uncircumcised, with a purple head like a ripe plum peeking out from underneath the foreskin. I drop to my knees, doing my very best to swallow him whole, which isn’t really practical, but is a lot of fun to try. I try a different approach, slathering my tongue up and down his shaft, slurping his fat testicles, pulling back the foreskin and tracing the topography of his glans. His cock is rigidly hard, craning eagerly upward, hot and juicy.

 Someone is unbuttoning my blouse, and my breasts hang pendulously down as my bra is unclasped. The girl is standing next to me, her tool belt level with my head. She pats me on the head like a dog, tousling my hair. Someone, it must be Weasel-Face, is tugging my pants off, groping and pawing at my cunt. I am soaking wet, hot and slippery and horny as hell. I raise my knees one by one, my mouth full of cock, and kick my panties aside.

Dreadlocks pulls his dick away, and I come up, panting. The girl chuckles, “What a horny little slut she is!” She tugs my hair fondly, and I wiggle my ass in response. The boys rearrange themselves.

Weasel-Face is standing in front of me, his jeans unzipped, his cock projecting straight out. His dick is pale, pink and white and blue, and it is crooked, bent like a scimitar. It fits nicely into my mouth, and I suck at it greedily. Meanwhile, Dreadlocks is behind me, maneuvering himself in between my thighs. I jump and startle as his big dick rams up against my cunt. Weasel-Face wraps his fingers in my hair and commands my attention, vigorously humping my wide-open mouth.

I am lavishing attention onto Weasel-Face’s thrusting cock, and trying to breathe, as Dreadlocks spreads my cunt wide open and crams his tool home. The sudden invasion makes me gasp, electrifies me, as I am suddenly stretched wide and full of dick. He starts fucking my cunt hard, slapping my ass in a casual way, every second or third thrust. I try to concentrate on the dick in my mouth, but it is getting more and more difficult. My head is lolling back and forth, I am humping back against Dreadlock’s fucking, grunting like a pig with the pleasure of it. Weasel-Face has withdrawn his cock from my mouth, content with the occasional slurp I remember to give him, and is now jerking off into my face.

Dreadlocks comes suddenly, slamming himself into my cunt and emitting a series of cut-off shouts: ‘Ugh-ugh…uhh!’ I feel his dick swell and spasm inside me, feel his hot semen flooding my vagina, spilling out and running down my thighs, dripping onto the elevator floor. He slowly withdraws, and I feel suddenly empty.

“Your turn” the girl says. She has one hand stuck down the front of her pants.

“Sloppy Seconds” Weasel-Face comments.

“Fuck her in the ass,” the girl says. Her hand is busy down the front of her pants, “You know she wants it.”

He smears the gooey wetness that is drooling out of my cunt up and down my butt, and around my anus before rudely jamming a finger into that tight, sensitive hole. I yelp and jump, but I certainly do not object as he works his forefinger in and out, twisting it around inside me. Besides, Mr. Dreadlocks has come around front again, and is busy feeding me his soft, salty, come-flavored dick, and playing with my breasts, pinching and squeezing my erect nipples. It is really quite distracting.

I guess Weasel-Face figures he’s warmed me up enough: he suddenly withdraws his finger, leaving my asshole gasping. I glance over at the girl; she is working her hand rhythmically back and forth inside her work pants, making the tools on her belt jingle. She looks down at me with a sneer. “Go ahead and sodomize her,” she says, “Horny little slut.”

Weasel Face takes careful aim, and works his crooked dick up my ass. It is kind of tight fit getting in, but once past the tight ring of my sphincter, he slides right on in. It feels wild, amazing, out of control. He starts fucking my asshole, sliding in and out, slowly at first, and then harder and harder, faster and faster, grunting with the effort.

I can’t take it anymore, I have to masturbate. I let Dreadlock’s cock slip out of my mouth, reach between my legs and shamelessly play with my swollen, aching clit. Dreadlocks takes matters into his own hands, masturbating himself onto my face. The girl is masturbating hard, leaning back against the wall of the elevator car as Weasel-Face pounds my poor little asshole.

We all four come at about the same time. Dreadlocks growls like an animal and splashes a relatively small amount of sticky white come onto my face; Weasel-Face buries himself in my ass, filling me to overflowing with what seems like pint after pint of his hot semen; the girl comes silently, her face screwed up in an ecstatic mask; and I go off bucking and screaming, wracked with pleasure that breaks over me again and again like storm-churned surf, until I am left a limp, sweaty, sticky mass on the floor of the elevator.

Without warning, the elevator car starts smoothly up again, and slowly descends to the ground floor as my technicians quickly tuck themselves back into their work clothes. The exit the elevator without a word, leaving me naked on the floor, soaked in sweat, dripping come and reeking of sex.

Work drags on and on. Bella has given up all pretense of trying to keep us on-task. There is an atmosphere of impending doom all over the office. I am tempted to follow Leah’s example and surf a little porn, but the fact is that I really do need this job, and I don’t want to give them any excuse to fire me. I know it is only a matter of time, but at least it is air conditioned in here.

At last it is over. I go home, take a shower, have a drink, have another one, change into my boxers and baggy sweatshirt and baseball cap, and fire up the internet. I turn on the webcam, and surf on over to the gay boy chat rooms, misrepresenting myself, flirtatious and coy, trying to get them to show skin without showing any of my own.

An hour or so of this, and I am drenched and edgy. My boxer shorts are sodden, I have soaked all the way through them and made a big wet patch on the computer chair. The keyboard is sticky with my own juices. I turn off the webcam and shed my clothing, flopping naked onto the bed. On my knees, ass thrust up in the air like a cartoon sex kitten, I carefully insert the well-lubed butt plug. I savor the sensation of fullness, the pressure on my pussy from the inside that makes my clit stand up like a little beacon. I run my fingers up and down my vulva, allowing a finger to slip inside and feel my warm, wet tightness, before I concentrate on my clit, slipping into fantasy as I draw tiny concentric circles round and around my sensitive button.

It is just the two of us in the elevator, him and me. I don’t recognize him, he got on at a higher floor. Cute, the body of a long-distance runner, or maybe a cyclist. He wears a low-key suit, and glasses. Kind eyes, easy smile. Looks a little shy, maybe a year or two younger than me. Nice hands. I automatically check; no ring.

He coughs and gives me an apologetic smile. I smile back, what I hope is a friendly little smile. He’s cute, just my cup of tea. The door slide close, and my stomach lurches slightly as the elevator descends.

A boom that is felt more than heard, almost sub-sonic, the shock waves passing through our bodies and upsetting our internal organs, making the whole building sway. The elevator stops so suddenly I am knocked to the floor. He maintains his footing. The lights go out, it is pitch black for a long, long moment, and then the emergency lights kick in. A whiff of acrid smoke. Sirens, dimly heard.

Time passes. Nothing happens. Cautious small talk, ginger attempts at humor. Still nothing happens. Fear and claustrophobia are slowly giving way to boredom. Horny boredom.

“We may be stuck here for a while.”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s hot in here.” Which is true, it is hot in the car with no air conditioning running, but it probably isn’t strictly necessary for me to be unbuttoning my blouse, stepping out of my slacks.

“I’m not sure my girlfriend would approve.”

“She’s not here though, is she? Come on, you don’t have to get naked, just take your suit off. It is hot in here, isn’t it?”

Reluctantly, and yet eagerly, like a dog slinking toward a treat it knows it’s not allowed to have, he peeled off his office clothes, folding and stacking them in the corner. He is wearing baby blue briefs, and the bulge in the front is positively mouth-watering. His legs are long and muscular, his tummy is flat.

We sit next to each other in our skivvies, making more small talk, pretending not to be flirting as we talk about where we went to college and what we like to eat and do on our weekends. He is training for a mini-triathlon; I put my hand on his leg and squeeze the muscle, and I feel him jump, but he does not flinch away.

He has an erection. It is bulging urgently inside his briefs, straining to get out. God, if I had a dick, it would be so hard right now! My pussy is moist and eager, my clit is humming. I let my bra-encased breast brush against his naked shoulder. He does not pull away. I take a chance, reach over, stroke his hard cock through the fabric of his underwear.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“I know.” I do not stop. His dick feels really nice inside his shorts. I want more.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We’re not doing anything.” I leave off petting his dick for a moment to unsnap my bra, setting my breasts free. “Do you like them?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

I extract his penis from his underwear. He does not stop me.

He has a lovely cock, medium-large, thick, with a very pronounced, teardrop-shaped head. His pee-hole is a slit that looks like the pupil of a cat’s eye.. A glistening, clear strand of pre-come is leaking out of that eyelet, and I scoop it up with one finger and bring it to my lips. He tastes sticky and sweet.

I start jerking him off. I have gotten very, very good at giving handjobs over the years; I’ve had a lot of practice. The trick is figuring out what the guy likes; every man is different. I find the way his likes it best, grasping his hot dick very lightly in one hand, pumping in a rapid irregular rhythm, bringing him close and then backing off. I can feel his pulse thumping in his dick.

He doesn’t seem to care one way or another for having his balls played with, so I move further south. Now that gets a reaction! He moans and humps the air with his dick, waggling it like a spear as I circle his anus with one finger, oh-so gently petting the soft skin around his asshole.

“Oh my God,” he gasps, “My girlfriend is going to kill me!”

“Your girlfriend is never going to know.” I say. I insert my fingertip into his tight little asshole, at the same time dropping my ravenous mouth onto his cock. It is delicious. The head of his dick fills my mouth like a hot piece of candy. I lavish my tongue all around him, jerking him off with one hand, fingering his ass with the other, sucking like a Hoover all the while.

I want to taste his come, but I want him inside my cunt even more. I release his dick, extract my forefinger, which has worked it’s naughty way up his asshole until I was knuckle-deep inside him. His dick flops wetly and frustrated. I pull off my panties and toss them aside.

“No, please…”

“You want me to stop?” I am straddling his lap. My wetness is drooling out of me like a leaky faucet. I can feel the heat of his cock close to my pussy.

“No, please, no…”

I grab a hold of his dick, place it squarely up against my drooling lips, and lower myself onto him. It feels amazing to be full of him, and right away I know I am close to coming. He opens his mouth to say something, and I feed him my breast, shoving my erect nipple into his mouth. He sucks my tit hard as I squirm on his cock, rocking back and forth and up and down.

We roll over so he can be  on top, which is kind of my favorite anyway. Where is his girlfriend now? His dick is sliding in and out of my cunt, sending jolts through me with every thrust. “Please play with my asshole,” he begs, and I oblige him. I can barely reach his backside this way, but when I find his anus, he goes wild, fucking me even harder. I encourage him, worming my finger deeper inside, talking dirty to him, calling him a fucking stud, a sex machine, begging him to come in my pussy.

He does come, squirting deep inside me with a long, drawn-out wail. His orgasm triggers my own, and my pussy pulsates on his cock, milking every last drop of semen out of him. It seems to go on forever, and we stay interlocked, limp and motionless, for a long while, breathing hard, his soft dick inside my tired pussy.

I am highly tempted to go for a second round, to lick my pussy-juice off his dick until he gets hard in my mouth, but now we can hear the sounds of rescuers approaching, and he gets shy. He is thinking of his girlfriend again, and feeling bad about what we did. I try to feel a little guilty, but I can’t.

Bella calls me into the office. “This isn’t easy for me to say, you know. You shouldn’t take it personally. It is no reflection upon you. It all came down from corporate. We’re downsizing.”

Even though I’ve been expecting this for weeks, it still comes as a shock. I don’t know what to say. I stand there in front of the desk, feeling like a rag doll, a plaything tossed aside.

“It’s no reflection on you personally,” Bella repeats, sounding weary, “It would be best if you just packed up your things and left now.”

Best for who? I don’t have much to pack up, it all fits into my backpack. I don’t speak to anyone, keep my eyes glued to the carpet as I traverse past the cubicles on my way to the elevator.

The elevator seems to take forever to arrive. Finally, the doors open up and I step inside with a sinking feeling in my gut. I just want to get out of the building, to feel sunshine on my skin, to breathe some fresh air and to figure out what I’m going to do next.

Just as the doors are sliding closed, Leah comes running, “Hold the door!” I bump the door open for her, annoyed because I don’t feel like company. She slips in, out of breath, the doors close, and the elevator starts going down.

Leah is taller than me, and skinnier, and has the kind of curly, golden-blonde hair that I would have killed for as a little girl. She is wearing charcoal-grey pinstriped pants, and a sleeveless white t-shirt with a black bra clearly visible underneath, in flagrant disregard for company dress code. We have worked in the same office for over six months, and I don’t think we ever spoke two sentences to each other.

“Laid off?”

“Yes.” I say. I don’t really feel like talking about it. How am I going to pay the rent with no paycheck? How am I going to eat? Where does a girl with not much job experience and an undergraduate degree in English look for work in an economy like this?

“Me too,” Leah says, “Good riddance. Screw it. I won’t miss this lousy job.”

The elevator jerks to a sudden halt, and an obnoxious high-pitched alarm starts going off.

I can’t believe it. Can anything else go wrong today? I just want to go home and start drinking and get on with my life. Sex is the last thing on my mind.

Until Leah leans in, backing me into the corner, an arm on the wall to either side of me so I can’t get away, and kisses me softly on the lips.

“Looks like we’re stuck”, she says, her face uncomfortably close to my own.

I must be the only female in the history of Sarah Lawrence College to graduate without ever having fucked a girl. It’s not that I have anything against the concept; it’s just not my primary focus, and I had a lot of other things going on at the time. It looks like all that might be about to change.

Her lips are on mine, her tongue is insinuating its way into my mouth, startling me with her aggressive forwardness. I realize belatedly that I am kissing her back, and that her lips are soft and feminine and highly kissable.

Her hand slides up my skirt, boldly exploring, probing my pussy through my underwear. I am instantly drenched. I want her fingers up inside my panties, buried in my cunt. She obliges me, her mouth pressed against mine, her hand cupping her breasts, two fingers pushing my panties aside, finger-fucking me hard and deep. I gasp into her open mouth as she penetrates me, the alarm of the stuck elevator ringing in the background, grinding my hips against her thrusting hand, and I realize that I am about to come on her long, tenacious fingers.

I mew aloud, abandoning myself to the orgasm, arching my back and leaning my shoulders against the wall of the elevator, surrendering myself to her. Leah grins, lifting up my skirt and pulling my panties aside for a better view, fucking my cunt hard with two fingers. Her thumb is bumping up against my clitoris, and that is what sets me off. I come, gasping and panting, shaking and struggling to get more of her inside me, more of her flesh in contact with my own.

When I have settled down, she withdraws her sticky fingers, and coyly holds them up to my mouth to lick off. I clean them like a cat, licking off my pussy juice, swirling my tongue all over them, as if her long, graceful fingers were a cock.

She is peeling off her black pants. Underneath she wears a tiny pair of pink bikini panties. I tell her I want to see her tits, and with a smile that is almost shy, she obliges me, pulling off her t-shirt and unsnapping her bra. Her boobs are smaller than mine, pert and bouncy. The nipples are pink and conical and erect. I would like to have one in my mouth, but she turns around, facing the wall, thrusting her rear end out, and I know what she wants now.

I tug her panties down around her knees. She has a beautiful ass, pale and taut, not so much as a ripple of cellulite. There is no hair between her legs, she is waxed as bald as a porn star. Her labia are fat and puffy, the inner parts of her vagina are tucked shyly away.

SWACK! SMACK! Now her ass is not quite so flawless, but looks even sexier with two raised red hand prints, one on each cheek. I like the way her flesh jiggles when I slap her, I adore the sharp intake of breath, and the way she wiggles her behind, inviting more abuse. I oblige her, spanking her ass until it is livid red and angry, until she is panting like she’d just run a 10k, until my shoulder aches with it and my hand feels swollen and sore.

“Kiss it better” she whispers, half a command, half an urgent plea, and I am only too happy to do just that. I get down on my knees behind her, spreading her cheeks apart like the two halves of a ripe peach, exposing her hidden inner bits. Pink, moist lips peak out from between her fat outer labia. Her anus is tiny, delicate looking, crinkled up like a tiny little starfish. I nestle my face between her soft cheeks and flick at it with my tongue and she sighs and presses back against me.

I try to picture working my fat black butt plug, all slick with lube, up that tiny little hole. It is hard to imagine it fitting, but it is a sexy image indeed! I imagine her moaning, begging me not to stop, her asshole stretched wide around the toy, her pussy leaking come all over my fresh white sheets. I lick her ass, up and down, pressing the flat of my tongue against her asshole. She tastes clean and earthy. I try to work the tip of my tongue up inside her butt. Her asshole is clenched tight.

I have had close encounters with anuses before, but only gay boy anuses. They’ve always been loose and limber; the licking has always just been a precursor to me sliding a finger or two up the guy’s ass, and I’ve always had a handful of cock and balls to go with it. I enjoy licking Leah’s shy little asshole, teasing and tickling her, licking softly and persistently until she is loose enough that I can get the tip of my tongue up inside her butt.

I slide my thumb inside her pussy. I am shocked at how hot and wet and slick she is. My thumb meets no resistance; it is like dipping a finger into a bowl of melted butter. I am instantly buried in her pussy up to the knuckle. My forefinger rests against her clit, nestled between those fat outer lips. I proceed to fuck her, from inside and out, squeezing my finger to press against my thumb, my extended tongue wormed up inside her ass; and she proceeds to go a little crazy, emitting choking gasping screams and humping wildly back against my face, covering my hand in hers and pressing me harder, harder, harder against her sopping wet cunt. I can barely breathe and yet I keep on licking. When she comes, I feel her pussy tense and relax, opening up and clamping down on my thumb. I fuck her through the aftershocks, and only reluctantly withdraw, collapsing onto the floor with come all over my face and fingers and a big smile on my face.

We get dressed. “Thank you,” she says, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” She pulls out the emergency stop button and the trilling alarm stops and the elevator resumes its slow slide down toward the hot, humid streets of unemployment.

I glance up at the security camera in the corner, with its red blinking LED. “Do you suppose that thing works?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Leah says, “I certainly hope so.”

The elevator stops at the ground floor and the doors slide open. I think about asking her for her email, asking if she’d like to get together for dinner, or have a drink. I think leading her into my bedroom, lying down on top of her. I imagine how she would look atop my sheets, her flawless cheeks spread apart, with my butt plug lodged inside her asshole, her pussy crammed full of my fingers, her clit craning out toward the vibrator I am holding millimeters away.  I think of her kneeling before me in my bathtub as I beat her ass with a ruler, making her count the strokes out loud through her sobs. I think about going down to the underpass with her, hand in hand, fingering each other in the semi-darkness while gay boys with hard-ons crowd all around. I step out of the elevator, go to catch up with her, get her phone number, but it is already too late. She is gone.
















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