Good Call

The first time was an accident.  Maria had picked up the phone in her room when it rang; when she heard her roommate Edith say hello to her long-distance girlfriend, she almost clicked the button to hang up – until she heard Edith’s girlfriend ask, “So – what are you wearing?”  This should be good, she thought, waiting for Edith’s inevitably quippy reply.

Instead, she heard Edith say, “You know that bra you bought me for Christmas?  The red, lacy number that I never wear because it’s so impractical?”  “Mmhmm,” came a knowing murmur from the other end.  “That, and one end of your favorite dildo.”

Maria almost dropped the phone.  In a panic, she pressed the earpiece to her ear and moved the mouthpiece down toward her neck, afraid to breathe or make a peep.  She listened to Edith’s girlfriend give orders which Edith presumably followed:

“Are you wet?  Good girl.  Slide the dildo in and out until it’s covered in your juices.  Get on your knees; push it deep into your A-spot and pulse it there.  Press your legs together to hold it in place while you put your fingers in your mouth.  Make circles around your clit… painfully slow circles.”

All she heard on Edith’s end were moans and whimpers of assent and pleasure – then a strained pleading to be allowed to come, followed by a tortured groan when she was denied.  When she finally did come minutes later, it was epic – Maria had never heard anything like it before.  Like a house on fire breaking apart, sending embers flying into a black sky, lighting it up with red smoke.  Maria had never felt like that before.

When they finally said goodnight, it was Maria who felt exhausted.  She hung up the phone and turned out her bedroom light; lying on her back in the dark, she slid her hands under the bottom of her nightgown and flung it aside.  She squirmed as she felt slickness warm her inner thighs; when she moved her hand into her panties, she was shocked by how wet she was.  She slid two fingers inside her cunt with one hand while gently rubbing her entire labia with the other, up and down, thinking about the orders that Edith obediently followed.  Her hips bucked and her breath caught as her orgasm had her.  She turned her head to bite her pillow, curling into a ball, afraid to make noise; she fell asleep in her underwear, which stuck to her.

Phone, Communication, Connection

It was the first thing on her mind when she woke up the next day; she knew she had to come clean.  Edith had been her best friend for years; there just weren’t any secrets between them.  Dreading the conversation, she rolled out of bed and slouched into the kitchen for coffee.

When she sat down at the table, she noticed how perky Edith seemed – how light on her feet.  Good.  “Ed – I have something to tell you.”  “What’s up?” Edith asked, a spring in her step as she fluttered around the kitchen, grabbing dishes and cups and toast and creamer.  “I heard you last night.”  “Oh, god,” Edith said, her movements suddenly halted.  “I was so loud you could hear me through the walls?  I’m sooooo sorry!”  “No…” Maria continued.  “I heard you on the phone.  I picked up and couldn’t stop listening.  I know it was a huge violation of your privacy – I’m so, so sorry, Ed.”  Her face flamed.  She expected Edith to yell, to slam things on the table, to be furious.  Instead, Edith just looked… curious.

“Huh,” she said.  “Huh?” replied Maria.  Again: “Huh.”  Maria looked at her, completely baffled, not really knowing what to say.  It turned out she didn’t have to say anything.  “Did you… like what you heard?” asked Edith.  Still beet red, Maria looked into her coffee cup.  “Yeah,” she practically whispered.  “It was… it was really hot, Ed.”  The words rushed out of her mouth like air from a tire.  “Huh.”  “Why do you keep saying that?” asked Maria.  “Well – Lora might be into that.”  “What?” Maria asked, her mouth ajar.  “Yeah – she might be into the idea of someone else listening in.  Let me check with her.”

Maria felt her nipples stiffen under her nightgown – from arousal or anxiety she wasn’t sure, but she was sure of one thing: every cell in her body was saying “Yes.”

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Image taken from Pixabay; credit: markito.

Advertisements

Staring Contest

It worked every time – he didn’t even have to try anymore.  Will strode confidently into a Farringdon pub at the tail end of Friday happy hour; he didn’t need the stumbling desperation of one am to convince someone to come home with him.  He sat at the end of the bar, ordered a brown ale, and scanned the scene.  Some nights he had to wait thirty, forty minutes for an approachable woman to show up; tonight, he spotted her within ten.

