D Is for Dress-Up Read online

  Sam was darker in coloring, with short, spiky black hair. Confidence emanated from him, both in the way he held himself and in the way he looked at Jade, his eyes raking her over with blatant speculation. He was more overtly masculine than Carl and his body was draped over the bar in a manner that seemed to invite a sexual response from Jade. She smiled nervously. His chest looked broad and strong beneath the black T-shirt he had on. Her heart missed a beat—he was wearing PVC trousers. She tried to drag her eyes away from the impressive ridge outlined beneath the fly.

  “What a find,” he murmured. His eyes continued to rove over Jade’s body, taking in the line of her breasts beneath the tight latex top and the inviting zip up the middle of her short leather skirt.

  Nadia noticed the exchange, chuckled, and said, “Come on, let’s dance.”

  Jade took a deep breath and willed herself to follow. This was it; this was what she had secretly both feared and desired: she’d been picked up by a bunch of people who looked like their clothes were about to fall off at any moment.

  They pressed into the crowd to find a space. The movements of the other dancers transmuted into Jade’s body, starting her own responses to the music. The foursome found a small space and made it larger with their bodies. Nadia danced like a stealthy cat, often closing her eyes to trace the music more precisely with her body, following where it led. Jade could feel the beats spread up through the floor and pound right inside her, in that inner flesh that was so sensitive to stimulation of a sensual nature.

  When a synthesized thread of sounds sprang up, Jade felt Nadia’s hands brush against her body like gossamer strands, arousing the naked skin at her waistline. Nadia laughed suddenly, her wide mouth full and delighted, then Jade felt arms slide around her from behind and Sam’s face appeared over her shoulder. His body was pressed against her back, taut and wiry. He moved his body with hers, swaying to the music. He slid his hands over her hipbones and nuzzled against her neck. Her head fell back when she felt his mouth against the sensitive skin of her throat. Nadia moved forward, her arms trailing out to them. Jade shut her eyes, wanting the sensations to last forever.

  “Time to go,” Nadia eventually said, and the men responded immediately.

  They scooped her up and piled into a taxi bound for Nadia’s apartment. Somewhere in the back of her mind Jade wondered why she was going with them. She pushed her momentary doubts away, for the adventure was too tempting to be denied.

  Nadia’s home consisted of the entire top floor of an old Victorian house, converted into a huge studio. It was a gaunt space with a couple of doorways leading off to one side. Filling one side of the huge floor space were a pile of cushions and rugs focused around a low copper table that held a dish, candles, and a lamp. Nadia went over to the table and lit some floating candles in the dish. She flung herself onto the cushions at the far side of the table, waving Carl closer.

  Sam arranged himself on the cushioned floor, and Jade sat down near him. She watched the wavering candlelight cast shadows across his collarbone and creeping patterns around his throat. It was an invitation to touch him. He turned his head suddenly, and caught her gaze with a smile. She smiled nervously, and glanced away.

  What on earth was she doing here? she asked herself, but she soon forgot the question when she saw Nadia grab Carl around the neck, pulling his mouth to hers. Jade watched as their black and red clothes, the black and blond hair entwined across the cushions. She felt Sam’s hand slide around her waist and looked around as he caught her mouth with his, a slow, lingering kiss arresting her movement. His mouth brushed over hers, then he kissed her deep. She trembled. He inclined her body back on the cushions and crept closer, his tongue teasing into her mouth as it opened to him.

  Jade heard the movements of the other two, and laughter. Unable to help herself, she drew her mouth from Sam’s and turned to look as the black and red clothes untwined again. Nadia had pinned Carl to the floor, straddling his hips and holding his shoulders down. He struggled up against her body, bucking his hips and lifting her. Nadia was slowly pulling the shirt off him, chuckling all the time. Dear God, she was undressing him in front of them all. Each slow, revealing tug on the shirt aroused Jade more. Confusion nettled her. She flushed with embarrassment, instinctively closing her eyes and turning her face away.

  “Don’t you want to see?”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Sam was smiling down at her, his expression provocative. Yes, she thought. Yes, she did want to see. She wanted to see them naked, and she wanted them to see her, too. She forced herself to turn back.

