The flesh is weak…very weak…

I find her disgusting. Teased, bleached, bloated, blemished, varicose, loud, and pushy, she’s the epitome of the word.

And irresistible.

My sister-in-law’s sunburned thighs, like ham-hocks protruding out of stressed blue cotton, draw me like a moth. As she walks by, masticating loudly, I step in behind her, and place my hands on her ample hips, and she stops. From behind, the sweep of her posterior is impressive, rounded, switching under yards of cloth at the slightest movement. I pull her by the hips, back to meet my erection, sliding my hands up under her hopelessly-dated cut-off midriff-baring T-shirt, past the double roll of flesh lapping out over the elastic waistband of her short-shorts, and apprehend the swaying, pendulous melons.

She whirls around to slap my face, a condiment-heavy hotdog clenched in her other fist. I catch her hand, and stare into the red-rimmed eyes for a moment, before seizing her poodle-permed, nappy head and turning it to face away from me again, panting with urgency, and administering a sound slap to her massive rump. She squirms, pinned against the door frame, as I yank the shorts to her knees. The rich stench of sweat and ripe, unwashed pussy floods my nostrils as I survey the bright white expanse of her naked butt, pantyless.

She grunts, as I press my groin against it, then, with my free hand, tug my shorts down, and free my prodigious hard-on to nestle between her slick, perspiring cheeks. Her hands clutch the doorframe for support, and the hotdog falls to the floor with a sodden thump as my hands yank her legs apart, and slide my fingers into her wet crotch, wrenching it open. Then, with no preliminaries, I’m in.

A cloud of noxious, fishy air, freed by my invading penis, wafts up to engulf my nostrils. Another grunt from her ketchup-laden, grimacing lips, but that’s all. With her family, my wife amongst them, visible through the window, clustered about the grill, oblivious, I clamp again onto her massive, swinging boulders, and begin to pole her in earnest. More grunts. Twisting her nipples, I look for a reaction.

She whistles.

Her cunt is tight, greasy, and blow-torch hot. Pumping in and out roughly and deeply, I’m soon spraying into her forcefully, while her groin thumps rhythmically against the doorframe.

“Hunnnhhh…!” And she comes, spasmodically, clenching, quivering flesh straining toward relief, her crooked teeth clamping tightly, grinding.  “Bastard.”

She hikes up her shorts, and totters shakily outside to refuel.

Over the summer, the scene repeats itself countless times, right down to the struggle, as if choreographed.

***

This time, she brings her voice with her, and her command of filth is impressive. I never knew the power of sex talk before. Her fat ass begins to give me erections from across the yard, a prospect that fills me with self-loathing so deep in almost obliterates the raging lust.

Almost.

“I want to know what my sister does for you, fuckhead,” she mutters in my ear, as I’m thrusting deep into her for the third time, she standing with her back to me, her head craning over her shoulder.

I ignore her, and concentrate on my cock, which is working overtime. But her words penetrate nonetheless, as does the fact that her family is once again an unconscious backdrop for this tête-à-tête. The combination works its strange magic, and I experience a surge of … something.

“What…?” I gasp, slowing to a stop.

“What’s she do? How do you fuck her?” She whispers gratingly.

“Well… we…” I start.

“More important, motherfucker, what doesn’t she do?” She turns and takes my cock in her hand. Sinking to her knees, she licks her juices from my sex-slimed organ. “Does she blow you?”

I tug her head into my crotch, and jam her mouth full of cock. “Wouldn’t ‘sisterfucker’ be more appropriate?” I ask. After a few thrusts, she pulls away, gagging.

“Does she?” she demands, doubtfully.

“Yeah. But she won’t do it like you are, after…” I pull her forward again, and she comes more willingly. “I like a blowjob after a good screw.”

She gives it a good try. Her enthusiasm is catching, and I begin to fuck her mouth. “Open your throat, bitch. You wanna show up your little sister? Suck like you mean it. That’s it. Take it way down. Deep throat me, you filthy slut. She doesn’t do that.”

She gags, hitches as I go deep. Deep throat, my ass. But her technique is no longer all that important. A wet soft mouth will do, and a throat. My hands in her hair, I’m driving.

“You know what else she won’t do?” I’m panting now, very close.

She makes a muffled sound of interrogation, or maybe it’s just a choking sound.

“She won’t swallow.” Now, I’m there. “Ummmmm.”

“But you will swallow, won’t ya, bitch?” Her neck convulses, as I slam in and out, and retching sounds issue around my spurting penis. “Hurry! Your mom’s headed this way! Swallow, slut!”

She retches, and gulps it back, as I thrust a few more times, then pull out, trailing sputum, a white cord flowing into her mouth. Frantically, she laps me, doglike, sneaking a look toward the window. Then, seeing no sign of Mom, she makes a sound of disbelief, before dashing toward the bathroom. Through the door, I see her kneeling, vomiting.

Presently, she looks at me and smiles. A runner of saliva hangs from her chin. “You really are a shit, you know.”

“I know.”

“Whatever she does, I always do better.”

I had to admit she was right, at least, in this case. “Little more practice, you’ll be a perfect cocksucker.”

She comes back over, and sinks to her knees. With a massive effort, she pulls my flaccid penis back into her throat, and washes it clean. Then, she rises and, more than likely reeking, she rejoins her family. I’m relieved. The thought of a quid-pro-quo request, even though I’d never feel obligated to fulfill it, makes me seriously nauseous.

* ** *

“So. You want to do what li’l sister won’t?”

Obviously, I’ve gotten into the game. She stands, her shorts around her ankles, breathing hard from the exertion of being quiet while I spank her, my cock hard and deep inside her. Through the window, the cookout backdrop is the same as always.

Grunting, she drops and blows. She’s gotten good, and I’m soon hard again. I pull her upright.

She comes hesitatingly, puzzled.

“You want to do what sister don’t?” She nods.

“Turn around, and bend over the bed.”

She complies eagerly, though she hasn’t made the connection, bending her wide body almost double. I press myself into her slick cunt, and she grunts with anticipation. I pull out and press my cock against her cheeks, slipping wetly up against her anus.

Finally, the reaction I am seeking. “Oh, no. Not that.” She starts to rise.

“Yeah, I knew you were too wussy to go through with it.” She stops in midrise, and I prod her butt with my erection again. “You and your ‘I can do anything better then she can.'” Another tremendous whack across her sore ass.

With a mighty sigh, she nods. “Okay.” Her head flops back down to the bed, and she pulls her cheeks apart obligingly. Pushing into her wet pussy again for lubrication, I decide it’s not enough.

“Wait.” I reach behind me and open the hall closet. The Vaseline is just where I expected. Why do people always put it in the same spot? Hmmm…

She waits, her white cheeks spread. I slide a grease-coated finger along the crease, and she tenses. Quickly, I thrust my penis into her anal cleft, and bore in. She grunts mightily, but holds determinedly still as I ride a cushion of petroleum jelly up into her rectum. It’s tight and slick, and begins to warm up as I begin thrusting. She moans, a long painful sound. “Ohhhh… uhhhhh.” I pick up the pace, and she trails off.

I’m slamming her buttcheeks now, harder, faster, with animal abandon, the bedsprings screaming as her knees bounce off the side of the mattress. Her moans have blended into one long unbroken vowel stream, but she does not ask me to stop.

Then I smell her foul arousal scent and realize that she enjoys being hurt. I oblige by reaching around and pinching her clitoris. Her response is electric, and that’s when I realize that she’s coming, has been for a while now. The discovery sends me over, and I blast into her, slipping mostly out to spray the foul stuff across her back. Her grunting takes on a mournful sound when she realizes the pain is over. Shakily, she drops face forward onto the bed, ejecting me from her completely.

I swab my sticky, smelly groin with a washcloth for several minutes, then walk past, unable to resist a loud smack across her massive cheeks, out into the yard. For the first time, I am the first to return to the cookout.

From the corner of my eye, I see her older sister watching me appraisingly.

On Being Used

He’s looking at me from across the lawn, smiling in a sexy, dangerous, slightly greasy way.

I’m not sure why he picked me; I’m not out, and this is a hetero wedding. I’m not even gay. I’m really just mildly bi, more interested in women than men, by a factor of twenty to one most days.

At first, I’m pretty sure he’s after my tablemates, the two “out” queers on either side of me. Kelvin and Gary have been a couple for a decade, and Gary, the “chick” in the couple, likes to flirt. I’ve known them for 4 of their 10 years together, and I know it’s allowed, even encouraged, in their relationship.

At first Gary thinks that hot, pumped Latino guy with the vaguely outdated cocky greaser look is after his ass too. Then it dawns on them both, and they look at me. “Dude, I think it’s you he wants.” I’m not buying, but then I look back at him and he smiles in my direction.

He has that arrogant way of looking at me, like he knows he can have me whenever he wants. I am not used to a man looking at me that way; I think of myself as more of the hunter than the hunted.

He finds me at the bar, gives me his card and tells me to call him. Just ‘Jose’ and a cell number. This guy’s a real player, I guess.

I check him out with the groom, without telling him why I’m asking; just that I spoke to this guy, do you know him? The groom doesn’t ask why I’m asking; he knows I’m bi, but he doesn’t like to think about it. He tells me, though, probably just in case, that Jose has a date here at the wedding, a long-time lover; they’ve been living together for 15 years and have adopted children. The groom knows them from church, one of the more-active families in this very politically and socially active congregation.

I decide I’m not going to do this. He’s been with the man forever, and they’ve got kids, for Christ’s sake. Besides… I’m not really into men that much. I fuck them once in awhile, usually in a group situation or a three-way with a couple.

But somehow, later that weekend, after the tryst with the current woman has panted its way to a close and she’s on the plane back home, I do call and he’s pretty close by and says he wants to stop by, not for sex or anything, but just because. Before I know it, he’s at my door, smiling that cocky grin.

“Did I tell you how much I like your look?” he says, his voice a soft but somehow firm caress. “That scruffy wild thing you have going.”

I don’t like kissing, but he doesn’t ask, just kisses me, his tongue insistent in my throat. He’s shorter than I am, but he just grabs me around the neck and pulls me down to him, his hands on my ass and I feel him hard against my leg. I am surprised to find I am getting hard, too; usually, I don’t get hard when a man is about to fuck me.

“I like your cock, too,” he says, rubbing it through my pants before taking it out and massaging it in his palms. “A masculine thing, mixed with wanting to be fucked like a woman.”

He reaches into his pants and I find myself sinking to my knees in front of him. His cock’s dimensions are so different from mine; where the head of mine is thick and rounded, mushroom-shaped, the top of a meat lollipop, his is sleek and cobra-like, the head is smaller than the shoulders, torpedo-shaped. He’s longer than me, and I am not small. Thick as I am, he’s almost as thick, everywhere except the head.

I take him experimentally into my mouth, and lick, softly suck. He moans and runs his hands through my hair. I stop, and tell him. “I don’t… really know how to do this. Do you?”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll you teach you,” he murmurs tenderly

I’m thinking since he’s gay, not bi like me, he certainly knows how to suck cock. I’m thinking he’ll show me how he does it.

I’m wrong. His idea of how to teach me is to take my head in his hands and force his cock into my hitching throat, inch by inch, slow but insistent. His thick, high, tightly-clenched balls slide across my chin and thump against my lower lip. He starts to move, fucking my mouth and throat.

I try to take him all in, but my throat isn’t cooperating, and I gag every time he hits the back of it. So I try to make it work another way, using my hand as an extension of my mouth, wrapping him tightly in my fist and swirling my tongue around the glans. He moans and thrusts harder, pushing along my tongue and into my hitching throat again and again, bringing choking grunts and making my eyes fill from the strain.

After a few minutes of this, I am ready to try something else, so I lead him by his rigid and still-growing cock — uncircumcized like me, I think, but when he’s hard, the foreskin is so stretched smooth that it’s hard to say for sure – to the bedroom, and he takes over.

He pushes me to a bending position in front of the bed, quickly peels off my shorts and drops them, then his. I hear him rip the envelope and then snap a condom onto his cock while his slippery finger smears my crack with lube.