She sat at the opposite end of the bar and started scrolling through her phone, looking a bit bored and sipping on a cider.  She was wearing a fitted grey suit, and her hair was tied into a knot at the nape of her neck.  He walked around the edge of the bar so he could approach from behind, then walked up to the bar and sat next to her.  He ordered a double scotch, neat, and took out his phone.  Scrolling through old messages, he sighed loudly.  The woman next to him looked over and asked if he’d had a hard day at work.  “Everything feels hard some days, even when it’s not that bad – know what I mean?” he replied.  She did.  He continued: “Sometimes I think about how easy everything seemed when I was young and the only thing I had to stress about was losing a game or looking stupid in front of a girl.”  She laughed and said she agreed with him; she was having one of those weeks, too.

He continued, feeling the hook slide in, the line go taut.  “What did you do for fun when you were young?” he asked.  “Oh, I suppose we just played normal kid’s games – bulldog, Mr. Wolf, oranges and lemons, -” “The one where someone’s head is chopped off?!” he laughed. “That’s terrible!”  “We loved it!” she said, and laughed even harder.  “What about you?”  “I played thumb war with my brother a lot,” he answered.  “Oh, and I was a staring contest master.”  “Oh?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.  “Yeah,” he continued.  “No one could beat me at a staring contest.  Even when my older brother was beating me at every other game, I always had him in a staring contest.”  “Let’s have it, then,” she said.  “I don’t know,” he replied – “are you in the mood to be heavily defeated after the week you’ve had?”  She grinned and said she thought she could handle it.

Her eyes almost matched her suit – grey, but a bit darker.  “Loser buys the next round,” she said, determined to win.  They turned in to face each other, their knees touching.  “Three,” he counted; she closed her eyes tight. “Two…”  She blinked rapidly. “One!”  She opened her eyes wide and stared into his.  He never knew what was going through their minds at the time; he counted in his head to make sure that enough time passed to make it seem like he was making a concerted effort, but little enough time that it seemed plausible that he would blink.  If he was closing in on a minute, that’s when he would graciously lose.

He remembered them all by their eyes: Carla was the one with the deep brown deer eyes.  Meg was the one with the hazel eyes, a refractory of color.  Sara, the one with violet lenses.  A dozen other women whose names he’d forgotten, but whose irises were imprinted on his brain.  He’d started this years ago when he’d heard that you could make anyone fall in love with you via a series of intimate questions and four minutes of eye contact; while he sure wasn’t looking for love, he thought they might be onto something with the eye contact.  He was right.

“Argh!” he exclaimed, blinking almost imperceptibly.  “Really, I swear – I’m good at this.”  “Aww,” she said sympathetically.  “How will you ever live this down?”  “Please don’t tell anyone,” he replied.  “My reputation will be ruined.”  She laughed.  He started pulling the line.  “What will you have, then?” he asked.  “I don’t need another drink,” she said – “I just needed a good laugh.”  “In that case, may I suggest we take a walk?  It’s a remarkably nice evening, and I can work on my stand-up routine.”  She hesitated for a moment, but then said, “Why not?  It’s Friday, after all.”  “That it is,” he agreed, and stood up, gesturing toward the door.  “After you, miss,” he said.  He saw her dangling now, shiny and dripping with water – a real beauty.  She smiled at him and walked toward the door, sashaying her hips a bit as she walked.  It worked every time.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

New Year’s Eve

After dessert – a decadent raspberry custard topped with chocolate ganache and served with port – Cal handed over a small, meticulously-wrapped box, which he seemed to pull out of thin air.  Maybe it was the intoxicating effects of the port, the strength of which still lingered on hir tongue.  Les accepted it with both hands, wondering where Cal had found the paper containing real leaves and the ribbon which felt like velvet.  Sie looked at it carefully, turning it over in hir small hands, marveling at the care that had gone into it.  Cal’s eyes twinkled.  “Open it,” he eagerly instructed.

Sie peeled the tape off, careful not to rip the paper, and took off the lid, lifting layers of multi-colored tissue paper away from the interior to reveal a handful of small, plain, white envelopes containing what felt like cards.  Each one of the twelve had a single word printed on the cover: the first said January.  “What are these?” sie asked, delighted at the attention to detail, the smooth surface and crisp corners of the envelopes.

“Each month, you get one card with an instruction on it.  You have one month to carry out the order; if you succeed, you receive a reward.  If not, a punishment.  That simple.”  Les’s eyes widened and the corners of hir mouth drew up slowly as sie started to think about all the possibilities.  Knowing Cal, there would be nothing simple about this – it would be challenging, but exhilarating.

