Sudden Sex: 69 Sultry Short Stories Page 16

  Threading my fingers in her silky brown hair, I lost myself in her scent and taste. So much for not screwing the customers. I knew this was going to be a one-time thing, but I didn’t care. She was soft and sweet and smelled so damn good. I wanted her, even if all we had was a single night—even if, come morning, I had to return her to Alexander the Great.

  Breaking our kiss, I locked the front door and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, then I led Melissa upstairs to my apartment. It’s small but cozy—and most importantly, it has a queen-size bed. We tumbled onto the mattress together, still kissing madly as we stripped each other naked. She was as beautiful as I’d ever imagined—all sensual curves, her full breasts topped with petal-pink nipples.

  Knowing this was the first and last time for us, I memorized the sight of her exquisite nakedness, letting my hands roam her body as I learned all of her secrets—how she cried out desperately when her neck was kissed and how she groaned with longing when two fingers were shoved into her slick sex. Melissa bucked her hips toward me as I curled those digits inside her, their rhythmic movement and pressure making her gasp and squirm as she climaxed against my hand. Her velvety walls clutched and released my fingers, echoing the waves of her pleasure.

  After that, Melissa took control, swiveling her body around so that her pussy hovered above my lips while she ducked between my parted thighs. As her tongue swirled around my clit, I sighed against her juicy flesh and then took my first taste of her, sliding my tongue along her slit. Minutes stretched to hours as we gave in to our lust and drank our fill of each other.

  I couldn’t think of any better way for us to toast her single life good-bye.

  I’D RATHER GO BLIND

  Tenille Brown

  He gave her a choice.

  “You can be blind or deaf,” he said.

  Tonight, she wouldn’t have it all; he wouldn’t allow it. She had been spoiled for far too long.

  So, quickly, and without question, she gave him her answer.

  “I’d rather go blind.”

  The words came from trembling lips and she looked him in the eye as she said it.

  “Fine then,” he said, and put the earplugs down on the table.

  He turned her around and covered her eyes with the black silk scarf. He tied the ends around her head taking care not to tangle or pull her soft, black curls.

  She couldn’t see a thing when he was done.

  “Get up on all fours, on the table.”

  His voice came from directly behind her, and with his assistance, she did as she was told.

  She hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of his tool. She wouldn’t know what he would be using to tame her.

  Ironically, as she waited in the seconds that turned to torturous minutes, she closed her eyes anyway anticipating him drawing back his powerful, dark arm. Then he landed his first blow.

  It saturated her, sending desire streaming down the inside of her thighs. He had pulled a plug, pressed a button and she had sprung a leak instantly.

  He was using a paddle. She guessed that easily.

  But, was it her, or was the sound of him spanking her amplified times a million? For the first time she wondered if the neighbors could hear. If he had drawn their attention and their ears were pinned against the wall waiting for the next strike.

  Slap! Slap!

  Every strike that followed paled in comparison to the first. Blows number two and three, she barely had time to draw a breath between. And then there were the ones that came tumbling after.

  He seemed to seek out particular places on her rear on which to land his blows, but of course she wouldn’t know where until they were already there and she was feeling the burning sting. Her ears were ringing from the sound and her cunt was singing from the pleasure.

  Now she was leaning back on her haunches, expecting him to aim center, but he came from the left instead. He came down on her hard with the paddle, but not as hard as she had expected, and not nearly as hard as she had hoped.

  There he was again with his delivery, right away, this time on her right cheek, which she had unwittingly jutted out a little farther than her left. He had come at her from the side and landed a perfect and sound smack that echoed in their massive playroom.

  She was perspiring behind the silk scarf that temporarily blinded her. His pace was unpredictable. He struck her in five-second increments, then ten, then thirty.

  She was shaking.

  It hurt more this time. It had never hurt this much. The pain had never been this strong or sweet. She reached out for an edge that she couldn’t see, something to steady herself, something to hold on to when she felt she couldn’t take anymore.