“Get ready, baby,” he says, his voice thick with lust. I try to make myself relax, as I feel his glans, snake-like in my mind’s eye in relation to the rearing hood of his cock, press against and pry me open.

I had taken to shaving my ass over the past few weeks in vague preparation for something like this. I’d never done this before. No hair around my hole, nothing to tug or to smell… or slow him down, I discover.

He’s not subtle, pressing my anus in a few short hard jabs and forcing it open, entering me with a masterful thrust, then ramming his thick cock in to the hilt a second later, muscling past the second involuntary sphincter without waiting for it to open. It’s deeply painful and wonderful at the same time, being so completely manhandled, mastered. It’s not my first assfuck by a long shot, but it’s the first time I have been so utterly emasculated, made into a woman. I find I like the role, at least for the moment, and I begin to pant and moan in a decidedly un-butch way.

“Oh yeah, bitch,” he says, his voice tight with brutal glee as he rams himself in again and holds, his heavy balls pressed to my cheeks. “You’re tight as fuck.”

I’m glad he noticed, but I wanted him to say something about my smooth ass, after all the work of getting it so soft and feminine. But he’s too busy slamming himself in, filling me and I can’t speak for the feeling of being so close to being hurt by the length and thickness of that cock.

He stops outside for a second, then punches in and stretches me open, pulls out, rams in again, making me groan with pain, and he loves it. “Yeah,” he says in my ear, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, arching my back. “I like my bitches to make noise. Talk dirty to me.”

“Oh, God,” I hear myself moan. “Please fuck me harder, Jose. Fuck my tight little smooth ass.  Punish it.”

He growls with satisfaction and slams me again, letting go of my hair and knocking me onto the bed, splayed forward, my forehead resting on the bed and my forearms and elbows braced to keep him from pounding me into the headboard. “Get up on the bed,” he says in a minute, and I obey his order without thinking, get on my knees on the bed, my hips clasped tightly in his hands as he pummels my smooth hairless ass, always going in so far I feel his nuts spanking me.

I feel his cock swelling ever thicker, pressing against my pubic bone from the inside, rubbing my swollen prostate as he bangs me. Then with a triumphant roar, he explodes deep inside me, and holds still, his hot semen boiling into my colon sending me over the edge and I blow my load too. With his turgid dick plunging itself into my midsection, I come so hard, my load flings itself a record distance and splatters across the bed, my torso, and even the headboard, a sweet, painfully hard orgasm that leaves me weak and shaky. I collapse on the bed face down, and he rams me for a last few thrusts before he comes to a rest inside me.

“I fucked you good, didn’t I, baby?” he pants. “Say it. You wanted to be fucked, and I fucked the hell out of your ass, huh?”

“Yes, Jose,” I say meekly. “You fucked me good and hard. You were the best.” I stretch out my arms above my head, arch my back, and note the ache in my butt, know it will be sore in the morning.

He chuckles, satisfied, and thrusts a few more times before he pulls out with a pop, and slaps my ass as he heads for the bathroom. “Nice ass, Melanie,” he says. “I could ream you all night, but you’d never be able to handle it.”

I luxuriate in the unfamiliar feeling of being the femme. “Don’t bet on it, Pablo,” I say.

“I’ll be back for you, my gringo whore,” he says as he passes by on the way out, drops a few twenties on the nightstand. “Buy yourself something nice. Now come here and kiss my cock goodbye.”

I move too slowly, and he grabs a  handful of hair, hauls me over and sticks his cock in my face. He seems to have washed it, but I’m still not convinced. Doesn’t matter. He feeds it between my closed lips and I open, and then he’s in again, thrusting, riding my face, his balls somehow still full, slapping my face. His pubic hair smells like sweat and sex, and I realize he’s ready to come again, as I am adjusting my throat to let him pass. Suddenly the idea of making him come is very intoxicating and I start to suck hard, my vision blurring as he goes deeper and deeper. Then he stops and I take over the motion, running my hands over his tight muscular ass, milking him, moving my head and shoulders faster and sucking harder until he explodes, filling my mouth with hot milky come, spurting some into my throat. His balls contract and pull up against my lips and chin as he unloads it all in my mouth, all except the strands that splash across my lips and cheeks.

He laughs. “I told you I’d teach you,” he says.

“You taught me, sweetie,” I say. “Now go back to your wife and kids.”

His grin falters a bit. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d better. But we’ll do this again, real soon. I love to dig that hole again.”

It’ll be more than ten years before I see him again. Probably just enough time for me to get ready for it.

Scratching the seven-year itch, pt. 1

As we got to the door, Kay caught my arm.

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna do it after all.”

I sighed, and turned toward her. Just then the door opened, and Tom and Cherry stood there, smiling. “Well?” I asked softly. But she didn’t answer. Her eyes had gone to his groin, covered by a robe, but nonetheless enough so as to catch her attention.

She took my hands and walked into the house.

*

At an Italian restaurant in Bethany Beach a few weeks earlier, we had a met an older couple with whom we’d spent most of the evening. We were just coming from the dining room, our dinner having been perfect, and they were sitting at at the piano bar in our customary spots. One stool beside them was open, and I suggested she take it while I stood to order the bottle of wine. The pianist, Jim, had yet to begin his set.

Kay and I had discovered this place several years earlier, on a spur-of-the moment weekend trip in January, and it had become our ‘birthday spot’ ever since. We were the same sign, with birthdays a few days apart, and we had discovered, quite by accident that first time, the joys of this beach town in winter. All the top-notch hotels were priced within reach, and we could get a beachfront condo with a Jacuzzi, valet parking, all within walking distance of this best Italian restaurant with a piano bar, for about half what a fleabag would cost during the summer.

As I ordered, I caught the eye of the lady beside me, and she smiled as she checked her watch. “I hope it’s worth the wait!” she said.

“You don’t have a reservation?” I asked. “Oh, don’t worry; we got right in. Maybe you’ll get our table.”

“We have a reservation, and we’re still waiting. You had no reservation?” She asked incredulously.

“None.”

And so began a nice evening with the couple, Pat and Kay (yes, another Kay; We’ll call her K2). As they waited for their table, we shared our bottle of wine with them, a fairly good Merlot. Not exactly an after-dinner wine, but we never were overly observant of food etiquette; at the time, neither of us liked white wines, and would even shatter genteel tradition by drinking red with poultry and fish, which was almost as bad as wearing white after Labor Day, or wearing plaid with stripes, I think. Although now they say you should match your wine’s color to the entree’s sauce, not the meat. So what now about plaid; it’s only a sin if it doesn’t match your overcoat? Whoever ‘they’ are, they can kiss my peasant ass.

Ahem.

Pat, it seemed, was a photographer, and Kay, a decorator. They were from North Carolina, and touted that state’s vineyard tradition. We smiled politely, unconvinced that Muscat was going to take the world by storm. After questioning the maitre d’, we discovered the reason for their wait, and our speedy accommodation: They’d been assigned to nonsmoking, and we’d expressed no preference. We all found the irony amusing: They both smoked, and we did not.

Finally, their table was called, and they departed. Kay and I ordered another bottle. Jim, at the piano warming up, recognized us – ‘the birthday kids’ – and nodded, swinging into ‘It had to be you’. His singer, a young lady with classical training whose name we could never recall, showed eventually, and they sang our favorites as always, ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ and ‘Let’s Get Lost.’

Then someone touched my arm, and I looked up to see K2 smiling at me, Pat in tow. “Mind if we join you?” We moved over, and the four of us spent the rest of the evening at the piano bar. Once I danced with Kay, and saw them watching us. Later I danced with K2, and hoped to see my spouse and Pat follow suit. I watched, but Pat made no move toward Kay. Never one to be shy, she leaned forward and spoke to him. He smiled, shook his head, and they spoke for awhile.

Around that time, my attention was suddenly distracted by K2’s hands, on of which had lowered from my shoulder to my hip, pulling me closer, while the other was playing with my hair where it curled past my collar. I smiled into her eyes, feeling heat in my thighs – and not incidentally, in hers – and her soft breasts pressing my chest. She looked to be older than the two of us by close to ten years, and Pat appeared closer to fifteen. Her hand strayed aimlessly back to my neck, and she touched my cheek softly as the dance ended. I noticed then that she wore no ring.

As we sat back down, the Kays took a ladies room break, and Pat went out for a cigarette. My Kay returned first, and told me, giggling, that this older couple was unmarried, just living together  in sin, as we were. “I think she wants to know more about us. I wonder why?” An idea began to take hold in my mind, but before I could figure out how to ask her opinion, the other two returned.

We spent a very enjoyable evening, but no one danced anymore. My Kay confirmed that she’d asked Pat and been refused, as he was ‘an awful dancer,’ and she’d had no desire to embarrass him. When the bar closed, we exchanged addresses, because they had promised to send us a bottle of Carolina’s best red. K2’s hands pressed me closer and her lips touched my neck bit hard when I hugged her. Later, as Kay and I undressed for bed, I asked her what she’d have thought if I’d asked them to come with us. She paused to consider, then said she’d probably have liked it, if she could get past her discomfort at any sort of awkwardness. She confirmed that he was the type of older man she finds attractive. Another opportunity squandered. I wondered if I’d ever get the nerve to ask such a question of anyone.

As we had sex that night, I boozily suggested Kay call me Pat. She seized onto the idea, and played it to the hilt. I was amused by the thought that Pat and K2 could be in the suite next door,  for all we knew, hearing her call his name when I thrust hard. Whomever was there was certainly being spurred on by something. That couple outdid us in every way; enthusiasm, duration, and volume. I wish I’d walked over and asked them to keep it down, just to see if it was truly them.

Rewinding further:

A few years earlier, we’d gone to her company’s Christmas party, a company with whom I’d worked in the past, and we’d been seated with an older couple. The lady, Martha, was a woman we’d both worked with, an attractive, well-endowed brunette in her fifties, and her companion was a man named Ed, about ten years younger and blond. Later, when he asked Kay to dance, Martha and I followed.

Her pliant body aroused me, as it had when I worked with her, when her quick laugh and suggestive humor had always made me wonder if she were doing more than kidding. She carried on with all the guys, so I had no illusions on that score. But in her more sober moments, she would mourn her recently-ended 20-year marriage, and say she’d welcome more male attention.

Kay was glowing when she and Ed returned from the floor. I asked her discretely if he’d made a pass, and she said he hadn’t, but told me what he had said. ‘You have a very muscular body.’ I wondered if he knew just how happy that made her, after her ugly-duckling teens. At the time, I didn’t know her well enough to know her taste in men, (other than me, of course) but later she told me she did find him attractive, and expounded on what she liked. Receding hair, authority mixed with playfulness. No wonder she’s with me; I fit into the first category in spades.

But in spite of the fact that Martha and Ed would’ve been a good choice, the subject – as with Pat and K2 – was never broached until too late, and only then in joking manner: I asked Kay if she’d have sex with him, if I were in the next room with Martha. “Only if you were locked in the next room,” she smiled. I never knew if she was serious or not. And I never got close to discussing something like that with Martha, due to a shyness about her religious background.

Sex that night, as the night when we later met Pat and K2, was enhanced for both of us.

*

As Kay and I entered Tom and Cherry’s house, Cherry took Kay’s arm, and they went to the kitchen. I proceeded to lay down the ground rules to Tom. “Kay and I will start to have sex, and you guys do the same. When – If – Kay relaxes enough, then we’ll switch. What happens after that is up in the air, but be gentle and don’t force anything. Don’t be rough unless she asks you to.” Tom agreed. He, Cherry and I had all known that Kay was the ‘Big Unknown’; she was not totally adverse to this idea, but she was very nervous,  and the wrong approach could ruin it forever. We’d all had some question as to whether she’d do it at all. Only Kay and I knew that a big part of that was that she found Tom unattractive. In fact, that was the reason I’d not wanted to coax her when she hesitated at the door.

But, as she and I had decided, this was the only chance we’d yet had. Tom and Cherry approached me, alone, a few weeks earlier, saying that they suspected Kay wasn’t ‘into that sort of thing’, and that I could come alone or bring another woman if I wanted. I’d told them I’d think about it, and in the end, I asked Kay, deciding that, while my first time with more than one person could be fun, the big thrill for me would be to see Kay with another man.