“Put them away for now,” he said, standing up and walking around to help Les with hir coat.  Hir face formed a momentary frown, at which he laughed.  “My darling,” he said, “January first is but an hour away, and the clock is ticking.  I believe we have an engagement to be at.  You owe me a dance and a midnight kiss.”  Sie smiled and slipped hir arm into the sleeves before putting one through Cal’s arm.  They strolled out into the cold air, still glowing from each other’s company, and held tight to each other as they walked to a friend’s party.

They danced to song after song, alternating the lead to songs that would always remind hir of New York – Gershwin, Porter, Berlin.  At midnight, showered in vibrant confetti, they kissed each other, relishing the pressure and taste of each other’s lips.  Sie trailed hir lips to his ear, and whispered, “I can’t wait.  Can I open the first one now?”  “You’re so impatient!” he chided playfully.  “But yes, of course you can.”

Sie ran over to their coats in staccato steps, digging the box out of hir deep coat pocket, and gingerly took out the first envelope.  Sie slid a finger underneath the flap and pulled out a small white card containing the following sentences:

Put the Njoy plug in first thing when you wake up in the morning.  Keep it there all day and come to my office five minutes before I get off work.  I will leave my office each day at 4:53 exactly.  When I arrive back to my office at 4:55 one day in January, you will be there, hands on my desk, wearing nothing from the waist down except that plug, waiting for me.

Les’s heart stopped at the idea of being semi-nude in Cal’s office.  Sie knew his coworkers; they often had happy hour cocktails together.  What if someone else came in?  What if the timing was off?  What if…?  Cal looked closely at her expression, wondering momentarily if he’d made a mistake – but then he saw the fear in hir eyes replaced with lust, and an unmistakable blush spread across hir face.  What if he spanks me? Sie thought.  What if he replaces that plug with his fingers?  Sie quickly thought about the heft of the metal plug and how it would feel inside of hir for an entire day.  What if he demands I get under the desk and lick his cock from base to tip, over and over, until he’s shivering?  Sie closed her eyes dreamily and thought about the potential.  Cal leaned in and brushed his lips against hirs.  “This is just the beginning,” he said, almost inaudible against the chorus of Auld Lang Syne.  “I started with an easy one.”  He slid his hand around hir waist and up hir back in a reassuring way; they spent the next few minutes in silence, both contemplating their adventures ahead and feeling no need to make resolutions.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Winter Wonderland

Alex pushed her front door open, the cold air blowing porch snow in around her ankles.  She banged her Docs against the step to knock the packed snow out of her boots and hurried inside; Jen followed close behind her, wrapping her arms around her lover’s waist.  They were flushed from one too many cocktails, from stumbling home over half-shoveled sidewalks, from the conversation they’d had on the way.

It was Jen who’d seen her first.  Who had watched her, gliding like an angel toward a pool table, the yellow bar lights swimming around her closely-cropped honey hair adding to the effect.  She stared at the woman’s shoulders, pulled back in confidence – her smile, gleaming and glorious – the ease with which she pushed the cue stick through her hooked index finger as she bent over the green felt, a bit of cleavage poking out of a tight white button-down shirt.  After a minute of trying to get Jen’s attention and being unsuccessful, Alex had followed her gaze over to the beautiful stranger, now shaking hands with the loser of the game.  She leaned into Jen’s ear and whispered, “She’s a looker, huh?”  Jen, still in her reverie, just replied with an “Mmm.”  Their stare lingered a minute longer before Alex said, “Babe? She’s fine as hell, but now we’re just being creepy.”  That was enough to get Jen to laugh and break the spell.  Jen turned toward Alex, cupped her face, and kissed her full on the lips, trailing a hand down between Alex’s breasts.  “Let’s go home,” she said.

On the walk home, past lit-up duplexes and technically-illegal-but-still-used parking chairs, Jen dropped the question into the snowy silence around them: “So hey, babe.  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a threesome?  I mean… just wondered, you know?” Alex smiled.  “You mean with someone like the woman you were just stalking?” she asked.  “Well – yeah,” replied Jen.  “I mean, she was hot, right?  What would you think about bringing someone else in just for a night?  Just to see what it was like?”  “I think that I’d like to think about it,” replied Alex.  “For now, let’s just focus on getting home!”  The wind swirled and howled around them, flinging flurries this way and that.  They quickened their pace.