  “You have to be blind, but you don’t have to be silent,” he reminded her, and with that she released a grunt in a voice that didn’t sound at all like her own.

  It was followed by a whimper and then a series of sobs and screams.

  Strike!

  He seemed nowhere near stopping and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to, because now she was so wet she couldn’t stand it.

  The spanking continued for ten minutes more, until she begged him to let her come.

  “Please,” she pleaded, tears at the corners of her eyes.

  “All right,” he said, but not before he landed one last, heavy-handed blow to the center of her high, tight and unexpectant ass.

  Smack!

  She erupted and shortly after her legs gave in. She landed clumsily on the table in a heap of exhaustion, pain and sweat.

  The last touch he offered was his palm, massaging her tenderly on her sore cheeks.

  “You may take off your scarf,” he offered softly.

  But she couldn’t. He helped her, loosening the ends and letting the scarf float to the floor at their feet.

  “Look and see,” was his next direction.

  He handed her a hand mirror and she angled it so that she could get a glimpse of the purple and blue decoration he had made of her formerly cocoa ass and upper thigh.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Beautiful indeed,” he agreed.

  RUBBER CHICKEN

  Thomas S. Roche

  Melinda put her hand under the table and began massaging my cock.

  As she stroked, she put her full, bee-stung lips up to my ear. Against my earlobe I could feel the stickiness of the lipstick she’d caked on when she’d excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, after the dinner but before the speeches.

  “Do you want me to stop?” she whispered. Her breath was warm; it goose-bumped the flesh on the back of my neck. It made my cock swell still harder against her hand, pushing into her grasp through my tuxedo slacks.

  I did and I didn’t. It was one of those things. Having been relegated to a tertiary table with people I didn’t even know from the Kansas City office—they were nice enough, but a little bland—we were tucked more or less in the back corner of the banquet hall. We were quite a ways away from the podium or—for that matter—anyone important to my career or social life.

  After the dessert dishes were cleared, the droning speeches had started in earnest, and now—only fifteen minutes into the program—I knew we could look forward to an hour and forty-five minutes more of this crap.

  But if I were to rise and depart, I might draw the notice of my boss—who was three tables over. Even reading, in fact—I’d cleverly stashed a slim paperback book in the breast pocket of my tuxedo—might draw unwanted attention. The most I’d been able to get away with so far was checking my email incessantly on my phone—which is certainly rude, but far from unusual. And frankly, my emails aren’t that interesting.

  This, on the other hand, was an inspired bit of audacious misbehavior on the part of my guest, Melinda. We hadn’t even slept together; in fact, I barely knew her. In fact, we’d only met in person a few hours ago, when the limo I’d sent for her dropped her off at the hotel bar.

  Melinda was a playmate from online. The things she’d done on webcam for me would have lik
ely scandalized the entire convention of sales executives, with plenty of scandal to spare. But we hadn’t been to bed together; not yet. I was only in town for the banquet. I hadn’t been sure I’d have time to see her, a fact I’d been honest about. When I told her about the banquet, she told me about this slutty little cocktail dress she had—formal, but slutty. She told me about it and sent me a JPG of the catalog where she’d found it. The rest is history.

  She was wearing it when I first laid eyes on her, and she was wearing it now—which was perturbing to me because I wanted it off her, and on the floor of my hotel room. Or maybe I just wanted it yanked up and pulled down while I pinned her and caressed her tits and pulled her hair and fucked her and spanked her and showed her what happens to bad sluts who meet men for the first time wearing dresses like that.

  For now, though, I just enjoyed the view: the dress was red and very low cut, which made it look both graceful and provocative because Melinda is stacked. The top halves of her tits were exposed, the nipples lightly tenting the material; with my arm around her, my fingertips grazed the side of one bulbous breast and the charge running between my hand and her flesh was electric. With my leg up against her as she leaned against me, I could feel the hem of her dress riding up; one stocking’s lace top was visible, as was the place where it hitched to her garter. I could feel the texture of the lace and the ripple of the rubber beneath it as I rubbed my thigh surreptitiously against hers.