Cherry was attractive enough, in a Wal Mart sense; big breasts, short, tanned legs, and a well-rounded butt. Her pixie-cut strawberry blond hair made her look quite young in spite of having borne three children, and in her slutty clothing, she appealed to me on a base, perverse level. Tonight she wore a black negligee tucked into skintight cutoff jeans with a zippered crotch which went all the way around. But what I found the most intriguing about her was her bisexuality. I knew that I couldn’t let her tell Kay, or she’d be out the door like a shot. Cherry had agreed to keep silent.

The girls came back in, bearing drinks, and we all sat down, the other couple on the recliner chair, and Kay and I on the sofa. We made small talk while Tom set up the VCR, and we watched an X-rated movie called ‘The Opening of Misty Beethoven’ which I knew Kay liked. She could get aroused by almost any moderately good pornography, whether printed or filmed, as could I. I supposed this could pass for moderately good, assuming one was being charitable.

Soon, her eyes began to get that glassy look that I recognized as lust. I began to massage her through her silk shorts-and-Tshirt set, which was all she’d worn under her winter coat. Her groin felt very warm, and I watched my crotch grow through the silk boxers I wore, as she idly touched my leg. Then I saw where her eyes looked: not at the screen, where Misty was getting a first lesson, but over on the recliner where Cherry was kneeling on the floor in front of Tom, her mouth engulfing his penis. With her eyes glued to the action across the room, Kay did not even seem to notice as I pulled her silk bottoms off, followed by my own shorts.

My hands found that she was indeed wet and willing. I knelt in front of her and began to manipulate her clitoris with my tongue. Her eyes fixed on Cherry’s bobbing head, she caught her breath as my finger entered her slowly followed by another. Soon her hips moved in rhythm, and her eyes closed as they always did when she was aroused this way.

I kept it up for about five minutes, my tongue steadily teasing her, my fingers dipping in and and out. I could hear sounds behind me on the chair, and realized that they’d probably be getting impatient. Then I felt a hand reach between my legs and grasp my penis, and could only hope it was Cherry. She began to move around until she’d positioned herself on her back, her mouth between my thighs, and began to fellate me. I noticed that her body was moving rhythmically beneath me, and soon gathered that Tom was screwing her at the same time although I could not see him. I decided to finish up so we could try something else.

I picked up the speed of my tongue strokes on Kay’s clit, while easing off the pressure. She responded, breathing harder, and I watched for the telltale motion of her eyes, moving wildly REM-like under closed lids. There it was. With Cherry’s inexpert but enthusiastic lips clamped around my cock, I suddenly thrust another finger into Kay’s vagina, shoving all three in hard, strumming madly with my tongue. Her hips bucked, and she groaned aloud, thrusting her hips forward and grinding herself onto my chin. Then she went rigid, her feet braced on the floor, and her breath came whooshing out.

I kept up the motions with my tongue for a short time longer until she stopped me with her hand, and opened her eyes. They widened as she saw Cherry’s head beneath me, and then drifted over to Tom, who knelt behind me, Cherry’s legs over his shoulders. Tom, watching Kay’s orgasm, had stopped thrusting, and froze, kneeling, his prick just touching Cherry’s vaginal lips. Cherry, as well, had stopped sucking, and lay smiling up at Kay from between my legs.

Tom rose, and came toward us, probably just to say something complimentary, maybe offer a drink. Kay cringed as he approached, cock pointed straight at her, so I spoke softly in her ear. “You know how you like my hard cock inside you just after you come?” She nodded, and reached for me. “There’s one bigger than mine. Probably feel even better. Go for it, my dear.” She caught her breath. After a bit, she nodded.

I took her hand and helped her up, bending her over the table. Motioned Tom over, and him stand behind her, his cock resting between her thighs. Slowly she reached back and took his cock in her shaking hands, rubbing it up and down along her wet lips. I watched as Tom fed it in a bit at a time. I turned my attention to Cherry for a minute, pulling her to her feet and guiding her to a new position on the floor, where we could watch the others. With her lying supine on the floor, I buried my eager head in her ample chest, worrying her nipples to hard red buds. Not a quiet lover, she moaned lustily, and I heard Kay answer. I looked up in time to see Tom thrust into her to the hilt for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, leaning further forward, her tiny breasts almost touching the coffee table, her eyes unfocussed. I noticed her head was only a few feet from Cherry’s. They moaned in unison as I thrust my tongue into Cherry’s pubic mound, assaulting her clit in a much more brutal manner than I was used to with Kay. She seemed to love it.

As I brutalized Cherry’s cunt, thrusting fingers in and lashing at her clit like a violin, I watched Kay beginning to enjoy the fucking she was getting from Tom. Every thrust would make her grimace, and I wondered at first if he was hurting her, as she had made it clear to me that penetration was much deeper from the rear, and had complained on occasion, if I thrust too deeply before she was sufficiently ready. This guy was much bigger, but she was much more excited than usual. I watched as he pulled almost all the way out, and then plunged back into her. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth twisted, gasping with the force and size of his entrance. Then I saw her hand go down between her legs to cup his testicles, or to play with her clit, and decided she was fine.

Cherry seemed about ready to come, so I punched all four fingers into her, and pressed my thumb onto her clit, and she exploded, wailing my name. Kay looked up, frightened, but Tom seemed oblivious. Clearly she always came loudly.

Kay had stopped moving, and soon Tom, still stuffing that big throbbing thing into her, soon wondered what was up. I rose and went into the bath, coming back with a wet wash cloth, which I handed to Kay. She looked at me a moment, then began to swab Tom’s cock clean. She refused to give head unless the dick was recently washed, and I’d never seen her suck one after it had been inside her. But then, I’d never seen her suck anyone’s except mine. I wanted to see if she could handle this big one.

At my instructions, Tom sat on the floor, and Kay got on all fours in front of him, settling down to suck him off. I put my head between her thighs, swabbed her clean with the washcloth, and began to eat her again. She balked at first; I’d never been able to get her to let me give her head twice in the same night, but it seemed like the thing to do, to get everybody involved. Tonight was a night for firsts apparently, because she relented, and I got a close-up view of my spouse as she deep-throated that big penis, or tried to, anyway. Her throat bulged as she pressed her mouth down upon it, and I saw her eyes widen as she realized there was more to go. Tom seemed to enjoy it.

Cherry settled down to deep-throat me as well, and I gave Kay another tongue lashing. This was a position that wasn’t that hard for me, as Kay and I often did sixty-nine, and we always did it with her on top, since she hated to be trapped underneath. I decided that if she was going to come this way again, I’d have to try something different. Thumbing her clit gently, I licked all the way up and down her crack, and was rewarded by a shiver. I blew on her lips, and she quivered some more. Her eyes closed. Pressing my nose deeply into her sex, I inhaled her scent, and she rubbed herself on my face like a cat, getting off a slow, shuddering orgasm. I heard her shaky breath around Tom’s cock. I continued licking her sex softly, while Cherry mauled my cock, and Kay did not ask me to stop. Her eyes stayed closed as she went down, screwing her mouth down over Tom’s meat; he showed no signs of finishing.

I got an idea, and pulled out from under her long enough to whisper to Cherry. She frowned, then got up and disappeared up the hallway. I slid my fingers slowly inside the folds of Kay’s cunt, massaging that rough spot inside her which always made her hot. She went rigid for minute, then began to move in rhythm with my strokes, her thighs tense, eyes closed. Tom’s cock got separated as he pulled back, and when he thrust again, he struck her in the chin. Without opening her eyes, she wrapped her hand around the shaft and reinserted it into her mouth, keeping her hand between his groin and her mouth, masturbating him as she sucked.

When I’d met her, she didn’t go down, but with me she’d gotten to be quite the accomplished cocksucker over the past few years, and it seemed as though he agreed. As I watched, a runner of saliva and pre-come dripped from her lips onto the floor.

Cherry returned with a large vibrator, and handed it to me, sitting down to watch. On sudden inspiration, I motioned her to lie beside me. Together we slid it inside Kay’s cunt, pressing it into that spot, then softly began fucking her with it. Her breathing picked up, and her body began to undulate with pleasure. Then, suddenly, Cherry’s hand moved to Kay’s clit.

I held my breath.

No reaction. Either she didn’t know it wasn’t mine, or didn’t care. With a mental shrug, I moved softly out from between Kay’s thighs and Cherry slid gently in, replacing her finger with her tongue. Her lips covered the tiny bud of the clitoris, and sucked on it. Kay groaned, but did not open her eyes. Wow. I know it’s as stupid a cliche as they come, but it was hot, watching my ‘wife’ get eaten by another chick.

Moving softly, I took Cherry’s legs in my hands and thrust myself into her cunt. She grunted, but it was muted by Kay’s cunt. She was incredibly tight, considering that she’d given birth three times.

After a few minutes of this, I decided to take a risk. It was not as though the rules had not already been broken; with Cherry going down on Kay; if she was upset by that, there was a good possibility we’d never get her to speak to them again, much less do this. What the hell.

I pulled Cherry’s torso higher, and draped her legs around my neck. Pressing my fingers into her pubic region, I wet my fingers in her juices, and then pressed my thumb into her upturned anus. She gasped and froze for a minute, then resumed half-heartedly licking my spouse’s cunt. Moving my thumb around inside her nether regions, I felt a new spasm in her tense lower body with every new inch of her anal crevice I explored, tracing my cock through the layers of skin and tissue. When my thumb popped out suddenly, she relaxed so suddenly, she actually sagged in my hands. I pulled out of her cunt, and thrust my cock into her bum.

She screamed, and Kay’s eyes flew open, just as she began to come. Seeing Cherry’s head between her legs, she tried to stop fellating Tom, but as he was approaching orgasm, his hands were planted firmly on her head, and he was moving in and out involuntarily. Her head continued to pump up and down, his cock coming to meet it harder and harder, though she was not exactly sucking anymore. In fact, muffled sounds were issuing around his penis, as it thumped its way to explosion in her mouth, aided by the unexpectedness of her teeth grazing his tender skin.

Tom yelled and burst his load in Kay’s mouth, and all over her chin, come squirting out the sides of her mouth, and down over her neck, up into her hair.

Kay’s third orgasm came violently even through the shock of seeing a woman giving her head and wielding that mammoth vibrator that plunged into her cunt. She groaned around Tom’s cock, and went rigid, her jaws straining, catching his cock and breaking the skin. Her groin thrust down, covering Cherry’s screaming face, mashing the back end of the vibrator into Cherry’s cheek.

My cock in her ass, Cherry’s orgasm seemed to surprise even her. I think it was more pain than anything, that orgasm, a spastic twitching affair. Her pussy clamped over my fingers, which I’d thrust into her as I fed my dick into her butt, and she screamed shrilly, though she could barely be heard, her face covered in straining cunt.

My penis, thrusting into the tightest hole I’d ever felt, was crunched even harder by her orgasm, and I came swiftly, hot, overlapping jets boiling out of me into her tight little hole, leaking out and covering her cheeks. Then my cock popped out and spent itself on her pubic mound, throwing sperm up her body, and splashing onto her breasts.

We heard a knock at the door.

She’s the man

…the first time, I only knew she was a white woman, who, it looked like, was going to put out for me. It didn’t happen to me much anymore, white  women flirting with me and then actually putting out. Lots of talk, maybe some eyes batting, some licking of lips, but not usually actual pussy.

And it had been awhile since any white-chick flirtation at all, much less anything this good looking.

So when she signaled she was ready to go down on me, I didn’t ask a whole lot of questions, you know what I’m saying? I sure didn’t stop her and say ‘no, I want to go down on you first!’ or insist on getting my hands in her drawers right away. In fact, I never got to it at all until much later. The head was just that good. I mean, she sucked my dick like it was a candy cane, and she was trying to get to the center of it. It was magic…

…it’s maybe the one thing that marks you in this situation; you have to do things that are seen as slutty or at least sexually aggressive if you’re going to manage to pull this off. You have to be in control, so you go down on him quickly, because the best way to lead a man is to lead him by his dick.

Helps when it’s such a nice dick.  Gorgeous, actually. I like sucking him more than anything I’ve ever done.