Once they were in, coats, hats, mittens, and scarves lying on a pile on the couch, Alex turned on her electric fireplace; they put a few blankets and pillows on the floor and lay down in front of it, snuggling close together to get warm.  After a couple of minutes of staring into the electric blaze, Alex brought up their prior conversation.  “So – if we were to have this hypothetical threesome, what would you want it to look like?”  Jen felt her pulse quicken and her cunt warm.  She turned to look at Alex.  “You mean, what would I want to happen?”  “Yeah,” replied Al.  “What would you want to do with her?  With me?  Would you want to watch, or be watched?  How involved would you want her to be?”

“Hypothetically?” Jen asked.  Alex nodded.  “I’d want you to direct the scene.  I’d want to start out with the two of you taking my clothes off, then you telling her what you want to see.”  “And what do I want to see?” Alex asked with a mischievous grin.  “You want to see her warm me up.  You want to see her lap at my nipples until I’m begging to have the rest of my body touched.  You want to see her caress my inner thighs, teasing me until there’s a stream of fluid running down my pussy because I’m so turned on.  You want to see her graze my outer labia, making my heart pound, and then lick my clit just once so I’m trembling all over – and then you kiss her so you can taste me on her tongue.”   

“Like this?” Alex asked, pulling Jen’s leggings and boy shorts down, spreading her legs just enough, and lapping once over the inside of Jen’s labia and up over her clit before kissing her.  She loved the lemondrop taste of Jen’s cunt.  Jen closed her eyes and breathed shallow breaths, letting her body take over.  She continued talking as Alex continued to taste her: “You lick me slowly and steadily until I come in your mouth, and then you tell her that I’m hers to fuck; she leaves on a tank top, her nipples hard underneath it, and puts on a leather-harnessed strap-on.  She puts a pillow under my ass and works her cock inside of me, rhythmically pumping; while she’s doing that, you hover over me, kissing her.  Long kisses.  I struggle to crane my neck up enough to run my tongue along you, but you… won…” Jen gasped, groaned, bucked her hips up to Alex’s waiting mouth, and finished – “’t let me.”  She collapsed, hoarse moans escaping her.  “I can feel the heat of your cunt on my face; I can’t reach it with my mouth, so I slide one finger inside, then two.  I run them along my lips, making them sticky with your juices, and suck them clean.  You stand up while I’m shuddering from being fucked and walk around to the back of her, sliding one hand up the front of her shirt to gently pinch her nipple and massage her vulva with the other hand until she’s too close to coming to keep fucking me.”

“Then what?” Alex asked, now sliding her fingers in and out of Jen’s cunt, curving her hand so that her heel would rub against Jen’s clit.  “I told you -” said Jen, a dreamy smile on her face – “you’re directing the scene.”  Alex leaned in and kissed her before whispering, “But you’re the one with the imagination.  Babe, you have the sexiest brain of any girl I know.”  “Thanks, love,” she replied, pulling in Alex for another kiss.  “Let’s talk more realistically about this when we’re sober; for now, I just want to feel you all over me.” “Done,” said Al, pressing her whole weight into Jen, hot now under the blazing light of the fire.

 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 

Inspired by the following lyrics from “Winter Wonderland” (which I know isn’t technically a carol, but it popped into my head!):

Later on, we’ll conspire as we dream by the fire

To face unafraid the plans that we made,

Walking in a winter wonderland

Duluth

It was snowing the last time she’d seen Adrian.  She remembered racing him down a street underneath an orange-hued streetlamp, flakes scurrying this way and that from their path, until they were breathless; he pulled her down into a pile of fluff which billowed up in clouds around them.  He held her close, finding it difficult under all their layers of winter gear, but managing.  He could feel her furry parka hood on his cheek as he whispered in her ear that he loved her.  That he would love her until Floridians started wintering in Minnesota – an inside joke.  She started to cry then; he couldn’t see her tears, but he could feel her body shudder.  He kissed her eyelids, tasting salt, his breath warm on her face.

She stood up awkwardly, brushed herself off, and turned toward him.  “You’re going to miss the bus,” she said, looking at her boots.  He got up and walked over to grab her mittened hand; they walked in silence along Superior, the festive downtown Christmas lights mocking her.  She would go back to her family and celebrate Christmas with them, but he had become home for her.  Watching him ascend the stairs of a Minneapolis-bound Greyhound that night, she felt her blood crystallize.  She didn’t think she would ever see him again.