  She wasn’t wearing underwear—that much I’d found out already, with my grabby hands in the shadows of the hotel bar, before I even got her drunk or stoned. She was bare shaved under the dress, her garter belt framing what would have been perfect even if it hadn’t been pierced and haloed by a stylish tattoo that said TAKE ME.

  Melinda leaned hard against me, tipsy with table wine and probably still feeling soft-focus from the joint we’d sneaked in the hotel’s rooftop garden before they began seating for the banquet. How the hell else is a man with any taste supposed to choke down rubber chicken? Between sucks at the doobie and kisses to her neck, I’d apologized to her that the food on our first “date” would almost certainly be so wretched.

  She’d said, “I don’t give a damn. I’ve only got one thing I really want to eat tonight. You’d better hope I can wait till the banquet’s over. I’m not sure I can.”

  She couldn’t, it turned out, because there was her hand, stroking my cock through my pants beneath the tablecloth. Had the lights not been so low, or the tablecloth so long, it would have been risky in the extreme. As it was, it was still very risky…but just risky enough.

  She was an expert at it, from what I could tell. Her forearm moved rhythmically without her shoulder or upper arm displaying the slightest hint of what her hand was doing. She was so damned good at giving a surreptitious hand job, in fact, that I didn’t even stop her when she glanced around furtively and, finding the coast clear, unzipped my pants.

  I glanced around, too—the room was dark, the tablecloth long, and no one was watching. Why not?

  Her long slim fingers reached in, tugged the waistband of my underwear, pulled out my cock. She wrapped her fingers around my hard shaft and began to stroke. She caressed me gently at first, growing stronger and more insistent as she put her lips against my ear and made soft purring noises. She breathed harder and more sensuously as she got more and more aroused.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. “Oh, fuck, I wish I could suck it right now…”

  She could have…all we would have had to do was leave. But this was more fun, I decided, so I let her do as she wished, breathing and purring her dirty talk all over my ear as she brought me closer and closer.

  “Run my lips all up and down the shaft,” she whispered. “Slide my tongue all over your big fat head…” She thumbed it gently. And I realized her fingers were greasy—no wonder she’d refused to let me add a dash of balsamic to the olive oil, or to let the waiter clear the plate. As her hand caressed me more insistently, she murmured, “Take your balls in my mouth…rub your cock all over my face…oh, fuck, I wanna open my mouth wide and take your whole dick down my throat… Would you like that? You want me to deep-throat? You want me to open up wide”—she parted her lips and mouthed my ear suggestively—“and take it all down past the back of my throat? I’ve got no gag reflex at all, you know…all that dirty training you made me do for you with your dildo—”

  A vivid image came to me—Melinda opening wide on webcam, finally choking the dildo I’d sent her down until the flange at the base pressed tight against her lips. It was a dildo molded directly from my cock; an old girlfriend and I had made it on a lark, but she’d broken up with me before she used it, so I had sent it to Melinda…leading her through deep-throat training on a toy guaranteed to adapt her skills for exactly the purpose she described.

  The image was too much for me, as was her soft, sensuous voice saying such dirty things, and her warm breath on my neck. She’d slipped a cloth napkin down there to catch things and further disguise what she was doing.

  She jacked me off. I came. I tried to keep it cool; it wasn’t easy. I had to bite my lip. She let out a soft, low, happy murmur, gently biting at my neck as I came.

  Applause rippled through the banquet hall. The droner on stage was finished. He left the stage, to be replaced by the MC, introducing the next professional boredom-jockey.

  “Did you like that?” Melinda asked, her voice slightly louder. “Did you like how I jacked you off, Sir?” It was safe, under the cover of the applause, but it still felt filthily illicit to be hearing it out loud, instead of in a whisper.