Then later, after you’ve made him cum and swallowed it, if he has any brain cells left and any blood left to fill his cock, you can blow his mind again by telling him you really love it in your ass, or maybe just that tonight you’re in the mood for it that way, for some reason. Men rarely turn that down.

Helps when your ass is such a nice one. Gorgeous, actually.

Men like to fuck ass, and while more and more women are getting into it these days, a beautiful woman saying she wants it in the ass is still most men’s idea of dying and going to sex heaven. They will not ask questions for a long time, trust me.

And you do it in the dark a lot, especially at first. Get him very drunk, too, or high is even better. Most men are horny when they’re high… but they’re not real high energy. They lay back and let you blow them without pawing at your pussy; they’re more likely to let you be on top.

Sometimes you say you have a heavy period happening, a UTI, or something like that, something mysterious that men don’t want to know any details about.

You have to be aggressive yes, but you also have to be fluid, quick on your feet. Ready to improvise. And if all else fails, let him see you, and be ready to grab your shoes and run if his reaction is violent…

…all’s I know is she gives the best head I’ve ever had, and fucking her is mind-blowing. I’ve always been an assman; women’s butts just excite the fuck out of me.

So I don’t know if her suddenly also having a cunt would make a big difference; I’d choose her ass or mouth 95 percent of the time anyway.

And maybe doing it, going that last step, would change how the rest feels; it’s possible it could ruin the perfect muscle tone or the perfect chemistry that makes her such a great lay, or such a great cocksucker.  I don’t know. I mean yeah, I’m straight; as far as labels go, I guess that’s accurate. I like fucking this woman, how her lips feel on my dick, how her throat takes me in and milks me, how her ass is always the best thing I’ve ever felt, like a tight new virgin every damn time.

Why would I want to mess with that? Especially if it means cutting her up, putting her in danger. I love her body as it is now, with those great firm, womanly tits, curves, long sexy legs…She’s the sexiest girl I’ve ever touched. This sexy girl just happens to have a dick. It doesn’t have to matter…

…I’m not sure if I’d be the same woman, the same person I am now; if I had surgery, would I change into a woman whose body aches, for whom sex is a chore? It would be nice to have all the parts that would make everyone see me as a woman — well, maybe not everyone. But everyone who didn’t know me before…

But I know natural women who have something minor done and it messes with their sexuality, their identity as a sexual person. And this — this is not minor. It might take away my essence, make me into something ‘other.’ That scares me…

…you know, when I was a boy, my mom’s uncle left his family for a white woman. He told my mom that the woman worshipped him, would do anything for him, was at his beckon call, and that he thought that was proof that he’d made it in the white man’s world, beat him at his own game. To have a white woman who waited on him and sucked his dick whenever he asked. Mom told me that story when I was about 14. She said that it could be true that it showed you’d managed pretty well in the white man’s world when his women were all yours sexually, but she thought that it would more of an accomplishment if you had the white man himself on his knees begging your for your dick. Moms was sort of a vindictive perv, huh?

But I sort of got both of those things, I think.

On the beat

She smelled it. He could tell.

“Sir, would you step out of the car, please?” she said in her clipped, official-bitch voice.

He sighed. Anticipated the standard boilerplate that would appear in her report. ‘The officer detected a strong odor of marijuana.’

Jesus. It was a freakin’ minuscule roach, it was an hour ago, the windows were wide open, and he’d eaten since. But it was potent.

A few minutes later, he sat in the cruiser, cuffed, staring into the future in its all its bleakness. Ejection from the nice new boring government job. Probably foreclosure.

To distract himself, he shifted his gaze to the woman beside him, serenely prim, filling out the paperwork that would fuck up his life for good. The awkward cadences he knew by heart, pronounced by women who knew they were reaching beyond their education level in their quest to embody authority. He would, he knew, be ‘the individual,’ ’the suspect,’ or ‘subject,’ depending on her years of service and affinity for officialese.

Her body was nice under the dress blue, curved and voluptuous. He felt himself stir and made a soft noise in his throat.

“Sir.” She said it with quiet firmness, again. “Sir.”

“Yes?” he said finally, refusing to call her ma’am.

“You were just looking at me very strangely. In addition, you are very pale. Are you going to be ill?”

He envisioned faking sick to avoid the inevitable tests, a Technicolor yawn all over her crisp blue uniform, chunks of burrito and streams of sour cream, but even that seemed arousing in his present condition.

“No.” He knew that they could test him a month from now, and he’d still be fucked. It wasn’t like getting stinking drunk, and knowing the evidence would all be gone in a few hours.

“So why were you looking at me that way?” she persisted.

 He sighed. “Truth is, I was having that simple-minded male fantasy about being pulled over by a female cop. But that’s not illegal.” I’d love to see you naked. In fact, what I’d really love is to fuck you in the ass, he thought. I always think about sex when I am stoned. It’s all I ever want to do. I fuck like a machine.

 She gazed steadily at him, blinked. “Sir. Did you just admit to using a controlled substance, and propose anal sex to a police officer?”

He started. “Did I say that last part aloud?”

“Yes, sir. You did.”

”Oh boy.”

She watched him a long moment, and then shook her head. Started the car, pulled away from the curb. Thumbed the mike on her radio. “Dispatch, this is 1100-260.”

A garbled voice replied.

“Cancel that last call for state trooper, Nadine,” she said crisply. “Driver was having an asthma incident due to allergies. And take me off the grid for 30, unless it’s big. I have some personal business to attend to.”

“10-4,” came the reply.

She drove in silence. When she pulled off into the side road, he read the sign “Welcome to Riverside Park.” She unlocked the gate with her remote and then drove through, locked the gate after them, and shut off the lights. He realized that he probably about to be the recipient of an education in police brutality. She got out and took off her gun belt, then walked around and locked it into the trunk. Came around to his side of the car, took his arm and pulled him upright.

Then her eyes fixed on his, she grabbed the waistband of his sweats and pulled them to his ankles.

“Turn around,” she said, pulling out her billy club. He made a wordless protest, and she took his hair and turned him, bent him over the car’s fender. He felt her stroking the inside of his leg with the club. His penis leaped to frightened erection.

He felt her hands on his package, massaging it.

She touched the tip of her billy club to the back of his shorts, into the leg hole, pushed toward his anus, and he braced himself for the Abner Louima treatment.

She chuckled and tossed the club into the car.

He breathed in a full lung of air for the first time since the car ride.

 “Don’t get any ideas, Mister,” she said, her voice very close to his ear. She took his elbow and turned him around. “Even unarmed, I can still kick your ass pretty bad.”

 He held his cuffed hands up in surrender.

She smiled, reached inside his shorts and took his penis captive in her strong fingers, examined it. “Not too shabby, sir. Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a woman of color?”

“Romance is not dead,” he said.

 “Excuse me, sir?”

 “No, officer, I have not,” he lied.  “But I love the scent of musk, if that counts.”

She smiled again, shook her head, unbuttoned her starched blue shirt, and he caught a glimpse of one chocolate-colored breast spilling over the edge of a regulation bra.

 “Then tonight will be a first for both of us,” she said over her shoulder as she turned, leaned forward across the car. “I’ve never had a white man before, either. Often wondered about it.”

She unbuttoned her blue trousers and let them drop with a jangling thud to her shoes. He stared at her muscular rounded brown thighs, separated by a thin strip of pale silk. The woman was wearing a Victoria’s Secret thong under her reg blues.

He sank to his knees and thrust his nose to her groin, sniffed in the rich scent of her. She pulled the thong aside and he pressed his tongue into her.

She moaned in appreciation. “Lick me right, mister,” she said thickly. He approached her thick clitoris with slow wide swirls of his tongue and she relaxed against the car with a deep sigh. “That’s… a good start, sir.”

She turned, faced him and lowered her thong, sat on the car, pulled him forward again. He resumed enthusiastically, taking her to the edge and then retreating, alternating soft kissing touches of his lips with hard swipes across her clit with his bristly facial hair.

Minutes later she came with a soft exhalation –“hot damn!” — pressing her warm wet vulva against his face, soaking his chin with her hot, pungent juices and holding his head in her strong hands while she shuddered to a stop.

After a moment she caught her breath and turned her back to him. “I think I am going to let you fuck me in the ass now.”

He stared.

“Well, come on before I change my mind, and use my baton on your butt,” she said, laughing. He wasn’t sure if she was kidding.

He stood and peeled off his shorts with still-cuffed hands, his erection popping free and standing straight up, like a dog begging. He slid his fingers into her soaked cunt and rooted around as she made noises of encouragement.

His stiff cock found its way to her slit and in, as if of its own volition. She sighed and rocked back against him hard, her ample cheeks burying him quickly, and he began to move, pressing himself into her slick hot cunt a dozen times, two dozen, before stopping and aiming directly between the clenched black globes of her incredible, muscular ass.

“Go easy,” she warned mildly. He obeyed, rubbing his slippery cock into the deeply creased crack, slid it gently but firmly between the exquisitely curved twin mounds of her ass and across the puckered flesh in a circular pattern until he felt her relax and press back against him. He thrust, his cock parting her anus and nestling between her involuntarily clenched cheeks. She gasped, tensed.

He stopped, held still while she shifted herself, drew a deep, loud breath, adjusted and accommodated herself to his cock, then he resumed, began a slow, steady drive into her bowels. She grunted but did not flinch or pull away.

When she sneezed, the feeling was fantastic, her slick cheeks squeezed him hard, then relaxed again, holding him forcefully in their grip, slowing him and coaxing him forward at the same time. Then he was in, all the way, buried in her up to his bursting balls. “Ohhhh, my Lord,” she moaned. “Hold still a second, sir.”

He paused and felt her tissue adjust itself again, to rearrange and mold itself to him as her muscles relaxed and accepted him.

He pulled back after a bit and buried the last inch in her again, more forcefully. She gasped again, then moaned appreciatively and pushed back, so he picked up the pace, thrusting into her at will. Her grunts and groans signaled her clear aroused state. He thrust inside her snug cunt with his fingers. Juicy. She was definitely enjoying this. He pressed his fingers ever deeper inside her, touching his cock through several layers of her tissue, and began to pound her in earnest. She responded forcefully, pushing back into him, burying his cock with little grunts. Then he felt her clench him powerfully, and hold still, and a shower of hot liquid gushed from her, soaking her thighs and splashing his knees.

He fucked her with abandon, throwing himself against her ass as his swollen cock pressed into her depths, and exploded with force inside her.

“My sweet Lord,” she said softly. “So that’s how it is.”

“Word,” he agreed.

“Sir, did you just use a cliched racial term to address me?” she asked, enunciating slowly and carefully.

“You damn skippy,” he replied.

She rose slowly and walked over to him. He held up the cuffs.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she said, looking down at his shriveling penis. “Anything…absolutely anything…can, and will be held against you.”

Her Wake, pt. 1

The woman was stunning; I’d always noticed. It had been a few years, but she’d just gotten sexier, even as she’d started to be unable to afford the expensive clothes that had always been her passion. Now, as she stood in the doorway to the empty house, her chest heaving, explaining why she was about to flout her marriage vows after 25 years and do something she thought was probably irredeemably bad, all I could think of was that she looked even sexier now that she’d experienced some of life’s sadness. You could see it in the lines on her face.

They underlined her beauty.

“I’m 47 years old. I’ve never been with anyone except my husband. I know from watching my sister that I don’t have that much more time; she had to have her hysterectomy at 48, and after that, she lost most of her desire for sex, because the white-hot intensity, the need, went out of it. It never came back; I think when it goes, it’s permanent.

“I still have that; the crazy thing is that I’ve never really been with anyone that quenched it. That’s sad. I’ve tended my body well, it’s still pretty good, don’t you think? And I don’t want it all to go to waste.”

I was tempted to point out the fallacies in her thinking, and maybe the falsehood I saw in her story, but then abruptly had the sense that maybe she was doing more than explaining her reasons for wanting to cheat.

I could have told her that her sister’s radical hysterectomy was, in a word, radical, and that most women would not have had that procedure; that it was unnecessary under all but the most dire circumstances, and that her sister’s ignorance and impatience was the only reason she’d taken that route. Most women avoided it for exactly the reason that such a radical change in their hormones dimmed their libidos if not extinguished them, at least for awhile. That her sister’s sex drive had only diminished was a testament to how strong her libido had been.