  Carl was flat on his back, his arms out to the sides. Nadia had pulled the shirt right off him, revealing his lean chest and the sinuous twists of muscles in his arms. Jade was riveted. Nadia lowered her head to his chest and teased his nipples with her tongue. He arched up. Her hands roamed over his body in deliberate, knowing movements.

  “What is it that you want?” Nadia asked in a low voice as she leaned over him. Carl bowed his body up to her, his head falling back, his eyes tightly shut. “No. You must tell us all,” Nadia said, and gave a thoroughly wicked laugh.

  “You,” Carl said quietly, his eyes still closed. “I want you, Nadia.” She fell forward to kiss his mouth.

  Jade wondered whether she should feel as if she was intruding, but didn’t. She felt herself to be part of the undressing, part of the arousal.

  “Jade,” Nadia called in a low voice as she lifted her mouth from Carl’s. She turned and looked at Jade with a suggestive smile. “I want you to hold him down for me.” With that, Nadia leaned forward and pinned his arms by the wrists above his head. She jerked her head, indicating for Jade to take over.

  Jade was spellbound. She rolled away from Sam and crept over on her hands and knees. She took Carl’s wrists into her control. His torso was a streak of white against the dark floor, pinned at wrist and hip by the two women. Nadia bent over his naked chest, licking his skin, her hands roving around his body. He moaned, and his arms twisted beneath Jade’s grip. Nadia moved down his body, undoing his jeans, hauling them down his legs, laying him bare. His cock bounced up, hard and eager. Nadia’s head lowered. He writhed suddenly and Jade held his wrists tighter. His body arched, and then began to stir in response to Nadia’s mouth on his cock.

  Jade gasped when she felt a sudden movement at her back and realized that Sam was standing behind her. She glanced around at him. He smiled at her and knelt down, squatting with his knees around the outside of hers, enclosing her body with his, his hands caressing her latex-covered breasts as she leaned over the supine man on the floor. She relaxed into the caress, her hips swaying back to nestle against his.

  Nadia was now pleasuring Carl with long, slow plunges of her mouth over his dick. Jade had never seen another woman giving head before, and watched, mesmerized. Carl’s arms lifted and struggled beneath Jade’s hands, his head moving restlessly from side to side as his body went with the rhythm of Nadia’s mouth. Nadia suddenly climbed over him, one knee on either side of his hips, hovering above his erect cock. She stretched up, and Jade held her breath and watched as Nadia lifted the heavy red satin, slowly pulling it up over her head. The fabric moved with a heavy swish over her body, lifting like a theater curtain to reveal the delights beneath.

  Nadia threw the dress into a pool on the floor and looked down at the man she was conquering. She was entirely naked, her body now adorned only by the tattoos that crept around her shoulder from her back. Her naked body looked glorious in the candlelight, opulent and pale, yet powerful, like a demon sex goddess. Her eyes brightened with lust, her lips parted with anticipation. She took Carl’s cock in one hand and began to lower herself onto it. As the juncture of the naked bodies closed together, Jade swore it was a sight she would savor forever.

  She felt Sam’s hands moving and then his fingers began to peel up her latex top. She groaned her pleasure, her arms lifting to assist. Needles of sensation raced across the warm skin when it was exposed to the
air. Her body shivered with delight. He rested his head into the back of her neck, growling at her reaction. She settled back into his lap; she could feel the bulk of his cock between her buttocks, pushing up against her sex. She wanted to feel it, wanted to feel its skin on her own.

  When the latex top was gone, he rested his hands around her breasts, molding them. The sensations between his skin and hers were electric. Nadia smiled at them, her eyes running appreciatively over Jade’s body. That they were all looking at her added fuel to her fire. Her head went back, her mouth opened, her hips began to move on Sam’s. Jade felt desperate to be part of this. She was watching Nadia fucking Carl; she was moving her hips in time with Nadia’s.

  “Take your shirt off,” she whispered to Sam.

  “Gladly.”

  She cried out when she felt the skin of his chest against her back.

  “For fuck’s sake, woman, that zipper’s driving me wild.”