  “It’ll do,” I said sternly, but my smirk gave me away.

  Melinda wiped me up with the napkin, tucked my cock away and zipped up my pants. She took a very discrete lick of her hand and made a yummy noise.

  She put her lips back to my ear and said happily, “You taste a lot better than the rubber chicken.”

  We didn’t stay much longer after that. My boss can go fuck herself.

  SUGAR UPSETS MY VAGINA

  Kristina Lloyd

  PVC, latex, leather and leashes: not my cup of tea, but the people here like it, and I like that they have somewhere to go. I’m a little spaced out. I’m drinking bottled Czech beer and earlier, we smoked some weed that made my scalp prickle. The friends I came with are away somewhere, up to no good. I don’t mind that. I’m watching this sex carnival from the margins.

  The room is color saturated and molten, light sliding over costumes that gleam like liquid. A woman with orange hair in a beetle-black catsuit is giving head to a guy reclining in an elaborate leather chair raised on chrome scaffolding. His wide-spread legs are hooked over padded arms. His eyes are closed. The chair makes me think of my last gynecological exam. I asked her not to use K-Y because it gives me a yeast infection. She opened a drawer packed with little sachets. “It’s the glycerin,” I said. “Sugar upsets my vagina.” I meant the PH balance, but she understood.

  She checked a couple of sachets. “Sorry, they don’t list ingredients.”

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll be okay without.”

  When she pushed the speculum into me she apologized for being rough.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, then I worried I might have sounded too eager.

  It wasn’t erotic though, of course. And strangely, neither is this club. It’s fun, warm and friendly, but I’m not feeling the lust, not yet.

  I look away from the couple and my attention is caught. Several feet from me stands a guy in a big, black coat and heavy boots. His dark hair is shaved and he has that mean, handsome look I’m nuts about. He’s staring at something and nothing, head up, strong jawline. He has an aura of quiet authority. The coat looks expensive. Cashmere, maybe. Square shoulders, broad lapels, buttons fastened, hands in his pockets. He’s wearing an armband bearing a militaristic-looking symbol.

  I take a swig of beer and move from the shadows. Above the music, I ask, “Are you dom or security?”

  He smiles down
at me. He has plump lips and good teeth. “Security.”

  “You’re the sexiest person in here.”

  He laughs and looks away, back to something and nothing.

  “Time do you finish?” I ask.

  “Four.” He grins again as if he finds my interest amusing.

  “Time is it now?”

  He checks his wristwatch, making it peek from under his sleeve with a swift punch of the air. He has a great watch: chunky, silver, macho. “Twenty past one.” Hand back in his pocket.

  “Jeez,” I say. “That’s so unfair.”

  He smiles again but he’s not looking at me anymore.

  We stand there for a while watching a woman getting flogged. Her flogger, a guy in a rubber vest crisscrossed with studded leather, swirls the baton with that practiced wrist-flick that never fails to look camp. On impact, strands of leather fan across the woman’s buttocks. They’re playing by the rules of the club and I’m not. But I imagine she and I share the same goals. We want someone who’ll make us feel tiny, vulnerable, nervous and safe. Right now, I don’t know if she’s feeling it but I am.

  Then Security moves away, a glacier carving a path through the crowds. I put the bottle to my lips and drink, acting as if I haven’t noticed.

  The woman’s arse grows pinker.

  Three hours later, I’m walking home alone, hugging my coat to my body, heels ringing on the pavement. Behind me, drunken voices fade into the distance. People cross roads at strange angles because they can. There’s no traffic at this hour. There’s an urge to trespass. Even the gulls fly low over the central white lines.

  “Hey! Hey!” calls a voice. I turn and he’s running to catch up, smiling. How do you run in a coat so big? He falls into step alongside me, hands in his pockets, breath making fast, icy clouds. “Do you want to take me home?” His eyebrows lift and his grin is playful. He’s chancing it, and I respect that.