I could have told her I knew she’d been with at least one other man, but I felt that her point was valid, since that one was not voluntary.

But I wanted her more than I wanted to be honest. It was one of my failings, probably the most important one. She was gorgeous and I had dreamed about her the first time I’d met her.

Instead, I told her that her body was a dream. I didn’t lie about that.

She beamed. I knew in that moment that I was actually going to have this woman. Maybe not now, but I was going to do it even though I knew how wrong it was.

Correction: Even though I knew how wrong society would view it as being. I wasn’t certain it was wrong for her. I knew it was wrong for me, but I was used to being wrong.

Then she told me why I was being chosen to be the lucky cuckolder.

“She told me all …about you. Every detail, I think. About her sex life with you. How, during the time you were together, as on-and-off lovers, you … made her come, gave her the most intense orgasms she’d ever had. Even made her… squirt, for the first time. That it embarrassed her when it happened, one of the first times you were together, because she didn’t know what it was, but it felt good, and how you told her about it, that it was a good thing, it was something… some lucky women learn to do in their ‘40s, and some never do. How she started to do it all the time with you, over and over, how you knew how to make it happen, and just how to hold still, deep inside of her once she started to come, because it made it more intense and made it last longer, how she could sometimes come a dozen times in a night, sometimes multiple orgasms while you just kept still inside and then fucked her again hard after. Often made her come the other way, the normal way, and come harder than she ever had.

“She said she never did squirt with anyone else, even after she knew how to do it; no other man knew his part, and she couldn’t bring herself to try and teach them.”

She looked at me shyly from under her bangs. “I’ve… never …” She blushed.

“You will.”

She colored even more. “I like your confidence.”

She resumed her narrative. “She said that you never loved her, that it was just sex for you, and that she knew that and she hated it. But when she was with men that she loved, she used to dream about being with you, often fantasize that it was you when she was with them. She said she’d always come back, get high and have sex with you, because being high made it ok — and made it more intense — and she needed to have a dozen hard orgasms almost as much as she needed love.

‘She said she thought you liked her well enough, but that she wasn’t smart enough for you to love.”

It was my turn to look away in embarrassment. I had to admit that was a version of the truth… and it didn’t make me happy with myself.

“But it’s okay,” she said softly. “Because I don’t want love from you. I love my husband, and he loves me back. Hard. I don’t want to be rid of my marriage; I’m not ashamed of him because we lost our vacation house, the BMW and most of our money in this damn recession. It’s not about wanting to get back at him for our loss of face.” She smiled tremulously, looked around. “Even this house goes soon. We haven’t made a payment in nine months.”

“You’re more than your possessions, Annalisa. Don’t you know that? Everyone is. Everyone’s potentially a millionaire philanthropist, or a rich, self-centered prick, and everyone’s potentially a saint. Everyone’s potentially an artist and an accountant. Everyone contains a million potential selves.”

“Everyone?” She seemed doubtful.

“Well, maybe not Republicans,” I said, and smiled to show her I was joking.

She smiled obligingly, but she seemed to want to get back to her point. I shut up.

She pursed her lips.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential as a person. I’ve been afraid to put myself out there, test my talents, I’ve never had to, so far, he was a good provider.

“But I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential sexually, either. I’ve been afraid to…” I saw the look that passed over her face, and I knew she was thinking about the rape, and whether to tell me. I’m pretty sure she didn’t imagine I knew.

“I just… want you to make love to my body, and maybe my mind, before I lose that potential. I want you to show me what she says you have.”

“What else did she tell you?” I asked.

She smiled again. “As I said before — she told me everything. She seemed to feel guilty about it when she… was sick… and fiercely proud of it at the same time. I was her confessor.”

“Everything, hmmm?”

“Blow by blow. As it happened. How you went down on her; she said you licked better than anyone, made her come in seconds and how she had her first multiples with you.”

“That’s all?”

“…she talked about you fucking her mouth. She told me she had… blown… guys before until they came, but you were the first that she did it with that way, with you… ‘being in control’ was how she put it. Told me how it was uncomfortable for her when you started to thrust and how she found out by accident that it worked better if she lay down on the bed and you… mounted… her face. She said you did it teasingly one night after she did it to you, so she could see how it feels when she wanted to sit on your face…She said it was claustrophobic at first but that she could take you all the way in her throat that way, and how she started to enjoy it. How she would sometimes choke and gag, but then when you came hard in her mouth, shooting bullets like you always did when you did it that way, because you got really really excited, she felt all-powerful.”

I didn’t know that. I’d known I was transparently using her when I rode her mouth, but I could justify it by saying the position was her idea, and frankly, it had felt so amazing that, especially when I was high, I just didn’t want to think about it. I’d been ashamed on some level, but not enough to stop unless she asked.

“I never thought I should do that…” I started… “but…”

She shushed me. “You feel ashamed of yourself because you knew better. You know it’s not polite to choke someone with your…penis…But you were weak.”

“Yes, I guess that says it.”

“She said it was worth it, that the feeling of being humiliated, taken advantage of, started to feel hot. She loved to see how much you got off on it, how much power she had even when you thought you were in control.

“You don’t seem to get it, do you? She saw her time with you as the sexual high point of her life. Maybe the low point in many other ways, especially romantically. But she got happy talking about the sex. That’s why she told me so damn much about it.”

She moved in closer. “She talked so much, she filled my dreams with it…I want all that, too,” she said softly. “I want you to be kinky with me. No one ever has. I want to experience that before…”

Before she died, like her sister. She didn’t know it, but I could relate to that existential familial concern.

“I don’t know if … I’m any good in bed, frankly. He and I don’t do anything …naughty. Plus, I’ve had two kids…”

… and you think your cunt may be stretched out of shape. That beautiful cunt I used to imagine, used to love to be so close to, when I danced with you at the VFW dances at Christmas when she and I were together. But you didn’t know that… at least I don’t think you did.

I knelt before her and her eyes widened as I lifted her thin skirt. She wore a soft white thong over her exquisitely toned, tanned pelvis, which I pulled aside and slid my tongue along her delta. She shivered and caught her breath. Her vagina was newly shaven, scraped, reddening.

I stopped, inquired.

“I did that for you,” she whispered. “I thought…”

“…thought…?”

“Thought you preferred it,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Because your sister said I preferred hers that way?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“She really did tell you everything, didn’t she?”

She nodded. “Every twist.”

I closed my eyes. “What if I don’t live up to it? I’m a few years older, you know.”

“You will,” she said.

I smiled. “I like your confidence.”

I knelt again, pulled her panties aside.

I touched her clitoris with my tongue and she stiffened, pressing forward to meet my mouth. I lapped it once, twice… and stopped. She made a small sound of disappointment.

I rose and looked into her eyes. “You have a beautiful cunt. I would love to lick it for hours. But it’s not comfortable for you with it shaven, is it?”

She made a soft sound and shook her head.

I stood and took her face in my hands, looked into her eyes. “I think your hair is gorgeous. “ I took a lock, a curl, in my hand, ran it between my fingers. “But I liked it better black. Does it come in, fine, soft, light brown…?”

“… down there? Yes. So you like hair on…?”

“…your pussy? Yes. I mean, I like it shaved, too, but hair is very erotic for me because it reminds me of how women wore it when I was a teenager. Nostalgia for puberty is very arousing. Let it grow. I think you’d look sexy as hell with a thatch.”

She colored. “So I’m gonna be retro. I guess I’m cool with that. No one has ever licked my pussy before besides…”

I kissed her then, deep and long, and after wrinkling her nose at the taste of her own vagina on  my breath, she warmed to it, kissing me back vigorously, and pressing her body to mine. When I moved behind her, kissed her neck, she pressed back against me, her rounded voluptuous but muscular cheeks against my denim-covered erection. I pressed her forward to lean across the bar, reached under her skirt. pulled her thong free and dropped it down her thighs, then knelt behind her and gently licked her, then rose and used my fingers and the heel of my hand to make her come rapidly as I kissed her neck.

“God,” she breathed. “That was amazing. I’ve never come that quick before. No one ever made me come before except…”

I put my finger to her lips. “Don’t speak his name. I don’t think he should be here.” I lowered her, breasts heaving and eyes flashing, to the closest bar stool, kissed her fingers, and let myself out by the kitchen door.

The third time we were together, she told me about it. I’d just made her come with my penis for the first time, and she was lying beside me, the tears drying on her cheeks. “I cry when I come,” she’d said apologetically.

I hadn’t seen it when she’d come from oral or by manipulation with my fingers, so I assumed she was talking about intercourse orgasm only. “Your penis — your cock —” she said, landing hard on the consonants, “is very nice. Hard. Thick. Silky.” She took it in her hand gently, as if she knew I was tender after an orgasm. I was, but I hadn’t had one. “No penis has ever been inside me before except…”

She stopped abruptly. I knew what she thinking about.

“That’s not strictly true,” she said after a bit, as if willing herself to go on. “…He…my husband… was my first, yes, when I was only 17. But… about six months later, I was working in this restaurant and my boss…” her breath caught shakily in her throat.

“He forced himself on you. I know. She told me. I’m sorry.”

She turned to look at me. “My sister told you…?” she asked incredulously.

“She didn’t know the details. She said it was a rape, but that it wasn’t reported for some reason. She worried about you, said you were having nightmares about it.”

She was silent. “What else do you know about it?” she whispered finally.

“Nothing. I think you should tell me, if it would help to talk about it.”

She thought briefly, then sighed. “I was 18, and he was 31. The guy, Marco, ran this big fancy restaurant in Hyattsville. I was hired as the hostess, so I got to wear nice clothes and be glamorous, or so I thought.

“The boss dressed really expensively, a real show horse, my dad called him, drove a Jaguar, gold cufflinks, but he was Italian and not mafia, so my old-world dad was grudgingly proud of him. He used to flirt with all the girls, so nobody thought much of it when he did it with me.

“The night it… happened… he had opened a new restaurant in Baltimore, the Inner Harbor, and it was packed. He was so happy, he threw a party after it closed and got us all drunk. I was the hostess of the new place, but everyone else was new or from somewhere else, nobody I knew from work. He kept filling my glass, booze I didn’t usually drink, and I got way drunk and danced with him and all the waiters. The next thing I knew, everyone was leaving, and I was way too trashed to drive, so he said he’d take me home.” Her voice began to shake, and I told her she should stop.

She shook her head. “I need to get this out. I’ve been sitting on it for almost 30 years.”

“I mostly passed out, so he picked me up and took me to the car. I remember feeling his muscles as he carried me, he was very strong, and I think I felt his fingers on my legs. I remember his hand under my butt…but I was way too out of it to protest.

“When I woke up, it was pretty dark, and I was still very drunk, so it took me a minute to figure out that I was almost naked and in a strange bed. My underwear was missing, my skirt and top were gone, all I had on was this sexy underthing I had worn under my dress, kind of a bustier…no, a chemise… and I heard some moaning.

“In a second I figured out it was me. I was moaning because Marco was licking my …pussy…”

She gulped.

“Then…” she closed her eyes. “I… I came. I couldn’t help it, I was just waking up, and I was already on the verge of an orgasm, and i couldn’t stop just because it was wrong. He looked up at me from between my shaking thighs and smiled…

“Then …he just moved on top of me, stuck his tongue in my mouth and  his cock inside me. He didn’t ask, or act like there was any question I wanted it. He was big and thick and strong and determined and I was drunk and confused and…when I tried to move my hands to stop him, they were tangled in my chemise, which was under me… I had these big bracelets that were holding my wrists to my sides…” she gestured.

“… aaaand…” a loud sob escaped her but she kept on, “…he had his pussy-tasting tongue in my mouth and was fucking me, making all these… sex noise, grunting as he …thrusted into me…telling me how good it felt. I… I…I was making noises too.”

She stopped, collected herself. “It was very confusing. I was scared, humiliated,  I didn’t want this man fucking me, and I was crying…but…his cock felt sort of good in me anyway.”