  Jade chuckled, the tension mercifully breaking for a moment, and leaned forward so that he could unzip her skirt, splitting it open to reveal her buttocks, bare but for the strip of G-string she wore. She heard his murmurs of pleasure as he unzipped himself, freeing his cock. Her heart began to race again. With one finger he pushed the G-string aside and touched her slit, drawing a line of delicious torture from front to back. He weighted her clit between two fingers, massaging it quickly from beneath. She was bent forward, right over Carl’s face, her breasts hanging down toward him. He watched the show with glazed eyes, one woman fucking him frantically, another naked and whimpering with pleasure above him.

  Sam began to edge his cock inside Jade. He was hard and felt very big. He nudged his way into her, easing her open to take his girth. She whimpered as he filled her, then physical need took over and she pressed right down onto its glorious bulk. The contrast between his warm skin and the cool, sticky PVC covering his thighs was too divine. His hands guided her hips and she began to ride him with abandon, the feeling of his chest against her back and the sticky pull of the PVC on her bare legs adding their own frissons of pleasure throughout her body.

  Nadia was moving frantically on Carl, her fingers clawing at him. Jade could see that they were both about to come. She fell forward again, onto his mouth, plunging her tongue into it and kissing him deep. She gasped when the movement forced Sam’s cock up against the front wall of her sex, hitting the spot with uncanny accuracy. The tension in her cunt was building. He began to rut her hard from behind. With each stroke, she plunged her tongue deeper against Carl’s. He bucked and came and as he did so his mouth reached up to Jade, meeting her kiss and holding her. Sam pulled at her hips, his cock wedging in tight. She cried out against Carl’s mouth when she began to spasm inside, her sex clenching. Sam hauled her body back up against him, his cock deep and hard against her while she came. Her whole body shuddered and he swore low and long, his cock pumping inside her sticky sheath.

  She wilted gratefully into the embrace of his arms. Nadia had climbed across Carl’s chest with a line of luscious kisses. Jade watched as they kissed, her body still rocking against Sam’s. She glanced back. His mouth too inviting, she turned her body and leaned into it again. His hands moved lightly over her body, making her reach for his touch.

  “Do you want to come home with me?” he asked. “I live just downstairs.” He kissed her again, deeply. He was extremely attractive and his kisses held the promise of more, unhurried passion. She looked down at his half-undressed body. It demanded further attention. She took another deep breath.

  Jade was more than ready to help him shed the rest of his night skins.

  DoRoTHY FoR THe DaY

  DOLLING MYSELF UP of work. First, I take a long, hot shower, then get out and bask in the warmth of the heat lamps. I want my body to be perfectly clean, smooth, and ready for what I’m about to slip it into. After I dry off, I dust myself with cinnamon-scented glittery body powder, watching it shimmer against my legs and wink against my breasts. I shudder as I think of Mark licking his way up and down my body, savoring the spicy flavor of the edible powder, then my own even-spicier taste.

  I look over at my blaring red outfit, signaling that I’m a fox on the prowl. Truth is, I could wear a bathrobe or ripped jeans or a poncho, and Mark would want to fuck me six ways to Sunday. But I like dressing up for him, making his eyes almost roll back in his head, making his cock harden at the very first glimpse, making his fists clench with his desire to touch me. I bought the outfit with him in mind, only he doesn’t know it yet. It’s our anniversary—one year of marriage after ten years of dating—and instead of having a fancy dinner, we’re going slumming to our favorite dive bar on the Lower East Side, where fashion is most likely to consist of shaggy and baggy, deliberately expensive tatters, rather than sleek curves and almost-bared breasts and look-at-me legs. I don’t care, though—it’s where we met, where we belong.

  But I have a little trick up my sleeve—or rather, up my panties, since my frilly red dress, light and airy, with its plunging neckline and ruffled hem, so sheer that any breeze threatens to make it fly up, leaves no room for sleeves of any kind. The next weapon in my ensemble is my beloved thigh-high, red patent-leather boots, the ones that simply scream SEX. I want Mark to lick them all the way from my dirty soles on up, to streak the shiny material with his saliva. I want him to lick me all over, to make love to me with his tongue—before doing the same with his cock. I love playing games with him, teasing him with my outfits, flashing him when I’m sure someone else will see me. He loves all my games, too, even though he prefers to act embarrassed, but his hard-ons don’t lie. Tonight, though, I’m taking things a step farther, I think, as I adjust the shoes. One might call them “Dorothy shoes,” as in The Wizard of Oz, but only if they didn’t have the “fuck-me-now” element to them. I prefer to think of them as “dirty Dorothy,” as they channel a sluttier version of our favorite wayward Kansas girl—one who, instead of clicking her heels together three times to come home, spreads her legs as wide as she can and invites everyone she meets to partake of her luscious pussy.