Now she stared out of her front door window, waiting for his car to pull up, feeling lead balls of weight rolling around in her belly.  It had been fifteen years; he’d come home unexpectedly and had looked her up in the phone book, curious to see if she was listed.  Wondering at the fact that phone books were still being delivered at all.  They made plans to meet for coffee, but when her car stalled that morning, she called to ask for a ride.

His rental car pulled up in front of her house – the only car on the street.  Most folks weren’t out now; the roads were bad, and they were experiencing a cold snap.  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, locked it behind her, and strode quickly through the cold, whipping wind to his car.

With the exception of grey streaks in his hair and a few smile wrinkles, he looked the same.  They both said hello and leaned in for an awkward hug.  She caught a waft of aqua cologne on his neck – the same cologne he had worn when they were in grad school together – and she was transported to his bed, tangled in his sheets, their limbs indistinguishable, pressed against his body which always emitted heat even when the windows were covered in frost.  She could still feel his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth on her thighs, his weight pressing her against the mattress as his body encompassed hers.  They had spent an entire winter hibernating together.  Her labia felt a flood of warmth; she was surprised how quickly a simple scent could have such a strong impact on her body.

“You haven’t changed,” he said to her.  “You were always the most beautiful girl in our classes.”  Her cheeks grew rosy; she searched his eyes.  “And you don’t look a day over forty,” she said, smiling.  Luckily, he laughed.  “How are you?” she asked.  “I’m… coping,” he answered, slowly.  She put her hand over his and said she was sorry to hear about his father.  That she had adored him.  “Your hands are freezing!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand in both of his and bringing it up to his mouth to breathe steam onto it – an old habit.  “You’re still a radiator,” she said, her heart thudding in her chest.  “And you still burn bright, even on the coldest days.”

He kissed her then, his lips searing hers, finding that she still tasted like cinnamon.  “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back.  “I don’t kn-…” She interrupted him by sliding her hands from his neck up into his black hair and kissing him back, yearning to kiss the rest of his body, which shook slightly.  “They say it’s too dangerous to drive today,” she said, catching her breath.  “Everything will be ice by tonight; it’s frostbite weather.  Come inside,” she implored.  “I have coffee here.”

“I don’t need coffee to stay warm,” he replied, “but nothing sounds better to me than coming inside.”

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

One Down

Still in a sex haze from a long, giddy night of pot and orgasms that stretched into a morning of devouring all the leftovers in my flat before devouring each other, I lie silent for a minute, listening to the door click behind him as his footsteps run down my stairs outside.  Everything is perfectly still and calm; I can hear birds chirping and see the first rays of sun starting to penetrate the sky.  It’s too early for traffic – and besides, no one would be out on a Sunday morning.  Except him.  Perhaps whistling while he walks; perhaps listening to music.  Definitely thinking about the way I taste.

I reach into my nightstand drawer and pull out a Batman stationery pad, flipping it open to the first page on which I’ve written the beginning of a list:

Double butt plug

Saran wrap fuck

Bound, spread-eagle fuck

Pegging…

The list goes on.  I’d written it after a long conversation we’d had a few weeks prior in which we spent hours talking dirty about the things we wanted to do together.  I had snapped a quick photo of it with my phone, sending it to him as a kind reminder; sure, there were things I had in a mental life-long fucket list of unlikely situations, but he was a rare and beautiful partner: the kind I could suggest any fantasy to, knowing he’d be game.  I wanted to have a special fucket list for us. 

I grab a pen and with a steady hand cross off the phrase “good ol’-fashioned anal” before ripping the sheet of paper out of the pad and neatly folding it into its own envelope.  I write his address on the cover and put it aside for the moment, relishing the memory of sitting on top of him in the dark, his breathing shallow and yearning, as I lowered myself slowly onto his cock. I had slid back up almost immediately for more lube; once that was in place, delightfully messy and slippery, I found it much easier to slip him inside of me.  I could feel every throbbing vein on his cock against my tight muscles; I turned on a wand and sat on him, telling him to hold still while I brought myself to climax.  Once I’d come, my whole body relaxed, and I could start gliding along his cock – back and forth until I felt comfortable.  Until I wanted it deeper.  Until I came again, my whole pelvic floor contracting against him – which is when he lost it, moaning a guttural moan I’d never heard before. One of desperate release drawn out of him like a spirit.