I pulled her into my arms. “You came with him inside you…”

“Yes,” she said softly, her cheeks wet. “Nobody ever says that about rape, that you come even if you don’t want it.”

“And he knew.”

“Yes. He felt it. And he was very proud of himself.”

“Did he come?”

“Not…right away. I got one hand free, and started to fight him, pushing up at him, and he stopped for a minute. I was crying really hard, asking him to stop! get off me!  let me up…He got really pissed. He said ‘What? I don’t fucking believe this. You liked it! Liked it so much you came, you little twat. Now you want to act like you don’t want it? Well, I get to come, too, bitch. Fair’s fair!’ and started to fuck me again, hard and fast.”

“Those are the words I hear in my dreams. ‘Fair’s fair,’ and ‘twat.’”

I held her as she cried. “I’m sorry you were raped, baby.”

She stopped abruptly. “He said …it wasn’t rape because I came. He said no cop would arrest him if they knew I came three times…he said they could tell if you came, they had a test…he said if I called the cops and charged him, I’d be arrested for false charges when they did the tests and found out I came.”

I shook my head. “Unbelievable. And you were a poor kid who didn’t know any better, so you believed him.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Three times.” She looked at me, took a deep breath. “He was really big, fucking me really hard and so deep it took my breath away, and I couldn’t stop him. He got rougher and it scared me…But when he came, I, I, I felt this jolt inside me, and then he put his hand under me and …stuck his fingertip inside my ass… It hurt like hell, but I came again, hard, crying…”

She stopped, and I told her to let it rest, we could finish this another day if she felt it was that important.

She agreed. And we sat for a moment, as she calmed herself.

Then she surprised me by reaching for me, taking my hand and guiding it to where her long, slender legs came together, and up to her cunt, which I discovered was soaking wet again, sticky with desire. She pulled me to her, and inside her incredible heat. We made love gently, softly, and she came again, crying quietly into my shoulder.

It was a few weeks later. Stoned this time, we had just fucked again, with more gusto than the last time, nastier and not so tender. After I’d eaten her for 20 minutes, she’d come hard and then yanked me on top of her, and we’d been unstoppable for nearly an hour. We lay in bed, after, catching our breath.

She put her hand on my ass as I leaned across to get my glass. She’d kept her hands on it the whole time, and stroked it after we’d come and lay entwined. “She said you had a great ass,” she said idly. “She was right. It’s adorable.” she sighed. “…His… is small, but not as rounded. He has muscle tone like you, but all the oomph is gone from it.” She leaned down and kissed my bum softly. I felt her warm breath on my butt and then her wet tongue traced down my left leg to the back of my knee, while her hand fondled me from behind, hardening me again.

“Your butt is awesome, too, Annalis,” I said, fondling it. I licked the crease lightly, then when she didn’t recoil, I touched my thumb to the hard bud of her anus.

I waited.

“He threatened to fuck me in the ass…” she said abruptly.

“Marco…?”

“Yes. He… said… next time, he wanted to ride my ass. When he was… fucking me, he called it riding. ‘I like riding you.’ Like that. ‘Cute, tight, little bum you got there. You liked it when I put my finger in it. Next time, I want to teach you about anal sex. I’m gonna ride that ass good.’ ”

“When did he say that?”

“After. When he drove me to my sister’s. He refused to let me call a cab, and it was so late I was afraid to go home, and going to Joel’s was out… I showed up at her house, he made me get out a block away, so no one saw him, I guess. She called dad and told him I’d had too much to drink and she’d picked me up. She calmed dad down. See, that was the other thing: I knew dad had beat our eldest sister when she … was caught having sex with a boy. And she never lived it down with him. I knew I couldn’t tell,” she finished in a whisper.

“So your sister didn’t insist you go to the police either.”

“No. You know her; she takes her cues from others. I told her I couldn’t and she gave in. But she was great; she told dad what he needed to hear to calm down, lied through her teeth. Her husband was drunk and asleep.

“She took me over to my boyfriend’s that night, and then a few days later, he went in with me and I quit. He stood there glaring at Marco, because I told him he’d been eyeing me and I was quitting because I didn’t trust him. I told the cashier I wanted my last check, and he sat there and wrote it out, handed it to Marco to sign, and Marco handed to me.

“Then he had his buddy, who was a cop, walk us out and tell us not to come back. My boyfriend was scared but he didn’t act it. He had pot on him and he was worried he’d get a criminal record and not be able to get into law school.

“Then, when I got home, I looked at the check and found what Marco had written on it, instead of a signature — ‘Don’t forget — I’m still going to ride your tight ass.’

“I used to wake up at night, scared out of my wits, heart pounding. Dream he was on top of me, inside me. I woke up once having an orgasm, like I did when he was eating me… A couple of times I woke up scared he was behind me, about to … put his cock in my ass. I stopped sleeping face down, because I’d often be aroused and terrified when I woke up…But when I slept on my back…

“I started to take sleeping pills, and that’s when I would wake up sticky, like someone had come inside me; sometimes I’d even wake up masturbating. The pills made me very groggy. One night after my husband and I had had sex after getting stoned and drinking, I got up and smoked a bowl alone because I couldn’t sleep and was afraid to take the pills with everything else. After about 20 minutes I was nice and drowsy, and was sort of playing with myself as I got ready to drift off. All of a sudden I got this idea to put my fingers up my ass…it just seemed like a sexy thing to do, so I did, nice and slowly, with a whole lot of lube, and when I came, I came so hard…” she stopped and her far-away eyes zeroed in again and locked on mine.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the ass, Ana?” I ran my hand across that gorgeous expanse of lushly rounded flesh. “Is that what you’re saying?”

She gulped, whispered. “It’s what I’ve aways wanted. It…wouldn’t bother you,  would it? She… told me you did it to her a lot, how you loved that. Said that she had done that before, with her husband and others, and sort of liked it, but with you she came that way, and came hard. How that was the way she squirted most often. She said… it’s almost your favorite thing to do… well, along with fucking her mouth.” She sighed. “My husband would never. He thought it was gross.”

Now I saw why she really wanted me. She’d just needed to trust me just a little before she broached the subject, asked me to help her bury the past. But first she’d needed to dig it up.

“Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she whispered. She leaned forward. “Please?”

The idea of being the first man inside her bum, between those perfectly sculpted globes, made me instantly rock hard, and she felt my reaction. But I wanted to be careful.

I watched her face in the mirror as I began to knead her butt, the cheeks taut and muscular under my hands, relaxing slowly, the cleft between them deep and inviting. I  took the lube from the bedside and eased my index finger in, wiggling it past her sphincter. Her breath hissed, and her eyes in the mirror showed excitement bordering on panic. Then I was in and her anus accommodated my finger quickly, letting me rub the lube into her tight folds, add a second finger. She squirmed and pressed her butt toward me, moaning softly. I squirted more lube and began to press in with my cockhead, slowly, gently. She lifted her hips from the bed and I slid a hand under to feel her cunt.

It was warm, taut, and shiny with desire. I slid a finger across her clit as my cock pressed the tight ring of muscle and then she was coming, rubbing herself on my hand. I pressed past the coil’s knot as she bucked and moaned under me, her tight ass gripping my cock like a fist. I had intended to just pause just inside and hold still, but this was too hot. I needed to really fuck her, slowly but firmly, driving deep inside the ravine between the twin mounds and down inside that snug bum.

“Oh, no!” she breathed. “Oh, Marco, please…” her body bucked, wriggled, pushed back.

Helplessly I picked up the pace, harder, thrusting ever deeper.

She jerked, began to sob. “Please don’t fuck my asssss… you naughty man…. Oh Marco. Please… no…”

My cock went impossibly hard as she got off again, this time with me madly thrusting, pounding into her amazing, perfect butt, and soon I was spraying the hot and sticky way up, deep inside her, and then out over those gorgeous cheeks, and even up across her back.

“Oh God, Keith, you fuck me good,” she cried, and then crash-dived face down on the bed.

My name. That was good. I had wondered if she knew who it was anymore.

Presently, she caught her breath, and rose on her elbows. “Wow. My first time.” Looked me over, like she was remembering who I was.

I bowed. “Satisfactory, I trust?”

“I needed to see if I liked it as much she said…as much as I thought I would. The answer is yes. God, yes,” she said smiling. Then her face fell. “It’s … just… I feel like I just cheated for the first time. That’s sort of crazy.”

Crazy part is that I knew exactly what she meant. I’d cheated on a lot of people in my life, technically, but never in any way that mattered. This, it seemed like, maybe did count.

Or maybe we were both just stoned.

Wandering and Wondering

Maybe it was the intoxication of the early spring walk. Or maybe it was the boredom of being mired in time.

Afterward both felt guilt, but neither would be the first to admit it, as if, unacknowledged, it would go away; it would cease to exist. Though neither was aware of the other’s thought, they both searched their minds for assurances that they were dreaming. Briefly, each considered pinching themselves.

For him, it was a return to the days before, when he’d been the other man in many households. The bad old days; the sad old days, before.

Before. Before the first real relationship he’d ever had.

He wondered if she knew why he was silent. Wondered if she cared.

For her, it was frighteningly new, the ground she now walked. Her distance from the self she’d been before was so vast that she could not make herself an ally; across the distance, she saw the girl she had been, carefree, oblivious, and wanted to warn her. But they did not speak the same language.

Dumbly, she plastered her only smile across her stunned face, and noticed it no longer fit, as if her bone structure had changed since lunch. It did not surprise her.

The woods had changed her.

The blanket, the usual picnic basket, the ghosts of absent coworkers crowding in to observe the inexplicably mutual pause in their normal innocent carefree banter, the mute pawing of each other, wordless until finally they were free of their clothes, free enough for one of them to finally utter a word.

“Backdoor.”

Once breathed, it hung there between them like a hummingbird, whirring, and she examined it from a distance, a world apart from meaning.  Together, they traced the word-bubble extending from her mouth, smiling vacantly.

Then he nodded, and his body pressed her down, her face landing in his jeans, his mustiness assaulting her nostrils like an insect, and she sneezed, as he entered her private reserve, burning his brand into her. Swelling larger as he paused inside. With each stinging thrust she sneezed, and felt her body grasp him convulsively. Reaching behind, she grasped his nipple, and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. He coughed loudly and jerked away to finish his pistoning drive into her aching depths.

After, she rose slowly, savoring the aching pain, the singing of the abraded tissue. She wondered if he understood; knew why she had wanted it that way,  knew about the need to keep her selves separate, knew about the need to save her from recognizing the fact of her wandering.

She wondered if he knew what came next.

But in way, she, too, felt the return of an older, less admirable self; one which craved acceptance so badly she’d do anything any other girl had allegedly done —  and do it for any man who asked.

She wondered if he sensed how much she had enjoyed it. And how much it hurt when her true love had recoiled from the ‘perversity’ of her preference.

She wondered if he knew that she was grateful for his blunt size, for the pain it caused. She wondered if he knew about the sneezing, what it signified.

Wondered but did not ask.

A concubine’s tale

“Service me.” He spoke softly over his shoulder, for her ears alone.

She hesitated, her eyes casting about them.

“Here, Master?” she faltered. “But it’s so… open… and…anyone could…”

“Yes,” he agreed calmly, turning, his hazel eyes on her face. “Service me, my concubine.” His voice was mild, but firm. “Do not delay further lest you displease me.”

Hurriedly, she complied, scuttling around him and sinking to her knees on the wide path that bisected the marketplace. At this hour, the venue was nearly empty, populated only by merchants who had come to get an early start on the day; their shifting, shuffling sounds of setting up and unloading could be heard from the neighboring stalls along the midway, shops with their faces yet shuttered.

Opened his buttons with difficulty, she sought about for something to save her, but feeling his gaze upon her from above, she ceased to tarry and freed his heavy shaft from the fine cloth and took it into her mouth. Its warmth, as always, charmed her and she licked it long and lovingly, like a tasty treat.

“Obediance is all,” he said softly. “To your hands and knees, my concubine, and use your body, as you did last evening to such great effect.”

She did as she was bid, and felt him thicken, lengthen, the heavy flesh filling with hot blood and warming her mouth, the velvety glans pushing out from its hood. A silver drop of his pearly essence melted deliciously on her tongue. Despite her discomfiture she warmed quickly to the task, taking him deep in her throat and rocking her body to create the rhythm he desired. His juices seeped from him, gamy, salty, tasting of authority.