  There’s only one man I want, but I’m going to make him wait to have me, even though, truth be told, I’d fuck him right now, in or out of my attire. I glance at the clock and see that I’d better get moving if I want to make my proper entrance. I carefully put on my makeup, layering my eyes with thick black liner, then dusting them with silver powder that sparkles, catching the light from all directions. Fake eyelashes complete the look. I open my mouth like I’m about to suck Mark’s cock, the thought sending shivers through my body, as I paint on a coating of a solid, stay-on red lipstick, the kind that will get anyone’s attention who hasn’t already been mesmerized by the rest of my outfit.

  Then it’s time for the pièce de résistance—a black, bobbed wig, the complete opposite of my long, curly blonde hair. I know Mark will barely be able to resist the stunning, sleek, black-and-red bombshell about to invade his space. I smile wickedly at myself in the mirror, knowing that my beloved husband will find himself with a moral dilemma of the highest order on his hands as this lady of the night tries to seduce him right there at the bar.

  I give myself one last stare, seeing a sultry, sexy babe, the kind for whom the word “man-eater” was made. I stalk out the door—that’s the only real word for it when your shoes are this high. Thankfully, a cab is waiting right outside my door to take me down from Hell’s Kitchen to another, better kind of hell. I see the driver clock me—he probably has me pegged for a working girl—so I spread my legs just enough not to dissuade him one bit. I strum my red-painted nails against my thigh and resist licking my already shiny lips as my pussy throbs against the thin strip of red fabric keeping it from pressing directly onto the seat’s plastic. When we get there, I make sure to tip generously and give the driver a little wink as I sashay out the door, tiny beaded red purse swinging from my arm.

  Looking like a filthy slut makes the city seem different—more raw, grimy, and fierce. It’s not just my added heigh
t, it’s a new understanding of my surroundings. I’d never wear these kinds of clothes on my own, but knowing that I’m going to meet the love of my life makes me able to revel in their hotness. I look down at my boots, which absorb every ray of light from the street lamps and the cars, and I feel the breeze ruffle my hem as the weight of the wig sinks against my head. I purse my bright lips and smile at anyone—man or woman—who catches my eye as I make my way across the street. When I open the door, even this most jaded of crowds stops and stares. Mark’s jaw drops, then he quickly swivels back to the bar, signaling for another drink.

  I take a slow gaze around, my eyes making sure each man notices me—and wants me. Then I deliberately sidle up to my befuddled husband, who looks confused. Just as I’d known would happen, he fails to recognize me at all. “Hey, sugar, what’s your name?” I ask, throwing some extra honeyed drawl into my words as I lightly run my fingers under his chin. “I’m Dorothy—like in The Wizard of Oz, but not so innocent,” I finish, smoothly switching my legs so my right touches the air right next to his denim jeans.

  “Mark,” he manages to choke out, shifting and squirming. “But I’m a married man,” he says, holding out his hand, making sure I catch the glint of gold before me. “Just so you know.” His words are low, his face flushed and heated.

  “Are you, now?” I say, picking up his hand to further inspect his ring, while letting the pad of my thumb press into his palm. He shivers, staring at me before taking a long sip of his beer.

  “Yes, I am, and quite happily, thank you very much. I’m waiting for my wife,” he says, even as his eyes drink me in, from the stark black bangs of my wig on down to my cherry-red lips, décolleté letting the tops of my breasts merely hint at what’s beneath, to my thin, firm thighs, bared between the lacy edge of my dress and the sleek, tight top of my boots. I’d thought about going full-out with the latex, but decided that might be overkill. I like to mix it up as best I can, to throw off guard anyone who’s watching too closely. Mark is so overwhelmed by my bulging breasts, bared thigh, attention-seeking (and -getting) boots, and audacious stare that he keeps looking at me and then looking away. When I lean forward and put my hand on his thigh, it takes him longer than it had before to push it away.