My hunger not quite satisfied, I roll out of bed, throw on some sweats, and settle on grabbing a bagel down the street.  I clip our list onto the mailbox on my way out the door for the mail carrier to pick up the next day and giggle at the thought of her opening it or trying to use the light to see what’s inside.  On the way, I hear dull church bells ring in the distance, and once again I think of him; I hope he’s made it on time.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Broad Stripes

Alex heard the crop swish through the air before he felt it.  That sound alone was enough to make his cock twitch – or at least it would be, if it weren’t in a cage.  He wanted to say as much, but all he could do was groan with satisfaction as it came down hard on his left cheek.

“I think I’ll give you nice, even stripes today,” Sir said as he walked around the back of Alex’s legs, perched on tip toes to strain his balance against the bench he was bent over.  Alex’s heart pounded at the thought of the long, beautiful red marks coloring his bottom.  Sir hit his right cheek with force.  He tensed briefly, then allowed the endorphins to flow through him like a full-bodied pinot.

Sir hit him again slightly lower than before, then circled around front this time, the bulge of his cock visible through his trousers.  Alex felt him lightly tap the crop against his pale flesh like a golfer practicing her swing before following through.  He wanted to be exact in lining up the stripes; Alex grinned at the thought of his perfectionist tendencies, a droplet of drool slipping around the edge of his ball gag.

Thwack.  Another stripe.  An inch down.  Thwack!  Another.  Alex heard footsteps before once again feeling the light tapping of leather on his skin.  His eyes were now closed, his breathing even, his muscles starting to relax.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Sir said out of the blue, bringing Alex out of his reverie.  Alex kicked up a hairy right leg behind him; Sir removed his gag.

“What happened?” he asked, still in a state of calm content.

“That bruise on your left hip that’s been changing color – it’s purple now.”

“Great!” said Alex.  “But why the surprise?”

“Congratulations,” Sir said. “Your ass is an American flag.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so patriotic before.”  Before Alex could get the loud laugh all the way out of his body that burst forth from his gut, Sir had managed to get the gag back in place and the laugh was held inside, ready to come out later.  For now, there was more work to be done.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Campfire

Indra liked the way the crisp autumn air stung her cheeks as she squatted close to the ground, her urine stream splashing a bit onto her shoes from the crunchy fallen oak leaves between her feet.  This was a sensual time of year: everything smelled rich due to harvest or decay.  The light was more golden, connections between people more heightened as friends and family came together after vacations apart.  She stood up, buttoning her jeans, closed her eyes, and inhaled the earthy scent of burning branches for a moment before starting her walk back to the cluster of tents she and her friends had set up earlier that day.  She could see the glow of their bonfire in the distance; she, too, felt radiant.

Fire, Flame, Wood Fire, Brand

Coming closer to the tents, Indra stopped short when a movement caught her eye.  Still hidden in the forest, her hand grazing the scratchy bark on the tree next to her, she squinted to see more clearly the silhouette of someone inside their tent; the campfire in front of the tent made the shadow visible from behind.  Whose tent is that? she wondered as she intently stared, craning her neck to get a better look.  Suddenly understanding what she was seeing, she flushed and took a step toward camp – then stepped back to look again.  His hand was down his pants, methodically and slowly stroking.  She stepped toward camp again… but then immediately came back for more.  Now he had pulled his cock out; its shadow looked comically large in the firelight.  She laughed a small, barely audible, nervous laugh, unable to look away as he licked his hand and rubbed it over the head of his cock, then all the way to the bottom of his shaft.  Her cunt warmed, thickened, pulsed.

An unexpected shout of “INDRA!” from a friend jolted her and sent her heart racing, but she couldn’t avert her eyes, couldn’t move her feet.  Maybe if she just stayed silent… she heard boots pounding leaves and panting breath coming into the woods; she stayed stock still but for a slight rubbing of her thighs.  Catching her breath, Ellen jogged up to Indra, asking for toilet paper.  A few seconds too late, Indra switched her glance over to Ellen, trying to find words that were sticky in her mouth, and snapping out of her reverie, patted her pockets for the desired item.  “What were you staring at?” asked Ellen, whose eyes were adjusting to the darkness.

“I just – uh – nothing,” she replied, her vulva now aflame.  Ellen looked into the camp and audibly gasped when she saw it.  She grabbed Indra’s warm hand in hers and they looked on silently, blood thudding together.  “It’s so hot,” Indra whispered.  Ellen, a bit tipsy, leaned into Indra’s ear and whispered, “Can I touch you like that?”  Indra, still looking at the tent, just swallowed hard and nodded, her nipples like cherry pits.  Ellen unbuttoned Indra’s pants and lowered her zipper just a bit before sliding her slender hand into the slick folds of Indra’s vulva, rubbing her juices up and over her clit before moving two fingers inside of her.  She looked behind her for a moment to get the rhythm of his stroke and tried to match it, curling and pressing her fingers inside of Indra.