Then she sensed a presence behind her, a flitting shadow crossing her peripheral vision. Her eyes sought the master’s face anxiously. He gazed silently down at her, calmly taking her ministrations, registering the presence but making no move to change his activities.

She shivered. The master wanted her to be displayed. Humiliation leads to humility, she recalled his dictum from her training days. She dared not look over her shoulder without permission.

Then she felt the cool touch of air on her nether regions as the hem of her skirt was lifted and laid across the small of her back, baring her arse to the elements; Master had this morn bade her leave it uncovered by undergarments, as was his occasional wont. A cool finger then traced the swell of her buttocks caressingly, and then was withdrawn and dipped between her thighs, parting her suddenly, drawing an involuntary gasp from her. Her master’s eyebrows rose, and he cautioned her with his eyes; she was to remain silent.

The fingers, for there were now two, crept inside and were still, waiting for her heat to seep into their tissues. Their frigidity caused her to clench tightly about them even as she begged silently for their withdrawal, for the master’s words to command it so. The fingers, taking her heat, began to move again, coaxing the wetness from her, coating themselves with her slipperiness before being abruptly removed. Inwardly she sighed, her tongue and body never losing the rhythm. But the master seemed displeased nonetheless; his aura said so.

Her eyes sought his anxiously, but she dared not inquire how she had disappointed him.

“Concubine, I sense that your attentions lie elsewhere,” he said gently but firmly. “Please tell me what could interest you more than servicing your master?”

“Oh!  Nothing, Master. Nothing could be more important!” she shook her head for emphasis and renewed her efforts with alacrity, sucking him deep into her throat and milking him enthusiastically. His phallus lengthened and he smiled. “Please do not again let your attention wander, my child. What goes on about you is the master’s concern, yes?” She nodded eagerly, his cock buried again in her willing throat. He began to move slowly, pushing her body in a winsome fashion, like a swing.

Suddenly the fingers returned, parting her swiftly and holding her open to allow the head of a penis to be pressed just inside her opening. She did not dare to stop moving, to resist the rocking motion the master desired, even though moving backward drove the foreign phallus ever deeper inside, filling her achingly, though not seeming to reach the end of the massive shaft now cleaving her like an oak.

Her thighs quivered with fear and tension; would the master allow this invasion to continue even unto hurting her, injuring her with its massive brunt? Even as she had the thought, she felt the foreign member’s head brush her cervix, then nudge into the mouth of her womb. Around the girth of the master’s cock, she heard the sounds of her fear and pain escape, and was ashamed. But the master did not chastise her, immersing himself instead in his driving motions, which now seemed to coordinate with the stranger’s; she could feel them both begin to accelerate, growing harder and boring ever deeper into their respective orifices, playing her like an instrument between them, sending her back and forth like a bouncing ball until they both reached the summit at the same approximate moment, the master holding still for an instant before gushing forth with the nectar he had taught her to love. His essence slipped down her open throat and into her belly where it settled warmly; the other boiling into her womb with scalding fury, the new penis stretching her walls further than even the master’s, perish the thought, and yet she still felt not the thump of the appendages upon her straining arse. How large must he be, this unseen swordsman the master had allowed to have her from behind? She dared not even a glance over her shoulder.

Upon his deposit, the stranger abruptly ceased his assault and she heard him exclaim wordlessly as he held himself rigid inside her for a long moment, before withdrawing shakily. Then to her horror, he moved into view. A moor, no less, his phallus extending fully to his knee, shrinking not at all with completion.

“Thank you, my child,” he beamed and seemed about to say more when the master interrupted.

“There is no need to thank my concubine,” he said, his voice mild, he betrayed no anger, yet his words bared his displeasure. “She does naught for thee, but rather for me. You have not made of her a conquest; I have, and you would do well to remember that, young serf. It will stand thee well.”

The moor’s eyes flashed warning but he bowed his head and hid them quickly. “Yes, Sire,” he said softly. “My most deep and humble apologies…I did not mean to give offense, but merely to…”

The master held up his hand and the moor’s words left him.

“I think you would do well to show your humility,” he said, motioning her aside, and taking his still-thick penis in his hand. The moor’s face flushed even darker under his dusky skin, and he cast a sidelong glance at her, but he meekly sank to his knees and applied his long pink tongue to the master’s sword, washing it clean of the stickiness that had come from both herself and the master’s own core, taking it deeply in his mouth though it choke him. The master, ever in control of his body, began to harden and thrust, then, as the moor’s throat convulsed with the unaccustomed task, he seemed to take pity and crested quickly, heaving the first explosion into the moor’s mouth and down his throat, before allowing the second and succeeding rounds to spill down his lips and across his shining chest. Hitching, the young man sagged to the ground and lay at his feet gasping with the attempt to hold his gorge.

“You would do well to retain this lesson, Cletus,” the master  said, his voice mild even when breathless. “Should there be a next time that you displease me,  I shall use you as a woman,” he said mildly, grazing the young man’s raised buttock with his finger meaningfully.

“And recall, as well, this: She has not succumbed to you, nor will she ever. Should I deem fit to ever let you touch her again, it will be by my authority she submits and only for my pleasure. And were I ever to instruct her to pleasure anyone, whether I were present or not, it would be my approval she sought, and not yours.”

He spoke with the confidence that no one dare gainsay him, and she thrilled at his power, at her closeness to it, and to her value as his chattel.

And with that, he turned on his heel and moved away. The Moor’s eyes caught hers and through his humiliation, he sought her hungrily. She gave him the briefest smile before turning guiltily and hurrying after the master.

Hue

“It’s over. The verdict is ‘not guilty.’ Will the Caucasians riot?”

She grinned impishly at him, her teeth gleaming whitely against her mottled skin, and he remembered how much he wanted her. Come on, he thought. A smart rejoinder is absolutely called for here. Tongue-tied at being in her presence again, so completely unexpectedly, he could think of nothing.

“Trial of the century, huh?” She went on. “Does that refer to how long it took?”

“Yes,” he said weakly, full of the knowledge that the time had come to act on his intention. But he could not formulate the question, regardless of how obvious it seemed that the answer would be yes. So he simply looked, drowning in her, and held out his hand.

She looked stunned. “I… don’t get off for an hour… uh…”

she looked around for coworkers. “Come back?”

He nodded.

The trial had lasted a year, with every pundit in the land pontificating about how the opinions, divided along racial lines, did not bode well for the country’s health. They’d been dissecting it in their own way when he last saw her. Her views, uniquely her own, always interested him, especially her humorous assaults on stereotyped racial reactions to the events unfolding on TV day after monotonous day. Then she’d disappeared from the office building where he worked, and from his life. Now, on the last day of the long ordeal, she was back, and he couldn’t care less about the outcome of the event which had dominated office chat for so long.

An hour. He wandered over to the library, passing through the section of town known as ‘the Dump’, a haven for poor black, ‘white trash’ and Latino families. He stood out in his tie and jacket, but the jeans and sneakers made him more acceptable. No one threw anything. Inside, he leafed through familiar novels and pondered the definition of adultry.

When the hour was up, he walked briskly to the Jeep, still parked in the lot at Roy’s, and waited for her to emerge. He craved a cigarette, but didn’t know if she’d find it disgusting, since he didn’t know whether she smoked. He didn’t know her name either, but that didn’t seem quite as important as the turnoff of death-breath to a non-smoker.

She came out, cautiously looking around. He flashed the lights. She walked with exaggerated casualness toward his car, carrying her uniform hat and apron, then jumped in and hissed “Drive!”

He peeled out of the lot and up the alley. Beside him, she giggled. “Boy, you do know how to be unobtrusive!” Then, softly, “What do you want to do?”

There was no discernible hint of suggestion in her voice, but he reacted as if it were a proposition. “I… uh…. are you married? And what’s your name?”

She laughed, a deep, rich roiling noise. “No. I’m Anika, and I’m too young to be married. I’m only twenty.”

He choked.

“It’s okay,” she murmurred, her voice a caress in his ear. “I won’t tell anybody.” Her breasts rose and fell in his peripheral vision, filling themselves like bellows, large and full, soft-looking, like all of her. Her hand lay on his arm, warm as a heating element.

He took her to his house. It was the single largest no-no in the world. He wondered if he wanted to get caught.

Inside, she reacted with awe. “This is all yours?”

He shook his head mutely.

“Ahhh. Your wife’s?”

“Both,” he said softly. “You want to go?”

She looked at him, her eyes soft, moist, liquid brown, melting chocolate, and shook her head. Before he knew what was happening, he had her in his arms, kissing her full lips wetly, his hands on her shoulders, hers on his hips. She ground herself against him like a cat, rubbing her groin to his. Then she extricated herself and stepped back, and with a deft motion behind her hips, she stood in her underwear, pants puddled around her feet, the thin white silk slicing sharply between her brown legs, her orange Roy Rogers shift still tenting over hard nipples.

With a groan, he threw himself at her, his pants pointing obscenely as his fingers groped under her shirt, releasing her full melons into his hungry palms. She laughed throatily, and her hands smoothly located his belt, lowering his trousers to his socks.

Holding up a finger, she stepped smoothly out of her pants, and motioned for him to follow her. He tried, and tripped on his own pants.

“Easy, big fella,” she whispered. He tugged the pesky trousers from his feet, shoes and all, and followed her toward the sofa, shedding his shirt as he went, and then, irresistably drawn to her, reached around and captured her retreating breasts, sliding his hands under the shirt to fondle them reverently. She stopped, and his erection, pressing his shorts, bumped her silk-covered cheeks hard.

She gasped softly, and reached behind her to seize it in her warm, strong fingers. “Oh!” she giggled, as her hand, freeing him, encountered the slippery wetness. Then, as he watched, she looked over her shoulder and licked her sticky palm teasingly. Her other hand on his hip pulled him closer, nestling her bare thighs around his equally-bare penis.

His basest impulses took over, and, gripping her breasts painfully tight, he thrust himself between her firm thighs, sliding over the thong a few times before catching and pressing the cloth into her folds, and up inside her body. She caught her breath in surprise, but did not stop him, as he thrust his silk-covered erection inside her again. “Oh, my!” she said, chuckling again. “You are a big fella in a hurry.”

In answer, he pressed hard, as deep as the restriction allowed, and held her breasts tightly. Faster, faster, the cloth adding an almost painful friction, then he pulled out, and came quickly, spilling his sperm down her legs.

She sighed.

When he’d caught his breath just a bit, he pushed her firmly onto the large sofa, and attacked her large breasts with his tongue, worrying each nipple to hardness, slurping them into his mouth, and nibbling them until she moaned. “God!” she said at one point. “You do know how to work titties.” He slid his hand into her cunt, and zoomed in on her clit with his thumb.

After about five minutes of her lusty moans, he was – miraculously! – hard again. With his head still nestled firmly among her globes, he parted her with a lunge, and she sang out as his turgid member went straight in to the hilt, deeper than had been possible with her underwear barring the way. “Oh, boy. Here we go again,” She rumbled with pleasure.

This being the the second time, he was able to last a respectable ten minutes, and her appreciation was evident. “Oh!” she moaned several times as he thrust particularly deep. She was slick and warm, snug, sheathing him like a wet suit. Her breasts heaved and shook with his pumping, and his mouth, still busy, made her nipples stand up like fingertips.

Finally, he went rigid inside her, and she moaned appreciatively again. Then, as she felt him burst, she whimpered, “Oh, no. Not yet, not yet…”

“Sorry…!” he gasped helplessly as he spent himself deep within her.

“Then do it real hard with what’s left!” she begged. He gave it his best shot, throwing himself at her with abandon, his hip bones banging hers, flesh smacking flesh, and she moaned with lust and despair. It was over too soon.

“Sorry,” he said again.

She held him to her breast again. “S’okay,” she murmurred. “It was pretty good anyway, and it’ll be better next time.”

His penis, resting pale and dispirited on her chocolate thigh, gave a last, frightened leap at the words. Next time?

