Posts Tagged fantasy

Tuesday Night Soliloquy

10:35 pm

Tiny concentric circles: an infinitesimally reducing radius, a satellite spiraling downward in a slowly decaying orbit, circling just above the surface of the red-hot, pulsating star; coming close, skimming near, but never quite touching. Jessica squirmed around on top of the sheets, glancing over at the computer monitor across her bedroom on her desk. She flexed and arched her back, and paused momentarily to lick her fingers. She tasted sexy, a little salty, a little sweet, a little bit spicy. She loved the taste of her own come. She made a soft little mewing noise, and let her fingertip resume it’s circling.

Masturbation was perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of. How many times had she heard that? Jessica didn’t believe a word of it. At least not the way she did it. What she was doing was abnormal and sick, perverted. But it felt so good she wasn’t about to stop, no way. It wasn’t so much what she was doing; that was harmless, anyone could see that. It was what she was thinking about that was so wrong.

She was drenched. Her juice felt like a lava flow, oozing out of her cunt, a Mauna Loa in miniature. Her finger was coated with warm slickness, gliding on it’s slow, tormenting path around her clit. Her pussy was swollen, spread wide open. Her clit felt like it was the size of a lima bean. It throbbed with every heartbeat, like an over-inflated balloon, distended, enormous and ready to burst.

There was a video clip playing out on the computer screen: two cute girls, a little older than Jessica herself, college-age maybe, were locked in an acrobatic-looking 69, folded over a purple easy chair, vigorously licking each other’s pussy. The girl on the bottom had long, brunette hair that cascaded down off the chair and was piled in a tangled heap on the floor. Her legs kicked as the shorter, blonde girl with the page-boy hair and cut and tatoos licked her pussy. Jessica had seen the video before, many times before, and she knew every move, as if it were a classic ballet. She was idly watching the girls on the screen, but they weren’t what she was thinking about as she slowly circled her clit. Slowly, gently, slower now; she was dangling right on the edge, and the tiniest little bit of extra stimulation would push her straight over the tipping point into a massive orgasm.

The brown-haired girl on the bottom half of the sandwich groped around under the chair, and came up with a small, white, plastic vibrator. A deft twist of the base, and it started humming, the irritating mechanical noise amplified by the microphone on the video camera that was filming them. This was the hottest part. The girl pried the blonde chick’s petite butt cheeks apart, fully exposing her most private bits. She playfully licked between the blonde girl’s cheeks, eliciting a yelp.

Jessica’s nipples were puffy and straining, the skin on her chest mottled pink and red. She slipped one hand back down between her own ass cheeks, her finger exploring, sliding, petting. Everything was sopping wet down there, slick with come and sweat. She was still watching the video, but the scene that was playing out inside her head was even hotter, and far filthier. Her finger found her anus and carefully probed up inside. Oh fuck yess…

On the screen, the long haired girl was insistently working the vibrator up the blonde girl’s butt. The spiky-haired blonde girl was thrashing around, struggling and bucking as the brown-haired girl fucked her ass deeper and deeper, working the little vibrator like a potato masher. She imagined her father’s hard cock, his fat, rigid, urgent erection invading her just like that. She shoved the finger in her own butthole deeper, as deep as she could stand it. Finally, she let herself touch her swollen clit. She arched her back, raising her ass up off the bed, working her clitoris like a pencil eraser. Her eyes squeezed shut and her entire body clenched as she came… Oh YES, oh Daddy, fuck my ass hard, harder!



Frank lay in the darkness next to his sleeping wife, his erection flapping up against his stomach. His wife snored slightly, rasping quietly as she slept. Frank slowly traced one finger up along the length of his shaft, starting where his cock met his crinkled ball sac, up along the big puffy vein, and across the underside of the naked purple crown until he touched the little pink hole at the end, already leaking clear sticky juice. Then he started the long traverse back down again. He was silently torturing himself, and the sensation was exquisite.

What was it like to be in a sexless marriage? If anyone had asked, Frank would have said it was a lot like a regular marriage, only not as much fun. He and Sheila used to have a good sex life, back when they first got together. Relatively vanilla, but steamy hot and energetic and plentiful. Then the kids had come along, first Jessica, and then Brian; they’d fallen out of the habit of having sex, and never fallen back in.

Sheila, his wife, still had a pretty nice body. She ran, she did yoga. Sometimes they talked about having sex again, but they never seemed to find the time. Frank’s pajamas were shoved down around his thighs. He wondered what she’d say if she woke up and realized he was jerking off in bed. Would she be shocked? Disgusted? Angry? Would she take the opportunity to join in, grasping his dick in her own hand for the first time in… he wasn’t even sure how long now.

Keeping silent, keeping absolutely still, that was half the thrill of it. It had been a solid week, maybe more since he had last masturbated, and his balls were heavy, ready to burst. He had been walking around all day with half an erection, just waiting. His fingertip traced an invisible line up his cock and back down again, barely brushing the sensitive flesh. Sticky pre-come was seeping out of his swollen crown, wetting the hair on his tummy. He curled his toes and bit his lower lip hard, savoring the delicious agony of delayed gratification.

Mrs. Cramer. Brian’s high school algebra teacher. The ‘Mrs’ meant nothing, he knew that for a fact; she was divorced. Her first name was Brenda. How old? Thirty-something. Probably in her early thirties. He let his fingertip caress his scrotum, tracing little circles around each painfully eager testicle, before resuming the slow, steady path up and down his engorged, straining cock.

She was short and curvy, with a mop of thick brown hair, reddish undertones, pulled carelessly back and held in place with a scrunchy. Large breasts were concealed under floppy, oversized sweaters. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing a paisley skirt that ended just above her ankles, and showed off her wide, soft, succulent rear end. Oh, how he lusted after that rear end! He’d tried not to stare; he didn’t know if he’d been successful.

He wondered if she had a boyfriend. He wondered if she was seeing anyone. He wondered what she’d do if he were to make a pass at her. Then he wondered what he’d do if she were actually receptive to being hit on. Long ago, in the sex-drenched early days of their relationship, he and Sheila had been lounging around in the golden post-sex glow of a warm bed, and they’d idly talked about threesomes. She hadn’t been opposed to the idea at the time. Theoretically. It was hard to imagine now. He wondered what it would be like to hug Mrs. Cramer from behind, to cup her large breasts in his hands, to press his erection against her big, soft, round bottom, to smell her hair and feel her warmth, to kiss her, and to press up against her, and to feel her press urgently back against him.

His cock twitched involuntarily. He wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. It was exquisite torture.

Frank increased his tempo almost imperceptibly, his finger tracing it’s lazy way up his cock and then back down again. If he moved much more than this, the bed would squeak. The muscles in his ass clenched and unclenched in frustration. His cock strained. There was wetness, sticky wetness all over his tummy. Carefully, silently, he peeled back the top sheet; he didn’t want to cause any embarrassing stains.

He imagined Mrs. Cramer asking him to come in and meet with her about his son’s class work. He imagined a coy, tentative flirtation, dancing around their mutual attraction. He imagined kissing her, fondling her breasts, feeling her nipples stiffen through her thick sweater. He imagined lifting her up onto her cluttered desk, her skirt riding up, her legs parting for him. He pictured her thighs, soft and pale and shapely. He wondered what sort of underwear she’d have on: would it be something secret and lacy and sexy, or would she be wearing plain white cotton panties? He could smell her excitement, maybe even see her wetness soaking through the thin material.

Sheila had never really been into being eaten out. She said it was nice, but only as a warm-up for the main event. If Frank ever got her close to orgasm with his tongue, she would push him away and beg him to put his cock inside her so she could come that way. Just once, he wished she’d just come all over his face.

He would peel back Mrs. Cramer’s panties, drag the tip of his tongue up and down her slit, her fat, puffy lips parting for him, her wetness leaking out, coating his tongue, her slick juices all over his face. He’d find her tiny pink clit, tease it, stimulate it, avoid it, slurping up and down her pussy, inserting a finger or two, return to the focus of her pleasure, flick at it with his tongue, listen to the sounds she made, hear her breathing change, feel her thighs squeezing his head, her hands digging into his hair.

Then she’d change positions. She’d turn over, so she was bent over her desk, her rump thrust up and out, her skirt piled up around her waist. He’d kneel behind her, and part the two soft white pillows of her ass, methodically exploring the valley between.

This was the one place that Sheila had always steadfastly refused to let him go.

Brenda’s anus would be small, impossibly small, tender and pink and puckered, like a flower not yet quite in bloom. He’d run his tongue around the little hole, avoiding it for as long as he could stand to, drinking in her sexy, earthy aromas, tasting the musk of her ass. Her breath would be coming in shudders now, she’d be begging him ‘Please, please, please…” He’d press the tip of his tongue against her opening. He’d feel her asshole relax a little, and he’d work his tongue further up inside. He’d reach around to finger her clit, but her fingers would be there already, busily stimulating herself. He’d slide his fingers up her sopping wet pussy, licking her asshole with abandon, straining to get his tongue all the way up her butt as she pressed back against him, grinding her ass into his face, begging for more, more, more…

His balls twitched, his cock jumped, and he spurted a stream of sticky white semen that splashed halfway up his chest. More and more pumped out, he was covered in the stuff. He was breathing hard, and his dick was still twitching, leaking come that threatened to run down his side and onto the bed sheets. He spread it around with his fingers, already cooling in the night air. Sheila shifted in her sleep. As always, he felt guilty now, dirty and embarrassed, like an awkward teen. He’d have to clean up before he went to sleep. He groped toward the side table for a tissue.

10:45 pm

There was a stack of papers on Brenda Cramer’s coffee table. 8th grade algebra homework that had to be graded by morning. She was about halfway through the pile, a red pen in one hand, a glass of cheap Malbec in the other. God, she loathed grading.

Brenda sipped her wine, and picked up the next paper. Troy Grabowski. God, what an obnoxious little smarty-pants! What kind of an eighth-grader wears button-down shirts and ties to school on a daily basis? He was that kid who always knew the answer first, who’s hair was always impeccably combed, the little prick who everyone knew would go on to a fancy school and would have a stellar career. He’d probably end up working for NASA or something.

She marked one of his answers wrong, just for spite. That seven sort of looked like a one. She’d swear his dad did his homework for him, except he aced all his tests too. Obnoxious little shit. He’d probably be a virgin till he was twenty-five.

Now that was an interesting thought. She needed a break from all this grading anyway. Boys that age always had hard-ons. Especially (she smirked a little) if they were forbidden to masturbate.

Brenda kept a pocket-rocket handy, in nifty little jewelry box on top of the DVD player. She glugged a big swallow of her wine and unbuttoned her jeans. She wouldn’t even bother taking her pants all the way off; this wouldn’t take very long.

With a click, the toy started humming, a happy, purposeful little buzz, like a honey bee hard at work. She shuffled her jeans and panties down around her mid-thighs. Her pussy was already damp with anticipation.

She snapped her fingers, and Troy came running; running as best he could, more of a painful-looking shuffle. He’d been grading math homework over at his desk in the corner, and he was wearing a rumpled white button-down shirt and a striped tie, but nothing else. His young cock was hard as bone, but pointed straight down at the floor; it was lashed round and round with a leather thong, and securely leashed to a ten-pound weight, an old cast-iron doorstop, that he dragged along the floor behind him.

He stood nervously at attention in front of the red leather couch where Brenda lounged, a contented, well-fed, pampered pussycat. She reached out and pulled the dangling tail end of the thong through its quick-release loop, and the binding fell away. Troy’s dick sprang straight up like a jack-in-the-box, and he gasped involuntarily.

“Very nice,” Brenda sniggered, “I think you’ve grown since last time.”

He did have a pretty big dick for a boy his age, and it looked painfully hard. It was swollen, quivering, and eager; she could still see the impression of the bindings along his shaft. The kid was practically begging for release; but he knew better than that. He still had livid red stripes across his skinny white from the last time he’d forgotten his place and spoken out of turn.

“I think you’ve got some work to do,” Brenda spread her legs, and lay back on the couch, hands folded behind her head, and Troy automatically got down between her thighs and started licking. The boy was a good student, a quick learner. He knew that if he spent too much time on her pussy he’d earn a vicious yank on his hair; he knew that if he concentrated too much attention directly on her clit he’d earn a stinging slap to the side of his face. He carefully trod a middle road, licking up and down her vulva, occasionally sliding a finger up her wet hole, teasing her, letting his tongue dance agilely around her bulging hard, sensitive clitoris.

He’d look cute, Brenda thought, doing that with a big, fat plug in his butt; the kind that has some kind of cord hanging out the end that she could reach over and tug on at opportune moments. Maybe someday she’d get him one, and make him wear it at school all day under his slacks and tighty-whities. It would be fun to watch him squirm in class. She’d call on him and no-one else that day. Make him get up and do problems on the blackboard.

She’d definitely be buying Troy a butt plug, a big, wide, black one, with bulges and knobs and a real horse-hair tail. But first she wanted to fuck him with a strap-on. She had a dildo and harness on mail-order from California. Anal sex doesn’t have to hurt at all, not even the first time, if done properly; Brenda wanted to make sure that his first time hurt like a motherfucker.

In the scene that was playing out in her imagination, Brenda roughly shoved Troy away, and languidly rolled over onto her side on the blood-red couch, presenting the soft, pale expanse of her posterior to him. He knew what she wanted. He might not like it, but he’d do it anyway; she’d pierced his nipples herself, and they were wonderfully sensitive.

She sighed and purred with delight as his tongue explored up and down her backside, darting into the crease between her cheeks before dancing back out again, up and down, back and forth. Delicious, but she felt like cutting straight to the chase this time. She reached back and spread her butt cheeks for him, an unspoken order that he knew better than to disobey.

His tongue found her sensitive little rosebud and licked all around it before darting into her crinkled little anus, just the way she’d taught him. The sensation was exquisite. His tongue seemed to be exploring meters deep into her asshole. She wished she could see him as he rimmed her, his cock rigid as a totem pole, balls tight and exposed, loosely knotted tie hanging down like a dog’s leash.

Fuck this. In the real world, on her ratty beige couch, Brenda kicked and wiggled out of her jeans, her panties rolled up inside them, an intractable tangle. She needed to be penetrated, to be filled up. She something inside her, right now, and her bag of toys was all the way upstairs.

The half-empty wine bottle was the closest convenient object. Fortunately it was a screw top. She screwed the lid back on and slid the neck of the bottle straight up her hungry, drooling cunt. It felt good. For a second, she imagined doing this in front of her algebra class, sprawled out across her desk in front of thirty impressionable young teenagers. There mouths would gape open and their eyes would stare, wide with horror or fascination. Some of their daddies probably wouldn’t mind taking that spectacle in. Maybe some of the mommies too.

Back in the land of make-believe, Brenda had finally gotten tired of Troy’s oral attentions. She way lying on her back on the black leather couch, and Troy was kneeling between her thick, snowy-white thighs. He was breathing hard, and his pink face was liberally coated with her come.

He was rubbing his penis slowly up and down the folds of her vulva, in between her fat, juicy lips, bumping up against her swollen clitoris in the most delightful way imaginable. His expression was one of extreme concentration: a tightrope walker, an air traffic controller, a chess master locked in a complex endgame. His dick arched up and out from his crotch, his large, vulnerable balls hung down, just begging to be squeezed. He had a soft nest of curly brown pubic hair. The head of his dick was a livid shade of red, and oozed pre-come.

“Do you want to fuck me, Little Boy?” Brenda cooed, “Do you want to put it inside me? Do you want to know what my pussy feels like on your dick? It’s really hot and wet in there, and oh, it’s so tight. How bad do you want to put it in? Would you do anything for me? Anything at all? Do you want to come inside me, come in my pussy?”

Troy stopped suddenly, paralyzed, his mouth hanging comically open, his eyes wide with terror. His jutting cock bobbed and wobbled with a mind of it’s own, and with a little moan, he shot off, squirting gob after sticky gob, like an extruding machine gone mad, all over Brenda’s soaking wet pussy.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” she told him sweetly. “You can think about how I’m going to punish you while you finish grading papers. The longer you take, the worse it will be for you. And you can be sure, however bad you think your punishment is going to be, what I do to you will be even worse. First though, you’ve made quite a mess here. I suggest you clean it up.”

Mortified and abashed and eager to please, Troy got right down to the work of licking up his sticky white semen from Brenda’s sodden crotch. It had gone everywhere, from the crease of her ass all the way up to her deep bellybutton, and everywhere in between. Troy lapped up every last drop. And it felt fantastic.

The wine bottle slipped out of Brenda’s exhausted pussy, and Brenda heaved a low sigh of content and switched off her vibrator. There was still a stack of homework papers to grade, but they’d wait until morning. She unscrewed the cap, and poured herself another glass. She stuck out her tongue, and licked the neck of the bottle, slick with her own juices. It tasted tangy, a little salty, a nice contrast to the harsh bitter-sweetness of the wine. Somebody should market that.

10:47 pm

Troy’s parents thought he was doing his homework on the computer. Half an hour earlier, they would have been right. “What a smart kid,” they gloated to each other, “Such a hard worker. Such a nice boy!”

Math had always come easy to Troy. It was logical, it made sense, it worked forward and backward, and it stayed the same every time. Unlike other subjects. Particularly girls. Troy was certain, done to his absolute core, that he’d never have a girlfriend.

He was still wearing his button-down shirt from school, but nothing else. He didn’t like the way he looked without a shirt on. He had an ugly white scar running from just above his navel, up his sternum, and almost all the way to his neck, a souvenir  from an open-heart surgery he’d had as an infant. He thought his chest looked ugly, hollow and atrophied. He always wore a shirt and tie to school: he was undeniably different, strange, alien; so why not flaunt it?

His dick glistened with lube, excruciatingly purchased from an older female cashier at the same drug store where his mother bought her migraine medicine. ‘Enjoy it,’ she’d said to him as she slipped it into a small plastic bag and handed over the counter. She’d smiled, and he wanted to die. But the humiliation was worth it: jacking off with a good, slippery lubricant all over your dick was light-years of difference from doing it dry.

He could see what the girl saw, in a small window in the bottom right corner of his screen, and when he looked, he winced. But those were her rules. You had to be actively jerking off, and on camera, or she wouldn’t let you watch.

She was achingly familiar. He knew her, he was sure of that; probably from school. He’d only glimpsed her face a few times, she was pretty careful about that. She was beautiful, he thought; not skinny by any means, but certainly not fat, with raven-black hair that matched the hair between her legs, and round breasts like tangerines that jiggled delightfully as she moved. He literally couldn’t imagine her touching him; that was too much, pure science fiction; but he focused on her body as he stroked himself, mimicking her tempo and her rhythm.

She was sitting on a quilt on her bed, her back leaning against the poster-covered wall, her head just outside the frame. Two fingers spread her pussy lips apart, and one finger of the other hand was strumming away at what Troy knew must be her clitoris. He could see the wetness between her legs, and her breasts jiggled as she rubbed herself.

He poured fresh lube onto his dick. The bottle was already half empty. Soon, he’d have to face the ordeal of buying more. He wondered if the same clerk would be working. He wondered if she’d say anything this time. He wondered if he could meet her eye, return her (what was it: disgusted? condescending? amused?) smile. In a strange, perverse way, he was almost looking forward to it. The cool lube felt delicious on his hot, straining penis. It wouldn’t be long now.

Without warning, the girl switched positions. He caught her face for a split second. He knew her, he was sure of it. Who was she? Now she was on all fours on the bed, her rump waggling in front of the camera, much closer up now. He could see every detail of her pussy, the petite lips, the stray hairs, an occasional glimpse of her asshole. Her breasts hung down, swaying like pendulums. He could see just how wet she was.

She had grabbed a hairbrush from somewhere, and with an audible sigh, she slipped the handle straight up her pussy, which devoured the plastic object hungrily. Her finger was still grinding away at her clit, as if she were playing a tiny banjo between her legs. She moaned and cooed as she fucked herself.

It was too much for Troy. He squeezed his dick hard, pumping up and down with white knuckles, churning the lube into a froth, and he exploded, silently as always. A stream of come shot out of the purple head of his dick, landing in spattered drops on his white shirt, congealing in gobs in his pubic hair. He kept massaging his dick, squeezing every drop out, prolonging the orgasm for all pleasure he could, drawing it out. After a while his screen went dark, as it always did after he’d come, but he kept at it. His dick was small and soft and could be squeezed between thumb and forefinger, but it still felt nice. He had to clean up. He’d gotten sticky lube on the mouse and keyboard, and if he didn’t wipe up soon, he’d stain his shirt, and he didn’t know what his mom would say to that. Best not to find out.  He hit the shirt with stain remover and buried it in the laundry. His dick was still leaking a little, dribbling wetness onto his naked thigh. He kind of liked the taste.

It was only after he’d carefully scrubbed off the keyboard and mouse with baby wipes, cleaned himself off, removed every last trace of lube and semen, that he realized he’d been crying.


There were at least a dozen penises on Angela’s computer screen; a dozen boys or men, from California to the Ukraine, jerking off to her. For her. A solid two meters of dick, each one tall and hard and focused on her and her alone. She slid the hairbrush in and out of her wet pussy, moaning seductively. It didn’t do that much for her, per se, but it drove the guys crazy, and that most definitely turned her crank. Her clit throbbed. If she wasn’t careful, she wouldn’t be able to stop, and she’d come, right on camera.

Angela been on a date earlier, a ‘study date’, with little Jeremy Larkin. It had started off all proper and above-the-board; algebra homework and pb&j’s cut into quarters and brought up to the bedroom by her fussy, protective, and utterly clueless mother, but after the homework was done and the sandwiches were eaten, it had inevitably degenerated into a make-out session. He had squeezed her breasts through her bra, and slipped two fingers up her undeniably wet pussy. She’d had to fake an orgasm to get him to stop.

She had sucked him off after that. She could still taste him in her mouth, a lingering, cloying flavor. The stuff kind of reminded her of tapioca pudding. She knew that a lot of girls hated the taste of it, couldn’t stand it, wouldn’t allow a drop of semen in their mouths, or anywhere near. She didn’t understand that. If boy’s ejaculate wasn’t exactly delicious, it was pretty nifty, and sort of the whole point of the endeavor. Without a mouthful of come at the end, the entire act would seem hollow and incomplete.

She rolled over again, careful to keep her face out of view of the camera. She extracted the hairbrush, sticky and slimy with her come, and set it on the quilt next to her. A few of her boys had shot off already, and she clicked their windows shut. She felt good, really good, high on the sex, riding the razor blade. It wouldn’t be long now. This was better than any drug!

It wasn’t the attention, not exactly. Anyway, it wasn’t just the attention. There was definitely something about the adoration, about having a dozen or more hard cocks pointed straight at her, jerking off to her naked body, that definitely did it for her. But it was more than that. Much more. It was the feeling of power. An erect penis was so needy, so helpless, so dependant on her. It was a rush, a high, an incredible aphrodisiac. It was like being a goddess, and it got her off every time. Angela was addicted.

She stretched and licked her sticky, tangy fingers, and glanced over at the computer monitor. As she watched, one of her guys, an earnest-looking fellow in his twenties or so with glasses and nice muscles, slipped past the point of no return. His face was twisted in an expression of mixed ecstasy and agony as he clenched his body and rapidly jerked his cock, his balls clenched like a fist, coming with a silent shout, squirting a gooey white arc of come toward his webcam. It’s so cool, the way a guy’s orgasm is such a tangible spectacle; no faking it there! Angela loved it when a guy came for her, it was a huge rush, and watching it made her pussy drool and her clit twitch uncontrollably. She reached over and clicked off her camera. Show’s over boys. They could jerk off to her all they wanted, but they would never ever get to see her come.

Dicks were a very fine thing as an appetizer. It was fun manipulating them, and it was really hot being the focus, the sole object of a guy’s fawning adoration, and it was really neat, the visual spectacle of a hard cock shooting off just for you. But they never got much past the surface, they didn’t really hold her interest.

There was no shortage of lesbian porn on the internet, but it didn’t do a thing for her. For the most part, it left her bone-dry. It always looked staged and fake, as chilly as refrigerated coleslaw and about as sexy.

Meredith was this girl who sat next to her in Economics class, and she was the focus of Angela’s latest crush. Cosmo magazine would have called her fat, but Angela loved her body: it was all soft, sensuous angelic curves. She was really quiet, and really really smart, and wore glasses, and had a beautiful tangled mass of curly brown hair. Angela’s finger brushed back and forth across her over-excited clit, sending herself irrevocably over the edge.

How do you hit on a girl? Guys were easy, almost too easy. She and Meredith had barely ever spoken. She knew of girls at school who had done it, or were rumored to have done it, but they were always the ones you’d expect to go lesbo, the bad eggs, the rockers, the party girls. She wasn’t one of them, not when the webcam was turned off, and Meredith certainly wasn’t one either.

Her orgasm came on slow and deep and intense, like a creaky old wooden rollercoaster, rattling up peaks and screaming down valleys, and cranking jerkily around corners, threatening to give her whiplash. She kept her finger lightly on her pulsing clit, prolonging the pleasure, dragging it out.

She imagined going out on a date with Meredith. They wouldn’t call it a date, they’d come up with some excuse, but they’d both know why they were there. They’d hang out, they’d talk, they’d shyly touch each other, in ways that girls can get away with and guys can’t, and slowly, slowly, the sexual tension would build between them until it was unbearable.

She’d drive Meredith home, and they’d say their goodbyes in the driveway, they’d both say they’d had a lot of fun, and they should hang out again sometime soon, and they’d linger, and then that first kiss… and then they’d make out in the car, the steering wheel awkwardly in the way, fogging up the windows, kissing and touching and caressing, getting hotter and hotter and more and more turned on, until they remembered where they were, and broke it off, grinning and slightly abashed, and Meredith would kiss her one last time and then get out of the car and run up her parent’s driveway with a flutter of her fingers, leaving Meredith in sticky wet panties.

Maybe Meredith would invite her over sometime, a study date. They’d go up to her bedroom, and Meredith would hold one finger to her lips, indicating silence. She’d gesture for Angela to undress, and she would, while Meredith watched approvingly. Downstairs, Meredith’s parents would be watching the TV.

She imagined kneeling under Meredith’s desk as she did her homework, hidden under the voluminous folds of Meredith’s dress like a Bedouin tent. Meredith would ignore her, pretend she wasn’t even there, but she knew, and she wasn’t wearing anything under her dress. Angela would nuzzle up into her pussy, the soft, curly hair down there, inhaling her intoxicating aroma. She’d lick her pouting, pretty pussy, up and down, tasting her, teasing her, slowly making her more and more excited until her lips opened up like a rose and her clit poked straight out, and she had to put down her pencil and reach down under her dress and grab the back of Angela’s head and pull her closer, rubbing her hot, wet pussy all over Angela’s face. She’d come with a cute little hiccupping cry, squeezing Angela between her thighs until she was afraid she’d never breath again, then relax and push her gently away, and it would start all over again.

Maybe Meredith would make her lick her asshole. Maybe she’d urinate into her mouth. Maybe she’d be on her period. Angela wouldn’t mind.

Angela held herself perfectly still through the last few twists and turns of her orgasm. Her pussy was sodden, her clit was too tender to be touched. She had made a little wet spot of her own on the bed, but she didn’t mind. She switched off the light and drifted off to sleep.


Meredith had just put fresh AAs in her electric toothbrush. She’d almost gotten busted that way before.  Her mom had commented snarkily about how many batteries that thing was going through. From then on, she’d made sure to buy her own, and to replace them often.

She was naked on top of her bed. The handle of her toothbrush protruded from between her thighs like a sci-fi parody of a cock. Every time she squeezed her legs together, the rotating head pressed against her clit, and a wave of pleasure sloshed through her entire body. There a magazine spread open on the sheets next to her. Penthouse, April 1982. Before she was even conceived. She’d found a bunch of these magazines in a cardboard box in the basement, under a long-forgotten badminton set. She didn’t like internet porn; it all seemed crude and fake and gross, like artfully posed cadavers or perverse Barbie dolls. The old magazines were different, somehow more palatable. They seemed almost innocent by comparison.

Two girls frolicked in a softly-lit sylvan woodland. They started out dressed in vaguely medieval garb, but quickly shed their clothes. They never actually touched, but as they cavorted through the woods, the fell into more and more suggestive poses together.

They had enormous breasts, the size and shape of cantaloupes, and they both wore shiny pink lip gloss, and their hair was big and heavily hairsprayed, and their pussies were covered with soft, fluffy muffs.

Meredith flipped through the stiff, glossy pages, looking at the pictures and periodically squeezing her legs, stimulating herself with the buzzing toothbrush, but her mind was in a much darker place.

It was a well-used fantasy, many times replayed, edited, refined, recast. Tonight it was Reg Hodgson, but it didn’t have to be him. She’d already played out this scenario with half the guys at school, and all her male teachers.

Reg was in her biology class, and he was on the football team. She could easily imagine being a little scared of him.

He wasn’t a star, but he was on the varsity team. He was arrogant and flip, not especially smart, but not really a stupid jock either. Meredith thought he was dating one of the popular girls. He was big, but more long and lean than bulky. He had never spoken to her.

She closed her eyes and imagined.

She is walking home, and he is following her. It is already getting dark. Reg is a block and a half behind her, but there’s something menacing about the way he walks. She increases her pace, moving her legs a little faster. The streets are silent and empty and the night is coming on like the rising tide. Every time she looks behind, he has drawn a little closer.

She decides to cut through the park, an eerie moonscape in the twilight, trees casting long shadows like grasping hands. When she glances back, he is right there, barely an arms length behind.

He trips her up, pushes her hard between the shoulder blades, and she goes sprawling in the fallen leaves and the muddy grass. Her dress is already ruined.

He is standing in front of her. From this perspective, he towers above her. He grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her up to her knees. He slaps her across the face, hard. Again, and again, and again, until she is spitting blood, and her jaw rings like an alarm clock with every blow. At last he stops. She kneels stupidly in front of him, her face red and swollen, lips busted, smeared with blood. He unzips his pants.

The irony, of course, is that under other circumstances she’d happily have sucked his cock. It is a nice-looking specimen, not too big or too small, circumcised, with a mushroom-shaped, bulbous head.

He jams his penis into her bruised and bloodied mouth, fucking her face, laughing out loud when she chokes and gags. He manhandles her breasts, pulling and squeezing cruelly at them like udders, enjoying causing her pain.

He yanks his cock out of her mouth. She gasps desperately at the night air, trying to fill  her burning lungs, like a drowning girl breaking the surface. She sees an amused gleam in his serious brown eyes, daring her to scream.

She is shoved roughly down into the mouldy leaves. He lifts her dress, pulls her panties aside, roughly fingers her cunt. Laughs contemptuously when he discovers that she is already soaking wet.

Reg fucks her like he is chopping wood. She grinds her nails in the dirt, holding her breath, wincing and moaning quietly at every thrust of his wicked, sadistic cock. Just before he finishes inside her, he rudely jams his thumb up her asshole, and then she does scream. Afterward, he makes her clean off his still hard dick with her mouth.

On the bed, Meredith trembled through her final orgasm. She pulls the humming toothbrush hurriedly away from her sodden crotch, her clit suddenly too sensitive to be touched. She can taste the dirt and blood in her mouth, feel his malignant sperm in her cunt. In her mind, Reg laughs coldly down at her. “See you in class tomorrow,” he says, leaving her in her misery. She felt dirty and hollow inside as she stashed the old magazine under her bed and turned out the light. She shouldn’t go there, it wasn’t right to think these thoughts. But she knew she’d be back.


Reg stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the back of his bedroom door. His erect penis stuck straight out from his crotch, exactly perpendicular to his long, lean body. He admired the view in the mirror. He looked fucking hot. One hand cupped his ball sac, tightly clasping his testicles. Three fingers of his other hand were crammed up his butt.

He had a pretty big penis, he thought. At least it looked damn good in the mirror. He wished it was a little bigger, but he wasn’t complaining. It was red-hot and swollen and juicy right now; if he so much as touched it he would explode. He grunted softly and worked his lube-slick fingers deeper up his butt. His wrist was threatening to cramp, but he wasn’t about to stop, no way!

Reg had a girlfriend, Sara Blest, and though she wasn’t ready, she said, to do actual sex, she could (as the guys on the team liked to say) suck a golf ball through a garden hose. She was an attractive girl, beautiful even, and she was pretty good at it. The thing was though, he was bored.

The image in the mirror mesmerized him. Better than porn. He was pretty cut, pretty buff. He’d heard some guys on the swim team shaved it all off, everything. Maybe he’d give that a try. He squeezed his swollen balls and dug in with the fingers lodged in his anus, sending ripples of pleasure up and down his body, making him rock up onto the balls of his feet. His cock strained out. If the football thing didn’t work out, maybe he’d be a male model.

He worked the fingers in his asshole in and out, deeper and deeper. It’s not like he was gay or anything, it just felt so damn good! Maybe if Sara did that once in a while, he’d be more into her; but so far she had been oblivious to the hints he’d dropped. She hadn’t wanted to make a video either, even though he promised he wouldn’t show anyone. Maybe he’d set up a video camera and not tell her.

His frustrated cock was thrusting against the air, the head was red and angry looking. It wouldn’t be long now.

He pictured straddling Felice, a frumpy little girl in his biology class. He’d be naked, she’d be fully clothed. Why Felice? He was pretty sure she was a virgin, certain she’d be impressed. She was a mousy little thing, short and stout. She rarely spoke up in class, and when she did, she had a tendency to squeak.

Reg imagined pulling her shirt open, unclasping he big white bra, sliding his cock between the twin pillows of her tits while she craned her neck to watch, a grateful expression on her face. He imagined slapping her across the face with his erection, until she was begging him to let her suck it, and then he imagined generously jamming it into her open mouth, fucking her mouth like a cunt while she gurgled and gargled appreciatively, shoving it in until his balls were pressed against her chin, and her little brown eyes were bulging out of her head.

When he was ready, he’d whip his cock out of her gaping mouth, and squirt all over her face. She’d eagerly lap it up, and ask for more. And maybe he’d give it to her. And maybe not.

Fuck, that was hot! He squeezed his balls hard, so hard it hurt, and jammed and curled the fingers in his asshole. That image was all he needed; plain, mousey Felice covered in his come and begging for more. He shot off like a can of pressurized Cool-Whip.

It was a good, long come. It almost always was if he could refrain from touching his dick. The intensity of it made him light-headed, his asshole clenching violently on his fingers, his dick jumping and bobbing, spattering white globs of come onto the mirror. Finally, regretfully, Reg pulled his fingers out of his protesting butthole, and milked the last few drops of semen out of his softening cock.

He got down on his knees and licked the salty, slimy come off the smooth, cool surface of the mirror. No sense in letting it go to waste. God, if Coach could see him now! He kind of wished he’d made a video of this one, so he could watch it again later. Just thinking about it made his dick start to tingle all over again.


In the bunk bed above her, Felice’s sister Hannah was snoring. Her snores were long and drawn out, ragged and moist. They reminded Felice of an asthmatic horse.

Felice couldn’t sleep. She was restless anyway, and the snores were the last straw. She stretched and glared up at the bed springs above her, willing Hannah to roll over. Hannah did not cooperate.

With a sigh, Felice slid a hand down inside her pajama bottoms. She was already moist down there. It felt nice. She rolled over onto her stomach and moved her hand back and forth, up and down, brushing up against that special secret spot.

She was picturing Brian, this boy in her English class. He seemed nice, kind of quiet, kind of smart. She wondered what he looked like naked.

She squeezed her thighs together, and jammed her fingers hard against her wetness. Her hand was moving rapidly now, in spastic little jerks, making the bed squeak. If Hannah woke up, she would totally hear what she was doing, but Felice didn’t care. She imagined Brian doing things to her. Nasty things. She wasn’t sure just what, but that didn’t matter. She would do it all, and beg for more.

The pressure inside her burst like a piñata, and she gasped softly into her pillow, hardly daring to move. Finally, when the last waves of pleasurable sensation had receded, she pulled her hand out from between her legs and sniffed her fingers. She always liked the way she smelled after doing it. Above her, Hannah’s snoring had finally ceased. She pulled up her pajama bottoms and rolled over. Soon, she was fast asleep.


The sheets and blankets and pillows lay in a heap on his bedroom floor. Brian lay face-down and naked on his bare mattress, a pillow wedged under his chest.  There was a spot there on the mattress worn thin and soft as chamois. His erect penis humped against that worn patch, thrusting desperately. His hands clasped the edges of his mattress like a life raft, knuckles white, fingers curled and clenched.

His older sister Jessica was asleep in the next room, just beyond his bedroom wall. He imagined sneaking into her room, closing the door behind himself, climbing into her bed, lying down on top of her.

She would stir in her sleep, and he would whisper in her ear “Jess, it’s ok”, and she would mumble something unintelligible in reply. He would rub his erection against the soft material of her pajama bottoms, and she would press sleepily back. His cock would slip into the cleft between her firm, soft buttocks, his hands would find hers, and their fingers would intertwine.

Gently, he would pull her pajamas down. She would be naked underneath. “No, you’re my brother.” “It’s ok,” he would whisper in her ear. Her pussy would be wet. He could smell her excitement. He would guide his cock, rubbing it up and down her slit, kissing her hair and the back of her neck. “No, it’s not right,” she would say. He could feel the wetness of her pussy, hot and slick, on the engorged head of his cock. Her long auburn hair tumbled down over her pale shoulder blades. His cock would be poised, nestled at the very entrance to her pussy. His hands would be inside her pajama tops, cupping her breasts, impossibly soft and warm. Her nipples would be stiff against his palms.

“Please,” she’d whisper, and he’d penetrate her, gently, inexorably sliding his penis up her tight, slippery vagina. “Please,” she’d whisper again, more urgently this time.

Brian was humping furiously against his mattress now, fucking a phantom, abandoning himself to the fantasy. He felt himself start to come.

Jessica would be humping back against him now, his penis sliding all the way in and out. She’d make little animal noises as they fucked. Her ass would be naked in front of him, pale and firm and flawless. “Fuck me, Little Brother, fuck me harder!” The bed was squeaking as he humped, and a far-away part of his mind wondered if Jessica could hear it from where she lay.

He came, squirting semen all over the mattress below him. He collapsed, breathing hard, onto the sticky puddle, and lay there a while, panting. The mattress would be stained brown; eventually he would wear all the way through the already thin material. He got up, his chest covered in his own wetness, and quickly wiped up, then guiltily started to re-make the bed. He was a pervert for even thinking these things. He was a sick little fuck, and he knew it.


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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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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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The Body of a Man

I’m not sure how old I was when we found the body. The oncoming avalanche of adolescence had not yet totally engulfed me, but the first tendrils of my sexuality were swirling around my ankles, and the rumbling of those turbulent teenage years was bearing down fast. It was late one summer afternoon, just after our weekly Girl Scout meeting, and my friend Aimee and I were teetering on the very brink, not quite ready to take the plunge, but way too far gone to want to back out.

There was a patch of woods behind our development, too wet and marshy for the developers to build houses on, so they had left it, a kind of irregular green isthmus, tangled and soggy and bug-ridden and private. We were headed to a little flat place that I knew of, next to the stream, for some ‘practice kissing’. I had a fairly good idea where that might lead, and I thought that Aimee did to, for all her show of hesitation and reluctance.

He was lying, face-up in the mud, a little ways off from the little stream that ran through the middle of the woods. He was wearing blue jeans with the knees torn out and a denim vest with no shirt on underneath. His feet were bare, his toes pointed skyward. There was no sign of any violence. In retrospect, I suspect that it was an overdose. The only way we knew he was dead, at first, was his eyes: half-open and staring upward, already glassy and lifeless.

I thought I knew him. I thought he’d gone to high school with my older brother, Ted. He was one of those guys who hung out in front of Emil’s gas station; scary, shady, criminal-looking, sexy, dangerous guys. His blonde hair was cut in a mullet; business in the front, party in the back. A couple large black flies were lazily circling his body, intermittently landing and taking nervously back off.

“Touch him” Aimee told me.

“No Way!”

“I dare you to,” Aimee said. There was something coquettish about the way she said it, something that warmed that special spot between my legs, the region my mother called my ‘pussywillow’, the place that I had already started privately thinking of as my ‘cunt’. “I double dare you!” Her eyes sparkled flirtatiously, and it made my cunt tingle and buzz in a deliciously tantalizing sort of way.

His skin was pale, whiter than in life. It was uncannily like touching an uncooked hamburger, soft and firm. His flesh felt strangely cold for such a warm afternoon. I jerked my finger away with a thrill and a squeal.

“You know what I heard about guys, when they die?” Aimee asked.


“I heard they get wood. Boners. Big time woodies!”

“Eeeeewwww!” we squealed together, running giggling away into the woods.

We only made it a hundred yards or so; it was a small patch of woods. A little ways away we found a likely spot, a fallen tree that looked comfortable to sit on, and we sat.

I don’t think either one of us considered calling the police about the corpse lying there in the mud, or telling an adult. For one thing, that would have raised uncomfortable questions about what we were doing down in the woods and why; for another thing we had other, more pressing business on our minds.

My hand found hers, or her hand found mine, and our fingers intertwined and squeezed. Our lips met, pressed together. Mouths opened, allowing tongues to dart and flirt, in and out, like nervous, excited puppies.

I slipped my hand inside Aimee’s blouse, cupping the soft, warm swell of her budding breast through her bra. She made a whining, keening noise, and pressed her body against mine, kissing me harder, encouraging my touch.

Her hand had strayed between my thighs, up under my uniform skirt, and was now tackling the barrier of my panties. Far from hesitant or reluctant now, Aimee’s fingers pushed my panties aside, and danced lewdly up and down the soft, furry, damp territory, making me moan aloud into her mouth. Practice kissing indeed! Aimee and I did a lot of practice kissing that summer and into the fall; I lost track of her when we went to different high schools.

Fast forward twenty years.

I was hanging out in Martin’s apartment, three-quarters naked, sprawled out on his bed. It was high summer in New York City, and he didn’t have air conditioning at the time, and it was muggy, hot and sticky.

“Are we going to act out my fantasy now?” I asked only a tiny little bit peevishly. Martin was my boyfriend, had been since April.

“Your fantasy is disturbing,” Martin said. He was naked, flaccid, sweaty, delicious. Just a few minutes before I’d had a mouth full of his cock. “Your fantasy gives me the creeps.”

“Aw, come on!” I rolled over onto my back, regarding his nakedness from upside-down. “We did your fantasy, didn’t we?”

It was true. The previous Wednesday, I had assiduously plucked Martin’s eyebrows and painted his nails while our friend Tobi (flaming gay Tobi who did costumes and makeup for off-off-Broadway productions) applied makeup and did his hair. We squeezed him into a cute little purple dress; we padded his bra; Tobi had brought along a pair of cowboy boots that fit Martin and looked quite chic.

And then we went, Martin and me, out on the town. After a nervous, giggly drink or three, we ended up at a tiny lesbian dance club down in Alphabet City called “The Pussy Palace”.

It was dark inside, and the music was loud. Martin is not an especially small guy; he stands a full head taller than me, and he has hands like catcher’s mitts. But out on the dance floor, in the dim, sweaty haze, under flashing colored lights, nobody looked twice. We were just another pair of dykes dancing together: a tall, kind of butch girl in a short summer dress; and her shorter, bustier, somewhat chunkier, more femme girlfriend.

Someone looked twice at us. Uninvited, a girl started dancing around us, and then with us. She was cute: my height, but skinnier, with fuchsia hair and multiple ear piercings and a rather pixie-like, suggestively angelic angular face. She wore tight black jeans that showed off a sexy little ass, and a black AC/DC t-shirt.

The three of us danced together for a while, riding the rhythms of the music, enjoying and amplifying and reverberating the tension we were generating. Eventually, inevitably, we migrated up to the roof, a large, tar-papered flat expanse three stories up. The skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed over us like obelisks and monoliths, and the stars and moon were drowned out by a leaden ceiling of low cloud. The roof was bathed in a twilight-glow of reflected light pollution.

I’d been up on this roof before, back in my more exclusively sapphic days. There was a smattering of couples, dispersed around the perimeter, in various stages of making out. We staked our claim to a quiet corner of rooftop and started getting to know each other a little better.

There was kissing all around. New Girl was an aggressive kisser, with a tongue like a weasel, and she was a biter. Kissing Martin dressed as a woman felt pleasantly odd to me, out of context, strange and yet familiar in a tantalizingly sexy way. Watching them kiss each other was just plain hot.

Martin was half-sitting on the parapet, and New Girl and I were pressed up against him. I felt hand traversing my body, feeling me up, groping me, squeezing my ass and cupping and rubbing my breasts, and I couldn’t tell whose hands belonged to whom. My pussy was wet and squishy, my clit was erect, and my entire body was giddily jittery with excitement. Not just sexual excitement either, we were about to get found out, busted, and I wasn’t at all sure how that discovery would go over.

Martin’s dress had ridden up around his waist. His pretty pink panties were visible in the gloaming. New Girl’s hands were roaming, exploring, traipsing their leisurely way up his muscular thighs as she kissed him.  Any second now she would find out.

Her hand slipped inside the frilly waistband of his panties. We all three stopped, frozen in time. I watched her face intently, as my heartbeat counted the seconds away: startled; confused; dawning realization; pleasurably surprised.

“Oh, verrrry interesting, a genuine trouser snake! I haven’t played with one of these in years!”

She fished Martin’s erect cock out of his sassy panties. He was rock hard, practically glowing, and the tip was all wet with his oozing juices. I love Martin’s cock; I think it is the perfect size for a penis: not so big as to be intimidating, but definitely on the larger than mean end of the bell curve, with more emphasis on hefty girth then length, and a fat, sharply defined head like the helmet of a WWII German soldier.

His balls hung down, fat and ripe like some strange fruit, masculine and delicate, until recently furry, but shaved bare for the occasion.

New Girl slid down Martin’s body, ending up on her knees, and started sloppily giving him head.

I set about relieving her of her tight black jeans; quite a project with her kneeling on the tarpaper between Martin’s legs, mouth and both hands busily occupied; but I was finally able to tug them off. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Her naked white butt shone like a full moon in the low light. Her pussy was a neatly groomed patch of soft black hair; fat pinkish purple labia pouted out from between puffy outer lips, drooling with excitement. A few stray hairs curled around her delicate, winking, pink little asshole.

I played with her pussy while she noisily sucked Martin’s dick. She was very hot, very wet, and very slippery. I slowly traced the length of her slit, making her squirm, and brought my sticky fingers to my lips: she tasted clean, sweaty but clean, salty and a little spicy. She reminded me of cinnamon.

She came up off his cock with a pop, gasping for air and a big fat grin on her face. She wrangled my cami top off, and it joined her jeans on the tarpaper roof. The three of us kissed for a while more as she fondled my breasts and sucked my nipples, and Martin fingered her pussy, and she played with Martin’s hard cock. We must have been a sight up there on the parapet; three girls getting it on, two of them bottomless and one of them topless. A sight for sore eyes, but not such an unusual sight, at least not on that particular roof.

The touching and the fondling was getting to be too much; the delights of anticipation were being overwhelmed by the need for release. The kisses broke off; Martin fished a condom out of his purse, tore open the wrapper, and rolled it onto his rigid, bobbing cock. New Girl climbed onto his lap, straddling him, facing away from me, out toward the thousand windows of the city at night.

I felt a burning stab of jealousy as I watched Martin’s condom-sheathed cock –my boyfriend’s cock—slithering in between New Girl’s thighs, squishing up and down her juicy vulva; but the sensation was washed away by a rising tide of pure horny sexiness as she maneuvered her pussy into position, poising herself like a pole-sitter, balanced perfectly atop his straining, bulbous, latex-covered glans.

As I watched, rapt, she lowered herself gingerly down onto him, engulfing his ample cock with a satisfied sigh. It was way better than any porn, ever.

She started moving up and down atop him, kissing him viciously and mauling his fake tits. I licked his condom-covered cock when it slid out of her, licked her pussy stretched tight around his member, licked his sweaty, smooth, swollen balls, pried apart her cheeks and licked her tiny little asshole. When his cock popped out of her pussy, I swallowed him whole, and tried to cram my tongue up her gasping cunt, before helping to stick his dick back inside her.

Their movements were getting more and more frantic, their tempo was raising, approaching crescendo. I had a finger up New Girl’s butt, and I could feel Martin’s cock moving inside her. It was hot.

I slipped one long, slippery finger up the tight, muscular entrance to Martin’s asshole, shoving my probing finger in all the way up to the knuckle. His anus grasped me tight, and with a long, drawn-out, unintelligible guttural, rumbling growl, he came, humping violently up at the night sky, pummeling New Girl’s cunt.

His orgasm set her off, and she came, arching her back, fingering her clit, howling like a coyote, a long, slowly trailing off series of yip-yipe-yips. When his softened dick finally slid out of her exhausted pussy, her hands were shaking. Martin’s makeup was smeared all over his face. He looked like a tramp.

Later on that night, in the back of a taxicab, drunk and disheveled, sweaty, wired and tired, we kissed and made out on the way home. The driver watched curiously in the rearview mirror.

“That was hot!” Martin told me. One of his breasts had come askew and I adjusted it for him.

“Yeah it was,” I said. The plan had gone perfectly, far better than I could have ever hoped for.

He had his hand down the front of my pants and he was fingering me. My pussy was still juicy wet, and it felt nice, but it wasn’t going to get me off.

“We should do that one again!” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. The cab driver was stopped at a green light, staring at my unzipped crotch, “Most definitely.”

Fast forward to the following week.

“We did your fantasy. It was hot. Now we should do mine. Isn’t that only fair?”

“Ok, ok,” he said, “We’ll do it then.”

It was Saturday. Martin hadn’t answered his cell phone all day, which was unusual. We were supposed to be getting together for dinner, and I still hadn’t heard from him.

I let myself into his building –he had given me keys ages ago—and walked up the five echoing, paint-peeling flights to his apartment.

There was blood everywhere. A trail of gore led in streaks and dribbles from his kitchen, through the living room, and away into the bedroom. His bedroom door was closed.

I opened the door with trepidation. It looked like a scene out of horror movie, the kind from the ‘80s that I hadn’t been allowed to watch growing up, but I’d watched anyway. The trail of blood was thicker here, and led straight to the bed. Blood was spattered everywhere; the sheets were soaked scarlet red, blood splashed all over the wall, and to the far corners of the room; a few drops had even managed to hit the ceiling. A blood-smeared butcher knife lay on the floor, blurry red fingerprints on the handle.

Martin lay, face up and unmoving, on the bed. The crimson tide was centered on his t-shirt, no longer white, but soaked through with blood. His blue jeans were black with blood, gore streaked up his neck and onto his face.

His eyes were closed, his skin was pale. I gingerly touched him. His skin was clammy cool, and felt remarkably like uncooked hamburger.

My heart was beating so hard inside my chest I was afraid it might burst. I was pumped full of adrenaline, my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in hard and fast. My hands were shaking. Under my skirt, my panties were wet.

Carefully, with trembling fingers, I undid the buttons of his fly. His cock sprung out and up, like a stout branch of oak tree, hard as wood.

I ditched my skirt, and tossed my panties aside, taking care to keep them out of the congealing pool of blood. Then I climbed onto the bed, straddling Martin’s prone body. My knees and ankles were instantly smeared gory red. The bloody sheets felt squishy and sticky underneath me.

I grasped his erection in both hands beneath me, handling it like a dildo. My cunt was hungry and drooling. I luxuriated in it, teasing myself, sliding my vulva up and down his length, stimulating my horny, swollen clit with his inert, rigid tool.

I rocked back and forth, grinding my juicy cunt onto his hard dick, taking my pleasure in jolts and shocks, his body laid out below me like a corpse on an autopsy table.

No more teasing, no more torment. I lifted up and plunged down, relishing the sensation of penetration, the sudden fullness.

I fucked his hard cock, riding his lifeless body like a cowgirl astride a mechanical bull. There was no him, it was just me, just the angle I liked, just the tempo I needed. I felt my orgasm coming on, and redoubled my efforts, bouncing up and down like an ecstatic little girl on a pogo stick.

I came, and I came hard, grunting and huffing and puffing, my cunt contracting and my toes curling, pummeling his blood-soaked chest with balled-up fists. It was an awesome come, and it left me grinning and relaxed, riding the edge of that wave, ready for some more!

For just a moment, a bird’s-eye vision of the scene flashed through my head: me straddling my boyfriend’s corpse, fucking him obliviously away in a veritable pool of his life’s blood. The image only made me hotter.

I felt his dick twitch inside me as I bounced, though his prone body remained still, and I felt his hot semen flood my cunt, and that triggered my second orgasm, which might not have been as intense as the first, but rumbled on much longer, like thunder in the distance, and left me gasping.

At long last, I had had enough. I was sated, my cunt was tired and getting raw. I climbed carefully off him, leaving his erection still stiff as hardwood, pointing at the ceiling, slick and gooey with my juices. Our co-mingled come leaked freely from my cunt. I was more or less covered in blood, like a five-year old who had gotten hold of red finger-paints.

Martin sat up stiffly and shook his head. “How was that?” he asked.

“Fantastic!” I gushed, “Totally fucking awesome!!”

The pills he’d taken kept his dick obnoxiously hard. I tried giving him a blowjob/handjob, to no avail. Then he tried masturbating, but it just wasn’t happening. There was no second orgasm in the cards for him, and he was stuck with a big fat boner until the drugs wore off. It looked kind of uncomfortable. I was tempted to climb on for another ride, but my parts were already sore and tender.

It took forever to clean up. The sheets were a total loss; we were still finding splotches of fake blood in odd places around the apartment days later. Martin thought Tobi had overdone the gore, but I thought he’d done just fine.

“I soaked in a cold bathtub for like an hour to get my temperature down.”

“I know, it was awesome!”

“That was kind of creepy,” Martin said, “I’m not sure I liked that. Let’s not do this one again, ok?”

Oh, we’d definitely be doing that one again!


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A Fox in the Hen House

Margot was fooling around on me again. I was certain of it. I could see it in her eyes, the way she walked. I could smell it on her, almost. She didn’t say anything. Of course she didn’t, she didn’t have to. I knew.

My job may not pay all that great, but it comes with a few fringe benefits, and at least the hours are flexible. I cut out of work early, parked just down the street from the house, and waited. My iPod was set on repeat, dialed into the Violent Femmes Blister in the Sun over and over again. I slapped out the bass line on the steering wheel.

I didn’t have to wait very long.

He was young, almost painfully young. Was he even shaving yet? I started shaving at age fifteen, the year I lost my virginity. Oh, Margot, you’re breaking my heart! Just how young was this one?

He might actually have been eighteen; in truth I’m really lousy at judging that sort of thing. The kid was skinny, with a high forehead, a delicate, aristocratic nose, and fine sandy-blonde hair. He was wearing crisply creased blue jeans and a white button-down shirt that was not tucked in at the waist. There was a folded-up tie hanging out of his back pocket. He walked with a swagger and panache that screamed out loud to the world “I just got some!” He was practically glowing. I figured he’d just been on the receiving end of one of Margot’s legendary extended-play blowjobs.

Margot teaches English, high school English. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on here. Oh Margot, you naughty, naughty, naughty girl!

I sat on the information for a couple days, let it stew, let it simmer. A week went by.

On Friday I left work early, and swung by the bar. I sat near the window and slowly drank a beer and picked at my chili-cheese fries and watched the pretty girls go by in their short, short skirts, and wished I had a smoke. When I finished my beer, I left the fries to congeal, paid, and drove home.

I left the car parked up the street and walked the last little bit. All was quiet and still. The front door was unlocked. I slipped on inside.

Once in, I could hear the noises coming from the bedroom. I winced as the squeaky spot in the floor creaked treacherously under my boots, but I needn’t have worried. They were oblivious.

He was sitting, stark naked on the side of the bed, facing away from me. Margot was still wearing her little black summer dress with the white polka dots on it, but it was gathered up around her waist, and her large, pale boobs were spilling out the top. She was sprawled out across the bed, and she was working on engulfing his dick with her pretty little mouth, plump lips freshly painted with hotrod-red lipstick.

As I watched, she let his wet dick pop out from between her pretty lips. She attacked his penis with her agile tongue, licking at it as if it was a big fat ice-cream sundae with a sweet red candy cherry on top.

He had a pretty big dick too, for a skinny young kid. I focused on that nearly hairless, neatly circumcised dick, savored the pleasure it must be radiating throughout his nervous system as Margot did her thing. He really was skinny; there was just no meat on him, no fat, no muscle to speak of. It was as if someone had draped a sheer sheet over an anatomy-class skeleton. And then given it a big fat boner. And a plump set of balls. There was a wispy patch of pubic hair just above his bobbing cock, the same color as the hair on his head, but he had no other body hair that I could see. Somehow he reminded me of a bird, some kind of stork or a heron maybe. He was jerking off now, pointing his dick like a loaded gun right at Margot’s big bouncing breasts.

Margot took the opportunity to squirm out of her dress. If she had been wearing a bra, it was already long gone, her nipples pinkly excited in the afternoon air. She was wearing a tiny black pair of panties that disappeared up the crack of her ass, and that I had never seen before. Perhaps she had bought them special, just for the occasion.

Nearly naked now, on her hands and knees on the bed with her boobs hanging pendulously down, Margot went back to devouring her young friend, who made raspy guttural noises as she ate him alive.

I stepped full into the room, clearing my throat with a loud phlegm-ridden cough that seemed to echo off the walls. Margot’s head popped up like a sprung jack-in-the-box, her face the perfect picture of shock and surprise.

I addressed the kid: “You know there’s only two ways out of this house.” It was true; there was the front door and the back door. I suppose if someone were desperate, he could jump out a window, it’s only a one-story ranch, but lets not get technical.

The kid stammered at me, his big wet cock bobbing comically. His mouth moved, but no words came out. I could see the fear in his big, round eyes.

I could see why he might be intimidated. He was naked, I was fully dressed. He was the interloper, I was the aggrieved husband. He was young and skinny, I was old and big.

It’s not that I’m actually a really big guy; I just seem to give off the impression of bigness. I’ve been lifting weights since I was in high school, when I got sick of getting beaten up for being a wimpy white boy; and I have a lot of tattoos. I was wearing black jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I smiled. That didn’t seem to reassure him.

“She sucks dick pretty good, huh?” No answer. “You like having your dick sucked, huh?” No answer. “You like sucking dick then? Huh?” Still no answer. I gave him a shove right between his shoulder blades, and he went sprawling onto the floor. “Maybe you oughta try sucking my dick, boy.”

My cock, which had felt plump and semi-swollen all day long, was by now good and hard, an angry bull cooped up in its pen, just waiting for that cowboy to saddle up. I opened up my zipper and released the beast.

He looked over to Margot, but she had no help to offer. He looked up at me, but I gave nothing away. Hesitantly, unsure of himself, he opened up his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and gingerly licked the underside of my cock. You’d think he was being forced to sample a piss-flavored popsicle.

“Oh no,” I said, “I don’t let just anyone suck my dick. You gotta beg me for permission first.” I slapped him across the cheek with my erection: once, twice, three times, again and again.

“Please sir,” he finally said, his voice trembling, “Please let me suck your cock. I’ll do a good job, I promise. Please let me take it in my mouth.”

“Well,” I said, “Since you ask so nicely, open wide.” I took a big handful of his hair, and crammed his face down on my waiting dick. “Watch those teeth, pretty boy.”

I rather enjoyed fucking his face. Margot seemed to enjoy it too. As her little boyfriend choked and gargled on my cock, struggling to get air down his windpipe, terrified of pissing me off further by catching his teeth on my dick, she lounged back on the bed, sliding her skimpy black panties down her legs and letting her fingers do the walking.

He obviously wasn’t any kind of cock sucker. The kid had no technique. It made me feel like slapping him around just on principal. Still and all, it felt good.  I could have come that way, just grabbed the back of his head and fucked the shit out of his face; but I chose not to.

I pushed him roughly away, and he fell gasping and retching onto the floor, his big dick still incongruously hard.

“Wanna eat some pussy?” Margot’s legs were spread wide apart, and her pussy was pouting open, pink and excited. “You wanna lick some of that purdy, juicy twat?” I took a fistful of his fine, thin hair and dragged him bodily up onto the bed, shoving him in between Margot’s strong, curvaceous thighs.

With my hand firmly gripping the back of his head, I ground his face into Margot’s crotch, not particularly caring whether he could breathe or not. I mashed him into her muff, as if his head was a sponge, and I was trying to mop up a particularly stubborn stain.

It probably wasn’t ideal, as far as cunnilingus technique goes, but Margot seemed pretty into it, lounging happily on the bed and humping back against his face, wiggling her hips and straining to stimulate her clit against him. I finally released him, and he fell down on the bed, coughing and sputtering.

His dick looked harder than ever. It looked like it might have even grown another half-inch or so. It arched rigidly up and out from his wispy, blondish crotch like a pre-stressed steel girder. The head looked like a deliciously ripe, big juicy raspberry. If he got any harder, he might just pop.

“You wanna fuck her, don’t you?” He just looked dumbly up at me, his dick practically glowing cherry red and drooling. “You wanna slide your dick up that hot, juicy, wet pussy, don’t you?” Margot had her legs spread acrobatically wide, and was busy parting her thick and meaty labia with two fingers while idly playing with her clit. “Well, go right ahead… I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

With a nervous look over his shoulder at me, Kid shuffled in between Margot’s wide apart thighs. Holding his oversized penis in both hands, he carefully took aim, and gingerly nudged himself into Margot’s eagerly waiting pussy-hole.

It was just within the bounds of possibility that he was an actual, bona fide virgin.

There was a satisfied-sounding sigh as he entered her. I’m not sure if it came from him, or from her, or both.

“Don’t you DARE come inside her,” I warned as he feverishly started humping her cunt. Margot’s legs wrapped around the small of his back, pulling him deeper inside. He had a cute, pale little ass, that reminded me of a white peach, and his fat fuzzy balls jiggled pleasantly.

They were both making a lot of noise as they fucked. It was pretty hot. I spit on my index finger and slid it between his butt cheeks, pressing up against his tight little anus. He whined, but didn’t stop what he was doing.

I shoved my finger up his ass. It was hot, and impossibly tight. Definitely a virgin, to this, at least. His asshole locked down hard on my finger, clenching like a fist. He froze, and underneath him, Margot wriggled and squirmed, pleasuring herself shamelessly on that big, hard cock of his.

I started finger-fucking his asshole, and he slowly relaxed a little, enough so that my finger could slide in and out. He resumed humping Margot’s pussy. His thrusts moved in time with my invading finger. It was like I was fucking her with a giant, hot-blooded finger puppet. It was actually quite hot, and my own dick was really hard now, obnoxiously hard and horny.

The kid’s breathing changing, becoming faster and more raspy; and his fucking started to change too. He was fucking in and out of Margot at an ever-increasing tempo, humping her like a horny little dog. I knew what was coming.

I slapped his plump balls. Not hard– well, not hard enough to do any damage– but definitely hard enough to get his attention. “DON’T!” I barked, “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Don’t stop!” Margot whined from under him, “Don’t let him stop, I’m almost there!”

I kept my finger up his ass and maintained a firm grip on his balls as he fucked Margot to an epic orgasm, the kind that rattles the china and sets off car alarms. Her body thrashed and spasmed under him. Every time I thought he might be close to sliding over the edge himself, I gave his nuts a quick squeeze.

Finally she was done, flushed and sweaty and satisfied. She pushed him away, and I extracted my finger from his bum.

“I bet you wanna come,” I said, “I bet you want it real bad.” I was already rolling the condom down my engorged, aching cock.

We maneuvered him onto all fours on the bed, his dick hanging thickly straight down like a pendulum. He whimpered a little bit, like a frightened puppy. It was cute.

I stuck my tongue up his asshole for a little while, which he didn’t seem to mind one bit. He tasted fresh and sweet and clean, kind of reminded me of apricots. I licked his ball sac all over while Margot fed him her pussy juice from her fingers. She was masturbating all over again.

And then I shoved my cock up his ass. The way he howled as my cock penetrated him made all my arm hair stand up. I wasn’t gentle. I wasn’t in a particularly gentle mood. His sphincter clenched right down on my dick, like a choke collar, impossibly tight.

“Fuck my cock!” I ordered, “Fuck my cock, goddamnit! If you want to come, then fuck my goddamn cock!”

Slowly, gingerly, he started sliding himself back and forth on my dick, in and out. As he moved, Margot reached underneath him and traced her fingertip up and down the length of his erection. If he ever stopped moving, so did she. It was exquisite.

Slowly, inexorably, his body started to unclench, and as he got more and more excited, he moved more and more vigorously back and forth on my dick. I was pretty much in heaven, impaled on this skinny kid whose tight little ass was moving on my cock like a tilt-a-whirl. Margot was full-on jerking him off now, and he was moaning something fierce, humping at her hand and sliding my dick all the way in and almost all the way out his butt hole in the process.

He came with a shout, arching his back and spasming, squirting gobs and gobs of pearly-white come all over the sheets. His orgasm set me off, and I abandoned all restraint, grabbing him by the shoulders and pounding his asshole, fucking him hard and fast, pounding him down into the sticky mess he had made on the sheets. He took the pummeling almost silently, but I could feel his body straining underneath me, his anus clenching and unclenching on me like the hand of a drowning man. I fucked him hard, fast, and deep until I came with a roar, filling up the condom with my own semen. I collapsed on top of him, still lodged in his anus, breathing hard.

I watched Margot finger herself to another quivering orgasm.

Finally I rolled off the kid, extracting my dick and throwing away the spent condom. I tossed him his wadded-up clothing. Perspiration was beaded up and running down his hairless, concave, avian chest. His dick was still half-hard and drooling slightly.

“Get the hell outta here.” I growled, and he slowly walked naked out of the bedroom and out of the house, like a shell-shocked soldier emerging from the trenches, or the lone survivor staggering out of a massive train wreck. The last I saw of him he was out on the front lawn, awkwardly pulling his trousers on.

After he was gone, I flipped Margot over my knee and spanked her big round ass until it was beet red and covered with finger-shaped welts. I spanked her until my hands stung, just for being such a naughty little slut.

Later on, we were sitting on the back porch, drinking chardonnay. Margot was still glowing.

“I think,” she said, sipping her wine, “I think that was the best one we’ve ever done.”

I whole-heartedly agreed.


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Persephone’s Kiss

It started with a kiss. I was only fifteen, and my sister Persephone was two years older than me. She just popped into my room –I’d barely had time to close out of the porn I was looking at- and kissed me full on the lips, disappearing without a word of explanation. I knew a kiss didn’t necessarily mean anything; but I knew this one did.

I knew you weren’t supposed to feel that way about your own sister, and that it was wrong, but I did feel that way about her; and when she left me alone in my room, my dick was so hard it hurt.

That incident bothered me for two solid weeks. I blushed every time I looked at her. Sometimes it seemed like she was avoiding me; sometimes she seemed extra affectionate, touching my arm or ruffling my hair. I craned my neck for a look down her shirt at her small, freshly-sprouted, bra-enclosed breasts. When I jerked off, she was always in my mind’s eye.

Two solid weeks of horny, angst-ridden torture. And then it happened.

When Mom walked in on us, we were in my bedroom. There was a filthy porn video playing on the computer; two older guys fucking and mistreating a skinny, pale red-headed girl whose hands were cuffed together, and who’s mouth was stuffed to overflowing with a big fat cock while her pussy was getting fucked from behind by another oversized dick. It was pretty hot.

The whole thing had been her idea. Honestly. She had started pestering me about porn when I got home from school that day; whether I looked at it, whether I liked it, what kind I liked, whether I had any good stuff on my computer. She was persistent, she insisted, until I finally led her upstairs, blushing and sweating and ragingly self-conscious of the erection in my jeans, to my bedroom, where I hesitantly showed her some of the links on my computer.

She liked the links. She wanted to see more. She rubbed my shoulders, leaning forward and pressing her small boobs into the back of my head. I thought I might just come in my pants. My head was spinning; I literally felt dizzy with lust and excitement and disbelief.

More, she wanted to see more. And then my pants came off, and my shorts too, and I was standing next to my messy, unmade bed, wearing nothing but an AC/DC t-shirt, my boxer shorts gathered up around my ankles. Persephone was sitting on the edge of my bed, no shirt, her beige bra the only thing hiding her fried-egg sized boobs from me, her mouth wrapped around my hard, swollen cock.

It was the first time a girl had ever set lips upon my cock, and I thought I had just slipped into nirvana. Her mouth felt so good, so hot and wet on my dick. The sensations were exquisite, her head bobbing up and down, taking my whole length inside her mouth, her tongue swirling around, tracing the ridgelines of my cock; her hand pumping my shaft. The fact that it was my sister doing this to me barely even registered.

I wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer.

“I’m going to come soon!” I warned her.

Her head popped off the end of my wet dick, leaving me quiveringly erect. “Don’t hold back!” she told me, and then she went back to work, sucking me harder than ever, and jerking off the base of my cock with one hand. I closed my eyes and surrendered to it, rocking back and forth on my heels, humping back against her mouth.

And then mom burst into my bedroom, screaming, cursing obscenities at me. She hit me with a broom, swearing at me like I was a mad dog. Persephone went sprawling onto the floor. I tried to run away, but tripped up on my boxers. Mom hit me with the broom again and again until I kicked the boxers all the way off and went running out of the room, naked from the waist down, my cock still hard and wet and sticking out in front of me like the prow of a sailing ship plunging through stormy weather.

Mom chased me through the house, hitting me with the broom whenever she could reach me, cursing me and calling me terrible names. Eventually I locked myself in the basement.

She pounded on the door for a while, but then seemed to give up, and all was quiet. I had to jerk off; there was no way I couldn’t, the pressure in my balls was too much, and my erection refused to go down. I thought about Persephone while I masturbated, picturing her boobs and the way her lips looked wrapped around my dick; I wondered what she looked like naked.

When I came, there was a lot of come, but it wasn’t a very good orgasm, and I didn’t have anything but my t-shirt to wipe up with. I slunk back upstairs, naked, and disgraced. Fortunately I made it up to my room without being intercepted.

I stayed in my room all night. I didn’t even come down for dinner, and nobody asked me to. I figured at best I’d be grounded for ever, I’d lose my computer privileges, there would be a nanny-cam installed in my room, a V-chip that shocked me every time I got an erection. At worst I’d be sent away to military academy, or some Christian reprogramming camp. But nothing was ever said. When I finally did come down, both Persephone and Mom ignored my presence. Mom gave me the silent treatment for about a week, but that was all. Maybe it was just too horrible for her to cope with. I don’t think she ever really trusted me again.

The second time went better. It was about three weeks later, and things had pretty much returned to normal at our house. Persephone acted as if nothing at all had happened between us, and I guess I had written off the whole thing as an aberration, never to be repeated. I was taking my morning shower, getting ready for school, and, as usual for me, I had an erection.

Persephone slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She was already dressed for school. She put one finger to her lips: hush! Mom was downstairs, making us lunch.

I stepped out from under the stream of water, leaving the shower running. Persephone knelt down by the side of the tub. She flirtatiously peeled her one corner of her camisole down, showing me a small, perky boob, and then she quickly and efficiently went to work.

She opened her mouth, laid the head of my cock on her tongue, wrapped her hand around my dick and started pumping, hard and fast. It didn’t take very long. I hadn’t masturbated in like a day, and I was already pretty worked up. Her soft strong hand felt infinitely better than my own, the view and the sensation of my dick on her extended tongue were just too much. It couldn’t have been much more than a minute and I was coming, writhing in ecstasy, humping against her, pumping her mouth full of my sticky, white teenaged semen.

Persephone lapped it all up, kissed me lightly on the end of the dick, straightened up her camisole, and left me standing there, soaking wet and bewildered, my adolescent cock still halfway hard.

It was a few weeks later, at the movies along with Mom, that she let me touch her pussy. I don’t even remember what the movie was, some sort of romantic comedy I suppose; I wasn’t interested in it, but it was family movie night, so I had no choice in the matter. Mom sat in the middle of the row, then there was an empty seat with our jackets and the backpack that we smuggled snacks in with, and then it was Persephone, and then me.

The opening credits had just finished, and my eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark. Persephone took my hand and placed it between her legs. She was wearing an ankle-length white cotton skirt that was now piled up in her lap. She guided my hand between her supple thighs, where my fingertips found the whisper-soft material of her cotton panties.

My wandering fingers traced up and down the front of her panties, and she squirmed. I felt her adjust, lift her butt up off the seat, and then her panties were down around her knees.

Her pussy was wet. Shockingly wet; hot and slippery. I had never touched a vagina before, and now my dick was so hard I thought I would come in my pants. My finger slid up inside her, and I felt her breathing change as her pussy enveloped me.

I finger-fucked her through the entire movie. Silently, she showed me how to find her clit. I think she came several times; it was hard to tell, but her breathing would change and her body would go rigid. At the end of the movie, she moved my hand away and straightened up her skirt. My hand was coated in her juices and my cock bulged out the front of my pants like a totem pole.

I could still smell her on my fingers that night when I masturbated, and when I came I shot off so hard that come splattered up my chest and onto my neck.

We carried on, very quietly and carefully, for the next two years. It was hard to get much time alone with her; Mom always seemed to be on my case, watching me, ready to jump on any sign of impropriety. The way it worked, Persephone mostly gave me quick blowjobs in stolen moments, and she got better and better at it until she could play me like a clarinet virtuoso.

A few times she let me finger her, and once, on vacation, she allowed me to watch her masturbate with a travel-sized shampoo bottle.

And then Persephone went away to college, where she had boyfriends, and then she moved to New York. She got a fiancé, and then a husband, and I hardly ever saw her anymore.

I never had a girlfriend in high school. I did a little better in college, where I finally lost my virginity, but none of the girls I was with had Persephone’s sexual confidence. I never felt a real spark.

Before I even graduated, I was offered a job with a hot new startup in Manhattan. I had my own office, albeit a tiny, closet-like one with no windows, where I sat and coded twelve to sixteen hours a day, subsisting on Diet Coke and Cheetos. I was getting paid more money than I could spend, and I had a nice apartment in a fancy neighborhood in Brooklyn that I barely ever saw and never got around to furnishing.

For the first time in my life I was mostly too tired and brain-fried to masturbate.

“You have a visitor.” It was Marcy, the project manager, my nominal boss. She was forty-something, blonde, frumpy and overweight, a corporate-speaking professional manager. And I’m really bad at telling, but I thought she’d been hitting on me.

My visitor was, in fact, Persephone. I hadn’t seen her since the wedding. We’d tried to get together when I first moved to New York, but things quickly got too hectic. Marcy showed her into my office. The little room was downright claustrophobic with all three of us inside.

“Marcy, I’d like you to meet my sister, Persephone.” They shook hands. “…if you could leave us alone for a few minutes…”

“Why don’t you take lunch?” Marcy suggested, closing the door behind her. Persephone and I were alone, alone together in the same room for the first time in years.

Persephone planted her butt on my desk. “Wanna get some food?” she asked.

“Um… I usually just order in. They don’t really like us to leave the office during the work day.”

“Mmmm” Persephone grinned, tossing her long black hair in a sultry gesture. She was even more beautiful as an adult than a teen: tall and curvy and sultry. “Even better. Can you guess what I want to eat?”

My cock, already half-hard, was instantly at full attention. I hadn’t gotten off in almost two weeks; all I did was code, eat, and sleep. And it had been over a year since I had been touched by anyone female. I had even started contemplating responding to Marcy’s advances, asking her out on a date or something, if I could ever get a day off.

“God I’ve missed you!” Persephone said, pulling her shirt off and unsnapping her bra. My blood pressure spiked. Holy shit, my office door wasn’t even locked. I started to stammer a protest, but it felt like I was trying to stop an avalanche. Persephone slid off the desk and knelt before me, unzipping my fly. I cupped her boobs in the palms of my hands. They were soft and warm, shaped like miniature pears, small and soft and firm with dark, erect, upturned nipples.

My cock was harder than hard, straining up and out, bobbing in front of Persephone’s face. “Did you miss me too?” She asked, smiling up at me. She stuck out her tongue and traced a line from my balls, along the quivering underside of my cock all the way up to the red and swollen crown. The tip of her tongue tickled my frenum.

It took everything I had to not come at that instant. By holding my breath, curling my toes, and clenching my butt, I was able to choke the orgasm down. One big fat, iridescent pearl of semen oozed out the tip of my cock, and balanced there like a huge drop of nectar. Persephone greedily lapped up my spilt come. She wrapped her hand around the base of my cock. The gold band on her ring finger gleamed coldly.

I knew it was wrong. I was a grown-up now. I knew that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing, that it was morally wrong, perverted, and downright illegal. I shouldn’t be letting her do this to me. But at the same time I knew I wouldn’t stop her. I wanted this. I wanted it more than anything.

She gripped my penis tight and swirled her tongue around the head, traversing every ridge and texture. I moaned out loud, rocking forward on the balls of my feet.

Persephone lifted her mouth off me for one second. “Don’t hold back.” she said, “I want to taste you.” and then she lowered her mouth back onto my cock. Her tongue swirled acrobatically around my glans, while the hand encircling the shaft glided steadily up and down.

There was no holding back, it wasn’t even a question. I was beyond any semblance of control now. I was coming, coming, a long, drawn-out orgasm that seemed to go on forever. It was like a tsunami breaking on the beach and rushing inland, overwhelming. I pumped what seemed like gallon after gallon of come into her mouth. She milked every last drop from my cock, then finally released my soft, sensitive penis with a *pop*.

“Thank you,” she said, standing up and buttoning her blouse. “You have no idea how bad I needed that.” She looked at me slyly. “Or maybe you did.”

All I could do was stutter.

“I need to get going now. Troy” (Troy was her husband. I’d flown out for their wedding three years before.) “will start to wonder where I’ve gotten to. I told him I was shopping with a girlfriend. Can I come back for lunch tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow no good,” I managed, “Lunch meeting. Thursday?”

“Then it’s a date, Baby Bro.” She kissed me on the lips and made her exit. I was left standing by my desk, my head spinning and my flaccid wet dick hanging out my trousers.

I masturbated that night, and the next, thinking about Persephone, but I didn’t let myself come. Too much work, not enough sleep and powerful feelings of lust for my beautiful, crazy, married sister chipped away at my sanity and my judgment like a sculptor hacking away at a block of ice.

“Your sister’s here again.” Marcy showed Persephone into my elevator-sized office. The little room felt intensely claustrophobic with the three of us inside. Persephone wore a short black skirt that showed off her long, skinny legs. She was holding a sweating fountain drink in one hand. Marcy’s boobs were threatening to burst out of her white blouse. She had enormous breasts, and I think she left a button or two undone just for my benefit. “Say, would you two like to go out for lunch with me? I’ll treat!”

“Uh, no thanks Marse. We’ve got a lot to discuss, a lot of catching up to do. Ah, family business.”

“Ok, whatever.” Marcy left us alone, and Persephone grinned and swirled the ice in her cup.

“I am going to eat you for lunch, Little Brother.” She pried the lid off her soda and filled her mouth with ice. I sat heavily down in my expensive swivel chair, squirming my pants down. My cock was hard and eager.

Persephone crawled toward me, her mouth full of little ice cubes. She swallowed my penis with one big gulp. The sensation of cold was shocking, but after a second I realized that it actually felt really good.

She played me like an instrument until all the ice was melted away, running her fingers up and down my cock, playing gently with my balls, all the while bobbing her mouth up and down on my dick, tongue swirling, making noises like a demented ice machine. She could sense my excitement, and every time I started to get close, she backed off. She sucked me for a full half-hour, until my swollen cock felt like it was going to burst and I was literally begging her to let me get off.

“Come for me then, come for me now Baby Brother. Give it to me!” Persephone opened her mouth, balancing the head of my cock on her tongue, and pumped my shaft hard and fast. I exploded, squirting my come straight into her mouth. Gobs and gobs of it.

She swallowed it all, looking exactly like a large and very self-satisfied cat.

“Perse?” I asked.

“What’s up Bro?”

“Could I go down on you? Could I lick your pussy?”

She gave me a sharp look. “Is that something you really want to do?”

“Oh God, yes!” I blurted out, “I’ve wanted that for ages and ages.”

Persephone smiled. “Me too. Ok, you can do that. But not today.”

“That’s ok, I’ve used up my lunch break today anyway… Monday?”

“Monday then.” She kissed me full on the lips. I could taste my own come on her tongue. I was already hard again.

Over the weekend, she kept sending filthy texts to my phone: how delicious my cock was, how wet her pussy was, how badly she wanted me. I had to work all day Saturday and Sunday, and my dick stayed obstinately hard under my desk, making it extremely difficult to code effectively.

On Monday, just before noon, Marcy poked her head into my office. “Your lunch date’s here,” she leered.

Persephone was wearing an ankle-length white cotton paisley dress. She gave me a smile that was either shy or predatory. “I hope you’re hungry, Bro.”

She lifted up her dress. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She had a small, neatly trimmed triangle of pubic hair. She sat down on my swivel chair, spreading her legs. Her petite little pussy pouted open hungrily.

“Do you have any idea,” she asked, “How long I’ve wanted you to do this?”

I had some idea. I’d wanted to do this since I was fifteen.

She was very wet. Her pussy was hot and slick, and tasted nice; clean and sweet and tangy, like some exotic honey. Her clit was tiny and pink, hard as a pebble.

She started moaning as soon as my tongue parted her lips. I lapped at her, slowly at first, then faster and harder, devouring her. The more I ate her, the wetter she got and the more noise she made. My cock felt like a tree trunk inside my pants.

“Fuck, fuck! Stop, I’m going to come!” I looked up from between her thighs. My face was coated in her juice. “Jerk off onto me!” She was fingering her clit. “I want to feel your come on my cunt!”

I hurriedly pulled out my cock, pointed it at her juicy, spread-open cunt, and masturbated for all I was worth. It didn’t take much, I was already incredibly turned on. Her body shook and her fingers were a blur as I shouted out loud and squirted jet after jet of hot sticky semen all over her pussy.

We stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard. Then Persephone stood up, letting her dress fall back down, covering her nudity. She kissed me once, long and hard.

“Thank you Bro,” she said, “That was fantastic. I’ll see you Wednesday for lunch, ok?”

I didn’t see her on Wednesday. I didn’t see her again for a long time.

Shortly after I got to the office on Wednesday morning, my morning routine was interrupted by a pair of NYPD detectives and a gaggle of uniformed police. They handcuffed me and read me my rights and led me out of the building while everybody stared. I was taken down to the street, past a flying squadron of photographers and shouting reporters and curious bystanders and into the back of a patrol car.

I spent the two most miserable weeks of my life sitting around in jail. The food left much to be desired, though the carrot cake was certainly delicious, and when my fellow inmates found out what I was in for, I got a lot of semi-sardonic, semi-admiring high-fives. I became a minor celebrity at Riker’s Island. A few of the guards even grinned and winked at me.

They charged me with third-degree incest. My portrait was plastered all over the inside of the New York Post. My lawyer looked at me like I was a rancid chunk of meat. She copped me a bargain: a four year suspended sentence and ten months of probation. I had to wear an electronic ankle bracelet. I received an official letter from my Mother’s attorney, notifying me that I had been disowned, and asking me not to make contact with any family members. Persephone wasn’t charged with anything. What she said to her husband, I don’t know.

Nobody spoke to me when I returned to work. I went into my office and shut the door behind me. It was then that I knew for sure I was fired: I was locked out of everything. I couldn’t even check my email or get onto the internet. I amused myself for a while playing Minesweeper.

Marcy poked her head in and asked me to step into her office. I sat down in front of her desk, where she eyed me coolly, like some grand inquisitor. Her office was bigger than mine, with real walls, and a stout wooden door.

“Are you really that attracted to her?” After a long, uncomfortable silence, Marcy had stood up and locked the door, and now she was standing directly behind me. She rested her hands on my shoulders. “I mean she is your sister, that’s kind of weird. But she’s not really even all that hot. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do her to, but she’s just skin and bones. She barely even has tits. Not worth losing your job over. I like a woman with some meat on her bones, don’t you?”

Marcy was rubbing my shoulders. It felt nice. Marcy’s breasts kept brushing against the back of my head.

“Could the whole office hear us?”

“Oh yes,” Marcy said. She had stopped rubbing my shoulders. “We all thought it was pretty amusing…”

“Somebody wasn’t amused. Somebody called the cops and got me arrested.”

“Turn around,” she whispered huskily.

I swiveled around to face her. She was already unbuttoning her white blouse. Underneath, still constrained by her bra, her breasts were enormous.

When she set them free, they hung down like giant, over-filled water balloons. She had a big, round belly that was somehow not at all unattractive. When she got down on her knees, I could see her red panties down the gap in the back of her black slacks.

Marcy fished out my penis, my treacherously hard penis, and fondled it greedily. “Mmm, this looks delicious. I can see why she liked having you for lunch so much!” She slathered her tongue up and down my shaft, making my dick stand up even taller. She licked and nuzzled my balls, her tongue probing down between my butt cheeks, making me squirm.

She smiled up at me, a wide, slightly crooked smile. “Fuck my face,” she said, “Go ahead. Don’t be gentle. But don’t come yet either. I’ve got plans for you.”

And then she swallowed me whole, taking me all the way down her throat, until her nose was pressed into my pubic hair.

It felt amazing. I stood up, keeping my cock buried in her mouth, and took her by the hair, wrapping my fingers around her blonde locks. I started rocking my hips back and forth, fucking her mouth like a pussy, gently at first, then as she stayed with me and didn’t object, harder and harder until I was slamming her face down onto my crotch.

Marcy made little grunting and slobbering noises as I fucked her mouth, and her huge tits swung violently. I wanted to shoot my come straight down her throat. I could feel my balls tightening as I neared my peak.

Her mouth popped off my dick, leaving me dripping wet and achingly hard.

“Not bad, huh? I bet your sister doesn’t suck dick that good.”

She peeled off her black cotton slacks like a snake shedding its skin. A burgundy g-string looked either sexy or faintly bizarre on the broad expanse of her hips, a tiny red triangle of lonely silky satiny fabric amid acres of soft flesh. The red contrasted sharply with her shockingly pale skin. Somehow it was more sexy than ridiculous.

She pulled the g-string aside, showing me her pussy. Closely cropped soft-looking blonde hair. The inner workings of her cunt were hidden, between her copious thighs was a deep furry crease, like a river gorge in a high mountain pass. I could smell her excitement, thick and sultry.

Marcy bent over her desk, skimpy panties down around her knees, her huge tits pressed into the keyboard. She presented her rear end to me, wiggling it invitingly.

I slid my spit-slick cock in between the great soft pillows of her buttocks. The crease between the cheeks of her ass was warm and deep. She pressed back against me, hard.

My cock slid between her ass cheeks, up and down, occasionally peeking out, usually totally hidden by her flesh. It felt fantastic. She was soft and hot. She kept encouraging me: Harder! Faster! Her own fingers were busy between her legs.

It didn’t take long at all. I felt the come boiling up in my balls, and I completely surrendered to the bliss, humping Marcy’s wide, jiggling ass cheeks with abandon until I shouted out loud and squirted my come all across the small of her back.

My soft cock was still wedged between her butt cheeks, and I was left sweaty and panting and light-headed. This was not the Marcy that I had imagined that I knew: frumpy, bureaucratic, and (technically) old enough to be my mother. Her fingers were still working squishily between her thighs.

“Now clean up your mess,” she told me, “Lick it off.”

And I did. Starting with the large puddle at the base of her spine, and continuing down the crack of her ass until I had licked up every drop of my spent semen. I didn’t really mind the taste at all, and the situation, my tongue buried so intimately in her posterior as she whacked off harder and harder, was intensely erotic. By the time she came, with a shudder and a gasp, my dick was halfway hard all over again.

Marcy gripped my semi-hard dick fondly, with an almost sisterly gesture. “I’m a virgin,” she told me, “Bonafide. So you’re not getting any of that. But next time we get together I’ll give you a righteous titty fuck!” She leered at me as she squeezed her bust back inside that industrial-strength brassiere.

That didn’t sound like a bad deal to me, not at all. I thought about what Marcy had said about Persephone, about how she’d do her. That was an interesting image too.

The impersonal, corporate mask slipped back over her face as she clambered back into her white blouse and black trousers. “You know you’re fired, of course,” Marcy said to me, “I did manage to get you a very generous severance package. You have until noon to clean up your office and get out of the building, but if I were you, I’d just go now.” She paused before sending me back to my tiny little office, “I’ll be in touch.”

It didn’t take me long to pack up my stuff. It all fit inside a slim briefcase. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, boring into my back as I walked out of the building for the very last time. I wondered what they were all thinking. Was anyone sympathetic, or was I just a pervert?

Marcy was right. I did get a very generous severance package out of them: a year’s salary, and health insurance. I got a new job pretty much right away, with a Japanese firm that allowed me to work from home. It was a lot less money than I’d been making before, but quite frankly I didn’t give a shit, and I wasn’t expected to work sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. They even encouraged the occasional vacation.

I got a new, smaller apartment, in a less fashionable neighborhood in Brooklyn. I mostly stayed inside, dashing out once or twice a week for groceries. I took a long series of deep breaths, and started to regain my equilibrium. My phone rang a lot, but I never picked it up.

There was a small, litter-strewn park across the street from my new place. Marcy started hanging out on a park bench directly opposite my one window. She always had a pair of field glasses with her, sometimes a camera with a big telephoto lens. Now and then she’d read a book, or play with her iPad. She was there most days, from late afternoon to sundown.

The tap at my door was so soft I thought I had imagined it. Then the knocking came again, slightly bolder, more insistent. I shut out of the project I’d been working on, pulled on a pair of pants, and trepidatiously opened the door.

Persephone was standing out there in the stairwell, looking taller and skinnier than ever in a little white sundress with sunflowers printed all over it.

She kissed me hard as soon as she stepped across the threshold, pressing herself against me, and pulling me close to her. “I’m sorry it’s been such a mess,” she breathed into my ear. Her small breasts were pressed hard against my chest. “I had to say you forced yourself on me… I had to say you made me do it… God, I’ve missed you!”

Persephone was rubbing my cock through the front of my pants. My dick strained out toward her.

“I want you Baby Brother,” she whispered, still massaging my cock, “I want you so badly.”

We fell onto my bed together, her little flowered sun dress naturally riding up.

She was, as I had suspected, not wearing anything under her summer dress. My hand slid up between her thighs, and her pussy was slick and wet. She kissed me desperately as I fingered her. Her pussy responded excitedly, blooming and engulfing my probing finger. She rocked her hips back and forth as I finger-fucked her.

“I want you,” I said, “I want to be inside of you. I want to fuck you.”

My fingers were coated in her wetness. I extracted my pent-up cock from my pants. Her dress was in a pile around her waist.

“I can’t,” she said, “no, not today. I’ll eat you. I’ll suck your dick so good. Next time, next time you can fuck me. ”

My pants came off. My dick stuck rigidly out, like a piece of jagged rebar, hard as tempered steel. A long string of pre-come leaked out the engorged end, like a gossamer thread of spider web. She licked it off greedily.

“Please…” I begged.

“Next time,” Persephone said, “Next time, I promise. Let me eat you right now.” Her mouth was hot and wet on my cock, and I had to force myself not to come right away. Her tongue moved languidly, slathering all over my dick.

I grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her off my crotch, slapped her across the face with my wet dick once, twice, again and again. I shoved her roughly off the bed, and she squealed in dismay.

She landed face-down. I straddled her, shoving her face hard against the rough wood floor. I lifted up her white summer dress, exposing her firm white buttocks. I slapped her ass hard, leaving livid red fingerprints on her pale cheeks.

I wrapped one hand around her long, slender throat. I could feel her life pulsing beneath my grip.

My other hand parted her ass cheeks, exposing her tiny, tender, vulnerable-looking crinkled pink anus.

“Tell me not to,” I said, “Tell me to stop.” My cock slid up and down between the half-moons of her ass, nuzzling at her wet pussy and her asshole.

“Please,” she whispered, “Please…”

I spit on her asshole, and she groaned gutturally. Her pussy was leaking come down the insides of her thighs, gasping hungrily open.

I took a big handful of her hair in my fist and jammed her face hard against the floor, boring my cock into her ass, forcing it through the tight ring of muscle, grinding relentlessly into her. She strained and gasped, a drawn-out, strangled animal noise, but I didn’t stop. I worked my hips, auguring my dick deeper and deeper into her ass, until the full weight of my body was lying on her back and her buttocks were pressed against my hips. I could feel her trembling beneath me.

I fucked her ass hard and fast, taking my pleasure in it. She was tight, her muscles gripped my pistoning dick, clinging at me, milking me. She made a noise like a cat being tortured as I fucked her. I wasn’t sure if that noise was pain, pleasure, or anger. It only took a few minutes, and then I came, squirting my come up her rectum. My orgasm seemed to go on and on. It felt amazing.

At long last, I collapsed on top of her, breathing hard into the back of her neck. Her asshole pulsated, squeezing my softening dick.

I reached underneath her, worming my hand under our combined weight, until I found her pussy. She was soaking wet. I let my fingers slide up inside her cunt, and then travel up to the excited little button of her clit. I petted her there, slowly, gently, until she came with a silent shudder.

After I had extracted my soft penis from her asshole, she got up and wiped her eyes and straightened out her dress. I felt hot and clumsy and awkward. The left side of Persephone’s face was all red and abraded. Her lower lip was swollen and a little bloody. It looked like she was going to have a black eye.

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Persephone said, “I really didn’t think you were that type.”

“Can I fuck your pussy next time?” I asked.

“Next time you see me,” she said, “You can fuck my pussy.”

She put on her shoes and left.

I had about a dozen emails from my supervisor in Yokohama, and I had missed an online production meeting. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a Diet Coke, popping it open. I wandered over to the window and took a long, cold pull from the can. I was still naked, and my soft dick hung down, sticky and moist and dribbling. My balls felt heavy and tender and my hands were shaking slightly.

Marcy was sitting at her station across from my apartment building, splayed out on the bench like a paler, less wrinkly Jabba the Hutt. She was wearing a little black miniskirt, and she had her cell phone in one hand, her expensive-looking camera balanced on her lap. She looked up at my window, and our eyes met.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and drank the rest of my pop, waiting for the knock at my door.


Comments (4)

Dad Quest

After my mom passed away, I did go a little crazy.

It had always been just the two of us together: single mother and only daughter.  Her parents had cut her out of their lives when she got knocked up, and the guy who made her pregnant, my dad, was just never a part of the picture.

The cancer started out in her left breast, and it spread like a dirty rumor, until her whole body was cancerous.  Even her tumors had tumors.  About the only positive thing I can say about her passing is that she didn’t suffer very long.

I dropped out of college; I simply stopped attending my classes. I started collecting knives and Japanese throwing stars. I made myself a garrote, a three-foot length of sixteenth-inch diameter aircraft cable with a swaged loop at either end for handles, wrapped in duct tape, that I carried with me at all times, coiled up in my purse. I stopped taking my birth control. I studied anatomy textbooks with bad intent. I masturbated myself to sleep late at night to Green Beret field manuals and practiced throwing my shuriken at male pornography taped up on my apartment wall.

Like I said, I’d gone a little crazy. I’m better now. I’d like to think I achieved some kind of catharsis.

Mom never finished high school; she dropped out before I was born.  I graduated at the top of my class, and at the time my mom died I was the only female math major at my university.  (That’s not actually saying that much; there were only seven math majors in the whole department.)

I decided to find my dad: find him, fuck him, and kill him.

Getting his name was the easy part; I had my mother’s yearbook from when she was a sophomore, the last year she had gone to school.  They had signed each other’s pictures.  “Love Always’ she had written; “Yer a babe!” he had scrawled under her photo.

I guess I could see why she had been attracted to him.  He was a Bad Boy, obviously.  In the photo, he wore a defiant sneer and a backwards-facing baseball cap, and his head was tilted back at a sardonic angle, just daring the camera to come a little closer.  He was a skinny little dude with a face that reminded me of a ferret and the shadow of a mustache haunting his upper lip.  He looked like the type of guy who might carjack you with a switchblade.  I looked and looked at the little black-and-white photograph for a long time, but I couldn’t see myself in that face, not at all.

Finding his name was easy; finding the man wasn’t so simple.  It wasn’t as if he had a Facebook page, and there were three Dan G_____s listed in the city white pages, none of whom was he.

Fortunately for me, Pops had a bunch of credit card debt; and a friend of mine who was a computer science major was able to extract his home address and place of employment.  He lived in an old industrial town about 90 minutes upstate, and he worked at a metal extruding factory. He was the second shift foreman.

I started hanging out in upstate redneck bars. I guess I was surprised at how little I got hit on, but in retrospect I suppose I shouldn’t have been. A twenty-two year old girl with an obvious chip on her shoulder, wearing an old army jacket and black jeans and combat boots drinking jack-and-cokes alone spells one thing: Trouble.

Anyway, it didn’t take me long to find him. It was the Easy Street bar, a rather banal little dive a few miles down the road from his factory, where they had classic rock on the jukebox and Budweiser on tap.

When he came in, I didn’t recognize him right away. The years had not been kind to him. He had probably put on a hundred pounds since that ratty-ass sophomore picture had been taken 22 years ago; it wasn’t concentrated in a big beer gut, his body had just gotten thick. He had a high forehead and thinning salt-and-pepper hair, and he wore a gold stud in his left earlobe. It looked like he’d done a lot of rough living since he’d knocked my mom up.

The thing that gave him away were the eyes. As soon as I saw those sad, deep-set, sea-grey eyes, I knew it was him. They were the same eyes I saw every morning when I looked in the mirror.

He wasn’t popular with the crew. I’d already heard talk in the bars: he was a hard-ass boss, a tough case, a prick to work for, an intolerant, humorless sonofabitch. Looking at him, I doubted that he had any friends at all. He came to the Easy Street most nights after his shift, eight-ish; sat by himself at the bar; had two beers; and drove home. Alone.

I watched him and watched him, over the course of a week, and then I put my plan into effect.

I left my car sitting at the park-and-ride, and walked the three or so miles along dark, sidewalk-less back country roads to Easy Street. The bartender recognized me by now, and set me up with a jack-and-coke.

He was late. I was worried that he wasn’t coming at all; some nights he didn’t.

It was nearly ten before he showed up, wearing a frown that could sink a battleship. He sat down heavily at the bar, emitting a long drawn-out sigh that reminded me of the hydraulic brakes on a big rig.

“Rough day?” I asked.

“Rough day,” he snorted. His hands reminded me of bear paws: huge and hairy, stained black with oil and metal grease. “Rough day. Two guys call in sick and one shows up drunk, and of course we get a big order in late in the day.” He looked at me quizzically, “Who’s askin’ anyway?”

“Let me buy you a drink” I nodded to the bartender, who fetched Pops a tall, frosty cold one.

“So we get this big order for box-tube, and of course the freaking die breaks, and I have to change it out myself, which is a freaking bitch, and then it’s late and none of the guys want to do overtime, so I’m stuck running the freaking machine myself, which is hard work and freaking dangerous… safety third, that’s our company motto.”

While I listened to him talk, nodding sympathetically at appropriate pauses, I was picturing him fucking me: me flat on my back with my legs wrapped around his pale ass, his big dick pistoning in and out of my pussy, humping me like a big hairy cartoon ape, grunting and snorting as he fucked. I wanted to murder him, to feel him blow his last breath in my face even as his cock twitched inside my cunt.

My panties were now distinctly moist. I shifted the way I was sitting on the barstool, bringing my knees close to, but not quite in contact with his. He finished his beer and got another. He bought me a drink too, and that was when I knew I was in. I let my hand settle on his thigh. He jumped, startled, at the touch, but didn’t move away.

“Could I get a ride?” I asked when he had finished his second beer.

“Where you going?”

“Where do you want to take me?” I asked.

I sat next to him in the passenger seat of a tan Ford station wagon that was older than me. I wondered if he’d owned that car when he was dating my mother. I wondered if he’d fucked her in the back seat, directly behind where I was sitting.

Of course I’d fantasized about doing it slowly, getting him to let me handcuff him to his bed, and then sitting astride him, engulfing his cock with my cunt before taking fingers and toes and ears and maybe his nose with my knife while he screamed and bucked and protested beneath me, unwittingly bringing me to orgasm after orgasm as he struggled. I knew it wasn’t going to go down like that; I intended to do this and to get away with it, and that meant doing the job quick and quiet; but it was a nice fantasy.

I wasn’t sure if I would call his place a house, or a shack. It was a tiny, single-story structure, overhung with trees. In the moonlight, the roof looked like it was sagging dangerously.

“I don’t bring many women home with me,” he allowed, “’scuse me if the place is a mess.”

It actually wasn’t that bad, for a single dude’s apartment. There were a bunch of hot rod and heavy metal posters straight out of the ‘80s. Tidy stacks of magazines: Popular Mechanics, and Hot Rod, and Penthouse, and Hustler. A very dusty, very old bowling trophy. A couple of plastic model cars. His clothes for the remainder of the week were laid out folded on top of his dresser. It was kind of cute, actually.

He wanted me. I could tell, and he was nervous about it, he didn’t know how to proceed. Ha! Of course I was going to fuck him, why else would I have let him take me home? I wondered how long it had been since he’d been with a girl. My handbag felt heavy with the weight of my marine Ka-Bar knife and the garrote. I had a Sog tactical dagger in a boot sheath in my Doc Martins and a tiny illegal switchblade in my jeans pocket. I felt like I was ready for anything.

I imagined Pops fucking me, skewering my juicy young pussy on his gnarly old dick, huffing and puffing as it slid in and out, the veins in his forehead bulging out with the effort. I imagined fucking back against him, whispering encouragement, playing with my clit and pulling on my nipples as he fucked me. I imagined him coming, his eyes locked on mine, his face red, his belly jiggling, his cock pistoning spasmodically. I imagined grabbing the marine combat knife out of my handbag by the bed just as he squirted his incestuous sperm into my cunt, and sliding the huge sharp wicked blade deep into his solar plexus, just under his rib cage, seeing those sad sea-grey eyes bulge out with shock and confusion right in middle of his orgasm. I imagined myself coming, bathed in his sticky red blood, as he croaked out his last breaths, his cock still frantically jerking around inside my cunt as his bulk settled on top of me, dead.

I imagined letting him fuck me, and after he was done, asking him very sweetly to go down on me, to lick his hot daddy come out of my tight little girl pussy. Of course he would. I’d set my legs on his shoulders and let him do his thing. He might be pretty good at it too. When I felt like the time was ripe, when I was good and wet and close to coming on his tongue, I’d fish out the switchblade knife. I’d reach down and stick it into his neck, breaking the skin, pressing the tip of the blade up against his carotid artery. “Lick me good Daddy,” I’d purr at him, “Lick me real good.” And he would. He’d lick my pussy frantically, hoping that if he did a good enough job it would save his life. When I came, I’d give the knife a vicious jerk, severing the artery, and he’d look up at me with wide, wide eyes, mouth silently opening and shutting, face covered in my slimy juices, his life blood squirting out of his neck with every pump of his heart, squirting up and onto me, all over my heaving tits as I rubbed myself off to a long, body-wracking, protracted orgasm.

I imagined letting him fuck me, fuck me as long and as hard and nasty as he wanted, letting him do whatever he pleased with my lithe young body, until his come was all over me and inside me, and he was tired and satisfied. I pictured him getting up to use the bathroom, and me sneaking up quietly behind him, and slipping the garrote around his neck and throttling him while he peed. I imagined leaving his lifeless naked body crumpled across the toilet in his dingy little bathroom, and me hiking quietly back to my own car. I wondered how long it would be before someone found his body.

He asked me if I’d like a drink, a beer or some water or anything. I pressed myself boldly against him, bolder than I’d ever behaved with a guy before, letting my breast brush against his chest and putting an arm around his waist. I told him I could think of something I wanted. I let my hand traverse down the front of his jeans. He smelled of work: hot metal and oil and sweat. I kind of liked that smell. It was kind of sexy.

There was a nice bulge in the crotch of his jeans, and I gave it a friendly squeeze. His hand found mine, and our fingers interlaced. He was so nervous he was trembling. I could feel his heart beating, and it was fast, fast. Wouldn’t it be the ultimate irony if the poor guy had a heart attack on me?

We maneuvered into his bedroom. It was pretty neat and tidy for a guy’s room. The bed was made. There was an open Penthouse magazine lying on the floor by the bed, and I made a point of squealing and picking it up. “Oooh naked girls!” I flopped onto his bed. The mattress was small and rather hard and lumpy. I flipped the magazine open to a spread of two heavily made-up models with scary long fingernails getting it on in a hot tub. The blonde girl’s tongue was outstretched, close to, but not quite in contact with the brunette’s carefully manicured pussy. “Oooh, sexy!” I cooed, “Do you think it’s hot when girls do that? I do.” I looked up at him, suddenly mock-concerned. “Do you like girls with big boobs?” I indicated my own not-exactly tiny rack.

“I think what you’ve got is just fine,” he said, “As a matter of fact, I think you’re beautiful.”

“Really?” I said, tossing the porn mag aside, “You really think so? Do I remind you of anyone?”

He looked thoughtful and confused, a look that quickly evaporated as I took off my top and bra and wriggled out of my jeans.

I went to work on removing his pants. He had tighty-whities on underneath. My pussy salivated as I tugged them off, exposing my Daddy’s goods to the harsh light of the incandescent overhead light.

He was only halfway hard. His cock hung down, thick and sluggish, in front of a fat pair of balls. The head was purple, and a long strand of pre-come was leaking out the tip. His balls were heavy and hairy.

I playfully flicked my tongue, licking the salty head of his dick, and his cock jerked at my touch. I was going to enjoy this immensely.

I took the whole, semi-soft thing into my mouth, sucking hard and swirling my tongue around, making popping and slurping noises with my mouth. I cupped his balls with my hand, squeezing gently. My other hand caressed his backside, exploring his crack, petting bolder and bolder into the forbidden territory of his ass, daring him to beg me to go further. His cock responded eagerly, swelling like a nature-documentary time lapse, blossoming into full hardness until my mouth could no longer contain him. It was nice and big, and had an upward curve, and the head strained eagerly out toward me. I softly tickled his asshole with one finger and dragged my tongue up along the underside of his cock, tracing the big vein, from the base all the way up to his pee hole. I looked up at him and grinned toothily.

He took off his shirt and pulled off his socks. His belly wasn’t really that big, he was just a thick man. There was a tangled nest of dark hair on his chest that straggled down to his crotch in a furry, meandering line. He had a long, white scar on one shoulder.

I pulled off my own panties. The crotch was definitely wet, and my cunt was pleasantly squooshy. My clit felt hot and swollen, nestled in between my pussy lips.

I should have made him use a condom; I had no idea what I’d do if he got me pregnant and who knows where he’d stuck that penis of his in all the years since he’d impregnated mom; for that matter he should have insisted on a condom: he had no idea where my pussy had been and what I might be infected with. But that wasn’t the way I wanted it, and apparently neither did he.

I lay flat on my back on his lumpy single bed, my legs splayed obscenely apart. He clambered on top of me, guiding his erection carefully with one hand, aiming it with the care and concentration of a skilled mechanic.

I sighed involuntarily as he penetrated me. His cock entered my body slowly, steadily, inexorably. It had been rather a long time since I’d had an honest fucking, and no matter what they say, it feels totally different when the guy isn’t wearing a condom. I could feel every texture of his cock as it moved inside me. My own father was fucking me and I was so turned on it ached. I could now officially register myself as a pervert.

He started fucking me, excruciatingly slowly, like a steam engine chugging up to speed. His eyes were narrow slits focused on mine. His thrusts were powerful, they made the bed shake, they made my tits bounce up and down. My cunt was humping back against his cock, meeting his every thrust. I could feel his balls slapping against my ass. His breathing was hard and ragged, and so was mine.

Shit, I was going to come! I couldn’t believe it, but it was sneaking up on me, overwhelming me. Penis-in-vagina sex doesn’t usually get me off, especially without a lot of extensive, kinky foreplay first. I wanted him to come along with me. I wanted his DNA inside me, for it to meet up with my DNA, and for my egg to kick his sperm’s ass. I kicked my legs frantically, lolling my head from side to side, arching my back and gurgling incoherently as he chug-chugged along, fucking my slippery wet pussy like a god-damned pussy fucking machine.

I don’t know when I’ve come that hard or that long before. My whole body tingled pleasantly; all the hair on my arms was standing on end; my nipples stuck out like sore thumbs; my clit felt distended and hyper-sensitized.

He was still inside me, still hard, but he was no longer moving.

“Did you come?” I asked.

“No,” he said sounding a little embarrassed, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to. It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this.”

“Take me from behind” I said.

I rolled over onto all fours, and he slid his dick back up my juicy pussy. He started over again, fucking me like a potato masher. I encouraged him to fondle my breasts and slap my ass and tug on my hair. I wanted him to fuck me straight to hell. I wanted him to take me and use me the way he had taken and used my mother. He obliged, fucking me for what seemed like hours on end. He fucked me until it started to hurt. Still, he showed no sign of slowing down or getting off.

“Do you want to fuck me up the ass?”

“You mean anal sex?” he asked.

“That’s right,” I said, wiggling my butt seductively.

“I’ve never done that before…”

“I think you should do it to me now” I told him.

“I’ll be gentle” he said.

“Just fuck my ass” I said.

He pulled out of my tender pussy and nudged his slick cock against my puckered asshole. I blew out a long breath as the thick, bulbous head muscled its way through my tight sphincter.

I buried my face in the pillow, panting and growling as he butt-fucked me. I was stretched taut, filled up, invaded, pummeled from behind. I reveled in the pervertedness of it, my own daddy was sodomizing my asshole. My fingers found my swollen clitoris and I was coming again, coming in choking, gasping jerks as he fucked my ass.

“I can’t,” he panted at last, “I can’t come. I’m not going to be able to. I’m sorry.”

He carefully pulled his cock out of my poor battered little asshole. His face was all red and covered with a sheen of sweat. He was breathing hard, and the veins in his neck stuck out.

“Then masturbate for me,” I told him, “jerk off onto me.”

I lay on my back and he straddled my chest. He took his cock in hand. It was shiny wet with my juice, and red from the exertion. He squeezed it tight, painfully-looking tight, and started stroking himself with that vise-like grip. Slowly at first, then faster and faster and faster until his hand was a blur and the head of his cock looked like it was ready to explode. His big balls and his belly jiggled as he pumped. His penis was aimed at me like a loaded shotgun.

Finally he croaked out “Oh… oh… oh!” His hand froze, mid-stroke on his cock. His back arched and his eyes went wide.

The first squirt caught me on the cheek and across my nose. The next splashed onto my neck. More landed on my breasts. It was an awful lot of come. He milked the last pearly-white drops out of his shrinking dick onto my tits. I felt like I was covered in the stuff. He sat next to me on the bed, breathing hard. I dipped my finger into the slick of come on my breast, and brought my finger to my lips. His semen was salty and bitter and warm. I licked my finger clean and swallowed. My father was inside me.

We fell asleep side by side on the narrow bed. He snored like an old V-8 engine idling. One of his heavy arms was thrown across my chest.

We only slept for a few hours. When we woke up, grey light was filtering in through the window. The sun was just rising behind a heavy layer of clouds.

“I gotta get ready for work” my dad said.

“I’ve got to get going.” I said.

He sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Will I see you again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Listen,” he said to me, “Listen. I’ve got a little girl out there somewhere, a daughter I never got to meet. She’d be about your age now. I’ve wasted my life. Don’t waste yours.”

I got dressed and left him there. I walked the three or four miles back to the park and ride. My dad’s come was dry on my face and chest, sticking to my shirt and flaking off. The clouds were low and grey and heavy, and it started to rain. The cold drops mixed in with the warm salty tears that ran down my cheeks.


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