Indra grabbed the branch above her with both hands, holding onto it like a log in a river with strong currents.  She moaned aloud; Ellen moved her lips back to Indra’s ear to whisper, “Don’t make a sound.”  She covered Indra’s mouth with one hand while continuing to fuck her with the other.  She didn’t know if it was the voyeurism or potential exhibitionism – could anyone else see them? – that made her insides growl and roar, but either way, she came hard onto Ellen’s hand, her muscles clamping around Ellen’s fingers.  Ellen gently pulled them out, licked them, and placed her hands on the sides of Indra’s face before lightly kissing her still-ajar, chapstick-covered lips.  “Thanks!” she said quietly, grabbing the tissue out of Indra’s pocket, and bounding away into the woods, leaving Indra there to watch a small stream of ejaculate bubble out of the staff in her friend’s hand, both of them finally satisfied.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Bedtime Stories (NSFR)

Wait, I say to him before we get off the phone.  I want him to read me a bedtime story.  He stoically tells me that it’s 10:00 am.  Not where I am, I remind him.  I tell him I’ll be restless without it.  That I won’t be able to sleep.  That I’ll be tossing and turning all night long when I could be dreaming of him.  He grudgingly gives in, searching for a good piece of erotica on his computer while I turn off the lights, climb my stairs, and slink into bed, the bright light of my phone pressed to my ear.

How about a gangbang story? he asks.  I smile; that’s exactly what I would have chosen.  As he starts to read, his voice deep and reassuring in my ear, I close my eyes and imagine the scene unfolding before me, vivid images floating behind the dark half-moons of my eyelids.  Hands and mouths everywhere, greedy, grasping, searching.  Every glorious orifice being used to its full potential, undulations of bodies and pleasure.  My right hand slides into my pajama bottoms, underneath my cotton panties as he continues to read; I find my labia already slick and slippery.

I’m not prepared for how fast I come.  Before I can take any clothes off, before I can pull a breast out to graze one of my nipples with a wet finger, without tensing into it like normal, I suddenly come hard at the thought of several strangers using me, not ever knowing who they are, a dozen hands groping me at once.  Fingers in my mouth, a fist around my hair, nails dug into my haunches, gripping me backward.  I cry out, my body convulsing, and continue to moan; he stops reading.

“I wasn’t done,” he says.  I am.  I tell him to keep reading to me.  I lay still in bed, my panties and thighs soaked, breathing deeply and evenly as I imagine him next to me, whispering the story into my ear in the dark.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Good Sport

“Promise you’ll be a good sport?” asked Gem as she held her boy’s chin in her slender hand and looked down at his radiant eyes.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered evenly, not moving a muscle.
“You know the rules,” she continued.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied.

She slid her hand around to the back of his head, feeling his bristly hair barely making it past her fingers and leaned down to whisper in his ear: “Don’t give up too easily.  Have fun, and be a good boy.  And remember: this is not for you.  This is for me.  Your pleasure is my pleasure.  I’m so looking forward to seeing my friends enjoy you the way I do.”

She stood up, and he followed.  She turned to face three of her friends who had been watching the conversation. “Well, ladies,” she said, smiling a Cheshire cat smile and clasping her hands together, “I believe you know the rules, too!  Be kind to my boy and have fun yourselves!  I’ll be watching from up here.”  Her friends broke into their own nervous but eager grins, slung their backpacks over their shoulders, and nodded in assent. She turned back around to face Boy and told him he had a five minute head start.

“Go,” she said.

He started walking out of the room briskly, breaking into a run as he approached the stairs.  They all watched his graceful body sprint onto the lawn from a floor to ceiling bedroom window upstairs.  Soon, he had disappeared into the hedge maze below.  Gem looked at her friends, their smiles belying their anticipation.  He was beautiful and so eager to please.  A few minutes later, they wandered down into the entrance of the maze together, separating shortly thereafter to take different paths.

Susan was the first one to spot him.  He was walking slowly along the ledge, creeping silently.  Like a cat, she tiptoed up behind him and lightly tagged him on the shoulder.  “Looks like I’m first!” she exclaimed with delight.  “What would your trophy be, then?” Boy asked.  “I was thinking about how satisfying the silk of your shirt would feel against my skin –” she said, “but instead I think I’ll have your trousers.  I want to be the first to see the outline of your lovely cock.”