***

When he met her, she was working as a cleaning woman in our building. Her breasts, naturally, were what most men noticed, but her personality was hard to miss as well. Outgoing and friendly, she almost bubbled over with goodwill, a sharp departure from the other people on the cleaning crew, most of whom could not even be bothered to return your greeting.

She walked among the scowling ladies, a motley crew of dour older women blacks, like an ambassador of sex appeal and friendliness. Office workers, evenly divided between those who were just naturally rude to those who they considered their inferiors, and those who’d lapsed into silence after being rebuffed by one or the other of the two he called The Sullen Twins.

She came in that first morning, tripping through the office like a Brownie Scout, singing out names of those she passed, leaving a string of startled people in her wake. Most had forgotten the name plates located somewhere in the vicinity of their desks, and stood in clusters pondering how the new girl could know all their names. Was she psychic? No one even felt the need to laugh at her stumbling, heroic attempts to pronounce the consonent-laden Eastern-European surnames which dominate our division.

For the entire summer and most of the fall, she’d been the source of sunlight for a number of the white-collar drudges in that windowless hole. The women, though most of them were minus the obvious physical attributes the girl seemed so unaware of, could not seem to muster her the ill will necessary to make their usual catty remarks, even though they all noticed with dismay the effect she had on the men, from the young just-graduated Midwesterners to the eldest, most jaded East Coast Wasps. Though the office harbored a number of not-so-muted racists, he’d never heard anyone speak disparragingly of the office’s dusky ray of sunshine.

The effect of Anika’s presence was palpable. We all talked a bit more nicely to one another, less afraid to interrupt someone’s work to say good morning, more apt to compliment a coworker on a nice outfit; less concerned about the ever-present spectre of sexual harassment misunderstandings. When Anika breezed through, the air seemed less stuffy, and many of us would invent reasons to keep her there. More than one old man would find himself in the corner booth – the private one – of the men’s room after she left for the day. But I never heard an off-color remark about her.

Then one day she vanished.

The office rocked with disappointed men, and not a few women. The other people on the cleaning crew were as uncommunicative as ever. When someone finally got the nerve to ask, we discovered we had no name to go with the face. “What girl?” they wanted to know. “We change peoples all the time. Dey leaves.”

We never saw her again until the day a few months ago when a couple of us walked in to Roy’s and saw the place light up with her personality. “Hey, guys. How you like that TV coverage of the trial?” she smiled.

We began to develop a taste, almost every day, for fast food.

It’s been a few months now. He comes into the lot late, certain nights, about once every two weeks. Not the Roy’s lot, like the first time; now he prefers the lot of the repair shop a few blocks away. She meets him there, driving her own car, and then follows him to the place where this week’s assignation will take place.

After the first time, he tried to stay away, haunted by the thought that, rather than a one-night fling, he was beginning a protracted deception. He was realistic enough to know that the risks would increase with each meeting.

But the temptation was too much for him, as temptation usually is. He’s not very good at restraint, and his excuse, of course, is the same one she alluded to earlier: he needs to make it up to her. Even when he’s finally learned to make her come repeatedly, some months later, when it’s obvious that the imaginary debt has been satisfied, he’s unable to break off the affair.

He’s hooked.

A few weeks’ withdrawal always brings him back, shaking with the need. And she’s always willing, always expectant, never demanding.

His conquest, as he sees it, is complete. He can bring her violently to climax anytime he wants, in seconds. She’s never boring, always exciting, and he can’t stop it, even though he knows the time is here.

She surprises him. Lying in the sand on the pitch-dark beach, she pulls him to her by his testicles, then climbs into his lap, screwing down on him so suddenly that he cries out. Is there sand inside her?

She shushes him with a breast in his face, like a baby, suckling, pressing him supine. In the dark, nearly invisible but for the occasional moon’s glint reflected in the liquids on her body, she is even more mysterious than usual. He thrusts upward, screws the darkness, formless, wet and inviting, and it responds with incoherent demands and exaltations, grasping, tugging, prodding, the flesh which touches his altering; firm, pliant, smooth, hairy, slippery, gritty and ultimately painful.

The breast in his face seems to have grown wiry hair, and his tongue finds its way into the musky tunnel, just as his penis is clamped again by a wet, superheated clamp, pressing down upon him. He protests and his flailing tongue brings a clenching reaction from above, his voice muffled. He clasps the flesh above to him, his hands slipping in the liquid, and his tongue, tracing, slides between the globes, into a tightening cleft. The flesh above him stiffens, strains as he touches the bud lightly with the tip of his tongue, then presses it firmly with his thumb. The shriek that greets his ears is followed by a sharp pain in his own anus, and he comes, violently, into the fleshiness which clasps him.

He feels the vacuum as she drinks him dry, pressing deeper into his rectum until he gives up all he has.

She withdraws her finger, and the nail grazes his inner thigh. Words he realizes he has been dreading chill him to his soul. “I want you to promise you’ll never leave me,” she says distinctly.

The silence lengthens, then:

“We’ll have to get rid of her,” he responds mechanically, his voice vacant and uninflected.

She sighs contentedly, and nestles her head in his lap. “Whatever you say.”

Somewhere a man, condemned by a majority in a racially-divided nation of getting away with murder, finds some inexplicable measure of peace.

A Pushy BBF

“Do you give a good blowjob?” His eyes twinkle.

She thinks about it. Wants to say yes, because it sounded like a challenge, but isn’t sure she wants to go there with him. He’d made it clear a few years ago that he “wasn’t that into her.” Unfortunately that hadn’t been true in the reverse then, and although they’d gotten to slowly to be real friends since then, she still wasn’t sure what her feelings might turn out to be. She punts. “I don’t know.”

He waits. She fidgets. He doesn’t.

“I mean, I think so; men always try to come in my mouth. Means I’m doing something right, doesn’t it?”

“Probably,” he smiles.  “Do you like that? When a man comes in your mouth?”

She frowns. Concentrates. “It’s okay. I mean, there’s the whole power thing, the rush of making somebody come. It’s not bad.”

“Do you like the taste?”

She grimaces. “No one likes the taste, silly; if they tell you otherwise, they’re lying. If you’re lucky it doesn’t taste bad, but nobody likes the taste.”

“I only ever had one man come in my mouth. He didn’t really have a taste. Lots of women used to tell me I tasted sweet. I’m not sure if that was because I smoked clove cigarettes then or because I drank lots of soda. If your come tastes sweet, does that mean you are getting diabetes?”

She smiles, suddenly remembering that he’s bi. He never seems bi. When she’d found out he was, and that he was well-adjusted to that reality, her moderate attraction had turned to a galloping lust. Maybe that was what had gone wrong. Even now, it had the potential to turn her groin to liquid.

“Do you like it up your arse?” She asks hastily.

“Yes. Do you?”

She feels a flutter in her chest. “Sometimes. Not really very often.” She flushes. “Why do you like it? Strokes your prostate, makes you come?”

“No, it never has. Not sure it does with any man; cocks aren’t really shaped right for that. In fact, I never used to even get hard when I was fucked; it was never arousing in that particular way. Cocks are so sweet, though; first they’re uncomfortable, then they hurt like fuck, especially if you’re not ready when they hit that second ring of muscle, and then all of a sudden, they pass that point and it’s a great feeling — off to the races. And some guys like to make it about control; they turn you into a woman for a few minutes, which is always a nice switch. Now, strangely, I do get hard when a man fucks me. Sometimes I masturbate, and even come.”

“Do you ever…top?”

“I have. But men’s asses don’t do it for me the way women’s do. They’re just sexier. Do you ever come when you get fucked in the ass?” He swats her rump and his hand lingers.

“You mean like ‘Ohhhh… fuck me in the arse… fuck my arsehole!’ I would never say that; sounds so fucking corny.”

He chuckles. “Those damn porn movie women — I hate to call them actresses. Every one is an anal virgin who loves it the second she gets it crammed up her butt.”

“Do you… wanna fuck me in the bum?”

“Yes.”  He doesn’t hesitate at all.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Maybe because I am a hopelessly lecherous slut. Maybe because you have such a shapely ass, really desirable. Nice teardrop-shaped cheeks. I think it would be really awesome to bury my cock between them.”

“Like this, you know?”He demonstrates, screwing an imaginary ass. “You know, go in slow, easy, stop, make you comfortable, until all of it is buried… then stay still a minute, let you get accustomed to it in your ass…then pull it out and RAM it back in. And again…” he thrusts his hips toward her.

“You talked me into it,” she says softly, sinking to her knees in front of him. “But let’s start this way. See if I can answer your first question.” She opens his pants and he feeds her his thick cock, hardening fast. Soon she’s slurping it into her mouth, deeply inhaling it.

“Do you like it when I fuck your face?” he asks, taking her head in his hands and moving his hips. Her eyes widen, and she gulps, trying to keep up. He thrusts deeper and harder, and she gags, but keeps trying. He stops, his cock buried in her throat, his heavy balls touching her chin. Her eyes tear and bulge but she holds on.

“Mmmmmm.” He starts to move again, faster, faster, sprinting toward his orgasm. Her finger slips around and jabs into his ass. He fucks her harder, riding her face, bouncing off her throat. She finds his prostate and tickles. He moans ….“ahhhhhh…!” and explodes into her mouth.

“Not fair, princess,” he gasps, as she grins, swallowing, some of it dripping off her chin and lying warmly between her heaving breasts. “I am going to have to get you back for that.” He yanks the pants off her ample butt, runs the side of his left hand between her thighs and through the wetness of her snatch. She pants. He parts her with the wedge of his hand, starts to saw across her cunt lips and clit. She moans. He switches hands, rests the wet left one lightly in the crack of her ass, his half-spent cock touching her left buttcheek. She holds her breath. He runs his greasy left hand across her crease, moistening it. Suddenly, the fingers of the right surround her clit and pull it, rubbing. She squeals with surprise and quickly begins to rock with him. His wet thumb punches suddenly into her anus, muscling right past both sphincters in a burning rush, so fast she doesn’t have time to register the pain or cry out, or even properly tense up. He’s in, and she’s close to a clitoral orgasm. “S’not… fair…” she pants. “Duh,” he says, and rams her clit with his calloused palm and she careens over the mountain into the kingdom of come, yelling.

She’s known it was coming, but is surprised how fast he’s gotten hard and how brutal it is when he slams his cock into her ass, ramming it past his thumb and in, in, in… oh, my god, in. So deep it’s almost scary. She’s still coming, crying his name, but now the words are coming out sobs, closer to curses as he buries his impossibly hard thick cock in her backdoor, planting it all the way to the nuts, like he’s trying to climb inside her. “Bastard. You said.. you’d start gentle… get me ready…” He laughs and fucks her, pulling out and ramming back in with glee, bludgeoning her poor hole open anew. She cries. Curses. Comes, keeps on coming. “You fucking arsehole,” she says. “Fuck me..”

He stops, holds still inside her. “No!” she yells desperately, feeling the power of the orgasm that was building start to dim.  “Move, motherfucker!”

“Say the magic word,” he prompts.

“Please?”

“Say it,” he says tersely. “You know what.”

“Bugger me!”

“Close… but no skin-tipped cigar…”

“Screw me in my arsehole,” she sobs, broken. “Oh, fuck my arse. There. I said it.”

He rewards her with a mighty thrust, driving himself in brutally, skewering her, as his left hand strums her engorged clit, pinching it hard then releasing. She screams. “OH buggering Christ!” She gasps, her chest heaving. “Don’t you fucking stop again. Just ram my butt… ram my butt…pound my ass,” she pleads, orders, sings.

Finally, from a distance, she feels him swell and come inside her, blistering bullets that seem to blast painfully out of his engorged cock, forcing their way down an inflamed urethra. He goes rigid inside her, crying out hoarsely, his load bursting from him and burning into her rectum. A bloodcurdling, high-pitched wail bursts from her lungs, as face flushing red, she tenses every muscle in her body and rams her ass backward. Her groin erupts in a spray, as hot, steaming wetness bursts from her cunt and gushes down her thighs.

“Gggggggggggg….” she says, freezing in place.

“Jesus,” she says presently. “What was that?”

He smiles. “I think maybe you had your first real assgasm. I’m jealous.”