Dutifully, he removed his shoes, then unbuttoned and slipped off his trousers before handing them over.  “Thank you,” he said.  “May I continue?”  “Of course,” she replied, looking him up and down.  He walked off quickly and slipped around the corner while Susan waited patiently.

He’d been carefully avoiding cul-de-sacs the entire time, but now he found himself trapped in one.  No matter – he stopped and could hear nothing but his own shallow breaths.  He was alone, he was sure.  Coming out of the dead end, he felt a hand stop him before he saw the artfully manicured nails on his chest.  Lilia.

“So,” she purred, looking down at his boxer briefs.  “I see someone else got to you first.”  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.  “What trophy will you have?”  “I’ll take your shirt, darlin’,” she said with joy.  He started unbuttoning; she stopped him.  “No – let me,” she said, continuing to unbutton his soft shirt languidly.  “You have nice shoulders,” she said, running her hands over them briefly.  “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, his heart racing, now down to his undershirt, briefs, and running shoes.  “May I continue?”  “Sure thing, love,” she said, and swatted his bottom as he made his way down the lane.  Upstairs, Gem laughed as she watched him scurry away.  She could see what he couldn’t: that being so distracted by Lilia’s comments, he wasn’t watching where he was going, and that’s when he ran smack into Susan once again.

“Oh-ho,” she said, “I’ve found you once again!  I’ll have that undershirt if you don’t mind – I think it will look quite nice on me, especially paired with your pants.”  He blushed and removed it, one hand on the chest and one on the back.  He handed it to her, avoiding eye contact.  “Looks like it’s almost time,” she said.  “Be more careful – you don’t have much left.”  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and he was off.

A solid five minutes had passed; he was hidden in the middle of a hedge, completely convinced that he was invisible from passersby… until he heard a voice whisper into his ear, “Think you’re clever, do you?” as a hand reached in and grazed his hard, smooth stomach.  A warm hand attached to a reassuring voice.  A voice like bells.  Yuna.  She drew him out of the hedge.  “I believe I’m now the proud owner of one pair of black boxer briefs,” she said, smiling at Boy.  He started to slide them down. “Wait,” she said.

She opened her backpack, took out a double duvet, flung it upward with two hands so that it opened onto the ground, and sat down on it, looking at him expectantly.  “Now,” she said.

He once again took off his shoes and slid the briefs over his growing cock and down to his ankles, carefully removing them one leg at a time before handing them to Yuna, who patted the duvet next to her.

“Your turn to watch,” she said.  He sat in the middle of duvet and looked at Yuna as she stood up, his eyes briefly darting to the window above to see if he could catch a glimpse of his Mistress.  He couldn’t, but he could feel her eyes on him.  He could always feel her eyes on him.  Yuna was wearing a simple flowered summer dress, tied in the back; she pinched the strings of the tie between her thumb and forefinger and pulled, her dress falling to her waist, exposing her pert breasts.

She looked down at Boy.  “I want you to take my panties off for me – with your mouth,” she said.  He got up to balance on his knees and lifted her skirt up, and nuzzled his face against the lace of her crotch.  Her breath was barely audible, but deep.  He grabbed the top of her panties with his teeth, sliding them down a few inches, before darting his tongue over her clitoral hood, holding it there momentarily, and drawing it back.  He gripped her panties once again and slid them down to her ankles.

She stepped out of them and eyed him hungrily.  “On your back, please,” she said, getting a condom and cock ring out of her backpack.  He obeyed; she slid the condom down onto his now rigid cock and stretched out the disposable cock ring to place it around the base of his scrotum and the top of his dick before turning both switches on, making everything vibrate.  She blew a small silver whistle she was wearing around her neck before taking it off and flinging it to the ground.  Still wearing her dress, she hitched the skirt up and kneeled above Boy before slowly lowering herself onto his cock, then gently rocking back and forth.  He moaned, imagining his Mistress touching herself, watching from above.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” Yuna said in staccato, finding it difficult to talk and fuck at the same time.  “The others are on their way.”

Gem, now soaking and wearing only a tank top, looked down to see Yuna straddling Boy while Lilia and Susan approached quickly from either side of the maze.  She mounted a dildo in the window seat and stared, enthralled, her hands pressed to the rapidly steaming glass, thinking: AirBnBs couldn’t possibly get better than this.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked