Five Minute Fantasies 1 (Xcite Selections S.)

Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2007 ISBN 1905170610 / 9781905170616 Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2007 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, PO Box 26, Treharris, CF46 9AG Printed and bound in the UK by Creative Design and Print

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Also available from Xcite Books: (www.xcitebooks.com) Publication 14th February 2007 Sex & Seduction Sex & Satisfaction Sex & Submission

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Publication 14th May 2007 5 Minute Fantasies 1 5 Minute Fantasies 2 5 Minute Fantasies 3

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Publication 13th August 2007 Whip Me Spank Me Tie Me Up

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Publication 12th November 2007 Ultimate Sins Ultimate Sex Ultimate Submission

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Contents Astrid L.

1

Charity

Elizabeth Cage

9

Amour Noir

Landon Dixon

19

B& E, & B

Lynn Lake

31

No Surrender

J. Carron

41

Cherry Strudel

Astrid L.

51

On Your Marks

Phoebe Grafton

57

Boss Leggy

Landon Dixon

71

Mail Order Bride

Kitti Bernetti

75

Eva Hore

87

David Harvie

101

Carmel Lockyer

109

Astrid L.

119

Landon Dixon

127

Lynn Lake

139

Blame It On The Champagne

Gwen Masters

151

The Hotel Room

Dianne Cross

163

Playing To The Camera

Stephen Albrow

169

Open-Bottle Policy

Jeremy Edwards

179

Jim Baker

187

Associations

A Day Of Pampering A Club For The Discerning Young Gentleman Striptease Picnic At Niagara Hardcore Counselling Marital Aids

Buccaneering Blarney

Associations: A Valentine’s Tale by Astrid L. I had come home from work early. It was Saint Valentine’s Day and my lover had promised me a surprise. We were to have dinner at his place. He loved to cook, he had said, but only on special occasions. We both loved to eat. I had bought him a cookbook, Cookbook for Lovers. I was buzzing with excitement as I took the lift up to my sixthfloor apartment off the Boulevard Saint-Michel. I had met Alain in a small bistro when I first arrived in Paris. The restaurant was packed, but the patron seated me at the last free place at a table for two opposite a quietlooking man with a head of thick dark blond hair. There was something so unassuming about him that I didn’t feel at all nervous. That only came later. I ordered steak frites and green salad, the usual bistro fare, and a glass of Côtes du Rhône. He had ordered the same, he said, but with an entrée of six oysters. ‘Do you like oysters?’ he said as the waiter placed a small plate with six open shells before him. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Would you like to taste one?’ I shook my head and he shrugged. 1

‘They must be very fresh,’ he said as he squeezed a few drops from a quarter lemon onto one of the plump pieces of flesh in its mother of pearl shell. The flesh trembled slightly as the juice touched it. Then he lifted the shell and slid the oyster into his mouth. Mesmerized by the look on his face, a moment of pure delight, I couldn’t help imagining his tongue playing with this fruit of the sea before letting it slide down his throat. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try one?’ I shook my head. My cheeks felt hot and it was with a sense of relief that I placed my napkin on my lap when the waiter arrived with my steak. After three weeks in Paris, I had grown more than accustomed to the rare tender meat that released a gentle trail of juice when my knife cut the flesh. I loved it. The act of eating calmed me and our conversation settled comfortably into a getting to know you. We met again in the bistro. One evening we left together and he took me to his flat on the Boulevard Saint-Germain. It was a simple studio, a one-room flat, with a large mattress-like divan on the honey parquet. A cluster of barley-coloured broad candles squatted in a corner by the window through which the lights of the city twinkled. Soft classical music was playing. His seduction of me was gentle and knowing, his caresses building a haven of trust, and so I fell in love with Alain. We would meet in the bistro as often as possible, sometimes three, even four, times a week, and here and there he would ask me again to try one of his oysters. ‘They are an aphrodisiac,’ he said. ‘So they say.’ I was not convinced. ‘It all depends on associations,’ he said with a wicked smile, ‘and how they are made.’ 2

Now it was three weeks later and I wanted to ready myself for our first special occasion. I put the key in the lock and almost stepped on a large brown envelope in front of my door. Once inside, I opened it. A gift-wrapped red paper package with hearts was inside. Smiling, I ripped it open to discover items of lingerie and a note from Alain. ‘Please wear these. Till 7 o’clock. I love you.’ My heart raced as I gingerly fingered the brassiere in dark teal blue with its trim of black lace, the matching panties, suspender belt and the sheer black stockings. I had an hour to get ready before walking over to Alain’s place, so I ran a bath. A bath would relax me, I thought. And it did. I watched my breasts float like islands in the warm, fragrant water. Jasmine. Musk. My fingers strayed to play between my thighs, slipping between my nether lips and teasing down inside myself, tugging and pulling my clit. I had to stop, or I would be late. And I did so want to keep my appetite, although I knew that rather than be satiated, I would only crave for more. No. I had to get ready. I dried myself and decided against perfume. The fragrance of the bath was enough, and there was a certain natural fragrance I wanted to maintain. I took the underwear Alain had sent. I slipped the brassiere on and gazed at myself in the mirror. It cupped my breasts perfectly and the sheer fabric did little to hide the sudden tautness of my nipples. I fastened the belt about my waist and ran one of the sheer stockings over my hand; I slipped in my toe and peeled the fine denier slowly up to my thigh. Then I peeled on the other stocking. I gazed at myself in the mirror. Is this what he wants, I wondered. As I saw the brush of my russet pubic hair I 3

realised that I had forgotten to put on the panties. I smiled. Alain was not to dictate to me. I shall not wear them, I decided. As I dressed, a silken black blouse and a velvet skirt that was half wrap-around to expose one leg when I walked, I began to feel more and more aroused. I wondered if it had to do with being ‘sans’ panties for the first time in my life, or whether it was due to Alain’s Valentine’s gift. Probably both, I admitted to myself. Did I dare? Yes. I wanted to do this. When I arrived at Alain’s place, I found the door ajar and so I pushed it open. Beethoven’s 6th was quietly playing and there was a familiar scent of vanilla and musk. Through the glow of a dozen large candles in the corner I saw large scarlet cushions scattered around the divan. A table for two was set in the other corner of the room. I closed the door and tiptoed to the table and then placed my cookbook gift on the heavy smoked glass. As I turned Alain stood before me. He was resplendent in a long midnight blue caftan. He held out his hand and drew me into his arms. Without a word, he kissed me. I had never felt so wholly ruled by my senses. Then he spoke in a soft warm voice. ‘Ma chérie, I want to make this a special evening for you, but you must trust me.’ I raised one eyebrow, longing for more of his kisses. ‘It has to do with associations,’ he said. ‘Are you game?’ My pulse was racing again as I felt a tiny bit moist between my legs and remembered the panties. But Alain was already opening my blouse and pushing the front pieces away. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘A perfect fit.’ I felt my nipples harden as he traced a finger over the fabric of the brassiere. Then his lips kissed one and then the other veiled breast. 4

‘We shall not take it off yet,’ he said. ‘I want to see if the rest fits just as well.’ I didn’t say a word and just stood there and waited like a nervous schoolgirl who had forgotten to do her homework. With one finger he eased the fold of my skirt aside to reveal the tops of my stockings. Then his hands slipped under my skirt and caressed their way up my thighs to the back, and as he touched the curve of my bottom I heard him give a tiny gasp before continuing as if there had been no surprise. His lips came to my ear. ‘I was wondering if you would wear the panties,’ he whispered. Before I could answer he pulled at the sash which fastened the skirt and the velvet garment slid to the floor. ‘Turn around, mon amour,’ he said and gently turned me towards a mirror against the wall. He was standing behind me and I watched through the glow, as if hypnotized, as he slipped my blouse from my shoulders. Then he undid my brassiere and it, too, fell to the floor. My breasts peaked firm as my heart pounded. I didn’t dare move, caught in some sublime trance. Alain’s hands circled my midriff and gently explored beneath the belt. I was tingling. Then his fingers dipped into my russet hairs and I had to close my eyes. I was so wet and I knew that he would soon feel the moisture about to trickle down the inside of my thighs. He did, and I opened my eyes. With one finger he grazed the soft pulsing flesh, now swollen under his ministrations, and brought it to his nostrils as if to breathe in the odour of a rare and precious wine. ‘I can smell that you are game,’ he said as he led me to the divan and gently laid me down on my back. ‘There is no need for you to do anything, my love. Tonight is your night,’ he whispered and peeled off my stockings and unfastened the last garment. All the while he still wore his 5

caftan, a tell-tale sheen now shining through below his waistline. I closed my eyes. The music was still playing in the background, but there was a new urgency to the allegro. He began stroking my breasts and suckling my nipples, caressing my hips and the insides of my thighs, avoiding the source of my juices in a way that tantalized until drawing forth a sudden clutch from within me. He took my hand and placed it on the inside top of my right thigh. ‘Can you wait for me a moment like that?’ I sighed and closed my eyes, enveloped in a heaven of senses, but left longing for more. It seemed as if my body had taken on a life of its own in a new world of sensations. My fingers began to explore the swollen lips between my legs, dipping deeper into what I thought must be a nectar, so thick it felt. The nub of my clit was hard and throbbing and my fingers would not stop moving and then suddenly Alain’s soft voice eased through my moans. ‘Hush now, my darling, but keep your eyes closed.’ I was torn between action and anticipation. My heart was now thumping almost louder than Beethoven. ‘Breathe deeply, slowly,’ Alain said and I did, and just as I was calming down his fingers eased their way into my pussy, displacing mine. Cool, they stroked the flesh of my swollen nub and then – the tremor of a new sensation – liquid, soft, a gentle cold – gave way to a myriad of tiny clutches. My fingers, wet still, tugged at my nipples, twisting, tugging, until I felt a warmth, a deep sucking, a soft caressing, a probing, all at the same time. Heat and cool fused and I thought my core must explode, carrying me beyond all living memory and then subsiding to feel a gentle nibbling at my throbbing clit.

6

Alain stroked my belly and drew his head up. As his warm moist lips kissed mine I felt as if I must drown in the love of him and the appealing new taste. ‘Is that me?’ I whispered. He gently nuzzled my neck. ‘You,’ he said, ‘and oyster. Would you like to try one now?’ He smiled at me and his finger swirled inside me, squeezing, pushing a plump softness until my cunt felt it was drowning in a liquid thickness. My voice was hoarse as I whispered ‘Oyster?’ ‘My usual appetizer,’ he said. ‘But on this special occasion, I’d like to attend some more to a marinade.’ He rolled the ‘r’ with a low growl. It was then I saw the silver plate. Six open shells. Two empty. Alain slipped a second finger into what had now become a receptacle of precious juices. I couldn’t help stretching my legs wider apart. ‘Wider,’ he said and pushed my fingers into my cunt. ‘Keep twirling, swirling.’ He took a shell and held it beneath my nose. I closed my eyes. The rough shell scraped my swollen labial lips. My fingers worked the juices. ‘Please,’ I moaned. ‘So you would like to try?’ he said as the fleshy mollusc slipped inside me. I gasped. My fingers were now toiling furiously. ‘You must beat more than that, mon amour. Come, I shall help you.’ There was no holding back. ‘Let me taste,’ I groaned. ‘Let me, let me.’ ‘Just the last two, cherie. One stays there to warm a little. The other is for you.’ And he slipped two more oysters into my overflowing pussy. The last one he swirled about in the marinade and then scooped it to my lips. I put my head back, my mouth was open. ‘Let me,’ I groaned. 7

At last he slipped the oyster into my mouth. I caught it with my tongue, probed, until the thick liquid burst the fragile membrane and filled my mouth; slowly I swallowed the spent mollusc, heady almost as it slid down my throat. My breathing slowed and then a sudden final clutch spread a glow, a relaxation, a final coming, as Alain hungrily slurped the remains of his appetizer from its more than satisfied receptacle. He moved his head, his swollen satiated mouth, over my belly, my midriff to reach my breasts and suckle gently, a trail of cunt and oyster nectar gleaming on my skin. He held me close in his arms for a time which seemed without measure, then got up and handed me an emerald silk caftan that must have been tucked behind one of the cushions. ‘Please wear this,’ he said. ‘It goes so beautifully with your hair.’ The silk rustled and caressed my body as I slipped on the caftan. I was speechless with wonder and also with hunger. ‘Shall we eat now?’ Alain said and held out his hand to lead me to the table. I leaned into him and held him close. ‘I have a side dish of asparagus,’ he said softly, ‘and then some tender, succulent beef.’ Alain knew how I loved asparagus, and beef, and I knew that my cookbook gift was filled with recipes for many special occasions. And my new love of oysters, I knew, I would always associate with Alain.

8

Charity by Elizabeth Cage ‘All donations gratefully received.’ I rattled my empty tin. It was a humid Saturday afternoon and I was standing at the entrance to the railway station, wondering if I’d made the right choice. By now, my mates would have disappeared to Spain to soak up the sun and sangria. I could have been with them. ‘Come with us, Rachel, have some fun,’ Amy, my best friend, had said invitingly. I was tempted, I have to admit. But I was still in the early stages of my ‘worthy’ period. ‘Sorry, but I can’t join you. I promised to help with the charity collection for the local animal shelter. I can’t go back on a commitment.’ ‘It’s a pity Mike didn’t see it that way,’ replied Amy, an edge to her voice. I’d sighed. Mike, my failed relationship number two, who had cheated on me not once but three times. Who then had the cheek to blame it on what he called my lack of spontaneity. ‘You just don’t have any sense of sexual adventure,’ he’d concluded, packing his case. 9

Before that there was Josh, who I thought was Mr Perfect – and who turned out to be Mr Already Married. I certainly knew how to pick them. ‘Cheer up, Rachel,’ Amy had said encouragingly. ‘Mr Right is probably out there somewhere.’ ‘No such thing,’ I’d grunted. ‘Anyway, I think I’ve had enough of relationships for a while. Even if Mr Right did show up I’d probably tell him to bugger off.’ So here I was, trying to do something worthwhile for a very good cause – something I believed in. In fact, I was doing exactly what the women’s mags tell you to do when you want to get over a man. Take up a hobby or interest. Get out and meet new people. But although I’d been standing here for nearly an hour, rattling the tin and trying to look appealing, no one had given me any money. Bad timing. My speciality. Yvonne, my supervisor, who was standing by the other station entrance, already had a full tin. So what was I doing wrong? ‘Perhaps I should take my clothes off to get some attention,’ I joked to Yvonne when we took a coffee break. She stared, stony faced. ‘Try standing over there by the escalator,’ she suggested, without the merest hint of a smile, and I wondered if she’d had a sense of humour transplant. ‘Right, I’ll do that,’ I replied drily. Another hour passed, and I pictured Amy and the others coming back from the beach, laughing and chatting about what to wear for their night on the town. Perhaps Mike was right, perhaps I don’t know how to have fun when the opportunity presents itself. ‘Here. It’s all the change I’ve got.’ The satisfying clink of coins in my waiting tin jolted me back to reality. ‘Thanks,’ I said gratefully. Finally, someone had taken pity on me. 10

‘That’s okay.’ He smiled and I noticed he had warm brown eyes. He was wearing a seam-straining black tee-shirt and tight leather jeans. Very tight. ‘You’re my first today,’ I told him, returning the smile. ‘To put money in,’ I added quickly. He laughed. We stood awkwardly for a moment, both wanting to chat, but not really knowing what to say. I decided to break the silence. ‘It’s a lovely sunny day, isn’t it?’ I burbled. God, what was wrong with me? Why was I talking about the weather? ‘Actually, it’s just started to rain,‘ he replied and I suddenly noticed he was carrying a dripping umbrella. ‘But I don’t mind rain,’ he continued, cheerfully. ‘I like the way it washes the past away.’ And I liked the way he used words. Not only was he gorgeous, he had a brain, too, although he probably thought I was a complete imbecile by now. He smiled. ‘By the way, my name’s Adam.’ ‘Nice to meet you, Adam. I’m Rachel.’ ‘Hi, Rachel.’ We stared at each other, eyes meeting, like two lovestruck strangers in a bad movie. Then he looked at his watch. ‘Well, Rachel, I’d better be off. Hope you collect lots more money for the animals.’ He started to walk away but then stopped and turned, saying, ‘Hey, would you like to join me for a coffee when you have your next break?’ ‘I’ve just had my last break,’ I replied. ‘Well, when you finish?’ I hesitated. He seemed genuine, friendly. Then my mind flashed back to Mike and Josh. They seemed genuine, too. And look how that ended up. ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ I said. ‘Sure?’ 11

‘I’m sure.’ Looking disappointed, Adam reluctantly walked away. Yvonne, who was watching, came over, frowning. ‘Was he chatting you up?’ I shrugged. ‘I suppose he was. Actually, he asked me out for coffee.’ I expected her disapproval but to my surprise she said, ‘You lucky thing.’ ‘I turned him down.’ ‘But why? He seemed nice. If he’d asked me, I wouldn’t have hesitated.’ An hour later, we decided to call it a day, by which time I’d collected the grand total of six pounds and thirty- two pence, which Yvonne told me was pretty good, so I felt quite pleased with myself. Even so, I couldn’t help wondering about Adam. Perhaps Yvonne was right. Perhaps I should have said yes. Still, too late now. I’d lost my chance. I was packing up to leave when a voice I recognised said, ‘Sure you don’t want that coffee?’ I hadn’t expected to see Adam again. ‘My train was cancelled,’ he explained. ‘Have to wait ages for the next one. I was on my way to the station cafe when I noticed you still here and I thought – well, if you weren’t in a hurry…’ I hesitated. Yvonne looked at me encouragingly. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I’d like to have that coffee with you.’ ‘Great.’ Adam grinned. We grabbed a seat outside Starbucks and Adam ordered a black coffee for himself and a tall, steaming mocha for me. ‘So, Rachel, what do you do with yourself when you aren’t carrying out charitable acts?’ he asked, giving me a charming, boyish smile. I dipped my tongue into the hot, bitter liquid, lapping up a layer of creamy froth. 12

‘I’m a receptionist. In a vet’s surgery,’ I replied. ‘Sounds like you’re a real animal lover,’ he said and there was something about the way he said ‘animal lover’ that gave the words an altogether different meaning. ‘Maybe you’d like to find out?’ I suggested, feeling my face flush. I hadn’t flirted like this for a long while. He sipped his coffee and gave me a long, thoughtful stare. As he leaned back in his seat, his legs brushed against my bare ankles and I felt a tingle as leather met flesh. ‘What about you, Adam? What do you do for a living?’ I asked, waiting for a moment before moving my legs away. ‘I’m an accountant,’ he replied. ‘Yeah, right,’ I grinned. ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, genuinely puzzled. ‘Well, you don’t exactly look like an accountant,’ I said, not wanting to appear rude. ‘What is an accountant supposed to look like, then?’ I shrugged. ‘I just never imagined one in leather trousers, I suppose,’ I began, realising how lame that sounded. ‘You have this stereotype image of a guy in a pinstriped suit? Is that it? Someone boring and predictable?’ ‘Sorry. Yes. Is that crass?’ ‘Very,’ he replied. ‘Never judge by appearances.’ And he leaned across the table and gently mopped my mouth with a napkin, his long slender fingers lingering. ‘You have froth on your lips.’ I blushed. ‘Thanks.’ ‘No trouble.’ By the time we finished our drinks, I was acutely aware of the sexual spark between us. ‘I think my train is in,’ I said, glancing up at the indicator board. ‘The 6.47 to Haywards Heath.’ ‘Hey, that’s the train I’ll be getting,’ he said. ‘What a lucky coincidence. We can travel together.’ 13

We found two seats at one end of a long compartment. Adam sat opposite me and as the train pulled out of the station he looked at me and said softly, ‘Lift your skirt, Rachel.’ ‘What? Are you kidding?’ But there was something about the mesmerising quality of his voice that told me he wasn’t joking. That, combined with those hypnotic dark eyes, strangely melted me. I felt a shudder of excitement. He had an air of authority about him that was kind of hard to resist. But did I want to resist? Coyly, I hitched back my floral patterned skirt above my bare knees, opening my legs slightly. ‘Higher,’ he said. I giggled and inched it a little further. ‘You have lovely legs and very pretty ankles,’ he said, leaning forward, resting his hand on my leg, stroking, caressing. Then, before I knew what was happening, he was on his knees at my sandaled feet, kissing my cherry-red painted toenails. I giggled again. ‘That tickles.’ ‘Does this tickle, too?’ Suddenly, his head had disappeared under my skirt and I felt his tongue sliding under the crotch of my lacy blue knickers. ‘Adam,’ I gasped, shocked, ‘someone might see.’ But I didn’t push him away, because my pussy was throbbing to the delicious sensations he was initiating. I’d had fantasies of him doing this to me under the table when we sat in Starbucks. I threw my head against the seat and groaned. There were people sitting at the far end of the carriage, but they wouldn’t be able to see what we were doing. I closed my eyes, allowing wave after wave of pleasure to drown me, half aware that in less than six minutes the train would arrive at Clapham Junction station. What then? The thought of the astonished expressions on 14

the faces of the onlookers as the train pulled in somehow increased the thrill and when I felt his fingers tracing the outline of my pussy lips…God, he was going to make me come. The sound of the brakes squealing as the train reached the platform mingled with my half-muted cries. When I opened my eyes, Adam was sitting beside me, his lips full and wet. He had smoothed down my skirt and was holding my hand, a dirty grin on his face. A crowd of people boarded the train and I wondered if they would notice the smell of sex that permeated the compartment. No one sat near us and the train pulled off again. ‘I’m not like this, you know,’ I told him. ‘Like what?’ ‘I don’t usually let strange blokes bring me off in a public place.’ ‘Am I so strange?’ ‘You know what I mean.’ ‘Who cares?’ He leaned over, kissing me hard on the mouth and I could taste my juices on his tongue. ‘Would you like to return the compliment?’ he asked. ‘Are all accountants this randy?’ I replied. ‘I warned you not to judge by appearances.’ He grinned. ‘Now, on your knees, wench! We only have ten minutes before East Croydon.’ I giggled again. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun – especially on a train! I unzipped his flies, took his hard cock in my mouth, massaging the tip with my tongue, while squeezing the base with my right hand. Adam moaned softly. I decided to see how loud I could make him cry out. As I increased the pressure of my hand and simultaneously sucked and licked, Adam gripped my shoulders, struggling to keep the noise down, not 15

wanting to draw attention to us. Finally, unable to keep quiet any longer, he pushed me away, even though he hadn’t come yet. ‘Enough!’ he exclaimed in frustration. ‘I can’t bear it any longer.’ ‘I think I won,’ I announced cheekily, as the train drew into East Croydon station. ‘So, you see this is as a competition do you?’ he said. ‘I think I can rise to the challenge.’ ‘That is patently obvious,’ I responded smugly, discreetly fondling his erection as the train shuddered to a halt. ‘You’ll eat your words, young woman,’ he joked. ‘I can think of tastier morsels to devour,’ I replied. The train moved off, and now we had people sitting in the seats immediately behind us. I was sitting opposite Adam, wondering what he would do next in the eighteen minutes before Gatwick Airport station. The train gathered speed, jolting and lurching forwards. The outside world flashed by us in half-light. Giving him a teasing smile, I slipped my knickers off, pushing them into my handbag. I opened my legs wide for a moment, giving him a tantalising glimpse, before shutting them tightly. ‘Come here,’ he whispered, gesturing me to sit on his lap. I shook my head. ‘Too risky.’ ‘Coward,’ he mouthed, smiling triumphantly. ‘Am not,’ I replied, sitting astride him. He kissed me again, then said, ‘Turn round.’ With my back against his chest, my skirt spread out over my knees, I felt his fingers exploring my wet cunt, spreading me wide and his still-rigid cock slid easily inside as he put his hands around my waist, pulling me downwards until he was so deep inside me I started to wriggle. ‘Now let’s see who’s going to win,’ he whispered into my ear as he jerked me up and down, with short, quick 16

thrusts. I gripped the seat either side of me, my breath leaving me in grunts and sighs. I wanted this to last as long as possible, but knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself coming soon – and neither would Adam. I needed to cry out, but trying to keep silent seemed to magnify the sensations, as if all the pleasure was imploding. I could feel Adam’s breath harsh and rasping against my neck and as the scream I could no longer suppress rose to my lips, I was thankful Adam clamped his hand over my mouth as I came. Seconds later, he buried his face in my hair to muffle his own cries. As I rolled off and attempted to adjust my clothing on the seat beside him, I noticed the mixture of curious and disapproving stares of some of the passengers as they walked past us to get off at the next station. ‘So, who won?’ asked Adam, still trying to get his breath back. ‘I think it was a draw,’ I sighed. Thirteen minutes later, when the train drew into Haywards Heath station, Adam said, ‘I have a confession to make.’ ‘What’s that?’ I asked nervously, waiting for him to spoil it all, and tell me he was married. ‘Actually, my stop isn’t Haywards Heath.’ ‘Where is it then?’ ‘East Croydon.’ ‘I think you missed your stop,’ I told him. ‘Yes. I must have got distracted, somehow.’ ‘Well, I suppose we could always go for a drink somewhere, until you can get a train back to Croydon,’ I suggested, as we walked along the platform. ‘Where were you thinking of?’ wondered Adam. I considered this for a moment. Well, they do say that charity begins at home. ‘My place?’ 17

18

Amour Noir by Landon Dixon I stood in the rain, looking at the sign in the window, ‘Man Wanted’. When I shoved the door of the diner open, I was blown inside by a wet gust of wind. The door sucked closed behind me, and I gave the joint the once-over: red vinyl-cracked stools fronting a white counter, red vinyl booths with white Formica tables along the wall, black and white tiles on the floor. The place was lit too bright and reeked of grease and urinal pucks, completely deserted except for a small, oily character dressed in white perched on a stool next to the cash register, reading a paperback. A real Sioux City hot spot. But it was way past midnight, and I was way past hungry. There were still eighty-five miles to go before I reached Sioux Falls and the Tri-State County Managers convention. ‘Sure coming down out there,’ I said amiably, slipping off my raincoat and tossing it over the back of a booth bench, sliding in opposite. The little guy squatting by the register lifted a pair of liquid brown eyes and looked at me. His dark, shiny hair was parted down the middle, a brown, unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. The nametag on his 19

chest read ‘Sinjin’. He blinked his long lashes a couple of times and then bowed his head back down to his book, ‘You Play the Black and the Red Comes Up’. I plucked a stained menu out of the rack on the table and opened it up, hoping the food was better than the service. Then the service got better - way better. A red, plastic catsup container rolled across the floor, bumped against my foot. I looked up, and there she stood, in the swinging door to the kitchen – a cool, tanned blonde in a blazing white skirt and blouse, slender arms and legs gleaming bare, honey-blonde hair cut shoulder-length, wavy and glossy. Her eyes were blue, and they sparkled, her high breasts bobbing as she walked my way. The whole package dazzled these sore eyes. ‘See anything you like?’ she double-entendred, bumping up against my table. The nametag on her chest read ‘Chrissie’. ‘Weeell,’ I said, getting in on the game. ‘Matter-of-fact, my appetite’s really picked up.’ Her moist lips curved into a smile. ‘A hungry man’s good to find,’ she cooed, tossing a disdainful look over her shoulder at Sinjin. The guy had his foreign-made coffin nail lit now, was puffing up a storm. ‘Food’s pretty cheap here, too, eh?’ I said, glancing down at the menu. ‘I hope it tastes–’ ‘You won’t find anything cheap around here!’ Chrissie retorted, eyes flashing. I couldn’t come up with any other pithy come-ons, so I ordered the hamburger steak platter and a cherry Coke. It came and went, lying heavy in the pit of my stomach as the blonde dish pushed out her chest and asked, ‘Dessert?’ ‘Something sweet and sticky?’ I suggested. ‘Pie?’ she responded, wagging a smooth, brown leg back and forth, toeing the tile. 20

‘Sure, what kind of pie do you have, Chrissie?’ ‘Cora.’ I looked up her leg, to her chest. ‘Cora?’ ‘That’s the ticket, Frank,’ she giggled, all sweet and sticky. I didn’t know what kind of a game we were playing now. My name isn’t Frank, and hers wasn’t Cora. But I let it ride. ‘Uh, the kinds of pie?’ I reminded her. She hooked a red-tipped finger into her crimson lower lip, blue eyes twinkling. ‘Hmmm, I can’t quite seem to remember. They’re all in the kitchen – come and see for yourself.’ The place was empty now. Sinjin had skulked off five minutes earlier, the joint going up a full star with his exit. The only sounds were the night rain washing against the steamed-up windows, the wind rushing down the empty ribbon of wet asphalt outside. And the thumping in my chest. I climbed to my feet. ‘Cora’ led the way, round hips swishing, mounded buttocks sluicing, lithe legs whispering, through the swinging door and into a cramped, confused kitchen. She halted the parade in front of a flour-strewn counter and turned to face me. Slender fingers brushed across her soft throat, toyed with the top button on her blouse. ‘Where’s the pie?’ I asked, looking around. I do like my pie. ‘You’re a drifter, aren’t you?’ Cora breathed. She fluttered her eyelashes, unbuttoned her buttons. ‘A stranger in town.’ ‘Uh, actually, I’m heading for–’ ‘Don’t talk, Frank,’ she cut in, pressing a finger to my lips. ‘You rang twice, and I’m here. That’s all that’s important.’ 21

The woman’s eyes were elsewhere. And so were mine, because she had her blouse open now, revealing a white, satiny bra that packaged her pair of cupcakes beautifully – up and out. I licked my lips, the babe’s sweet perfume flooding my good senses. I didn’t understand any of her role-playing rigmarole, and I didn’t care. She ensnared me in her arms, kissing me, her breasts pushing warm and insistent into my chest, soft, wet lips sucking the breath out of me. I grabbed her and hungrily kissed back, grinding my swelling cock into her warm belly. She moaned, running her fingers through my black locks, then clutching at my hair, really digging her hooks into me. ‘I wanted you from the moment I saw you, Frank,’ she murmured. She was off in a world of her own, but the reality of her heaving chest was very near and dear to me. I grasped her breasts, squeezing the pert nubbins, forcing groans of pleasure from her lips. Then she popped her bra open at the back and I went skin-on-skin with her bikini-pale tits, kneading the smooth, heated flesh, pinching her pink nipples. ‘Suck my breasts, Frank!’ she implored. I bent my head down and flicked a nipple with my tongue, watching in amazement as it instantly grew in size and rigidity. Cora’s body quivered in my hands. I lapped at the undersides of her rubbery nipples, swirled my tongue around and around their pebbly aureoles. Cora squirmed in my arms, then dropped right out of them, down to her knees on the floor. She quickly unbuckled and unzipped me, dragged my swollen cock out of the tangle of my underwear and out into the steamy open. We both watched it grow rock-hard, her hand pulsing its heartbeat. 22

I flooded with heat, trembling. She smiled up at me, then sent her silky hand sailing up and down the throbbing length of my prick, sending shivers of delight radiating all through me. She stroked and stroked my cock, raw and hot and honest before finally squeezing the pulsating shaft and sticking out her pink tongue and swabbing the tip of my straining dick with the tip of her tongue. I flat-out vibrated with the wet, erotic impact. Then I smelled smoke. I twisted my head around – there were puffs of white, acrid smoke billowing through the crack in a black curtain that marked off the entrance to some sort of storage room. I’d smelt that smoke before, scared now there was going to be fire. ‘What the–’ ‘That’s just my husband,’ Cora stated, winding her tongue around the bulbous hood of my cock. ‘Sinjin likes to watch.’ I started to say something, started to tuck my hard-on back in and beat a hasty retreat from that greasy loony bin. But before I could finish anything I’d started, Cora inhaled me almost right down to the roots. And all bets were off. ‘Jeez!’ I groaned, ablaze in the wet-hot cauldron of the woman’s mouth. I weaved my fingers into her yellow hair and hung on for the ride. She eagerly bobbed her pretty head back and forth, velvet lips sliding along my gleaming, vein-popped pole. She sucked and sucked on my cock, pulling hard and long, fingering my tightened ball sack, building and building the pressure, setting me to shaking with sensation. Just as I was about to blow sky-high, she suddenly pulled back, dropping me dripping out of her glorious mouth. She jumped to her feet, up onto the counter. And I shoved her back, unthinking, just doing, yanking off her skirt and panties and exposing her dewy blonde need. 23

‘Fuck me, Frank!’ she exhorted, crushing her bare breasts in her hands. I shouldered her legs and recklessly steered my cockhead into her bush, through slick petals and deep into hot, wet, tight pussy. She rolled around in the flour, moaning. I churned my hips as I fucked her. The counter creaked and the flour flew as I pumped the writhing woman, the smoke from our puffing voyeur hazing the kitchen but not quite muffling the tangy, desperate smell of sweat and sex. I gritted my teeth and flung my hips at Cora, pistoning granite dong into gripping cunt. I was on fire, out-of-control, body and balls tingling way past the point of no return. ‘Yeah, Cora, yeah!’ I hollered, fucking the blonde in a frenzy. Then I was jolted by orgasm, my thrusting pipe exploding inside her sucking pussy, filling her with whitehot ecstasy. She screamed her own joy, legs shaking against my chest and body shuddering, fiery orgasm engulfing the both of us. I stayed longer than my budgeted one hour for dinner in Sioux City. I soon came to realize why I’d never met anyone like Cora before: most people who thought and acted like she did were locked up somewhere, safely away from square johns like myself. The woman had some serious delusions – about movies. Not girlish crushes on matinee idols like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, or displaced dreams of being the next Scarlett Johansson or Catherine Zeta-Jones. No, this offbeat babe had a living, breathing, all-encompassing Film Noir fetish. She told me all about it, gushing it out with the same intensity she’d gushed earlier. All about the black and white shadowy lighting, the furtive characters and seedy locations, 24

the sexy, sinister themes, the motion pictures and movie actors and studios; an alternative rain and tear-streaked chiaroscuro world of brooding heavies and smouldering femmes fatales, doomed lovers and desperate loners. A strange, exciting, flickering world that was her escape from a shabby Sioux City existence, I supposed. Sinjin indulged her fantasy role-playing, as she indulged his fisted voyeurism. And now I’d become the third pointyhead in the whole crazy lust triangle. I’d been caught between the nutty dame’s legs and she wasn’t about to let go. We hooked-up again the following evening, the setting: an abandoned warehouse overlooking the misty banks of the Missouri River. I was costumed in a flimsy trench coat and a wrinkled fedora, playing the rogue cop, ‘Bannion’. Chrissie/Cora was now Debbie, the bad-girl gangster’s moll desperate to redeem herself. Sinjin held down his usual supporting role as the peeping, puffing tom in the shadows. Pipes dripped unknown liquids and tiny feet scurried about, towers of crates creaking ominous warnings, as Debbie set the scene of dangerous love by scrambling out of her little, black moll gown and up onto a pile of coiled ropes. She wagged her bare, tan and white, bottom at me. I moved in behind, gripping the glowing orbs of her bum and sinking my shaft into her pussy. Her desperate cries and my urgent grunts echoed in the gloomy, cavernous confines, Sinjin’s cigarettes burning bright orange behind a rusted metal pillar. The next night, the scene shifted to a dank alley that ran into oblivion alongside a sleazy bar. I was the hardboiled private dick, ‘Sam’, who plastered soft, willing, manipulating ‘Brigid’ up against a grimy brick wall and tried to hose some truth out of her. Sinjin was third garbage 25

can on the right, watching and puffing and pulling in the dark. Night after rainy night it went on and on, through the dog-eared celluloid catalogue of con-men and suckers, vulnerable good girls and brassy broads. It all became way too much for me. I’m a Kung Fu genre fan, myself, and not much of a ham. Not to mention the fact that my boss back home was really wondering why it was taking so long to ‘get my car fixed’ in Sioux City. ‘It’s been a lot of, um, fun…’ ‘Phyllis.’ ‘Phyllis,’ I broke it to the blonde hottie, as she drove us to a seedy downtown hotel through another liquid night. ‘But I’ve got to get back to work. I can’t afford to lose my–’ ‘No one’s pulling out!’ she sneered, strangling the steering wheel. ‘We went into this together, and we’re coming out at the end together. It’s straight down the line for both of us.’ We skidded to a stop in front of the glowering hotel and rented Room 1313 from a nebbish desk clerk wearing a leer the size of all Iowa. Phyllis unlocked the door to the ratty room, unloaded a bottle of rye from a paper sack. She filled a pair of dirty water glasses, and drank from both. ‘I’m crazy about you, Walter,’ she breathed, standing on tip-toes and smothering my mouth, drawing blood with her teeth. I was the hapless stooge trapped in the erotic clutches of the calculating femme fatale; playing a hopeless game in which I didn’t even know the rules or the players. Phyllis shoved me down to my knees on the threadbare carpet, ordered me to polish the four-inch black stilettos she had strapped to her feet – with my tongue. I looked up the smirking woman’s slim, stockinged legs, up and under the knee-high black skirt she was wearing 26

without the benefit of panties. She gestured impatiently, and I hung my head, licked the rounded tip of her shoe. A gold anklet encircled her left ankle, glittering in the light. I coiled my trembling fingers around it and lifted her foot, ran my tongue all along the high-polish leather of her shoe, tasting the rich, smooth texture. Then I lapped at her other high heel, licking the shimmering bridge of her foot where it humped out of her shoe. Phyllis stripped off her pink sweater, baring her breasts. She cupped and fondled her handful tits, rolling engorged nipples between her fingers. She stuck a spike heel in my face and I dutifully snaked my tongue around it, then sucked on it, desperate to please. When I’d worshipped at her feet long enough, she unhooked her skirt and slid onto the bed. She spread her legs and beckoned, and I crawled across the floor, in between her silken stems. I stuck my tongue into the damp, blonde fur of her pussy without hesitation. ‘Yes!’ she moaned, clawing at my hair. ‘Eat me, Walter!’ I gripped her taut thighs and lapped at her slit, anxiously tonguing her from bum hole to mound-top, over and over. She was wetter than night. Her spicy juices and musky scent made my addled brain spin even faster. ‘Enough!’ she commanded at last. She gestured at me to stand up, strip off my clothes. I wiped off my mouth and stood, stripped, shooting a quick glance around the dingy room for that tell-tale smoke. Phyllis pointed at the cracked mirror on the wall, which I took to be of the two-way variety. Then she grabbed me and spread me out on the bed, herself on top. She grasped my cock and speared it between her slickened lips, sitting down on it. ‘Mmmm, that feels good, Walter,’ she exhaled, digging her scarlet fingertips into the hair on my chest and moving her bum. 27

I gripped her hanging tits, tried to meet her urgent bouncing with my own upward thrusting. But I didn’t have the strength, or the stamina. Phyllis vigorously shifted her ass up and down, riding my achingly hard cock, fucking me with her pussy. The sagging bed squealed in agony, the blonde picking the tempo up to frenzy-mode. The headboard cracked against the ragged wallpaper until the whole room shook with the ferocity of her passion. I lay there in a pool of our sweat, body limp, cock surging with sexual electricity. ‘Yes, Walter, yes!’ Phyllis screamed. She tore at my chest, bouncing around like a madwoman, until her dewy body spasmed with the wicked orgasm she pulled from my cock. Her joyous shrieking overpowered my breathless whimpering, as I spurted semen inside her in an orgasm long and loose and full of juice, but utterly lacking in feeling. Then the door burst open. A man stood there, a huge, angry bear of a man. ‘I knew you was cheatin’ on me!’ he roared at Phyllis. ‘You’re gonna die, asshole!’ he roared at me. Phyllis sunk her fingernails into my flesh, pinning me down. She slow-rode my cock, eyeing the brute crowding the doorway with total contempt. ‘So, you finally caught on, huh, Nick?’ The big man gaped at her, big, hairy hands clenching into big, hard fists. ‘Walter, meet my husband, Nick,’ Phyllis/Brigid/ Debbie/Cora/Chrissie said to me. Then kissed me deadly. I woke up screaming, pushing the black angel away with a superhuman effort. I jumped to my feet, cock and balls flapping on empty. I didn’t know for sure what the hell was 28

going on, but I knew one thing: I was being cast for the reallife part of patsy, pushover, and fall guy all rolled into one, the clay pigeon. The big knife was out and the big heat was on; this was the breaking point, the set-up. I was going to be the accused, abandoned, beyond a reasonable doubt. The man filling the doorframe suddenly started shaking, spluttering, body and soul, his beefy face burning purple. ‘Remember your heart condition, dear,’ his wife jeered, with more than a touch of evil. ‘Keel over from a coronary, or tear my lover limb-from-limb and go to jail – either way, Sinjin and I get the diner, and each other.’ I shot a look of despair at the born-to-be-bad piece of blonde ice. But it was too late for tears. I barrelled straight into the third man, sending him slamming backwards into the hall clutching his chest. I raced down the stairs and out into the dark city, the asphalt jungle, between midnight and dawn; the night runner shooting through a nightmare alley and across a street with no name. I scrambled up a grading and by a narrow margin hooked on to the side of a thundering boxcar, swinging inside, railroaded out of town. A poor sap on the run now, on dangerous ground, in a lonely place. A guy who’d taken a detour into a roadhouse, a dark passage, and was DOA as soon as he’d stepped through the door. Was there ever a shadow of a doubt?

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B&E,&B by Lynn Lake When Melissa slipped her key in the lock and opened the door, she knew instantly that something was wrong. Her nostrils flared, scenting the faint, foreign smell of tangerine. Her pupils narrowed, sighting the slightly-open drawer in her cubby-hole desk against the wall. Her ears pricked, sensing the far-off squeak of something moving somewhere in the apartment. All that, and the fact there was light streaming from underneath the cracked-open bedroom door, clued Melissa into the probability that there was an intruder in her home. She thought about phoning for the police, then dismissed the idea. This was her house (since moving out of the parental home two months earlier, at twenty-two years old). If anyone other than the snoopy landlord thought they could violate the sanctuary of her home and get away with it, well, they had another think coming. Although shy by nature, independence had steeled the girl. And having her Smart car and mountain bike stolen in the course of the past two weeks, her identity briefly thieved, had left her growling like a crime dog. She eased the door shut, lowered her pink canvas gym bag to the carpet. Fresh from Tae Bo, she was still wearing 31

her pink exercise shorts and lavender tank-top, long, blonde hair pulled back and tied with a violet ribbon, lean body oiled with sweat, primed for action. She ducked into a fighting crouch, narrowed blue eyes piercing the darkness, hairs on the back of her long neck standing up and taking notice as another squeak sounded – in the bedroom. Her bedroom. She glided across the living room carpet, slid up against the wall next to the bedroom door. She considered a weapon – a bread knife, a pair of scissors, that Jesus-on-the-cross letter-opener her mother had given her – then dismissed that idea, as well. Her hands and body were her weapons. Far from lethal, but certainly slightly dangerous, at least. And who wants a weapon taken away and used against them? More squeaking. Closer now, Melissa recognized the sound: a drawer in her childhood bunny-decorated chest of drawers being pulled open. She kept her underwear in that particular stick of furniture, and other, even lessmentionable, things. Coiled body buzzing with high-tension adrenaline, she reached out a shaking hand and used four trembling fingers to sliver the bedroom door further open. Holding her breath, she peeked inside. Someone, a small figure dressed entirely in black – black shirt and jeans and toque – was rifling through her drawers. You don’t send a midget to do a man’s job, the blonde thought grimly to herself, mentally sizing the break & enterer up at five-foot-two to her five-foot-eight, ninety-five pounds to her one-twenty-five. The sneak thief plucked a pair of tiger-striped panties out of the drawer and casually sniffed them, the trigger point for Melissa’s pent-up rage. She burst the door wide open and barrelled into the room, squalling, ‘Grab wall, dirtbag!’ 32

She was all over the perp’s back in an instant, shoving the undersized intruder up against the wall, spreading arms and legs, pushing his face into the winking moon and grinning stars wallpaper. This was putting her Citizen Awareness Day activities at the local police precinct to good use. ‘Make love to that wall!’ Melissa bawled. She kept the cat burglar kissing wallpaper with her left hand, as she yanked a pair of black stockings out of the open drawer with her right. She jerked the robber’s arms down, quickly winding the stocking around tiny wrists and knotting them together. ‘There,’ she rasped a rodeo eight seconds later, spinning the one-in-custody around. ‘Let’s get a good look at you, scumbag.’ A woman’s face greeted Melissa, shocking some of the toughness out of her. A pretty, fine-featured face featuring a pair of brown eyes and red-glossed lips, a thin, haughty nose. The woman looked to be around thirty, and she grinned at the bewildered blonde, displaying teeth as white as Melissa’s knuckles. ‘Guess you got me,’ she commented, leaning back against the wall. Melissa blinked her eyes, recovering some of her confrontation at the other’s insolence. She yanked the toque off the woman’s head. Midnight hair tumbled free, collecting in a shimmering curtain around the woman’s small shoulders. ‘You’re going down – lady,’ Melissa stated firmly. ‘If you’re lucky – Melissa,’ the woman replied easily. Melissa snapped her hands onto her hips. ‘Just how do you happen to know my name?’ The woman grinned some more, glancing at the animal print panties crowning the bunny-dappled chest of drawers. 33

‘It’s sewn into all your underwear. My name’s Gabriela, by the way.’ Melissa chewed her lip, sniffed, ‘Well, I don’t want to lose anything. There’s a lot of crime in this area.’ ‘Copy down all your vibrator serial numbers, too, huh?’ Melissa’s eyes dove down to the bottom drawer, her face flooding crimson. ‘I’ll teach you to go digging around in other people’s private things.’ She flung her head back and marched over to the SpongeBob SquarePants phone on the bedside nightstand, punched in 9-1-1. She had her back turned to her prisoner for only a moment, just long enough to be put on hold by the overburdened police department, when she heard Gabriela say, ‘Maybe you should use these?’ Melissa whirled around. Gabriela was holding up a pair of fur-lined handcuffs, her wrists free and clear. ‘Hey! How’d you get–’ ‘I’m really up to no good tonight,’ Gabriela teased. Melissa dropped the yellow sponge receiver and grabbed on to Gabriela’s shoulders, pushing her down into the padded chair in front of the bureau mirror. She hastily pulled the woman’s wrists back and cuffed her. Then she snatched up a pair of sheer blue stockings and fastened Gabriela’s slim ankles to the metal chair legs. ‘Better tie me up around the waist, too,’ Gabriela suggested. ‘I’m pretty slippery – when wet.’ Melissa had noticed that the otherwise cool and collected woman was perspiring almost as much as she was. So she dug around some more in her dainties drawer and pulled out a pair of black nylon pantyhose, kneeled back down in front of Gabriela. ‘Pull my shirt out of my pants,’ the woman instructed, ‘so you can tie it tight around my bare skin – like you did with my ankles.’ 34

Melissa glanced up from the tangled hose. Gabriela’s face was glowing, her bronze skin shining, moist, red lips parted and liquid-brown eyes half-hooded by long, black lashes. Like she was excited, almost, anything but fearful. Melissa dropped the pantyhose in Gabriela’s lap and anxiously cinched the stockings around the woman’s ankles even tighter. And, as she did so, Gabriela moaned. Her eyes fluttered shut and she bit into her plush lower lip. Melissa quickly reached behind the hard-breathing woman to check on the boudoir handcuffs. Their faces almost touching, Gabriela’s eyes suddenly popped open. And she kissed Melissa, soft and wet and urgent, right on the lips. Melissa recoiled, stunned, staring into Gabriela’s sparkling eyes. She wondered if the woman had just committed another chargeable offence and just what she was up to; wondering, as well, if the soft, sweet impression left on her tingling lips would ever go away. Her hands moved on their own, pulling Gabriela’s shirt out of her jeans. Gabriela shuddered, full-body jumping against her restraints when Melissa’s fingers brushed her bare stomach. ‘Tie me up – tight!’ the raven-haired beauty hissed. She rapidly threaded the legs of the pantyhose around Gabriela’s tiny waist, the woman gasping encouragement, her breath coming hot and humid in Melissa’s burning face. Melissa knotted the pantyhose legs together and cinched them tight around Gabriela’s middle, the silky fabric digging into the caramel-coloured skin. Gabriela groaned, then desperately sought out Melissa’s lips and found them, pressing mouth against mouth. Melissa just knelt there and took it, her whole body flaming as hot as her face now, Gabriela’s wet lips moving against her lips, tangerine-scented body spray clouding her 35

mind, flooding her good senses, the woman’s intoxicating lips and fiery heat setting Melissa’s head to spinning. ‘Tie up my chest,’ Gabriela breathed, controlling the situation, perhaps just as she had from the beginning. She painted Melissa’s lips with her wet, pink tongue. Melissa rushed to dig yet another silk stocking out of the drawer, to obey the bound woman’s command. She grabbed a white one this time, then fell to her knees and began wrapping the fine-woven leg garment around Gabriela’s Tshirted chest. She noticed Gabriela shaking her head. Confused, she gazed up into the glistening pools of the woman’s eyes. Another kiss exploded against her lips, and she knew what to do. She hurriedly rolled up Gabriela’s tight shirt, up and over the twin swells of her breasts. She stared at the golden apples, the pointing, chocolate nipples, hypnotized by the rapidly rising and falling beauty. ‘Tie up my tits,’ Gabriela said. She obeyed, tying the stocking around the woman’s bare chest, Gabriela gasping, groaning as the sensuous material covered and caressed her little breasts and restricted her jutting nipples. Melissa knotted the stocking behind Gabriela, her arms encircling the woman’s body and their mouths meeting, tongues flashing together. Melissa pulled back and was bedazzled by the stunning contrast between the soft, snowwhite fabric of the stocking and the burnt-sugar rigidity of Gabriela’s nipples. ‘Suck my tits,’ Gabriela ordered. Helpless now, Melissa bobbed her blonde head down and captured a silken bud in her mouth, sucked on it. Gabriela arched against her bonds, pretty head tilted back in exquisite despair. Melissa looked up at the straining woman. Her 36

baby-blue eyes were wide with ecstasy. Earnestly she sucked on a rubbery, stocking-sheathed nipple, then released it leaving it slick and shiny. Moved to the other, engulfing it with her warm, wet mouth. Gabriela’s yelp of joy reverberated all through Melissa, the two women connecting on a level Melissa had never experienced, never even really considered, before. She cupped Gabriela’s wrapped breasts and licked the stiff, gauzed nipples, tugged on them with her lips, soaking them and the woman and clotting the stocking with her ardor. And when she sunk her teeth into a buzzing bud, she felt Gabriela shiver with pleasure, felt the woman’s fingers dig into her blonde locks. Melissa jerked her head back. ‘Hey! How’d you…’ Gabriela smiled, wagging her once-again free hands in front of the girl’s astonished face. Then she said, ‘I’ll show you how to really tie up a woman.’ She easily untied the pantyhose that bound her stomach, the stockings that secured her ankles. Leaving the saliva-slick stocking around her chest, she jumped up and grabbed Melissa’s hand. ‘Um, I’m not really sure I want to be…tied up,’ Melissa said hesitantly, the spell temporarily broken like Gabriela’s bonds. ‘Because, well, um, I don’t, you know, really know you…that well.’ ‘Think I’m going to steal the place clean while you’re tied up, huh?’ Gabriela wasn’t smiling anymore. ‘No, I –’ Gabriela jerked the girl to her toes in a half-nelson and steered the protesting blonde into the bathroom that ran off the bedroom. She racked the ducky-spotted shower curtain to one side and shoved her into the tub. Melissa stumbled over the lip, and Gabriela spun her around and lashed her wrists to the shower curtain rod with the same stockings used to tie her down. Only the knots 37

were much tighter, became tighter still with struggle. In the blink of an eye and bead of a pussy, Melissa was bound to the curtain railing, arms outstretched wide apart over her head. She fought against the bonds, rattling the rod. Gabriela jumped up onto the enamel edge of the tub, grabbed the girl and kissed her, mashing mouth against mouth, drowning out objections. She tore Melissa’s tank-top down the centre, fully exposing the girl’s chest. Melissa hung her head, cowed by Gabriela’s strength, the woman’s flashing eyes and fearsome sexual hunger. Gabriela licked her lips and unhooked Melissa’s bra at the back, leaving the bound girl’s pale, pink-tipped breasts hanging out and heaving in the open. She touched the soft, smooth flesh of a rounded breast and Melissa gasped, the shower curtain rod shaking in rhythm with the rest of her. Gabriela jumped down off the tub and stripped off her own clothes, everything, except for the Melissa-wetted stocking around her breasts. Her body blazed bronze under the bright lights, pussy shaven clean, lips shining and dewy. Leaping back up onto the tub she clasped Melissa’s creamywhite body against her own brown one, melding their heated breasts together, her tongue swimming inside Melissa’s mouth and thrashing about. Melissa excitedly entangled her tongue with Gabriela’s, desperately tried to wrap her arms around the woman’s pulsing body but couldn’t. She rattled the rod in frustration. Gabriela pulled her head and one arm back and touched a finger to Melissa’s vulnerable rib cage. Melissa shuddered, the fingertip travelling light and infuriating over her electrified skin, up and into her open armpit, teasing and tickling. The finger looped back down again, over Melissa’s tingling breast. She closed her eyes and savoured the sensation, the raw, sensual feel of the soft, balled fingertip 38

brushing her brimming breast. Then she flat-out vibrated when the finger began tracing quick, fiery circles around her puffy aureole. There were two fingers on Melissa’s breasts now, tantalizing the girl, circling and circling her anguished nipples, tripping over the achingly-erect buds. The fingers trailed down her breasts, her stomach, travelling into her dampened shorts and panties and meeting at last at the blonde fur apex of her trembling legs. Melissa opened her wet eyes and stared into Gabriela’s, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, her breasts and pussy burning like never before. Gabriela licked up the girl’s salty emotion, then yanked her shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. She ran her fingers into Melissa’s moistened fur, over the girl’s slick, swollen pussy lips. Melissa fought with the railing, but it was no good. And oh-so-very-good. As Gabriela slid two of her fingers into her dripping sex, Melissa hung her head, whimpering and watching, feeling all through her body and soul. Gabriela dug the two slender digits deep into her needful cunt. ‘Oh, God!’ she moaned. Gabriela frenched and pumped whilst cupping her own brazen pussy and rubbing, polishing her puffed-up button as she finger-fucked the tied-up blonde. ‘I can walk and chew bubblegum at the same time, too,’ she hissed, face contorted with lust. Melissa quivered with delight as the flying fingers swelled her with sexual electricity, pumping and pumping her full of white-hot joy. Gabriela bit into Melissa’s lip, her own body shaking, fingers frantically buffing her tingling clit, the pressure building and building and building.

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‘Yes! Oh God, yes!’ Melissa shrieked the pussypistoning and trussed-up eroticism sending her sailing far beyond her bonds. Blistered by her own orgasm, Gabriella screamed back, feverishly fingering the both of them to gushing ecstasy. When the last spasm had finally sounded, Gabriela slowly extracted her sticky fingers from the pair of smouldering pussies. Then she unleashed the violet ribbon from her captive’s hair and looped it around her own wrist, as a reminder, perhaps. She left the gasping girl hanging, quickly dressing and exiting the apartment. Melissa popped the shower curtain rod out of its bracket at one end and easily slipped her hands off. She smiled – a satisfied, satiated smile – confident that the pussy burglar would one night return to the scene of the crime.

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No Surrender by J. Carron Rob was sprinting through the trees, long, athletic strides breaking branches. I saw him cross a clearing and disappear back into the cover of the dense foliage. I was running after him now, leaves and twigs slapping against my face as I fought my way through the undergrowth, throwing my aching body forward, snaking between the trees. I wasn’t sure if he knew I was on to him, but I wasn’t going to let him get away, not that easily. I raced across the clearing and entered the trees at the point where I’d last seen him. A trail of broken branches and flattened grass lay in his wake. He’d been careless, leaving his route of escape so obvious to a pursuer. He was running scared. My heart was pounding. I knew it was only a matter of time before I confronted him. My forefinger instinctively coiled around the trigger as I heard a twig snap ahead of me. I stopped running and dropped to my knees, a bushy thicket providing cover. I raised the barrel of the gun and scoped the terrain ahead. My breathing was fast and shallow. My heart was reverberating in my chest. 41

Then I saw him. He was crouching by a tree, frantically reloading his gun. Behind him and to both sides, steep cliffs rose up from the forest floor. We were in a quarry and there was nowhere left for him to run. I tried desperately not to make a sound. I crept forward, the barrel of my gun trained on Rob, my forefinger itching to pull the trigger. The trees blocked a clear shot and I needed to get closer. I could see his gaze darting around the forest as mentally he formulated a plan of escape. I started to close in on him, inching my way cautiously forward. All of a sudden he made a break for it, leaping up and bounding through the scrub. I let off a shot but it missed, hitting a tree just ahead of Rob. He saw the impact; it forced him to alter his course, sending him back into the quarry. I gave chase; cutting off all his exits, pushing him deeper into the quarry until, at last, there was nowhere for him to run. He stopped dead in his tracks, ahead of him a solid wall of rock. I lifted my gun and aimed the barrel at his back. ‘Throw down your weapon!’ I ordered. Rob paused momentarily, his right hand still firmly wrapped around his rifle. ‘I’ve caught you!’ I shouted, taking a step closer to him. He relinquished his grasp on the gun and it fell to the ground. ‘Hands up!’ He raised his arms, placing his hands on top of his head. ‘Now turn around! Turn around slowly!’ I took another couple of steps towards Rob as he swivelled to face me. ‘I guess you’ve got me,’ he said sheepishly. ‘How does it feel?’ ‘It feels good.’ 42

Adrenalin was coursing through my arteries. My nerve ends were buzzing. Here I was, gun in hand, a prisoner under my command. I was suddenly consumed by a heady sensation of power. ‘What are you going to do with me?’ Rob asked. ‘I haven’t decided,’ I teased, stepping right up to him, the barrel of the gun still trained on him. He was breathing heavily from the chase and his rugged face glistened with perspiration. ‘Maybe I’ll just plug you here,’ I drawled, lining my voice with a trace of Hollywood action movie menace. ‘Don’t expect me to surrender my secrets,’ Rob sniggered. ‘Stop it!’ I barked, trying hard to suppress a giggle too. But I was finding it hard to resist his impish grin and sparkling eyes and knew it was only a matter of time before I dropped this commanding pretence. He was a cheeky sod sometimes; that’s why capturing him was all the more satisfying. It was only a corporate game of paint ball, a chance to blast a few colleagues with yellow emulsion and slope off to the pub afterwards. But taking Rob’s scalp was the ultimate prize and I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. He was ex-army and had playfully bragged for weeks ahead of the game that no one would take him. I bore the brunt of it as Rob and I have been going out together for the last couple of months. Now, in the heat of war, he was no longer my boyfriend, he was my prisoner, to do as I saw fit. ‘On your knees!’ I ordered, prodding his chest with my gun. He looked a little taken aback at first, but decided to humour me and obediently dropped to his knees. ‘Don’t look at me!’ I commanded. 43

He bowed his head submissively and remained completely still as I paced round him, occasionally nudging his arse with the toe of my boot to try and knock him off balance. ‘Let me go,’ he pleaded, entering into the spirit of my little game. ‘Your ass is mine now, boy!’ I bellowed down at him. ‘Let me go,’ he begged. ‘I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.’ ‘You think I’m going to let your sorry little ass go, boy?’ ‘Please ma’am,’ he grovelled. ‘You’re not going anywhere you snivelling wretch, not until you’ve surrendered to me.’ ‘Never!’ he spat. With that I put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him over. Rob ended up lying sprawled on his back on the grass. I raised my paintball gun again and pointed it at his chest. He wasn’t to know the chamber was empty – my last shot was the one that hit the tree during the chase. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not going to shoot you,’ I grinned. ‘Not yet, anyway.’ I stepped across Rob’s prone frame and stood legs spread over his chest, starring down at him. ‘You’re going to do what I say.’ ‘Okay, okay,’ he hurriedly agreed. I had a feeling he was on the verge of sniggering again but one stern look was all it took to make him concentrate on the game again. I hitched the rifle over my shoulder and, glaring down at him, slowly unbuckled the black leather belt around the waist of my green combat trousers. Rob was paying me his undivided attention. I guessed he’d worked out what I had in mind for him. 44

Without taking my eyes off him, I hauled the belt out through the hoops and ran the leather slowly between my fingers. Rob flinched. As he watched, eyes wide, I slowly unbuttoned the trousers, tucked my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear and hauled my combats and knickers right down. I threw my head back and for a blissful moment savoured the gentle stirring born of the cool afternoon air wafting between my legs. Then, without warning, I plunged my body down, knees either side of Rob’s head, wedging his face firmly beneath my exposed mound. ‘Lick me!’ I ordered, shoving my groin against his mouth. I felt his rough, sweaty face nuzzle my pussy, tentatively at first, his warm breath percolating up between my lips. ‘Come on, lick me good!’ I repeated, this time more forcefully. Rob’s tongue shot up, splicing my lips apart and burrowing deep into my cunt. The sharp volley was so sudden, so shocking that I raised my eyes to the sky above and cried out. ‘Oh fuck yes!’ I screamed, arching my back in pleasure. He was working the hot snaking muscle vigorously in and out of me, his mouth clamped tight around my hole, a vortex of pressure building inside me. My juices were pumping but there was nowhere for them to go, nothing for them to do but bubble and boil within the sealed love cavern. ‘Lick me! Lick me!’ I gasped, panting for breath. His hands were on me now, strong thumbs attacking from both fronts, peeling back my labia, opening me up like a ripe fruit, juice spurting out as his tongue at last receded, flickered back and forth like a live wire, searching out my clitoris. He found it immediately and expertly worked his 45

magic on it, rolling the growing bud back and forth, all the time licking and kissing, smooth and soft, then more briskly. My breathing quickened. I was panting hard now, waves of pleasure coursing through my body as I rode his face. He responded, varying his technique, one thumb inside me now, the other rolling over my clitoris as his hot, hard breath funnelled up into me like a tropical hurricane. I was losing control, losing control to my prisoner. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t care, as long as he didn’t escape. He had to surrender to me completely before I would ever let him go. Two fingers inside me, a thumb and a jerking tongue, a hand squeezing my buttocks. My body tensed as the pressure within me mounted to the point of no return, my muscles contracting, skin as taut as piano wire, pussy as hot as mustard. ‘Oh fuck!’ I cried out, trembling thighs clamping Rob’s head into my groin, fingers coursing roughly through his matted hair. ‘Oh…oh…fucking hell!’ I yelled as I climaxed long and hard on his face. I held him there between my legs as the pleasure slowly ebbed away and the muscles in my body eventually relaxed. ‘That wasn’t bad,’ I said when at last I was composed enough to utter a meaningful sentence. ‘But it wasn’t enough to secure your release.’ I raised myself up on wobbling thighs, stood over him once again and tried to look mean. But it was difficult playing the domineering captor when I could feel the cool stickiness of come on my inner thighs. ‘This must be against the Geneva Convention,’ Rob muttered, his lips glistening. I ignored his comment and barked out my next order. ‘Take my boots off!’ 46

He did as he was told and once I was barefoot I made him place the boots neatly together and then carefully fold up my trousers and pants and place them on top. ‘Now, get back on the ground!’ Obediently he lay down. ‘Undo your trousers, soldier!’ I snapped. He shook his head. I hadn’t expected resistance but a sly wink from Rob told me he was merely having a bit of fun. ‘I said, undo your trousers! Now!’ ‘What are you going to do if I don’t?’ he replied defiantly. I raised a foot and placed it squarely on his chest. ‘Don’t push me soldier!’ ‘Or what?’ he smirked. I whipped off my bandana, letting my hair flow free, and leaned over him, long dark strands tickling his forehead. ‘You’ve asked for it now.’ I grabbed his arm and tied one end of the bandana around the wrist. The other end I attached to the slim base of a young beech tree. He didn’t struggle. I did the same with Rob’s bandana until he was lying before me, arms trussed up above his head, unable to escape. ‘Not so cocky now, are you?’ I ribbed as he made a show of trying to break free, wriggling helplessly on the ground. But it was no good. I’d tied the knots tightly. ‘I’ll never yield!’ he barked. ‘Oh, you will,’ I grinned as I lowered myself on to his body so our faces were just inches apart. My legs were spread over his muscular hips, my groin pressing lustily against his horny bump, a satisfactory swelling pushing against my ravenous little pussy.

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‘Hmm, I think you’re beginning to already,’ I whispered, my mouth brushing tantalisingly close to his. ‘In fact, I think you’re already on the verge of standing to attention.’ I gyrated my bare mound against his bulging packet, felt it grow harder under me. ‘Yes, you’re definitely ready to spill your secrets.’ I yanked the zip of his muddy camouflage trousers down, popped the button and pulled his flies open. Beneath Rob’s boxers his erection was fighting to break free, forcing its head up against the straining cotton like a spring crocus trying to push through frosted soil. Immediately I set it free, tugging his pants down over his supple hips. I curled my fingers round the beefy muscle, deciphering every bump and groove, savouring its unrelenting rigidity. ‘You’re mine now,’ I crowed, grasping him in my greedy little hand. Rob’s body shuddered. ‘What are you going to do to me?’ He sounded endearingly vulnerable. I tightened my grip, making him squirm beneath me. ‘I’m teaching you to obey me.’ His hips rose intuitively as he let slip a long low moan. ‘I’m not doing this for your pleasure,’ I snapped, peeling back his foreskin to reveal the gleaming head of his erection. The narrow slit was coated with an oily sheen of semen. ‘You’re going to make me come again,’ I ordered. ‘You’re going to make me come harder than I’ve ever come before. And you’re not going to come until I say you come, not a second before, not a second after. When I say come, you come, right, soldier?’ ‘Right,’ he stuttered, barely able to speak. 48

Loosening my grip, I caressed the length of his beautiful unbending shaft as I manoeuvred myself into position, raising my hips, positioning my cunt directly over the bulbous head of his penis. Slowly I lowered my body, teasing his cock as its glossy tip twitched back and forth, nudging eagerly against the fleshy gateway to my approaching love tunnel. I stopped and hovered there, aware Rob was pushing his hips up, trying to enter me before I give him the order. He looked up, realised he’d been a bad boy. ‘Did I tell you to move?’ I snarled. Dutifully he lowered his hips and I continued sinking slowly onto him, lips opening out, drawing him in, his unerring manhood stretching my love tunnel wide as I ground down onto him, rotating my hips as he drilled up into me until at last he was buried deep inside. The pulsing veins rippled delightfully against the slick walls of my pussy as my body tensed. I planted my palms on his chest, took a deep breath, and drew myself slowly up until only the tip of his cock was still inside me. Then I sank down hard. Rob groaned loudly, bracing himself as I rotated my pelvis against him, my clitoris rasping against his unyielding pubic bone. I threw my head back and began to bounce up and down on top of him, his cock coursing in and out of me as I arched my back, feeling his manhood rub ever hotter, ever faster, ever more intensely against my exposed bud. ‘Harder!’ I panted breathlessly, hands clamped to his writhing legs. My swollen clit was aching in ecstasy. But I couldn’t stop; I didn’t have the power in me to do that. I was consumed by him. Unable to tame his awesome power, all I could do was give in to it, let it bring me tumbling to my knees. 49

Rob’s hands suddenly broke free from the ties that bound them. He grabbed my jacket and ripped it open. My T-shirt was quickly up, his big strong hands on my breasts, massaging them through my bra. I was unable to stop him. ‘I’m gonna come!’ he grunted. I felt his body tense between my legs, felt the muscles in his thighs contract. ‘No!’ I yelled, humping him harder and faster, riding him for all he was worth. I clamped my hands over his and ground them into my heaving chest, my jutting nipples caught in a fractious chaos of fingers and fabric. His hands drifted down, taking hold of my waist. He pulled me down harder onto his cock, forcing it further into me than I ever thought possible. Suddenly my body shuddered, my pussy muscles twitching and spasming uncontrollably round his stabbing cock. Sensational contractions snatched at my searing cunt, tearing through my sweating body. It was like an avalanche, totally out of control, crashing down on top of me. ‘Come!’ I commanded. ‘I’m coming!’ he roared. ‘I’m coming!’ He jerked his hips up one last time and squirted sperm deep into me. I sat atop him, my body shaking, his cock still firmly embedded in my quivering vagina as I fought for breath. He’d finally surrendered to me.

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Cherry Strudel by Astrid L. Lucia loved food – the look, the taste, the feel, the smell, even the sound of it as she kept it that second longer in her mouth before she let it slip away. Maybe the reason she loved sex was because, the first time she was seduced, her hands were deep into some pearly dough. Lucia worked in a restaurant kitchen, learning, among other things, to knead the dough for strudel. Bruno, the Austrian cook, had convinced the restaurant owner that strudel – not just apple strudel, but cherry strudel, plum strudel and even rhubarb strudel – would be novel additions to the dessert menu of The Hungry Taste Bud. Bruno was an artist, and, like most artists, he preferred to get on with the creative part, leaving the routine of preparing the strudel dough to the kitchen help. Yet he always kept an eye on the way the dough was prepared. ‘Two hundred and fifty grams of flour, Lucia. Mix it with 1/8 of a litre of water.’ Bruno paused as the girl in her white wrap-around apron dress gingerly measured the flour, tipped it into a bowl and added the liquid. Lucia glanced up at the man. She needed him to give her time – time to see that it didn’t matter if some of the flour powdered onto the marble top counter. 51

‘Add two tablespoons of oil…that’s it…just pour it on…one whole egg, now…careful with the shell. Take the wooden spoon…stir it all about at first.’ His voice rolled low as Lucia stirred the dough, her silky black chin-length hair swaying to the motion of her arm, her eyes fixed on the changing matter in the bowl. ‘And now, Lucia, just a coffee spoon of vinegar and a pinch of salt.’ She added the last with a flourish and a satisfied smile. ‘Take the spoon out now, this is where you have to use your hands – if you want to make a really good strudel dough.’ Lucia scraped off the wooden spoon and watched as Bruno sprinkled more flour on the counter. ‘So that it won’t slip,’ he said. She pushed a strand of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand causing tiny speckles of flour to trace her jawbone. As he lifted the mass of dough from the bowl and began kneading, a faintly sour scent rose up to her. She gazed at the long, strong and even movements of his hands as he kneaded the dough until it had a pearly sheen. ‘It has to look and feel like silk,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go on for a while – just to get the feel of it.’ Lucia nodded, wiped her hands on her apron and plunged both hands into the dough. ‘Push down, Lucia. Push with both heels of your hands. Draw the dough back with your fingers. Keep the rhythm.’ Lucia pulled and pushed and pulled and pushed. It felt as though her whole body was moving in harmony. As she leant forward to push with the heels of her hands across the counter, her knees bent so slightly in a rolling motion, causing the hem of the back of her dress to rise with the swell of her shoulders bearing down on the dough. 52

Bruno took a step back to gaze at the hypnotic movement. The only sound that could be heard was the cool flap flap against the marble and the sound of rhythmic breathing. Lucia kept on kneading, eyes half closed. She felt a hand brush a trace of flour from her cheek as another glided from her shoulder to rest on her hips. Lucia kept on kneading. She sensed the knot at the back of her dress surrender as the hands crept beneath the loosened cloth. ‘Hush,’ Bruno whispered in her ear. ‘Keep the same pace. It’s good for the dough.’ Tiny shivers rippled up from somewhere deep inside her as the hands cupped her breasts and a finger and thumb gently tugged at her nipples to the rhythm of her kneading. ‘This will be wonderful strudel dough, Lucia.’ Bruno’s voice was softly hoarse. ‘But we must put it aside and cover it…then let it rest for half an hour.’ Lucia turned, her hands at her back to tighten the knot drawing the white cotton of her dress tight across her breasts. ‘And what shall we do in that half hour?’ she asked. Bruno stroked a finger down her cheek and brushed her lips with his. ‘The strudel, Lucia. We have to finish it.’ Her palms warm and her breast flushed, Lucia’s brown eyes searched Bruno’s. ‘We’ll need half a kilo of those dark red cherries, 60 grams of butter, 120 grams of bread crumbs and…about 250 grams…of sugar,’ he said. Lucia stroked a hand over her hip and turned towards the cooler chamber where the fruits and vegetables were stored. ‘Half a kilo of cherries,’ she whispered. The cherries lay in a basket, plump and red, a red so deep it was almost black. She took a pair and slipped it over her left ear. She took a single cherry, placed her lips against it to 53

feel its shine, then sank her teeth slowly into the flesh. Juice trickled on her lower lip as she smelled the rich full scent. She held the stone in her mouth to suck the last of its pulp and, puckering her lips, spat the stone into the bin. ‘Lucia,’ Bruno called. ‘I’ll show you how to pip the cherries.’ She came towards him, the basket propped on her left hip, the cherry earring laughing at him like her dark brown eyes. ‘I shall wash them first,’ Lucia said and emptied the basket into the enamel sink filled with cold water. She felt Bruno’s eyes upon her as she swished the bobbing cherries about in the water. She tried to ignore him but inside she was throbbing with a strange excitement. When she had strained the cherries, she turned to Bruno and looked him straight in the eye. ‘What now?’ ‘Ah, Lucia. We must remove all the stones.’ With a small kitchen knife he made a cut down the cherry. ‘Now take it and open gently, so as to keep it whole. Then pluck the stone.’ A flush rose past her neck to her cheeks as Bruno gently opened the fruit. They stood side by side, the tall blond man and the slim dark-haired girl, and worked the cherries until the fruit was ready. The fresh smell was heady and clung to their fingers, staining them dark red. ‘Now roast the bread crumbs in the butter, Lucia, until they are golden brown. I shall prepare the strudel dough, it should be ready now.’ Bruno sprinkled more flour onto the marble counter and pulled gently at the dough, drawing it out to cover the counter top. ‘You have to be careful with the dough, Lucia, pull gently in all directions…take care not to make any holes – yet it must be as thin as you can get it…you should almost see through it.’ 54

The dough lay like silk fabric on the counter. ‘Stroke some liquid butter over the dough…yes, with your finger…all over. Now the bread crumbs, then the cherries. Leave a space at the end…about 10cm and then take some sugar, rub it between your fingers and sprinkle it over the fruit.’ Lucia did as he bade her. The feel of the butter slipping across the fragile dough, the smell of the roasted bread crumbs, the rubbing sound of the sugar between her fingertips, how it fell like a soft snow on the cherries, plump and luscious, their juice on the verge of bursting, delighted her senses. ‘I’ll roll it up,’ Bruno said. Lucia watched as he tenderly rolled the dough and teased it into a horseshoe, making sure the cherries were well spread and that the dough didn’t break. He stroked some melted butter on a baking tray, brushed liquid butter on the rolled up strudel – to make it glow, he said – and popped it into a medium high oven. ‘Now Lucia, it will take 40 minutes to bake.’ ‘And can I taste it when it’s finished?’ ‘Come here, Lucia.’ Lucia came to his arms and breathed in the smell of him. Bruno’s lips caressed her cheek. ‘We shall taste it when it’s finished,’ he said. Lucia pressed against him as if to quiet the ripples he aroused. ‘…and we shall taste it while we wait.’

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On Your Marks by Phoebe Grafton What a way to spend Saturday! Not that it was any different from last Saturday, or the Saturday before. As far as I could see there was no reason to believe that next Saturday would be different either. Nor the one after. An horizon full of dead Saturdays. What a dismal prospect! It was one of those moments frozen in time, when you look around at your surroundings and examine your lifestyle with a jaundiced eye. This general feeling of dissatisfaction was precipitated by the film I was watching on television. To say that I was watching it with great interest wasn’t strictly true. It was a swashbuckling tale of derring-do with handsome men leaping from one lady’s balcony to another, red rose clamped tightly between white, even teeth. When I got to the bit about the ball, ladies in low-cut gowns and men in tight trousers, my mind went off at a tangent. I looked down at my white blouse, cardie going thin at the elbow, and sighed. Then I looked across at George and sighed even louder. He was sprawled in his chair, unshaven, sweat-shirt, threadbare jeans. Consciousness had left him some time before. Half covered in a newspaper, head back, mouth open – asleep. What a bargain. 57

There had to be more to life than this. I looked at the film, hating it. What happened to adventure? Where was the excitement, the romance, the passion? Ah yes, the passion. I looked again at the sleeping George. His passion was about as threadbare as his jeans. I recalled the time George came behind me and touched my nipples. The moment was so fleeting that it left me wondering if he was fondling them or counting them. I tried to concentrate once more on the film. It was no use. The thoughts it had triggered soured my interest. I stabbed the remote control in irritation. The sudden silence brought George back to life. At least I think it did. It’s difficult to know sometimes. He stirred, moved the paper and scratched his more than adequate belly. ‘I’m making a cup of tea. Fancy one?’ ‘No.’ A man of few words is George. I remember the last time he said ‘Thank you’. We were courting at the time. It was just before they tore the Berlin Wall down. He hasn’t found the need for such courtesies since. I got up to make the tea. George, now fully awake, sorted out his priorities. He put the television on to the football channel, went to the fridge, got himself a can of beer, then settled down in his seat again. From the kitchen I heard the hiss of the opening can. That was him organised. We share a twilight existence, George and I. I watch TV in the evening – he sleeps. I go to bed – he watches television. It’s an arrangement he lives happily with: beats conversation anyway. I took my tea to bed. I said ‘goodnight’ on the way up. He grunted. The early retirement was essential. It enabled me to get a couple of hours sleep before George came up. 58

The only time he became voluble was in the middle of the night, after a few cans, when his team lost. Then I got chapter and verse on what, in his opinion, had gone wrong. It didn’t occur to my spouse that people actually went to bed to sleep. I undressed and sat quietly on the edge of the bed. I put on my old negligee, more of a souvenir than anything else. An anniversary present, in the days when I got them – bought, I hasten to add, when my beloved was on his way to watch West Ham play and suddenly remembered just how special the day was. It was not a cold evening so I pulled back the curtains to look out on the night sky. It was one of those magical, romantic nights. The moon was whole and the sky full of diamonds. One or two cotton wool clouds caressed the moon’s smiling face, moving swiftly on so that the spellbound could enjoy its undisguised radiance. I settled myself down on the pillow trying hard to read. It was impossible to concentrate. I switched the bedside light off, lay back on the pillow, gazing out of the window at the enchanting night sky. Quite suddenly I was lifted clean off my bed by a huge unseen hand. There was a mighty rushing sound of wind. Before I could grasp what was happening I found myself flying through the air at frantic speed. I tried to scream, to call George, but no words came. Faster I travelled, the momentum causing me to spin, head over heels through time and space with such force that all consciousness left me. My mouth was dry. It was uncomfortable. The room smelled of rope, tarred hemp, lamp oil, spices. I listened to the creaking of timbers. 59

‘Lee helm.’ The cry came from somewhere above my head. The protesting walls around me creaked more loudly as the room moved violently. I was thrown across the heaving space with great force. I screamed as I crashed against the wooden wall. I clung tightly to one of the sacks beneath me, lest I get thrown again. A hatch opened and a light came to illuminate my cramped quarters. ‘Who’s there?’ a harsh voice called. I bit my lip to keep silent. Just then my room lurched again and my involuntary squeal of terror betrayed my hiding place. ‘God’s teeth! A wench! The Cap’n will be mighty pleased to see thee I’ll warrant.’ I was dragged out into the light where I could better judge my surroundings. That we were at sea I’d already ascertained. Hauled along the deck, I had a brief chance to observe my captor. He was short and stocky, had a weather-beaten face and long hair drawn back in a pigtail. He wore a coarse hair shirt and canvas trousers. The latter were held up with a stout belt in which was thrust a mean-looking knife. The ship was making heavy weather. It was a raw day. The biting wind was snapping at the sails, leaving the rigging to sing in high falsetto. The vessel lurched violently and I, for one, was grateful that the journey to the Captain’s quarters was short. We burst in on the Captain in the middle of a meeting with, what I took at a glance to be, his senior officers. They were much more resplendently dressed than my captor. I was dragged forward. ‘Cap’n, begging your pardon. I found this wench skulking in the forepeak.’ 60

There wasn’t a great deal of light in the cabin. The Captain reached out and pulled me towards him. As he did so he ripped my nightdress at the shoulder. Lanterns appeared as the ship’s officers strained forward to get a better view. ‘Merry lads,’ the captain exclaimed. ‘This wench is freshly washed. I would see more of her.’ Willing hands stripped me of my thin attire. The Captain, a swarthy villain with magnetic eyes, looked hungrily at my naked body. Anonymous hands explored my contours, touching, probing and teasing so pleasurably that I began to quite enjoy being the centre of attraction. The Captain spoke – the hands vanished. ‘Comely,’ he said. ‘Gentlemen. We shall have much sport this night.’ A gasp came suddenly from one of the officers. ‘What ails thee Crossley?’ asked the Captain. Crossley had the look of one much disturbed. ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I have the garment the wench was wearing. I fear, Captain, we must treat this wench – I mean lady, well.’ The Captain snatched the limp nightgown from the man called Crossley. A lantern was held close so that he might read. ‘St Michael,’ he exclaimed. ‘By my beard, how come you by this name, wench?’ I fixed him with a stern gaze. ‘Don’t call me wench.’ Standing totally naked in the centre of a bunch of wild, hungry-looking men called for some quick thinking. It also called for boldness. After all; what else did I have to lose? ‘The name is true enough, Captain. Do you challenge it?’ Sailors are a superstitious lot. I’d read that somewhere. It certainly proved to be the case here. The officers shuffled 61

uneasily and the circle around me widened. Even the Captain was beginning to look less certain. ‘Treat me well, Captain’, I told him, ‘or this ship and its crew are doomed.’ That did it. One took the role of spokesman. ‘Please, Captain,’ he urged. ‘Heed her warning. The ship was clear when we left Bristol. We have been gone from that port these twelve months since. She appeared from nowhere. I don’t like it. It’s a sign.’ I took my nightdress from the Captain’s uncertain fingers and slipped it over my head. Strange, how fear in a man can take his mind off the basics. Precious little else can. The Captain wavered but a little longer. Urgent noises from his subordinates decided him. ‘Very well, my lady. What would you ask of me?’ His tone was gentler. ‘I am weary,’ I told him. ‘I need to rest.’ My eyes left his for a moment to tour the cabin. ‘This accommodation will suit me fine.’ He took a deep breath. The rage within him was easy to see. Yet he was fighting a losing battle with his uneasiness. ‘Very well,’ he said again. ‘Captain,’ I said. ‘I should like to speak with you alone.’ He nodded to his officers. Very soon there were just the two of us in the cabin. I stood close. For the first time since my arrival in his cabin, he smiled. His hands went about me. His hands were pleasant against my body. Desire took the better of him. He lifted my night attire; I relished the most delicious caresses I had ever experienced. My heart raced, my blood thundered hot and lustful in my veins. After gently squeezing each nipple he paused, admiring the firmness they achieved. Sliding his hands lower over my belly he probed between my legs. My breath raced as fast as 62

my heart. I wanted more and was disappointed when he moved from me. ‘I would be honoured, madam,’ he said gallantly and then left me. Drained by excitement, the movement of the ship did little to ease the feeling of exhaustion which rapidly overcame me. I lay upon the Captain’s narrow bunk and slept like a – well – like a saint. I awoke. The cabin was darker than it had been. The gently swinging lantern cast weird shadows. The raging seas had quietened, the ship moving to a more kindly motion. I opened one of the small windows overlooking the stern. The salt-tainted air added freshness to my stuffy surroundings. When the Captain finally appeared I was taken aback by the transformation. Gone was the swarthy, angry man that first clamped eyes upon me. In his stead stood as handsome a dandy as a woman in my position had reason to expect. Clearly he had gone to great pains to impress me. His waistcoat was of decorated pure silk. It covered a white shirt with cuffs of delicate lace. The doublet was blue with fine gold trimming. His beard was trimmed and neat, and the shoulder length hair hung tidily. The broad smile as he extended his hand was totally disarming. ‘Captain Broadtree at your service, Ma’am.’ I felt my own wardrobe no match for his splendour. My torn night attire left a great deal of flesh exposed to his gaze. His undoubted interest made it worthwhile. I smiled. ‘Service is exactly what I desire.’ The food arrived. It was both hot and delicious and the wine helped to ease it down as well as loosen tongues. Time and time again I felt myself drawn to those magnetic eyes. He was a powerfully built man and carried his authority well. 63

‘I’m puzzled,’ he said. ‘Why did you choose the Endeavour to eh…eh…visit?’ ‘Because I was interested. What work is the Endeavour engaged upon?’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Merry, my lady, aren’t you the curious one. The good Endeavour does,’ he sucked his teeth, ‘does survey work.’ There was something he wasn’t telling me. ‘Such as?’ He roared with laughter and slapped the table. ‘We find ships which appear overloaded; then help them with their cargo.’ A pirate ship! It should have concerned me more but the wine had lulled me into a mellow state. A thought struck me. ‘You haven’t managed to find any ladies’ clothes, have you?’ He was prevented from answering by the arrival of the steward to clear the table. He left the wine. The Captain refilled my goblet and walked to the stern window. ‘A kind bright night,’ he observed. I joined him. Enough of the moon remained to show the clean, straight track behind us. The ship moved gently in the swell. I shivered in the cool breeze. The good Captain closed the window. He put his arm about me to steady me as the movement of the ship brought us closer together. His hand slid through my torn garment and touched my breast. He swiftly sought to take his hand away but I moved against him. I was not that much of a saint! After all a torn nightie wasn’t going to offer that much protection anyway. The last time it was removed in that cabin I was surrounded by a bunch of suspicious, hungry men. Now it was just the 64

one. For all that, a year at sea wasn’t going to do much for his self-control. I was grateful for that. The gently swaying lamps offered only a limited amount of illumination. Yet it was sufficient for me to gauge that the bad Captain Broadtree was going to have a bit of trouble getting out of those tight trousers. ‘St Michael,’ he whispered against me in the half-light. ‘Thy skin is like velvet.’ His beard wasn’t. As he brushed it against my nipples, the sensuous shock alerted my entire body. There was a flurry of activity in the dimness. As I anticipated, the huge bulge in his trousers needed the concerted effort of two pairs of hands before it was released. It was well worth the effort. The man was clearly a leader amongst men in more ways than one. Captain Broadtree’s spartan quarters provided space for little else than a single cot in one corner of the cabin. His busy hands ensured my undivided attention as he lay me upon the narrow bunk. Parting my willing thighs he left me for a moment. He returned to stand before me, his huge proud-standing cock a feast for my expectant body. Yet the good Captain sought to play other games to tease. He drank from the goblet he now held. Drinking half the contents, he upturned the goblet to empty the remainder over my belly, to run strawberrycoloured down between my thighs. Tossing the empty goblet from him, he knelt to bury his head between these same welcoming thighs which had delighted in the recent soaking. The combination of coarse beard, tantalising my soft skin, and his probing tongue, sent shivers of delight through me. He expertly parted the lips of my vagina. Soft, the moist 65

tip of his tongue teased the nub of that skin which is at the core of my sexual universe. Ecstatic, I thrust down upon his wicked tongue, taking his head in both hands, parting my thighs even wider so that no part of this erotic experience was denied me. He knew my readiness. Lifting me from the cot he turned me over. In the half light I saw his cock, monster proud, standing in sentinel, its round purple head straining and pulsing in preparation. The Captain’s cot was not anchored to the bulkhead but rather swung freely with the movement of the ship. This yet proved to be a bonus as the Captain placed me upon it in a kneeling position, thighs parted wide. I was but a second in this position, the walls of my vagina moist with anticipation. He reached around me, the gentle fingers once more probing my entrance. Two fingers parted those lips as he guided the head of his throbbing weapon there. I felt the walls of my vagina contract in welcome as the head of his big tool gained admission. The cot swayed forwards as he thrusted. My anxiety that I might fall off the cot was stifled by groans of pleasure. I could not possibly fall off. I was hugely, wonderfully impaled upon his mighty organ. I realised that too much anticipation had gone into this coupling for it to last long. But I determined to enjoy the experience, no matter its fleeting moment. The pirate plundered my womanhood with great abandon. Grasping my thighs tightly, he withdrew his formidable length to thrust it more wildly into me. Just when I felt that completion was imminent the door suddenly burst open. In strode Crossley. Both men seemed totally unfazed by the position we were in. 66

‘Cap’n, we have sighted a light on the horizon. Through the glass it looks like a merchantman.’ The Captain grunted approval. ‘Stay, Crossley,’ he said. I couldn’t believe it! Now I was being fucked by the Captain in front of an audience. If I should have been embarrassed, the thought was swiftly cast aside. The good Captain was nearing completion. I wasn’t far behind. Almost with the thought came the deed. Totally impaled on the Captain’s mighty organ I thrust back against him in ever increasing delight. The quickening pace electrified all three of us in that small cabin. The insistent bucking drew a strangled oath from the captain’s lips. I felt his cock expand as with a mighty thrust he pumped his searing juices deep within me. My own juices mingled as I thrust and thrust again backwards, milking his shaft to limpness. He withdrew from me, but such was the girth of the man that, momentarily I felt that he was still embedded within me. His attention reverted to his first officer. ‘A merchantman say you, Crossley? At last. Tarry awhile Crossley. I think this lady may still have need of you.’ Both men looked at me expectantly. I smiled. ‘I shall be pleased to help.’ The Captain smote his naked thigh and broke into loud laughter. ‘Merry, Crossley,’ he said. ‘We have an enchantress in the good lady. Mark well you say nothing of this elsewhere.’ ‘Indeed no, Captain.’ The bearded mariner hastily dressed. ‘A merchantman,’ he gloated. ‘You bring us luck mistress St Michael. Farewell, I will see you presently.’ 67

So saying he left us, me sitting on the cot, the good master Crossley unbuttoning his doublet. He was not so self-assured as his leader. Indeed I got the impression that his experience with women was limited. Such thoughts enhanced my further anticipation. Captain Broadtree had been quite right. As far as Crossley was concerned, I had not finished. He came to me displaying milk white skin and a certain anxiety. Unlike the captain, his trusted lieutenant was shaven. His blue eyes caressed my naked body, yet his hands hung useless, uncertain. Taking a leaf from the captain’s almanac I poured myself a goblet of wine. Drawing Crossley to me, I then sat back upon the cot. With the remainder of the wine I bathed Crossley’s reluctant wang. Then holding it gently I ran my wet tongue over its head. The response was immediately encouraging. Crossley moaned with pleasure as I took his hardening cock between my lips, drawing upon the head, smoothing a passage into my eager mouth. By this time Crossley had found my nipples. His touch was kind, warm and sensuous. He found instant sensitivity in the place the captain hadn’t bothered to search. Within a short space of time foreplay became redundant. Crossley stood proud, if not as large as his master. I, on the other hand, felt a great moistness between my thighs which demanded action. I motioned Crossley to sit upon the cot. He was happy to do my bidding. Bless him. I settled him splay-legged and turned my back upon him. Grasping his eager cock between my legs, I lowered myself gently upon it. With no trouble it found an easy passage. Lowering yet further, I found myself impaled for the second time. It was 68

wonderful! Crossley came alive behind me. He grasped my hips and with his newly discovered passion, thrust up inside me. The anticipation, together with my previous encounter with the captain, all served to feed my impatience. I bounced up and down upon Crossley’s throbbing shaft, eager to reach completion. Reaching round he stilled my bouncing breasts, squeezing gently upon each nipple. With a cry of exultation my greedy body gorged itself on the pumping rod of my lover. His joy gave vent to a passionate plea ‘Fuck me woman,’ he screamed at me in the throes of ecstatic release. I was only too happy to oblige. Finally we extricated ourselves. I felt the wonder of total completeness. Crossley, on the other hand, was a man in awe of an excitement never before realised. He dressed and left me soon afterwards, his warming smile betraying his innermost gratitude. He promised to return when his duties were done, bringing me fresh clothing. I lay back upon the cot with a feeling of almost indescribable completeness. Daylight was beginning to creep through the cabin window. Perhaps I dozed, I’m not sure. What I was sure of was that there was a great deal of noise coming from above. I looked out of the cabin window. A ship stood close by, edging close to the Endeavour. This was a strange- looking merchantman. Its deck bristled with soldiers. Above me I heard the urgent call of command. The voice which rose above the rest was that of Captain Broadtree. He sounded angry. ‘God’s teeth. A Navy ship. We are betrayed. Crossley, go below and get the wench. Hers will be the first head to fall.’ 69

I ran to turn the key in the door. Almost at once I heard the clattering of many feet upon the ladder leading from the deck. Terror gripped me. Just before all senses left me, I heard the closing hail. ‘Heave to…Heave to…Heave to…Three two…Three two…Three two…’ ‘What?’ I came to with a start. I lay uncomfortable. The room smelled of stale beer. In the blinding light overhead I tried to focus. ‘I said three two,’ George said. ‘Oh.’ ‘Where have you been anyway? I came up a while ago and you weren’t in bed.’ ‘Must have been in the bathroom.’ ‘What, in the dark? There was no light under the door.’ I shrugged and said nothing. He lost interest rapidly. ‘Bloody ref. Daylight robbery. He was offside by a mile. The linesman was as bad. Didn’t need glasses, he needed binoculars.’ As he was raving on, George was busily throwing his clothes on an empty chair. He climbed into bed. It sagged to one side; almost like a ship in a heavy swell. George looked across at me. ‘You’ve torn your nightdress. How did you manage that?’ I was now wide awake. ‘It’s a long story,’ I told him. ‘In that case I don’t want to hear it.’ So saying, George switched off the bedroom light, leaving me to smile quietly to myself in the darkness.

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Boss Leggy by Landon Dixon I’ve been a leg-man ever since I’ve been old enough to walk, been trailing after leggy women for thirty years and counting now. And some times, a lot of times, I catch up with them, let them walk all over me. A ‘for example’ is the leggy lady who used to boss me around at a hotel I once worked at. Her name was Lindsay, a tall, slim, icily-cool brunette with medium-sized breasts and oh-so-very-long legs that she unabashedly flaunted in all kinds of different-coloured, different-fabric stockings and pantyhose. Lindsay was the events co-ordinator at the hotel, me a lowly chair rustler and carpet cleaner. But one day, when she was decked out in my favourite pair of shiny, snowwhite stockings with lacy tops, flowing like sensuous icicles out of a short, cotton-candy-pink leather skirt, she and I somehow managed to end up alone in her office. She was bending over the round table next to her desk, me next to her, showing me the table set-up plan for a big dinner that night. But my eyes weren’t on the plan, they were fixed on the uber-professional’s slender, stockinged limbs, her skirt riding up to reveal the firm, rounded bottoms of her butt cheeks. 71

‘Are you paying attention to what I’m saying, Kevin?’ she asked, turning her head and looking me over with her ice-blue eyes. My cock was a frozen rope in my pants, and she couldn’t help but notice. So I dropped the business pretences and boldly answered, ‘Nope,’ staring and staring at the woman’s glossy legs. She turned to face me, her legs swishing silkily together as she did so. She gave me and my tented trousers a stern look, then surprised and delighted me by strolling over to the office window and shuttering the blinds, pushing in the lock on the door. ‘I’ve noticed, Kevin, that you seem rather taken with my legs,’ she commented. I didn’t even look up to meet her haughty eyes, my fevered mind already replaying her sensuous stroll over to the door, how her legs flashed seductively under the fluorescent lights, how they were winking at me now, blinding me with lust. ‘Worship my legs with your cock!’ Lindsay ordered. That jarred me out of my reverie. I glanced up at my boss, observed the thin, brittle smile on her crimson lips, knew we were meant for each other. I nodded, fumbling my pants open and pulling my straining cock out. I dropped to my knees, power-crawled over to the lady’s planted silken stems. She turned her back on me just before I reached her, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs even further apart. ‘I don’t want to have to look at you, you disgusting little pervert!’ she snapped, her voice quavering slightly. I gazed up the shimmering, previously insurmountable slopes of her twin-seamed legs, all the way up to her ripe bottom sticking out from under her skirt. I licked desert-dry lips and stroked my rigid cock, running my eyes up and down the dizzying lengths of those wicked limbs over and over again. Then I swallowed hard, knelt even closer, and 72

pushed my strangled purple hood up against the slick, ultrasexy material clothing Lindsay’s stunning legs. I shuddered when I touched her blazingly white limbs with my cock, and I fought to control myself. I wanted this to last, for as long as she wanted it to last. So I sucked heated air into my billowing lungs and gently rubbed her clenched calf with the head of my cock. She moaned, and I rubbed harder. Trembling with excitement, I squatted in front of those cascading limbs, clutching the left in my free hand while I traced the seam on the right one with my swollen cockhead. I stroked those luscious legs from slender, tendon-cleaved ankles to shapely calves, from soft, vulnerable backs of the knees to firm, smooth thighs. I squeezed my throbbing cock at the base to prolong the magnificent agony, painting precum up and down the woman’s heavenly limbs. I stroked and stroked the lady’s exquisite legs with my cock and my hand. Then, with the tension, the velvet sensation of cock on leg, building to boiling point, I stumbled to my feet and grabbed one of her butt cheeks, shoved my leaking cap into the lacy white panties that bridged the erotic crevice in her peach-bottom bum. ‘My legs, worship my legs!’ she hissed, sliding a hand into her panties and rubbing. I mumbled my apologies, cursing myself for taking my eyes off the prize, hand and cock-stroked her sculpted legs back down again. And then, perhaps as a reward for my humble obedience, she brought her limbs together, trapping my cock between her muscled calves. I groaned, began moving my hips, pumping in between her calves. I gripped her thighs and leg-fucked the beautiful woman, the awesome friction from her ultra-sexy stockings and legs heating me up to the blasting point. I frantically pistoned my cock in between her gripping calves, my body bouncing off 73

her legs, knocking her slightly off-balance. She moaned, desperately rubbed her pussy, twisting her head around to see just how much I leg-loved her. ‘Fuck, yeah!’ I grunted, suddenly shooting sperm. I jerked my cock out from between Lindsay’s calves and sprayed her legs, her virgin-white stockings, with my steaming semen. Her legs vibrated with her own orgasm as I streaked them repeatedly with my lust. Lindsay left the hotel just one week later, unfortunately, walking out on me before I could truly show her how much I appreciated her lithesome beauty.

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Mail Order Bride by Kitti Bernetti The thing about mail order brides is that, if you do your research, they have exactly the woman you need. Henry Sampson lifted up the calf leather bin and flicked a minute speck of dust off the glass desk. He placed the bin back on his eucalyptus floor, adjusting it slightly to make sure it was streamlined. There. That was better. He sat palms down on the arms of the chair, brain ticking faster than his Breitling watch. He was thinking. He did a lot of thinking. He thought for other people as well as himself. That’s why he was so successful. As he eased back into the chair the leather upholstery squeaked in the silence. He stretched out legs lean from winning at squash and tanned after a weekend away. Sun, sea and a villa in the Maldives. It was such a shame she hadn’t been able to make it. She hated him to leave her. It was very touching. Henry pictured his new bride sleeping naked in the bedroom next door. He’d seen her curled up like that a thousand times and it always thrilled him. Her hair followed the contours of the pillow like feathers on a black swan. The thought of her perfection sent ripples of desire deep into his 75

stomach. But not just desire. For the first time in his thirty years this once confirmed bachelor was in love. He got up and leant a hand against the floor to ceiling window to look out over London below. His eyes were dazzled by the winter sun on the Thames. As he thought of his sexy bride, a cleft appeared between his granite eyes. He did not like the term ‘mail order’. It was down-market, downright cruel to girls like her. Just because she was the quiet sort – demure, foreign and uncomplaining – didn’t give people the right to downgrade her. It was just that men like him with a successful career, phenomenally successful some might say, simply didn’t have the time to shop around in the way ordinary men did. Henry’s friends were high flyers too, but they weren’t quite as stratospheric achievers as Henry. They had a bit more time to search. Brokers, bankers, they all had their ways of finding partners. Speed dating for professionals, top-drawer agencies. Henry did his stretching exercises, confident that his penthouse apartment was too high up for the plebs below to see as he did his standard fifty press-ups. When it came to women, his needs were very physical. He’d wanted something exotic to gaze on, to caress. He’d always been taught to expect something alternative from life, to seek out the extraordinary. When he found it, he had to make it his. Their apartment wasn’t full of collectors’ cabinets for nothing. He got up and gazed once again at his collection of Swarovski crystal. They always looked best this time in the morning. And the bookcase full of mint first editions of his favourite works. He pulled open a drawer and ran a hand across his collection of fine watches. His and hers Rolex’s from this 76

century and last. He selected one for today for himself and one for her: matching, as usual. As Henry strolled across the apartment delighting in the sensuality of the hand-woven cashmere carpet squeezing between his toes, he pondered which part of the world his bride had come from. The agency wouldn’t tell him the truth, of course. They were in the business of marketing exquisiteness in the form of female beauty and Henry was a collector of beauty. He was a collector and it was in a collector’s nature not to ask questions. She was physically astounding, and that was all that mattered. Her eyes were dark, far-eastern but her skin was translucent white. Before he’d met her, he’d studied the photos that had come through the post and was immediately smitten. Then he’d asked for more intimate ones and he wasn’t disappointed. Thinking back, he remembered how he could hardly contain himself whilst waiting for her to arrive. The agency had flown her over immediately. They knew he would pay. Henry didn’t have to wait for anything or anyone in his life. His level of wealth purchased immediate access. When she arrived she hadn’t disappointed him. She was, in a word, perfection. There was no point in her saying anything. No point her thinking. He did all her thinking for her. Her role was to pleasure him in the bedroom and he knew without her saying that she liked to be viewed, displayed and marvelled at just like any other coveted collectors’ item. Her thoughts were obvious. She knew she was on to a good thing and like a good little girl was compliance personified. Henry was like Croesus, but with him business deals didn’t just lead to gold. Platinum was more his league. Henry was a dotcom phenomenon with a string of mouldbreaking companies earning him a fortune even while he 77

slept. A thousand while he brushed his teeth, three thousand in the time it took him to drive to the office. You don’t achieve that by wasting valuable trading time looking for a partner. As he walked towards the bedroom, Henry’s boxers contained him tightly. He passed his hand over the front of them, proud of his masculinity, proud of its power and delighted with the effect it had on Serena. He knew that wasn’t her real name. She’d made it up of course. All those foreign girls who offered themselves as mail order brides adopted western-style names. He admired her immensely for it. Admired her ingenuity in recognising her own jawdropping beauty; understood her recognition that beauty was a commodity she could trade, and was impressed by her ability to market herself to a man with all the things he had to offer. Henry allowed himself a secret smile. He and his new wife were on the same wavelength. Henry in turn had given her all a girl could desire. His devotion was total. His was the exquisite torture of the ruler enslaved. Daily he went out to buy her millionaire-wife trinkets. Diamonds to wear against that dazzling skin. Silk to wrap around that body whose legs entwined him like ivy when they fucked. The thought of it caused him to swell. He yearned to make love to her now, to burst into the bedroom and rip the thin cotton sheet off her limbs. He imagined giving way to his passion, roughly opening her legs and thrusting himself into her pinioned body, waking her with an erection ready to shoot inside her. They’d spent days here doing just that. He knew such obsession wasn’t right. They must go out, amongst normal people, amongst people who weren’t drowning in their own lovemaking. Besides, he was proud of his prize. He wanted to show her off. She hadn’t been here long and it occurred to him that she was nervous 78

of going out. But he was running the show. He would make her. He stepped into the marble shower and felt hot water jet over his dying erection. It was good. It would save for later. When they got back, refreshed by the chill morning air, then he would let it happen. He would make love like a man possessed. Scented with Italian eau de cologne, Henry dressed himself. His suit was from Milan, tie and shirt from Jermyn Street and shoes from Madrid. He watched her emerging from beneath the cotton sheet, giving him that steadfast good-morning smile he was now so familiar with. She was new in this country, he reasoned. She wasn’t used to winter. A sweet naive thing she would just as likely venture out in chiffon and lace when she should be choosing lambswool. But he would look after her. He selected everything she would wear today, white v-neck jumper and slim black trousers. He even laid out coffeecoloured underwear for her. Henry kissed her on the neck as he placed a ruby necklace around it. ‘There my darling. You look spectacular in this.’ Once she was dressed, he helped her into her leather coat and downstairs in the private lift, straight into the garage. Serena always had trouble with seat belts, so feeling like a gallant knight attending to his lady, he clipped her in, satisfied his prize was safe before they set off. As Serena gazed out of the window, he rested a hand on her thigh. He thought how very appropriate the name, Serena, was. Whether she’d chosen it herself or whether someone from the marriage agency had conjured it up didn’t matter. It encapsulated her essence so well. She was serene, quiet, never wasting words when they weren’t needed. Like now when the two of them, gliding across Westminster Bridge and down Whitehall, sat in companionable silence 79

while he massaged her leg, both enjoying being propelled through the city. As the Jaguar purred down the Embankment to return to their apartment, Henry’s heart quickened. He knew, and she knew, that the main purpose for getting dressed and going out was so they could indulge in the sheer joy of returning, undressing, and making love anew. His hand moved up her thigh, lingered at the top and hesitated between her legs. She sat motionless and he admired her self-control. This was a sort of game they played together, where he would circle his finger round the inside of her thigh and up, till it was gently circling her crotch. With each completed circle he increased the pressure ever so slightly until he noticed her eyelids flicker with pent-up desire. There, there it was, that almost imperceptible flicker that said more than any larger gesture ever could. As they stopped at the lights, she stared ahead, feigning indifference when he knew she was boiling up like potion in a witch’s cauldron. She was bewitching. That quiet control, that motionless pretence that his touch wasn’t driving her over the edge was rubbish and he knew it. Still, it excited him as his fingers became ever insistent. He prayed for the lights to stay red as he eased down the zip of her trousers, parted the material and pushed the tip of his finger against the silken panties covering her sex. How warm and swollen it felt to him. He could hear his own breath become shallow in the quiet, mimicking the turning over of the engine. Then the lights changed, his foot hit the accelerator and they were back on the road. The one annoyance of his perfect morning was that they needed petrol. Still, a little waiting wouldn’t do either of them any harm. The more you had to wait for your pleasures the more enjoyable they were. 80

Henry turned off the ignition, squeezed Serena’s hand and got out to fill the tank. He looked at the other men at the pumps and felt sorry for them. In every way they were inferior to him with their working men’s vans and family cars. In a few, wives and girlfriends waited. Henry studied them as the petrol oozed into the tank, its pungent smell making him dizzy. Not one of them had an iota of the finesse and sensuality of Serena as she sat waiting for him. He was so proud he felt his heart would burst. Two men walked past his car. Henry put back the petrol cap, closed the flap and clicked the petrol gun back into the nozzle. The two men couldn’t take their eyes off Serena. Packaged in the bright red sporty Jag she was everything men fantasised about. And she was his. Henry stood impatiently in the queue, paying in cash as always, and desperate to get back to his amour. ‘Okay darling?’ he asked as the Jag moved off. As Henry waited to pull on to the Embankment, he smiled to see the two men in their van, their eyes full of envy. Yes, Henry was a lucky, lucky man. As soon as the car was off again, Henry couldn’t resist resuming their little game. He headed for the underpass and winked at Serena. As the car went over a bump, she shifted in her seat inviting him again to explore between her legs. It was dark in the underpass and at this time in the morning all but deserted. They both loved this bit. It was risky as they had cctv cameras in the underpass and occasionally the police patrolled it. Henry didn’t care though. He was too worked up to give a damn as he stopped the car, turned to Serena and said, ‘I need to taste you darling, I hope you’re ready.’ He knelt down in the car, the dim lights of the underpass murky as he pulled her panties aside and sank his tongue into her opening. She seemed tense at first so he reached up and brought her arms down on the back of his head, 81

encouraging her to enjoy his attentions. Hungrily, he lapped at her, working her, warming her up while her hands pressed heavily on the back of his head in encouragement. He knew she was enjoying it as much as he. She tasted gorgeous. Sweet and sour. Then, hearing a car rev behind him, he ran the back of his hand across his lips, slid back into the driving seat, fired the ignition and they set off like two naughty school kids caught in the act. Henry threw back his head and laughed out loud. They were ready to make love properly now, and were not far from the flat. He pulled the Jag into the garage of their apartment block. An urgency to possess her had fired up inside him. With fumbling fingers he pulled the key out of the ignition and hurried her laughing out of the car and back into the lift, up to the penthouse suite. Although he could have torn the clothes off her, Henry breathed deeply telling himself to take it slowly. The slower he took it the longer he could pleasure her. She loved it. She was insatiable, almost too much even for him. It didn’t matter how often or how long they were locked together, she always stretched her arms for more. He ushered her into the apartment and walked over to her on the sofa. Kneeling in front of her, he stared like a supplicant preparing to worship at the altar. She fixed him with her uncompromising gaze, challenging him to satisfy her. Bending down, he kissed her foot. Lifting it in his hand, he caressed the red painted toes, pushing each one in turn into his mouth. Sucking them like an animal hungrily lapping milk, Henry stroked her ankle and eased his hands up her calves. Her legs were the perfect shape, long and slightly curved. Her trousers bothered him, stopped him from feeling the skin at her thighs. But that was all part of 82

the delaying tactic. He wanted to be prevented from early gratification by the restriction of her clothing. ‘Take off your trousers,’ he ordered. Serena continued to gaze her challenging stare, knowing it would annoy him. Deeply passionate, she liked to make his blood boil. She liked him to undress her. She liked the sensation of being unwrapped like a precious gift, the feeling of his urgent hands tugging at the material, his long fingers easing her trousers over slender hips, exposing her little bud beneath a skimpy pair of white panties. He gazed at the black tufts of pubic hair. That always turned him on. There was something so animal, yet so feminine in their silkiness. He trailed a finger across her panties and then slid it under the delicate fabric to ease it inside her. ‘Do you like this, darling?’ he asked as he eased his finger in and out. He fancied he heard her groan with delight. At the same time, he nuzzled his face down into her perfume and licked his finger, lubricating it as it slid deliciously into her darkest secret place. He wanted her splayed open now across the sofa and gently pulled her legs wide apart. The thin material of her panties still hid her opening from him as he licked and moistened the fabric. Happy with the sopping wet patch, he stood up and leant down easing her arms upward to pull off her jumper. Stunning, full, heavy breasts strained against her bra. He stood between her legs and pulled a breast roughly out of the lace prison of her bra, grasping it in one hand. Henry rubbed it urgently around his face. He felt the sharp nipple zip across his cheeks, and teased it against his forehead. Finally he gave himself and her the ultimate pleasure of playing it around his lips. Round and round he pushed it, hearing his own breathing urgent and ragged now 83

as he anticipated taking her breast in his mouth. He opened wide and sucked the huge brown peak deep over his waiting lips. It tasted delicious. Sweet and round, he wanted to choke on it. With his other hand, Henry reached down to the flimsy panties and listened to the delightful ripping sound as he tore them off. As he sucked frantically at her nipple, Henry massaged Serena’s sex again, rubbing his palm urgently over the softness of her pubes. His erection was pushing hard now, grating against the cushions and he longed to bury it in her warmth. He was near to coming but he mustn’t waste his hardness. He must make her come as well. Panting with exertion, he knew he had to see her from behind. He pushed away and turned her so that she was kneeling, the top half of her body spreadeagled on the sofa, her hair tumbling behind her. He had total power over her and he knew she loved it. She liked nothing more than to subjugate herself to his needs. That was how their marriage worked. It wasn’t about clever conversation or witty repartee. It was about master and slave, client and whore, man and woman. She was waiting for him but he needed to savour her just a little longer before he gave her the ultimate satisfaction. Unzipping his trousers, still in his jacket and tie, he pulled out his cock to throb in his hand. He cupped a rounded, peach-like buttock with his other hand. One day she would surely allow him to defile her tightly clamped arse bud. Just thinking about it stiffened him more. But that wasn’t for today. The ultimate practitioner in control, Henry was saving that for a time in the future when his needs had escalated. At present she could satisfy him well enough in the position she was now. On all fours. Before he entered, he bent double and licked her cunny from behind, lapping at lips opening like a flower, he drank 84

up their scent. He smiled. She smelt of him, pungent and unwashed from their lovemaking last night. Without realising it, he had started to buck his hips even though he wasn’t inside her yet. As he gently rocked he drew his tongue up, past her fanny lips and over her forbidden bud, moistening between her cheeks. If he could stand it, if he could stand it without coming…. There. He eased his aching cock between her bum cheeks, teasing the little hole, not entering but massaging the straining flesh. He moistened her with his saliva, lubricating his cock so that he could slide deliciously up and down her. Her face pushed into the cushions, he grasped the back of her hair. She knew what was going to happen, she wanted it, maybe she would cry out when he did it. He couldn’t stand it any longer, he grabbed his near exploding cock and forced it inside her cunny feeling the ecstasy as her lips closed over him and sucked him in. Hers was the tightest he had ever had. Almost painfully tight, she enclosed herself around him, pulling at him deliciously as he gained momentum. This was the best ever. Every time was the best ever. He pounded up and down, watching and hearing her arse thump back into him as he mounted her, pushing her cheeks up higher and higher in his passion. She loved to be fucked hard, to be hammered to the point of calling for mercy. His balls became heavy. He could feel it working its way up inside him, any minute, any minute. He felt himself losing control, leant down, cupped both her heavy breasts in his hands and shot a pumping spurt of come into her depths. Yelling at the top of his voice he shouted ‘I love you, I love you. I love you,’ the last cry, echoed into the quiet of the room. As he pulled himself out of her, Henry felt embarrassed by his uncontrolled passion. He apologised profusely. She didn’t mind though. Her only thought was to please him. He collapsed, sated and soaking wet beside her. 85

The best ever…yet again. She was all that mattered to him. She was perfection. The emotion was so much he could hardly speak. But then chatting was never going to be their thing. He got up, flipped her over and looked into her glassy emotionless eyes. He would now carry her under one arm to the bedroom, she was so light, and put her carefully back in her box at the bottom of the wardrobe, folding the tissue paper over the smoothness of her rubber limbs. She would lie there patiently and wait for him. She was his special doll, better than all the ones before, surely the most beautiful one he had ever owned.

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A Day Of Pampering by Eva Hore My wife Julie’s birthday was coming up and I was determined to do something extra special for her. We’d been married ten years and every year she never forgot to buy me a sensational birthday gift and every year I always forgot about hers. I didn’t do it on purpose; I’m just not good at remembering those things. This year though it was going to be different. A friend of mine from work put me on to this agency. Whatever you desired, whatever your fantasy, they promised to deliver. I made an appointment and spent three hours pouring over what I wanted for Julie. I can tell you, I was excited, and as the day drew closer, it took all my willpower not to spill the beans. I woke early, slipping downstairs to usher in the chef I’d hired. While I showered and dressed in the guest room, breakfast was prepared. I slipped back upstairs with a single red rose. Waving the perfumed petals under Julie’s nose, I watched as it twitched, her sense aroused. Her eyes fluttered open to see me resting on the bed beside her. She smiled and then her brow furrowed as she took in my appearance and our bedroom where I’d placed the ten bouquets of red roses I had ordered. 87

‘What the?’ she said sitting up. ‘Happy Birthday darling,’ I said. ‘What? How…what,’ she stuttered, clearly overwhelmed. ‘One bouquet for each wonderful year we’ve been married,’ I said as she fingered the roses next to the bed. ‘For each year I’ve not done enough to make your day special.’ ‘Darling,’ she smiled, reaching over to wrap her arms around my neck. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ ‘There’s nothing for you to say,’ I said. ‘Today is your day. I have everything planned. You are to do nothing except for what I tell you to do, and, to start off,’ I said, clapping my hands, ‘breakfast is served’. The chef opened the door carrying in the breakfast tray. Julie’s eyes opened wide while she pulled the sheet up to cover her scantily clothed body. ‘Good morning, mam,’ the chef said. ‘I hope everything is to your satisfaction.’ He placed the tray over Julie’s lap, leaving the room temporarily to fetch my own tray. Bowing he silently left the room after removing the lids from the plates of food. ‘What is all this?’ Julie said, breathless. ‘It’s breakfast,’ I said smugly. ‘Very funny. How did you do all this?’ she asked. ‘Never mind,’ I said, pouring some champagne into a chilled flute. ‘And this food. Porridge with cinnamon, scrambled eggs with salmon, croissants, toast and fresh fruit. And these jams. Imported! What did you do? Rob a bank?’ she looked serious when she said that. ‘Come on. I want you to enjoy every aspect of today. And I don’t want you worrying about money. Everything is paid for so relax, eat and be prepared to be pampered,’ I said, spooning her some porridge. 88

‘Oh, that’s delicious,’ she said, feeding me mine. We sat there eating our gourmet breakfast and sipping champagne. When she finished she snuggled up against me. Her hand undid the zipper on my jeans and my cock, already rigid, popped out of my jocks. ‘Hmm, very nice,’ she said, her tongue lapping at my shaft. ‘Very nice indeed,’ I said, smoothing her hair away from her face so I could watch her suck me. I was lucky to have such a wonderful wife, but after today I think she’d be the one knowing how lucky she was. I’d planned the best birthday any woman could ask for. She rose above me, straddling my waist, her hot pussy lips teasing my knob. She guided it in and I sighed with satisfaction as my cock slipped into her wetness. Her silky juices enveloped me and she rode me quickly, heatedly, as her passion rose. A knock on the door had her off in a flash; the duvet pulled up around us as the chef entered to remove the trays. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ he asked. ‘Yes, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Jeeves! His name is really Jeeves?’ Julie laughed when he closed the door behind him. ‘Yes, it is. Now get back on my cock, woman, and be quick about it. You have to leave in an hour,’ I laughed as she threw off the duvet. ‘Leave! Where am I going?’ she asked, her eyes flashing with excitement. ‘It’s a surprise,’ I said. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ She threw off her flimsy nightie and impaled herself upon me. I knew how excited she was. She loved surprises and this one was going to be the best one yet. She rode me with renewed vigour and it wasn’t long before her pussy 89

was contracting, her juices smothering my cock before I too came. We showered together. I washed her gently, lovingly, soaping up her body, running my fingers over her curves, her breasts, in between the folds of her pussy. She tried to grab my cock but I slapped her hand away, pushed her up against the shower wall and went down on my knees to lick her. She lifted a leg, threw it over my shoulder. I found her clit, rubbed it with my fingers while my tongue lapped at her juices. She came, her juices running down my chin, her knees buckling so I had to hold her up. I carried and lay her dried body on the bed. ‘Oh darling,’ she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. ‘That was fantastic.’ I looked down at her. Her body was amazingly toned for a thirty-five-year-old. Her breasts were still firm, her nipples large, dark brown and inviting. Her waist was small and her hips rounded, her legs long and smooth. My eyes roamed down to her pubic hair and I pulled at it gently before tapping at her slit. Her legs fell open and I buried my head there nuzzling her while she opened her legs eagerly. ‘Oh no,’ I said, laughing. ‘You’ve got to be dressed in ten minutes.’ She pouted, unwilling to leave the bed. I opened her wardrobe door, pulled out her tracksuit and some underwear and threw it on the bed. ‘Hurry up,’ I said, hearing the peal of the doorbell. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked. ‘Jeeves will let you know,’ I said. There was a tap on the door and she quickly pulled on her clothes. ‘Your car is here, mam,’ he said. ‘My car,’ she said, looking at me confused. 90

I took her hand and led her down to the front door. A chauffeur stood there all decked out in his uniform, looking pretty handsome too, I might add. She squeezed my hand tight and I heard the intake of her breath when she saw the stretch limousine waiting for her at the curb. Rich velvet upholstery covered every inch, including the walls. The ceiling was in mirrors and the windows tinted black. A bar was in one corner and the stereo system filtered soft music throughout. We sat there while the chauffeur poured more champagne. I noticed some of the neighbours had come out to see what was going on. ‘I feel like a movie star,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘You’ll see. Just sit back and relax,’ I said, flicking the lock on the window panel so the driver couldn’t see us. Her hand groped for my cock while my fingers slipped inside her tracksuit pants. Her pussy was still wet and hot. I slid in a finger as she pulled at my zip, trying to free my cock. Her mouth licked at my neck before working its way up to my mouth. She kissed me, more passionately than she had in a long time. Reluctantly removing her hand from my cock, I pulled her into my open arm and she snuggled next to me while my hand lay protectively across her breast as we sped to our destination. The plan was for her to be pampered all day long. Body wraps, exfoliation, sauna, pedicure, manicure, facial, and massage, everything you could think of right down to her underwear and a new black dress. She was ready by five o’clock and I must admit, when she floated down the steps towards the limo where I was waiting, I had to look twice. They’d done her hair and make-up and she looked like a million dollars. I was already in my tuxedo and the smile on her beautiful face was worth the money I’d spent organising this. We 91

sped off into town, to the ritziest hotel in the city for a seafood dinner. Lobster, prawn, calamari, all of her favourite foods washed down with French champagne. We dined in leisurely fashion and by ten o’clock we were both ready to go home. She wanted to thank me for her wonderful day. I wanted to see her reaction to the rest of the night. The house was lit with candles when we arrived home. All through the house candles set the mood while soft music filtered down from upstairs. A trail of rose petals led the way to our bedroom where the whole bed was covered with them. A parcel sat in the middle of the bed, and I watched with amusement as her mouth worked but no words escaped. I took her hand and led her to the bed, motioning for her to sit down. I placed the box on her lap then I sat in a chair opposite to watch her reaction. She pulled at the ribbons and lifted the lid. Inside on a red velvet cushion were handcuffs, two sets, a blindfold and a small whip. Beneath the cushion was another gift, this one a huge black dildo with a tickler attached. Her face, already flushed from the wine, took on a new glow, and something animalistic surfaced. ‘Kinky, huh?’ she smirked. I stood pulling her up with me. Unzipping her dress I let it fall to the floor and I had my first glimpse of the sexy underwear I’d picked out. She was wearing a lacy red and black bra with a matching g-string. I ran my hand over black suspenders and silky stockings. My hand reached into the box to pull out the silk blindfold. I tied it over her eyes, my hands then running over her body to linger on her breasts where my fingers stole their way into the cups to squeeze her nipples. 92

My cock throbbed in time with my heart as I lay her amongst the rose petals. Taking each set of handcuffs, I attached them to her wrists and ankles, the soft fur ensuring her comfort. I stood back to admire her. She’d never looked sexier. ‘I love you,’ I whispered in her ear. ‘Trust me.’ I heard the intake of her breath. I had her right where I wanted her. Unable to move, unable to control the situation. I knew what her fantasies were. We’d talked about them for the last ten years, preferring not to act upon them, but tonight was different, tonight was special, tonight she was going to get exactly what she’d fantasised about all these years. A light tap on the door had her pulling against the restraints. ‘Enter,’ I said. In walked the very sexy woman that I’d chosen from the catalogue. She came directly to the bed and I sat back on the chair. She was dressed in a sexy teddy, cut high on the thigh, with pull up stockings. She was blond, tanned a golden honey and was wearing the highest stilettos I’d ever seen. She bent over the bed and I got a good look at her arse. Took all my willpower not to let my hands roam over her. She ran a red painted fingernail down the side of Julie’s cheek, down her chin and then up over her lips. Julie was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling as the finger continued down and over the swell of her breasts. Julie’s flesh broke out in a shiver and the woman, Vanessa, cupped each breast before un-clipping the bra from the centre and allowing it to fall open under her armpits. Her nipples were rigid, standing up firmly under Vanessa’s scrutiny. Vanessa lowered her head, her blonde hair tickling Julie’s face and I watched Julie breathe in her 93

scent and knew that she would know now that it was a woman, not a man, who had come to seduce her. A smile played on her lips, threatening to spread, and I knew that what I’d done pleased her. I watched as Vanessa’s mouth covered a nipple and she sucked it deep into her mouth while her other hand pinched and squeezed it. She smothered her face in between her cleavage and then her hot tongue trailed downwards. By the time she reached the edge of her panties Julie was breathing hard, squirming against the restraints as her passion rose. Vanessa’s fingers found their way into the crotch to tickle Julie’s pussy. She tugged at the material before scrunching it up in her hand and with a quick tug she ripped them from her. Vanessa picked up the whip, slapping it into her open palm. Gently, she slapped at Julie’s open thighs. Then she slapped at her inner thighs, a moan of satisfaction coming from Julie. A harder slap on her naked pussy had her squealing for more. Vanessa discarded the whip and climbed up on the bed. Seeing my wife lying there naked with another woman between her open thighs had my cock hard like granite. I rubbed at it through my trousers, while Vanessa lowered herself only inches from Julie’s pussy. Her tongue flickered out to connect with Julie’s slit. ‘Oh God,’ she moaned. Encouraged, Vanessa’s tongue lapped at her, licking hard from her puckered hole all the way up her slit. Her fingers opened up Julie’s pussy as though it were a delicate flower and she nuzzled in with her nose, rubbing up against her clit, while her fingers explored her deeply. ‘Oh, Brad,’ Julie whispered. ‘I need to see her. I need to watch what she’s doing. Take off the blindfold, please.’ 94

I said nothing, still sitting in my chair, as Vanessa’s hands roamed up to Julie’s heaving breasts. Vanessa’s arse was pointing upwards, twitching as her mouth ravished my wife. ‘Oh God,’ Julie moaned. ‘Yes, there. Oh God, yes.’ I knew she was about to come and I was pleased that my surprise hadn’t backfired. Knowing how excited Julie was, was all I was interested in. Well, maybe not all. Vanessa’s arse certainly had its appeal and I was sure her pussy would be as delectable as my wife’s, but this was my wife’s surprise so my feelings and desires didn’t come into it. ‘Brad, please,’ Julie begged. ‘Stop tormenting me. Take of this blindfold.’ Her head thrashed from side to side as though she could dislodge it. I moved over to her while Vanessa continued and gently removed the material. I kissed Julie’s lips; her tongue snaked out, thrashing about inside my mouth as she kissed me with more passion than I thought possible. ‘I need to see her,’ she breathed into my mouth. ‘Oh God, I love you so much.’ I moved my hand to tweak a nipple as Julie strained against the restraints, lifting her head to peer down at Vanessa. Vanessa’s deep blue eyes stared up from over her mound as her tongue continued to tantalise her. ‘I need you to fuck me,’ she begged. ‘What?’ ‘Fuck me,’ she demanded. ‘I need you to fuck me.’ ‘I have the dildo. I can get Vanessa to strap it onto herself and she can fuck you with it.’ I didn’t think she wanted me to participate, well not now, not with Vanessa here. That was one of my fantasies. To have a threesome with my wife. ‘You sure?’ I whispered, eager for my cock’s release. 95

‘Very sure,’ she smiled. ‘Please hurry. I want Vanessa up here so I can taste her pussy.’ Vanessa rose and climbed up to the head of the bed. She unclipped the teddy and squatted over Julie’s face. I could see blonde tufts of pubic hair poking out and watched mesmerised as Julie’s tongue stretched forward and she had her first taste of another woman. In a flash I was out of my clothes and between her legs, my knob so huge, the skin threatening to burst, it was so stretched. Julie’s pussy was gaping open. I could see her juices glistening and with one quick thrust I was deep inside her. Vanessa was facing me and I saw her eye my cock. She grabbed at her own breasts, pulling them up and over the teddy, offering them to me. I leaned forward taking one in my mouth while my cock thrust back and forth inside my horny wife. I could feel my own orgasm building, wanting to explode. I could just hear Julie’s frantic voice tugging at my conscience. I withdrew my cock and helped Vanessa off. ‘Undo these handcuffs now,’ she demanded eyeing my cock. She was like a woman possessed. Her voice was deep, a manic quality there that I’d not heard before. Rose petals had stained her skin and as I uncuffed her she flew at Vanessa, threw her on to her back and fell between her open legs. I pulled Julie’s bra free from her arms and lifted her higher by the hips. With her naked arse beckoning me, I parted her pussy lips and teased her with my knob. She pushed back at me, wiggling, trying to impale herself on to me while she devoured Vanessa. I rammed into her, hearing her cry of pleasure and fucked her hard. 96

‘Oh yeah, baby. Yeah. Oh God, fuck me harder you bastard,’ she screamed. ‘Harder!’ I fucked her harder than ever before, my eyes riveted to Vanessa’s breasts as they jiggled over her body. Julie was wild and I felt her pussy contract over and over as she orgasmed. Finally she pulled away from me and collapsed on the bed beside Vanessa, kissing her mouth while her hands roamed over her. ‘Put on the dildo,’ she ordered Vanessa. ‘You,’ she said to me, as her legs wrapped themselves around my waist, ‘are the best husband in the whole world.’ I plunged back into her with renewed vigour, eying Vanessa as she strode towards me with this mighty dildo. I felt my hole pucker and clench. I was hoping Julie didn’t have plans for me to be on the receiving end. Thankfully she didn’t. She rolled me onto my back and straddled me. Lying over me, her voluptuous breasts squashed against my chest, she wiggled her arse as Vanessa positioned in behind her. I hadn’t realised being fucked up the arse was another of her fantasies. Vanessa’s hand was at my shaft and then her fingers were inside Julie, smearing her juices all over the crack of her arse. I was wishing we had a mirrored wall in here. I couldn’t see properly. I should have thought about a movie camera. Should have taped this, this special day. Julie’s head rose and I saw her eyes wild, her nostrils flaring, her breath sweet with the musky scent of Vanessa as she anticipated the dildo’s entry. ‘Oh yes please,’ she whispered as Vanessa eased it in. ‘Oh yes.’ Within minutes we were humping like we’d done this all our life and it wasn’t long before Julie collapsed onto my 97

chest, weak and exhausted. She rolled off me, lying there, her breasts heaving, her eyes still wild. ‘Fuck her,’ she demanded. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Fuck her. Quickly before I change my mind,’ she said sitting back against the pillows. ‘Doggy style.’ Pulling Vanessa towards me I quickly plunged my saturated cock inside her, feeling the amazing sensation of fucking another woman for the first time in over ten years. Julie was masturbating, coming again and again as she watched. She’d turned into a nymphomaniac. Vanessa wiggled her way over to Julie’s open thighs and fell onto her pussy. We fucked and sucked each other for hours until finally it was time for Vanessa to leave. Coming back into the bedroom after seeing Vanessa out, I smiled as I saw my sexy wife lying on her back amongst the crushed rose petals with her legs splayed open. I was reminded of just how lucky I really was. Even though this day had been for her she saw fit to include my happiness into it as well. ‘Fuck me,’ she breathed. ‘I need to rest,’ I said laughing. ‘I’m not a machine.’ ‘Strap on the dildo,’ she demanded. ‘I need more.’ I looked at her thinking she was joking. She wasn’t. I’d unleashed a beast in her. I strapped on the dildo and finally, after many more hours of fucking her arse and pussy at the same time, she was finally sated. We lay together locked in each other’s arms. ‘That was the best birthday ever,’ she murmured, nearly asleep. ‘You can say that again,’ I whispered. Just as I nodded off I thought I heard her say, ‘Your birthday’s coming up soon. Let’s see if you like my surprise.’ 98

I fell asleep with a smile on my face, dreaming of all my fantasies coming together at the one time.

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A Club For The Discerning Young Gentleman by David Harvie The luminous digits on the clock read 19:00. This was the time Niall expected them to arrive. He pulled back a section of the drawn curtain and peered into the dark street, looking for a likely car, but saw none. When they spoke on the phone the woman at the other end seemed to know where his house was. Niall sat down and again watched the clock in the twilight of his bedsitter. The house was quiet this evening; the other tenants had either gone out or had not yet got in. ‘Please let it stay like this until I’m out,’ he said to himself, not wanting to be seen when he was taken away. His stomach continued to gurgle and his heart beat out a nervy rhythm. 19:03. Once more he fumbled inside his jacket pocket for his money and counted it. It was still £270. 19:05. When the doorbell rang it startled the young man out of his chair. Opening the front door, Niall was faced with a short but heavily built black-suited bouncer-cum-chauffeur. ‘Niall?’ said the heavy. Niall nodded. He was led to a big saloon car with darkened windows. Once inside, the man said, ‘They explained about this did they?’ showing his passenger a balaclava with a thick patch stitched over the visor. Niall hummed a confirmation, not yet confident that 101

his voice would work properly. He donned the spooky headgear. Satisfied, the driver started the car and moved off. The stereo played frantic rave music, loud but not enough to attract attention. During the ride the only conversation was an occasional and perfunctory ‘You all right in there?’ from the driver, to which Niall managed ‘Yeah, fine,’ each time. The journey along urban-sounding streets may have taken about fifteen minutes. The car stopped in a quiet place. ‘Here we are,’ said the driver. Niall took this as a cue to take off the balaclava but, on attempting it, felt a big hand grasp his wrist, not threatening but firm. ‘Not until we get inside,’ the driver said. After being helped from the car, Niall was led a short distance – footsteps echoing – when his escort stopped him and pushed an entry buzzer. A squeezed electronic female voice answered. ‘It’s Ellie’s boy,’ said the man. The door clicked and opened. Inside Niall was guided down some uncovered stairs. The fat thud of club music forced itself out through a wall beside him. At the bottom of the stairs a squeaky door was eased open and they turned into a room. The hard clonking steps gave way to a soft quiet surface. Niall heard the door close behind him with another squeak and a clack, shutting out the music. ‘Right, you can take this off now,’ the man said. Niall adjusted his eyes to see a short blonde, brassy woman. ‘Come in baby,’ she said, ‘take your coat off, sit down. Ellie will be with you in a minute. Do you want anything while you’re waiting, a coffee, orange juice, glass of water?’ Niall politely declined. She left and went through a second doorway into an adjoining room. Niall removed his jacket, folded it in half then laid it on an old-looking sofa. He sat down. Selfconsciously he attempted to smooth down his mussed hair. 102

The driver lit a cigarette and loitered by the doorway talking to the blonde. He was competing with a TV in the second room. It sounded like a British cop show was on. The room echoed with the scent of the woman’s perfume which reminded Niall of cannabis. Soon cigarette smoke mixed with, it making a disturbing odour. It was a large square room; maybe a gym at one time or a dance studio. In the centre of the cream carpeted floor was a large, thick blue mattress. Cushions of various colours lay scattered on it. This area was lit from above by a single, unshaded, none-too bright bulb. Niall noted what appeared to be spotlights hanging from the ceiling, all aimed at the mattress. Further anaemic lighting was offered by chintzy electric wall lanterns. The only other furniture was an oval coffee table and a straight-backed wooden dining chair. These were the other side of the room to Niall and lived in twilight due to the mean bulbs. Niall strained to see a coil of rope and two belts on the floor by the chair. A glass ashtray occupied the centre of the coffee table. There was something black near the edge – and although Niall had never seen one for real before, he knew it was an automatic pistol. Beside it were some gold objects doing their best to gleam – handcuffs and a knuckleduster. In between the chat going on by the door, Niall heard the gruff boom of another woman from the other room. ‘My boy ready?’ he heard her say. She sounded black and fierce, perhaps angry. Niall couldn’t take his eyes off the weapons. The driver came back into the room and walked straight to the table. After one last drag on his cigarette he stubbed it out in the ashtray. With a squinting glance at the young man he blew out a final lingering stream of smoke. As he went back towards the door Niall heard the blonde woman say, ‘You’ve got everything?’ The scary woman answered but he 103

couldn’t make it out. Seconds later the blonde returned and was standing in front of Niall wearing a catwalk smile. ‘Are you having a film?’ she said. ‘No,’ said Niall. ‘What about a costume?’ ‘No.’ ‘No costume? OK. So that’ll be two hundred and fifty then.’ Niall stood up clutching his jacket and fumbled for his wallet, now aware that he had no desire to find it. ‘Actually…I’m not sure I want to do this now,’ he said, his throat hoarse with nerves. Her smile vanished and she regarded him with a neutral expression. In the other room the television clicked off. From there another woman came in. Forty-something – maybe fifty, chocolate brown skin and big gold-dyed hair. She was very large. Her gently wobbling body was wrapped in a shiny crimson dressing gown. Its top half swelled dangerously with the mass of her breasts which were valiantly restrained by a gold lacy bra partly visible underneath the gown. She sported possibly the chunkiest hips Niall had ever seen on a woman. This was the famous Ellie. ‘What’s the matter, baby?’ said the blonde. ‘I’ve just changed my mind, that’s all,’ said Niall. ‘Are you sure? It’s entirely up to you.’ Niall made another polite, nervous excuse and walked towards the open door. Instantly a thick, black-sleeved arm shot across him blocking his exit. ‘No you don’t, not without this.’ Out came the daft headgear once more. ‘If you’re not staying, that’ll be just forty then,’ said the blonde. ‘Forty?’ said Niall. 104

‘Yes. You made an appointment, we’ve had to bring you here, everything’s ready for you and now you say you don’t want it. Now we’ve got to take you home. It’s all a bit inconvenient.’ Two young men – Niall and Wes – watched as once again the big negro woman threw the youth down, his blackskinned naked back thudding onto the mattress. He lay unmoving except for the pronounced rhythm of his chest. As he moaned he showed a grateful smile. Then with a war-like bellow Ellie dropped to her knees, crashing her rump into his midrift. His head jerked up and he let out an air-starved yelp. She put a hand over his pained face and shoved him back down. The gold bikini-wrapped bulges of Ellie’s body quivered as she eased into a comfortable position astride her boy. Niall and Wes looked on agog, afraid to breathe. A white crease moved down the picture briefly obscuring the action and killing the sound. While muttering barely audible taunts, Ellie worked her hand into, over and around his face. She clutched his mouth, squeezing his cheeks and lolled his head from side to side, her black fingers like legs of a spider wrestling its prey. Sweat glistened on his dark forehead and short, tightly curled hair as it was picked up under the lights. The muscles in Ellie’s tree trunk thighs tensed, her knees dug into the boy’s sides. His face creased with sudden pain. She relaxed and his expression returned to pleasure. Ellie never smiled, her face a picture of quiet menace. Then with a husky grunt she gripped his sides again – he yelped, she relaxed – he groaned. She did it a third time. He lay on the mattress moaning and laughing. Ellie got off him and took hold of his boxers. With no resistance she pulled them off and flung them aside. ‘Roll over, on your tummy!’ she 105

ordered. He instantly obeyed. From beside the mattress she produced two elasticated belts. With one she bound the youth’s feet together at his ankles. Then kneeling astride him she took the second belt and moved to his torso. ‘Lift up sucker,’ she said and fed the belt under him. ‘Arms behind your back,’ she tied his arms to his back. ‘Good boy,’ she growled testing the bind. Again Ellie reached for something. It was a whip with several tails. She stood and put a foot on the bare bottom facing her. ‘Mmm. Your cute little ass is mine now,’ she said freeing up the whip’s ends with a shake. Sixteen times Ellie lashed him with a slow scything action. There was a splatting sound as leather met buttock flesh and muffled yelps from the other end. When she finished she dropped the whip. Her mighty bosom heaved and in a voice hoarse from effort she said, ‘Alright, I’ve done foolin’ around with you, coconut.’ She left him moaning into the mattress and walked over to a small table near the corner of the screen and picked something off it. Walking back slowly and pronounced for the camera like a heavyweight model, her black eyes locked onto him. She was holding a small black pistol. The boy raised his head and strained for a look behind to see Ellie returning. He buried his face into the plastic once more – and screamed – ‘No, Ellie! No!’ Ellie took no notice. Four feet from him she stopped, took a careful aim and squeezed off one…two…three shots. With each one a long jet of water fizzed out and splashed between the boy’s bare buttocks. On the sofa Niall winced as Wes howled and cracked his fingers in that West Indian fashion. ‘What does that do for you, Wes?’ Niall said. ‘It’s great! You’ve gotta go back and try it bro’. I’ll come with you if you want. Get your own film done, it only cost 106

three and a half. Man, that Ellie’s a heavy bitch, I couldn’t move when she was on me.’ ‘It looked like she wanted to kill you.’ ‘She could’ve, but that costs a lot more.’

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Striptease by Carmel Lockyer I had my back against the wall and my hands plunged down the waistband of my skirt when the man appeared. I’d been expecting him, from the way he’d been watching me during the show, but I wasn’t sure he’d manage to find his way round the back of the club. I’d hardly managed to find it myself. I’d been watching him as much as he’d watched me. He was in his thirties, wearing one of those collarless Armani suits and designer boots. A man with money. He probably hoped to pass for a creative type, but he couldn’t fool me – he was an accountant. I should know, after all. A cute, wellmade, gel-haired accountant, with his blue eyes fixed on my sparkling silver pasties. I’d been sure if I skipped to the right, his eyes would come out of his head and follow, like a cartoon character. I loved those little pasties – they were tiny sparkly butterflies that stuck over each nipple with a light adhesive. When I’d finished my act I was wearing nothing but silver stiletto heels, my butterfly pasties and the silver scarf I’d been wrapping and unwrapping around my body and dragging between my legs. The Armani guy was stunned; his eyes narrow with desire, and his breath half-hissing 109

through his teeth, because he was so hot for me. But a stripper doesn’t fraternise with the punters and I could see Murray, the club owner, giving me the evil eye because I was still onstage when my music had ended. I winked at Mr Armani and strolled off, with my scarf trailing behind me. The whistles and cheers were the loudest of the evening. Pretty good, considering it was only my second night as a stripper! Last night was my first night, although nobody would have believed it. None of the other girls did, nor the audience. And this man, standing about a yard from me now, staring at me with his cartoon eyes in the street light glare, he wouldn’t believe it either. I’m his dream come true, his sparkly, dirty, supple dream. I’m the woman he didn’t believe existed. His gaze sent shivers up my spine and I couldn’t resist lifting my right leg, turning it outwards so the knee slid up the rough brick and my micro-mini-skirt lifted too. He could see I had one hand holding open the lips of my labia so two fingers of the other hand could dip in and out of my cleft, drawing the wetness up to my clitoris which had its own little shiver as the cold night air struck it. He groaned and leaned forward, pressing his hands to the wall either side of my shoulders to stare down at what I was doing. I pushed my hips forward – the way he looked at me was bringing me off – I was too close to stop but I didn’t want to come yet either, I wanted to hold the orgasm close to the edge and make him watch me as I played, touching myself under his eyes. I needed a distraction. ‘Do you want to know how we got here?’ I asked, and my voice was husky with lust and pleasure. He groaned again, shaking his head. I lifted my leg from the wall and tucked it around his back, pulling him towards me so I could feel the hardness through his suit as his cock 110

pressed against my naked vagina. I let him rub against me for a moment before I pushed him away with my hips. ‘Wrong answer,’ I said. He blinked. He wasn’t used to women telling him he was wrong. Then he smiled and said, ‘Yes, tell me, how did we get here?’ He was humouring me and I didn’t like it. I preferred him hot and groaning. I reached out and pushed my hand down his designer trousers, feeling the heat and hardness of his shaft in my palm. I squeezed once and let go. Now he was almost hanging off the wall because his knees had gone weak, and he was hissing with lust again. Good. I wanted him to pay attention. I strutted my way to the fire exit, which I’d propped open with an empty beer crate. By now the club should be empty. I pouted over my shoulder at him and he followed like a little dog. I loved the hungry way he looked at me. Halfway down the stairs I stopped him, pressing my hand against his chest. I felt his heart pounding against my fingers. ‘This is how we got here,’ I said. And I told him. It all began when Asha and I went to a leaving party for somebody at the Tax Office. I didn’t like the guy who was leaving, but I was the only member of the management team who hadn’t come up with a swift enough excuse to get out of it. So I told Asha she had to come too. She’s my best friend as well as my deputy, and although she grumbled, it was just for show – she likes a night out as much as I do. The person who’d collected for his leaving present had decided to book a kissogram. The girl they’d hired was dressed as a traffic warden. She was pretty enough, I suppose, but there was no oomph to her performance. I noticed Asha turning round in her chair to observe – she’s got a keen eye for a pretty girl. It makes me wonder about 111

her relationship with the mysterious Sue. All I know is Sue’s a P.E. teacher at a girls’ school. I’ve never even seen a photograph. I remember what my P.E. teachers were like though, and I’m sure Asha goes home to a woman with a handlebar moustache and hairy legs. So I watched this kissogram girl and all I could think was that I could do it so much better. And by the time she’d finished I knew I would do it better. I’d watched the way the men looked at her. I wanted men to look at me like that, but they don’t look at a Tax Inspector with naked, hard desire. Men don’t shudder with lust, and run their hot eyes over you, if you’ve turned up to inspect their profit and loss account. So I picked up my margarita and took a long, thoughtful drink. Asha was still running her gaze up and down the kissogram’s legs and it gave me a moment to plan things. I had a couple of week’s leave owing and I’d always been a quick learner. By the next morning I’d gone online, and booked a course called, ‘please your man with pole and burlesque skills’, found a website selling strippers’ equipment, and sent the office an email saying I was taking a week off. By this time Mr Armani was almost on his knees, which suited me. He was a couple of steps below me as I braced myself against his body to tell him my story. Somehow, his fingers had worked their way up my thighs and he had begun to press his thumb against my clit, while his other hand was creeping higher and sliding under the silk of my top to brush the curve of my breast. I was finding it difficult to talk, my legs wanted to give way now, and I was fighting the urge to close my thighs around his hand and jiggle until I came. Instead I pushed my hand into his hair and pulled his head back until I could bend and kiss him. He had good strong lips and white teeth and he tasted of brandy. That 112

reminded me that even though I felt completely blasted, I hadn’t had a drink all night. I’d got high entirely on the eyes of the customers. It took me less than a day to master the striptease. By day two I’d graduated to the pole and by day three I was doing what the instructor called aerial work. That’s when an artiste turns her body upside down on the pole so her feet are in the air and her head points at the ground. Men love it, they purely love it. A woman who can do it can name her price. I did it on my first night and the tips piled up under my flowing hair in nice ten and twenty pound heaps. By day five I’d had enough, I didn’t need to hang around for my coy pink graduation certificate – I wanted a paying job. So I decided to audition at a club far from home and the office. I found Murray’s Marvels in the telephone directory and drove down that afternoon to show off my bump and grind, and pole work. It was a huge buzz, so much better than performing in front of the other students and the teacher. I could almost feel Murray’s eyes running over me like a caress. The idea that soon a room full of men would look at me the same way was delicious. I finished by leading the Armani man to the stage. The lights were off, all except the emergency exit signs, and there was no music, but I imagined myself performing for the crowd anyway. So I dropped my bag, with my costume in, on the floor as I pressed up against him. I started to sway, sliding my hands over his cock, which was hard enough to jump against my palms, and into his pockets to find the condom I guessed would be there. He’d been pretty sure of himself. I unfastened his belt and slid down his zip. Immediately his erection pushed forward and in turn I pushed him down, until he was flat on the floor, right where my naked body had been gyrating a couple of hours before. He was a big 113

lad, well-shaped and with a flared head to his cock that would bring a woman – this woman – to a fast and frantic climax. So it’s not surprising that I didn’t immediately realise we were being watched. It was Suzette, one of the other strippers. I’d watched her earlier in the evening and admired her technique, although I could never use it myself. She was one of those cool blondes who treat men with icy disdain. Her contempt for the audience seemed to inflame them and every man who watched her seemed obsessed with waving tenners at her, forcing her to acknowledge him. But she didn’t. She treated the crowd like so many shop-window dummies, slinking around the stage as though she couldn’t hear them baying and whistling. She was slim and fair-skinned, with the peachy-tan pubic hair of a natural blonde, along with large, light nipples – as pretty as the pink icing on a cupcake – and a mass of blonde hair that swung across her breasts like a golden curtain. As I say, I’d admired the way her contempt made the men want her more, but it wasn’t a technique I could use myself. I liked being looked at, I loved being admired, and this whole stripper thing was the most exciting adventure I could imagine. It wasn’t better than sex but it was damn close, and now, with Suzette watching from a dark corner of the bar, I’d achieved perfection. I was about to fuck an anonymous, gorgeous man, with an appreciative audience. I was just about ready to explode and I hadn’t even got the guy’s prick inside me yet! I began to slide down his shaft, feeling my own wetness lubricating his length. Our mutual heat began to push me towards orgasm, way before I was ready. I reached out a hand to Suzette, beckoning her to join us, but she shook her head and smiled in a superior sort of way. I was way too far gone to concentrate on her, so I gave up and paid attention to what was happening. 114

Armani man was a talented fuck. Though he was underneath, he wasn’t being passive – already he had the knuckles of his left hand pressing gently against my clit and was easing them slowly across it so I could feel each bone and trough like a tiny caress, in exact time with the throb my clit was giving. His right hand was up inside my top and he was pinching one of my nipples to the same rhythm. It was one of those times you could wish a guy had three hands. So I relieved him of his clitoris duty by slipping my own index finger down to rub the little button which was slick with moisture. Immediately he got the idea, pushing up the top so he could tease both my nipples with his hands, before lifting his head to suck hard on one, then the other. I looked down, and saw his shiny cock. It was wildly red and gleaming, from the scarlet condom and the dim lights of the bar – a bit like being Ferrari-fucked, I thought. I lifted my head and gazed at Suzette – who opened her mouth and slipped two of her fingers deep inside and pumped them as she stared back. It tipped me over the edge, and I felt myself begin to come. It was one of those orgasms that hits like a truck and is gone almost as fast, leaving a kind of dull ache. As soon as it was over, I knew I could come again, and it would be longer and sweeter the second time, so I braced my arms either side of his head and began to rock my hips fast. The waves of the first orgasm were still receding as the second one began to build. I could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold on for more than a couple of seconds so I slammed his cock as deep as I could into me, purely focused on my own pleasure because his was so close. I don’t know who came first. I know my second orgasm was so intense that for a moment I forgot who I was and where I was, and even who I was with. 115

Under me, the Armani man sighed. I glanced up at Suzette. She held up her hands, flashed her fingers and winked. I must have looked puzzled because she did it again. This time I understood. Six out of ten. I’d have to admit it stung. Only six? I hadn’t been concentrating on performance, as such, being too engrossed in having a good time, but surely we rated at least an eight? Armani man spoke. He wanted my telephone number. He was definitely worth cultivating, but I could hardly give him my business card at the tax office. I hooked my bag over with my foot and dug around inside until I found my Filofax and a pen. I wrote my mobile number on a page and tore it out. He looked like a man who was ready to dance the horizontal tango all over again, but I simply pointed to the door. He would be back; I had him on a string, and I wasn’t prepared to have him perform less well the second time and maybe get a miserable four from Suzette. After he’d gone I rolled onto my back and lifted one leg in the air. Suzette strolled out of the shadows and ran her finger along the sole of my foot, making me shiver and giggle at the same time. ‘Only six?’ I asked, pouting. ‘He wasn’t good enough for you,’ she replied. I looked up at her. In the dark bar it was hard to read expressions, but she was smiling wickedly. As I watched, she wrapped her long hair around my foot, and the cool, silky feel of it against my skin made me shudder. ‘He wasn’t,’ she repeated. ‘I am though.’ I thought about it for a second. I wasn’t exactly ignorant about the whole girl thing and I certainly wasn’t prejudiced – my best mate was a lesbian, after all. But somehow it had never happened to me. I suppose there were just too many men around for me to notice women. 116

Suzette was running her tongue along my instep and around my ankle and down, down towards my knee and it felt so good, I forgot to think. She pushed gently on my foot until my knee began to bend and as I lowered my leg she followed it down, until she was kneeling between my thighs. I knew what she could see, I would be wide and wet, and my black pubes, shaped into a narrow Brazilian, would be glossy with juice. I felt her fingers opening me, gently spreading my vagina. As she began to lap at my clitoris with her soft tongue, those fingers began to dip into me, first from one side, then the other. No man would ever have thought of doing that, I thought. It was gorgeously teasing, and I began to swivel my hips as one hand withdrew so that the fingers on the other hand were driven deeper as I rose up to meet them. Her mouth was clever too and her lips rubbed and pulled on my clit so expertly that it was barely seconds before I came. She turned round and spread her thighs over me, lowering her own vagina until it was just above my face. I lifted my head, wondering what this was going to be like. It was amazing. Her tongue on me was holding me on the edge of orgasm and everything she did to me, I did to her, and I could feel her excitement like a mirror of mine. She even tasted like me. We came together. As she rolled away, she held up both hands, all fingers. A ten. We straightened our clothing silently, smiling at each other in the dark. It was romantic, until she kicked my bag and we had to scrabble around the stage to gather up my stuff. She had one of those little torches on a keychain, or we’d never have found all my lipsticks and tampons and keys. Outside, in the alley, Suzette put her arms round me and kissed me hard. I could taste my juices on her lips. She leaned back and touched the tip of my nose with something. 117

‘You’d probably better keep quiet about this to Asha,’ she said. My jaw dropped, how did she know about Asha? I took the thing she’d been waving in my face and moved over to the streetlight to look at it. It was my own business card. She must have taken it from my bag. I looked up but she’d vanished. Suzette. Sue? I giggled. I’d just met the mysterious P.E. teacher – no wonder Asha kept quiet about her.

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Picnic At Niagara by Astrid L. They say that the weather can change in Niagara, so it was important to come well-prepared. A bottle of Nuits St Georges, a jar of plump Spanish mussels, and a small box of hand-made dark truffle chocolates are the things that I’ll bring. And two glasses, a corkscrew and large serviettes. The serviettes are paper, but of good quality in the lush yellow and blue of my home in Provence. I’ll be wearing new clothes: a crossover top that might show a glimpse of black lace edging the bandeau of my bra. The top is not tight, but the fabric clings just enough for my nipples to show their change of humour. It should be warm and sunny so I’ll wear a mid knee-length skirt in a soft floral that I can push up gently should I feel the need to slightly spread my legs. But he won’t be able to see my new clothes, for I’ll still have my coat on; it is early and we’ll not yet have found the place for our picnic. I do hope we find an appropriate place, perhaps an abandoned path to the rapids. I must remember to take some mules, ones I can slip in and out of with ease. Rich liver paté; a ripe creamy Brie, a fresh French baguette are the things that he’ll bring. His grey herringbone 119

jacket is pure wool against the breeze. I’m sure he has also thought of the weather. But he’ll wear an open-neck shirt which will be slightly darker in tone than the blue of his eyes. We are between seasons and I can imagine the feel of his mustard cord pants. He has forgotten to go to the hairdresser this month and I like the way his thick grey hair touches his shirt collar at the back. I’ll follow him, a little blindly, yet trusting. I know he will find the perfect spot: a rough wooden table with two benches under the trees down by the lake away from the crowds in a place where we can feel the mist rising. I imagine the noise of the waterfall rushing, tumbling down, but we are too far for it to be a distraction. What I do hear is my own thrill and excitement. I wonder if he can hear it as well. It is as though I am looking in from the outside, a voyeur on a secret time of my life. We are the picture of old-world decorum. I spread out two of the lush serviettes. He has a penknife, but we have forgotten plates. We laugh at this part of our impracticality. I place the bottle of deep red wine on the table. He takes it and considers the label. ‘The proof of the wine is in the drinking,’ he says. I smile and place the glasses on the rough table. He unpacks the paté, the cheese and the bread. I hand him the corkscrew. It is getting warmer and I take off my coat. He opens the bottle, but his eyes are upon me. I feel his approval and it makes me start to blush and, as if he has noticed, he turns his eyes once more to the task of the bottle. What he cannot see is the sensual contrast: the warmth of my blush and the feel of a spring breeze beneath my skirt. I’m wearing lace panties, black over Bordeaux, sheer, the mid seam unsewn, a personal compromise between a thong and nothing at all. 120

The cork pops and from his gaze I can see that my nipples betray me and hint at the thrill coming beneath. There is a swirling, a turmoil, as the falls tumble over. Again. And again. We sit face to face, the table between us. He raises the screwed cork to his nostrils and breathes in the trapped bouquet. He closes his eyes for a moment before filling our glasses and then, raising his in a toast, he says ‘Here’s to what’s happening.’ I cannot speak. I just nod and I sip. He breaks the bread and cuts some paté, spreads it on the dough of the baguette and hands it to me. I take the morsel and our fingers meet. I cannot resist drawing his fingers to my lips. My tongue touches the paté and bread and as my lips enclose the morsel and swallow, I draw him into my mouth just far enough to nibble, imperceptibly suckle. I cannot be calm and so break the spell. ‘Shall we play a game?’ I ask. His index finger wanders to my lips and traces the fragile moist skin. His finger lingers and I close my eyes. Then he withdraws his hand and spreads some Brie. ‘I’m game,’ he says, his voice quietly hoarse. We both know the rules. We do not want complications. Yet we are like children before an adventure. I lean forward for the jar of mussels and the movement catches his eye. His gaze lingers on my taut nipples. I open the jar. With two fingers I catch a slippery mussel. ‘They are Spanish.’ He nods. ‘This one looks familiar,’ he say as he considers the folds of the two luscious lips. ‘There’s a pearl there,’ he adds and, as if as an afterthought, adds ‘I wonder if you are as I imagine.’ I suddenly feel a throb deep and low in that part of me he cannot see, below the table. A moistness. I part my legs in 121

the hope that a zephyr might cool what is happening. I sip and feel wine on my lips. ‘Do you have fantasies?’ I hear myself say. He nods. I am silent. Then he takes the mussel from my fingers and lets it slide into his mouth. I watch him, imagine a scene, and he says ‘Please share yours with me.’ A couple approaches and with an envious glance at the food on our table move past us down to the lake. I hear the Falls thunder, hold my breath, breathe out slowly. ‘So tell me,’ he says. We wait until we are alone. The couple has gone, no doubt to look more closely at the thundering falls and watch the power of the river vibrating. I have my own turmoil and wonder what he would do if I came around to his side of the table… My fantasy is to be here with you. The food we have brought has just served as a prelude. I straddle the bench; you turn to face me. My skirt rides up, but still covers my thighs. I keep still and wait for you to move. You smile and stroke my cheek with your finger, then my neck. My nipples strain against my bra and blouse. You gently pull one side of the crossover top away; my bra is sheer and you push the black lace a little so that just the nipple peeks over it. I remain still but my pulse rushes, is racing. I feel flushed. Suddenly the light changes as clouds gather above us. A solitary drop falls. You lick your finger and rub the wet over my exposed nipple. The cool air makes it hard. I want you, but I do not move. You take your time, paying scant heed to the tightening clouds. You obviously enjoy watching me unable to stir. You take off your jacket and spread it over the remains of the spoils on our table. Then you straddle the bench and you face me. A bulge starts to strain in your pants. I pretend I don’t see it, but I do. It makes me hot, but I keep still. 122

You move closer to me and your hand pushes back my skirt. You stare and I watch the bulge in your pants. You have seen the slit in the lace of my panties. Your finger strokes my inside thigh and then hovers over the lacy slit. I am trying not to gasp. Gently your finger enters the lacy opening and urges further between the Chantilly of my brush. I am wet. Thickly wet. You like this. You draw out your finger and hold it, slightly slanted, beneath your nostrils. You breathe in and half close your eyes. Imperceptibly you smile and slowly suck on your finger. I close my eyes. You have teased me and told me what it could be like, but it is much more than I ever could have imagined. You are driving me wild. ‘I love the taste of you,’ you say. ‘I want to suck that pearl of yours and lick your darling mussel folds. Lie back,’ you tell me, and I do. You spread my legs and gaze at my open swollen pussy, then your head comes down and in long strong licks you burrow your face into me. Sucking, nibbling my clit, slurping as if unable to get enough of my juices. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. You want to be there when I come. You want to taste it. And I do come. The clouds are breaking over Niagara and I come in waves, in clutches. Rain falls in plump warm drops as you lap all the while, lapping and stroking until the wild flow of the rapids suffuses to a satisfied calm. Then you pull me up and grin. I wipe your mouth with my fingers and kiss your lips, tasting me all over them. We caress gently, but even the lake has undercurrents of longing. The sun pierces the clouds as we kiss and drink from each other’s mouths once more, tonguing, nibbling, and sucking. I look down and reach out to unzip you. ‘We mustn’t be cruel,’ I say. You help with your belt and I free your bulging cock. You stand and face me now. I want my fill. I take this dear 123

part of you – there is no foreskin as I had imagined – and stroke and lick the shaft as your hands hold my head and guide me. I lick the knob – a droplet – tasting of sea, inland and salty. I want more and flick my tongue about that little slit and gently suck for more. You are tensing. I hear your breathing. I cannot stop sucking, drawing your delicious cock deep into my mouth, slurping, wanting to draw from deep within you. I cannot stop. You are moaning now. I take your balls and fondle and squeeze them. You cannot hold back now, although you are trying. You are rushing to the edge. I want you to come. I am prepared. I don’t want to waste a precious drop. And there it is. The gush of your force is more than I dreamed. I swallow rhythmically as your essence flows and then fills me. I look up to you, my lips lingering on the tip of your knob and give a final tender lick. You wipe my mouth with your fingers and draw me to you. We hold each other, kissing languidly and long, tasting the last of a delicious lunch. You begin to straighten my top and give my nipple one last quick suckle. I zip your pants. We are both soaking and thank the weather. You take your jacket and we clear up. So well behaved, we know what we must do. You hand me the penknife and the corkscrew and I wipe them clean with the damp serviettes. Next time, we both know, there will be much more than just an appetizer in the park. I sit in the lobby of my New York hotel. Water gushes down a decorative wall. It is meant to be soothing, but it pounds like the falls where we were to have met. A page cries: ‘Mrs Benoit. A call for you.’ I have been waiting and was so well prepared. An appetizer usually leads to a main course. But the wild card of a flight cancellation has wiped out our only window of 124

time. Now all that remains is this last call across one of so many bodies of water. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ ‘It was a wonderful lunch, though.’ ‘You will write and tell me about it?’ ‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I will write and the words will make it true. Anyway, I still have the dark chocolate truffles.’ ‘Then slip one in your mouth for me, darling.’ ‘Yes, I shall do that. Yes, yes and yes.’

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Hardcore Counselling by Landon Dixon Last summer, my wife and I were going through a rough patch in our marriage that would’ve impressed even Brer Rabbit. To say that our relationship was strained was to say that Shaquille O’Neal is a ‘good size’. I’m not sure what the exact problem was, but the spark had died, the flame had gone out, and most importantly, our sex life had smouldered down to ashes. We were either constantly arguing, or invoking the silent treatment. So, when our new next-door neighbours, Ron and Isabelle, suggested that we all head out to their cottage for the Labour Day long weekend, I was opposed. Spending time alone with Lindsay had become as painful as a Devil Rays game, and being cooped up with the woman in a secluded cabin on a secluded lake could’ve been downright suicidal. Of course, when I shot the idea down, Lindsay shot it back up again. ‘I’d love to go! Thanks!’ she enthused, giving Ron a warm smile, giving me its frigid counterpart when she turned her head. ‘Great!’ Ron enthused right back. He was a thirty-fiveyear-old ‘pre-owned’ car salesman, with the looks, intelligence, and fashion style of Ron Burgundy from the 127

movie Anchorman. I trusted the guy with my wife about as much as I trusted an AMC Gremlin to get me around the block. ‘You’re not going if I’m not going!’ I fumed at Lindsay. ‘I’ll go if I want to!’ she retorted. Isabelle glanced at her husband and tugged on his arm. She was a petite, dark-haired girl about fifteen years Ron’s junior, with big, brown eyes and smooth, bronze skin. Her body was trim and tight, bumpered up front by handful titties and in back by oversized booty. ‘Maybe we’d better just go by ourselves, Ron,’ she said in her soft, sexy voice, flashing me a nervous smile. ‘Hell, no!’ Ron bellowed. ‘Lindsay says she wants to come.’ He whacked me on the shoulder. ‘We’ll take good care of her for you!’ I almost swung at the guy, but I realized that years of selling lemons had probably just soured him on things like subtlety and sensitivity. Besides, his wife was already dragging him out the door. ‘We’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning!’ he hollered at Lindsay, before falling down the steps. I slammed the door, spun around. ‘You’re going over my dead body!’ Lindsay smiled. ‘Don’t give me any more incentive.’ One seething day after she left, I followed after her. It took me two angry hours more than it should have to find Ron and Isabelle’s cottage. It was sixty miles north of town, ten miles east down a dirt road, and then one mile south by foot along a pine needle path through the woods. The cabin was a cedar-logged breadbox that stood on an embankment overlooking a small, blue lake. The water sparkled under the hot afternoon sun, the surrounding forest lit up a brilliant green. The nearest neighbouring cottage was about a half-mile further up the shoreline. 128

I swiped sweat from my brow and burrs from my jeans, then crept across the back lawn and cased the joint. It was as empty as the six-pack I’d brought along for the ride. I walked around to the front of the cottage, gazing out at the spectacular view of the lake and the woodlands. Then I heard a noise from somewhere down by the water. I trotted to the edge of the steep embankment fronting the cabin and looked down at a narrow strip of sand that served as a private beach. Lindsay and Ron were lying on the beach, while Ron’s wife – seemingly shy, demure Isabelle – was sitting on my wife’s stomach, rubbing suntan lotion into Lindsay’s big, bare tits! I almost took a header off the twenty-foot ledge and into the sand below. But I steadied myself, blinking sweat from my eyes and staring down at the sizzling scene. Yes, next-door neighbour Isabelle was actually straddling my wife’s stomach and smearing oil onto her bare chest, the girl’s little, brown hands working Lindsay’s huge, pale jugs, massaging those hooters like she meant more than business. Lindsay was sprawled out on her back on a beach towel, wearing just her sunglasses and blue string bikini bottom, her fiery red hair fanned out and her mouth hanging open. She clutched at the sand as Isabelle rubbed and rubbed her tits. The two babes were pretty well sheltered from the sides by the rocks that bracketed the pocket-beach. But not from above, where I had a dirty bird’s-eye view of the whole thing. I wasn’t sure how to react. But my dick was. It got hard as a bamboo fishing pole at the sun-seared sight of my wife getting her knockers kneaded like bread dough by another woman; another woman clad in only a hot-pink bikini, her golden body gleaming. 129

I took a quick look around, saw nothing but gently swaying trees and glittering water, not another soul in sight. So, I refocused downwards, unzipping and unleashing old faithful. I started stroking my meat out there in the open air. Isabelle’s plush butt cheeks clenched and unclenched as she rode my wife’s stomach, rode my wife’s breasts with her hands. She pushed the ample, shining flesh together and squeezed the twin cones, hands slowly sliding up the slick skin until her fingers captured cotton-candy nipples, tweaked them. She did this over and over, my wife and I enjoying it equally. Hot, piney air blew over my wood and my hand, as I fisted harder and faster. Lindsay had once told me about a teenaged lesbian romp she’d had at teachers’ college, but whenever I suggested temporarily adding a second woman to our bedroom – to spice things up for the both of us – she always killed the idea. Well, times had certainly changed and minds had certainly opened. And as my brain flashed with those unformed threesomes of yesteryear, I suddenly remembered Ron. I’d completely forgotten about the glib glad-hander in all the Sapphic excitement. But there he was, lying on his side ten feet off to the side, docile as a Dodge Aspen, silently admiring his wife’s handiwork. He wasn’t interfering at all, just watching, his allegedly more reserved wife providing all the stunning action. Isabelle bent her head down, her short, shimmering black hair streaming over her face, and she tickled one of Lindsay’s fat nipples with the tip of her tongue. Lindsay and I both jumped. Isabelle spun her coral-pink tongue around and around first one engorged nipple and then the other. Then the luscious Latina engulfed one of my wife’s rubbery jutters with her mouth and sucked on it, tugged on it, pulling the edible appendage almost right off the woman’s tit. 130

‘God, yes!’ Lindsay cried, flinging her head back and forth, clawing at the sand. Isabelle sucked on my wife’s other nipple, greasy hands working Lindsay’s tits, as I worked my pole. My prick was a boiling length of pipe, the steam building to explosive levels. Watching my wife get her tits sucked and mauled by another beautiful woman was doing wonders for our sex life. Isabelle feasted on Lindsay’s over-ripe nipples, before finally sliding down lower on my wife’s body, till she was straddling glistening thighs. Then she untied Lindsay’s bikini bottom and pulled the flimsy garment away, revealing ginger-furred pussy all shiny with moisture. Lindsay pushed herself up on her elbows, her tits shuddering with the effort, and stared at Isabelle. The brown-skinned beauty smiled, then fluttered her fingers over Lindsay’s pussy, causing both me and my wife to gasp. Isabelle teased us a moment longer, then clamped her hand down over the top of Lindsay’s twat and started rubbing. I rubbed right along, Lindsay biting her lip and moaning as Isabelle polished her puss, buffed her clit. The girl’s tits trembled as she rubbed my wife’s muff, my own legs shaking as my balls tingled towards the boiling-over point. But before either Lindsay or I could blast off, Isabelle pulled her hand away. She wriggled down on to her stomach, in between my wife’s legs, pushing Lindsay’s legs apart and grabbing onto her thighs. Then she stuck out her tongue and waggled it, drove it into Lindsay’s slit. ‘Jesus!’ my wife and I yelped. Isabelle pulled Lindsay’s flaps apart with her clamdigging digits and eagerly licked the exposed pink, head bobbing up and down. It was a truly breathtaking bit of scenery – Isabelle lapping at my wife’s pussy – and I gave it 131

the one-handed standing ovation it so richly deserved, fisting my meat in a frenzy. Isabelle tongued Lindsay’s gash from bottom to top, again and again, Lindsay’s arms shaking and tits shivering. Until, finally, Isabelle sealed her pouting lips around my wife’s clit and started sucking. She slapped her own ass as she sucked, rousing her dormant husband into action. Ron rose up and raced in behind his wife, his hard-on almost bursting his red Speedo. He shoved the swimsuit down and jumped out of it, dropped to his knees and fumbled with the strings on Isabelle’s bikini bottom. She impatiently smacked her ass a second time and Ron unravelled the garment and yanked it aside. He leaned over the top of her, gripping his dick and jamming it balls-deep into her pussy. Isabelle squealed, but kept right on sucking and licking – and fingering now. She squirmed two digits into Lindsay’s slit and sawed them in and out, finger-fucking my wife, tonguing her clit, as Ron pistoned cock in her snatch from behind. Ron went faster and faster, rocking his wife, smacking her fleshy ass as his cock surged back and forth in her twat. Isabelle shook with the sexing, but she diligently pumped Lindsay’s poon with her fingers and lashed my wife’s clit with her tongue. Lindsay flopped on to her back and moaned like a wounded animal, her body shuddering familiarly with orgasm. I grunted my own ecstasy, jerking around and jacking thick ropes of white-hot semen out of my blasting cap. Ron made it three for four, growling with climax, pounding his wife, dousing her pussy walls with his satisfaction. The hot, hardworking Latina at the heated centre of it all was the only one who didn’t get blistered by orgasm out 132

there in the sun-drenched open. She was too busy getting her face and twat drenched, doling out the joy, Lindsay and Ron and I wickedly getting off on her erotic antics. After tucking my sun-stroked cock back in and zipping myself back up, I retreated the mile or so through the woods back to my car. I was unsure of what to do next. I’d loved what I’d seen – my wife getting eaten out by my babilicious neighbour – but I wasn’t sure if that signalled the beginning of a new and provocative era in our marriage, or the stunning end of it. Had I driven Lindsay to lesbianism? Turned the stacked redhead permanently off meat and on to fish? Or were we on the creamy cusp of the forbidden world of threesomes, foursomes, and moresomes, our marriage blowing wide open as Lindsay’s legs to take on all comers? As I pondered those and other equally tantalizing questions, night fell on cottage country. The moon shone full and bright and stars twinkled the sky. All was silent and still; time for this animal to go on the prowl, I reckoned – find out just where he stood, or laid. I rolled out of the car and re-trod the forest floor footpath that led to Ron and Isabelle’s cabin. Only this time, without sunlight to guide me, I had a harder time of it, bouncing off bark and trampling bushes and snapping every twig in a four-mile radius. Raccoons gibbered with laughter and owls hooted their derision. Eventually though, I emerged from the shadows and out on to the back lawn of the waterfront property. The cottage was dark. I snuck around the side, tip-toed up the steps to the front door. Then I unlatched the screen door with my porn store membership card and slipped inside. I stood in the darkness, holding my breath, heart hammering at my chest and blood pounding in my ears. You 133

could call it breaking and entering, sure, but I considered it just being neighbourly. I had been invited, after all. I tiptoed over to the partially open door of one of the two rooms that led off the living room and peeked inside. Moonlight illuminating the curtained window revealed the outline of two people asleep in the bed, a man snoring on his back, a woman with an arm around his chest and head buried in a pillow. I snuck over to door number two and cracked it open. Just one body slept in this bed, on her stomach. I eased inside, stole closer to the bed. I looked down at the darkened form rising and falling with breath, thinking about what that body had been doing earlier that afternoon. My cock hardened along with my resolve. I was going to fuck my wife, dammit, lead with my dick and let the sperm drips fall where they may! I pulled back the bedcovers, exposing bare, glowing skin, bare, plump butt cheeks. I reached out and landed shaky hands palms-down on the warm, taut flesh, sinking my fingers into tender ass. I kneaded that bountiful bottom, my cock straining my zipper, drool just about spilling out of my open mouth and splashing down onto those moon-faced buttocks. The sleeping beauty moaned and rolled over. And I instantly saw by the small tits that I wasn’t feeling up my wife’s ass; I was feeling up Ron’s wife’s ass! ‘Hi, Mike,’ Isabelle murmured. We stared at each other in the dim light. Then the young hottie boldly reached up and brushed her fingertips along the raging length of my hard-on. All thoughts of retreat fled from my fevered mind. I gripped the girl’s upright titties and squeezed and groped, working the firm, fine flesh like I’d been working her ass, like she’d been working my wife’s tits earlier that 134

day. Isabelle closed her eyes and groaned, clapping her hands over my hands and urging me on. I rolled rigid nipples between trembling fingers, feeling the rubbery protuberances swell even harder and longer as I fondled them. Then a thought suddenly struck me: if this was sweet Isabelle sleeping all by her lonesome, then Lindsay had to be the other female form sleeping in the other room – with Ron! The cheating bitch, I thought, hands full of Isabelle’s hot titties. ‘Fuck me,’ she breathed. I fumbled with my belt, and she pulled me close and easily un-notched me with her nimble fingers. And then, still flat on her back and body bared to the world, staring me in the eye, she lowered my zipper and Jockeys and set my cock free. She grabbed onto the twitching member. ‘Yeah!’ I groaned, knees buckling at her touch. Her hot little hand swirled up and down the pulsating length of my shaft, up and over and around my swollen hood. She pulled me still closer, so that I was looming over her face. Then she dragged me down and into her mouth. ‘Sweet Jesus!’ I yelled, her warm, wet mouth engulfing my erection. She inhaled me all the way down to the three-quarters mark, before finally pulling back. Then she wet-vacced me up again, sucking on my cock. I moved my hips, helping her, fucking her mouth. She gripped the base of my thrusting dick with one hand and tugged on my tightened sack with the other. I hung onto the knotty headboard, churning my cock back and forth in the girl’s mouth, ready to blow my load at a moment’s notice. But then I remembered how unrewarded Isabelle had been for her afternoon activities. And kind, caring horndog 135

that I was, I popped my dripping prick out of her mouth and growled, ‘I’m gonna fuck you!’ She licked pre-cum off her lips and smiled, her teeth gleaming white in the gloom. I disrobed faster than a fallen monk and jumped on top of her, smothering her hot body with mine. She grabbed my head and hungrily kissed me, Frenched me. And while I was fighting her tongue with my tongue, I wedged a hand in between our burning bodies and got a grip on my dong. I steered it in the right direction, brushing juicy wetness with my hood and then plunging into her slit. I pushed all the way inside her, the heat and tightness incredible, and we both moaned. I started churning my hips, pumping her sopping puss with my cock. She clutched my neck and breathed hot profanity in my face, before sinking her teeth into my tongue and greedily sucking on it. The bed creaked like granny’s rocking chair as I urgently thrust into the girl’s snatch, our heavy, ragged breathing filling the small room. I fucked that hot-blooded vixen with an anxious frustration born of way too many ‘headache’related misfires. We bounced up and down on the bed, me pounding cock into Isabelle’s wet-hot cauldron of a cunt, she biting her fingernails into my ass and driving me on. Until the overheated darkness suddenly exploded with cold, white light. ‘So, you made it, after all, Mike,’ Lindsay commented. I twisted my head around and stared at my wife, still buried dick-deep in another woman’s pussy. Lindsay and Ron were standing in the doorway, just as nude and lewd as Isabelle and I were. My wife had a hold of Ron’s cock, while Isabelle’s husband had his arm around Lindsay, fondling one of her dangling tits.

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Lindsay grinned, tugging on Ron’s cock. ‘This is just what our marriage needed,’ she said. ‘A little more openness. Don’t you think?’ She nodded, and I nodded. And Isabelle pinched my ass and Ron laughed and I started right up where I’d left off, fucking Ron’s wife. He and Lindsay watched, Lindsay hissing, ‘Fuck her, Mike! Fuck that little slut like she fucked me this afternoon – like Ron fucked me tonight!’ It was wild and crazy and way, way erotic. I pumped Isabelle’s poon like a madman, flying back and forth in her velvety wetness. Until her mouth broke open in a silent scream and her sleek body shivered with orgasm. ‘Fuck, yeah!’ I howled, cock exploding, pulsing fiery jizz deep into the girl’s gushing cunt. We came together, bucking up and down. Until at last we lay together, exhausted, my hands on her tits and her hands on my ass, our tongues feebly entwining. Lindsay strolled over and lifted my groggy head, kissed me, tasting Isabelle on my lips. ‘Who needs marriage counselling when we have free-swinging neighbours like Ron and Isabelle?’ she remarked. It was the first thing we’d agreed on in a very long time.

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Marital Aids by Lynn Lake Marianne poured me another cup of coffee, then replaced the decanter and sat back down at the kitchen table. ‘You didn’t come over here just to discuss gardening, did you, Kate?’ I looked up and smiled at her. Marianne and I had been friends too long for me to put anything over on her. I gazed into her crystal-clear blue eyes and the bedroom problems between my husband and I gushed out of my mouth. After ten years of mostly happy marriage, sex had become more of a chore than a joy lately – something to do once a week, like changing the sheets on the bed. Our love life had become stale, boring. It wasn’t because Jim wasn’t a good lover, it was just that with the kids and the jobs and the new house, sex had become secondary, and, sadly, it didn’t look like the situation would improve anytime soon. Marianne twirled a strand of her long black hair around a slim, silver-tipped finger. ‘Roger and I had a very similar problem,’ she said, her glossy lips breaking into a sympathetic smile. ‘I think all couples do eventually. You get completely overwhelmed by the day-to-day activities of living and striving to get ahead, so that sex doesn’t seem so important any more.’ 139

I nodded, then blatantly inquired, ‘And how did you guys handle it?’ Marianne’s perfectly made-up, pearl-white face suddenly turned a salmon shade of pink, and her eyes fluttered back and forth between her coffee cup and me. ‘Well…you’ve got to do something to, um…shock the sexuality back into your marriage, so to speak. For Roger and me, it was, uh…’ ‘Hey,’ I interjected quickly, ‘if you don’t want to talk about it…’ ‘Spanking,’ she blurted out. ‘What!?’ She settled her hands in her lap and looked me directly in the eye. ‘Our sex life had dwindled to virtually nothing, and it was just routine whenever we did make love, so Roger and I tried some new things, experimented a bit…until we found that spanking turned both of us on. Really turned us on.’ I gulped down my amazement. ‘You mean that Roger spanks you?’ ‘Roger spanks me, I spank Roger. We spank each other. It’s completely revived our sex life.’ ‘But isn’t it, um, painful?’ ‘There’s a very thin line between pain and pleasure, Kate.’ I almost spilled my coffee as I took a small sip, my hand was shaking so hard. Marianne was a shy, soft-spoken woman who liked everything to be in its proper place, someone who wouldn’t harm a fly – or so I’d thought. She and Roger were the perfect, All-American couple – goodlooking, successful, sophisticated. He was a partner in an architectural firm and she was a private school teacher. I couldn’t believe that they’d be involved in something as kinky as spanking. 140

‘And w-what do you, you know, use to spank each other?’ I spluttered. Marianne shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, it depends on what we feel like. Our hands, of course, brushes, paddles, rolled-up newspapers and magazines, dildos–’ ‘Dildos!?’ She nodded. ‘Why don’t I just show you our collection of disciplinary devices?’ ‘Why don’t you?’ I almost shouted, my face turning red and my body hot as I had a mental flash of beautiful Marianne savagely spanking hunky Roger’s bare bum with a dildo. Roger was a big, blond, macho type of guy, and the thought of him getting disciplined with a plastic cock by his petite, polite wife left me light-headed and tingling all over, and wondering if Marianne wasn’t on to something here. ‘Follow me,’ she said, pushing back and gracefully sliding out of her chair. She winked at me and then strolled out of the kitchen and down the hall, her hips swaying suggestively under her shark-colored dress. I slammed my coffee cup down in its saucer, cracking both, and hurried after her, the two of us colliding just inside her bedroom door. She laughed and steadied me, her smooth, slender hands cool on my hot, sun-burnished skin, and then she guided me over to an antique dresser that crouched against a wall in the tastefully appointed room. She pulled the top drawer open, and we stood there, bare shoulder to bare shoulder, looking down at a neatly arrayed collection of butt-warming tools: switches, yardsticks, steel batons, paddles, hair brushes, a riding crop, and, yes, dildos. ‘Wow!’ I exhaled. ‘How long have you and Roger been doing this? Spanking each other, I mean?’ ‘Oh, about a year now, I suppose.’ I picked up a monstrous, blue-black double-dong and held it in my hand, marveling at its length and thickness, its 141

heft. Then I whispered like I was holding a sacred object in a place of worship, ‘How does getting whipped with this thing feel?’ ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Marianne replied matter-of-factly. I jerked my head sideways and gaped at her. ‘Huh!? Oh, no…I couldn’t…I–’ ‘You want to reclaim your sex life, or not?’ she said bluntly, her soft, sweet voice grown decidedly harsher. Her eyes were hard and intimidating, her full lips parted slightly like she was having trouble breathing. I was having trouble breathing. I dropped the heavy-duty, two-pronged dildo and took a step backwards. ‘I guess maybe I better get–’ ‘You’re not going anywhere!’ Marianne barked, scooping up the lewd sex toy and roughly grabbing my elbow. I glanced anxiously from her hand to her face, and her expression of unbending determination told me that I’d better play along. Plus, my own blossoming desire to find out just what that dildo did feel like kept me rooted to the ground. ‘Okay, okay. I-I’m willing to give it a try,’ I stammered. No risk, no reward, right? ‘Good,’ Marianne replied crisply. She let go of my arm and walked over to the large canopy bed that dominated the room, sat down stiffly on the side of it. She held the wickedlooking cock-substitute in her right hand and patted her tiny lap with her left. ‘Come over here and accept your punishment. Now!’ Sweat grew on my forehead and the palms of my hands, and my legs turned into two overcooked noodles. My whole body was numb and my head was spinning, but somehow I managed to stagger over to Marianne. I stood in front of her 142

like a nervous schoolgirl, my hands trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps. ‘You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?’ she rebuked me, slapping the giant dildo hard across the palm of her small, delicate hand. The warm, caring, retiring woman I had known only moments before was gone, replaced by a cold, aggressive, and aroused dominatrix (I could clearly see her rigid nipples indenting the thin fabric of her dress). I suspected, as well, that her pussy was probably as wet as mine. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto her lap, bent me over her knees like I was a ten-year-old girl who’d just been caught smoking. ‘This is for your own good,’ she declared, and then smacked my bottom with the rubber hose. ‘God!’ I shrieked, instantly amazed at the intensity of my reaction. It hadn’t really hurt, but everything, every feeling, every action and reaction, seemed incredibly magnified in the crackling, sexually-tense atmosphere of that bedroom. I was wearing only a flimsy summer dress and a pair of panties, and the thin fabric of those two garments provided little cushioning for my bottom against Marianne’s wicked love-stick. She gripped my neck to hold me securely in place, and then whacked my bum again with the dildo, harder this time. I fought to catch my breath and blood rushed to my head and thundered in my ears. She smacked my butt again and again with her heavy spank toy, harder and harder, faster and faster, pounding my ass in an ever more vicious rhythm. ‘Fuck!’ I groaned, and twisted my dizzy head around to steal a look at Marianne. Her sky-blue eyes were wide and glassy, her face crimson, her white teeth biting sharply into her pink tongue. I dropped my head back down and stared 143

blindly at the carpet, the searing pain in my ass being fanned into flames by Marianne’s relentless spanking. She beat me unmercifully with the ebony pussy-plunger, and yet, even as she flailed away at my burning bottom, something clicked in my overwrought brain, and I mentally switched gears and the pain suddenly and unexpectedly began to dissipate. It became something I could control as I realized that Marianne would never really hurt me. I channeled the white-hot anguish from my throbbing bum into my drenched pussy, so that each time she smacked me, a jolt of raw sexual energy blasted my pussy and permeated my body. ‘You’re not hurting me!’ I screamed defiantly, slobber spilling out of my mouth and onto the carpet, my transformation from victim to spank-vixen complete. She angrily pushed up my dress and pulled down my panties, her long nails scratching the inflamed surface of my bottom as she frantically sought to expose me to even greater punishment, and pleasure. ‘This’ll teach you a lesson!’ she hissed, her chest heaving, her hands damp and shaking as she roughly adjusted my clothing to give herself the maximum bare target area. ‘Yes!’ I jeered when she lashed the flexible, two-headed dong across my naked ass with a resounding smack. My plump buttocks trembled, I trembled, as Marianne whaled my behind, raining down blows that blistered me from pink to scarlet. Then she forced my legs apart and scrubbed my dripping cunt with the two-girl fuck-rod. She alternated between laying a licking on my butt and urgently buffing my pussy. The feeling was incredible, and before I even knew what was happening, my cunny exploded and I was rocked by orgasm. She savaged my bare bottom with stinging wallop after wallop, rubbed my drenched pussy, and a tidal wave of 144

heat churned through my quivering body and consumed me, leaving me devastated in its wake. I came with a paininduced intensity that I’d never have believed possible, and then lay limp and shattered across Marianne’s knees when she halted her furious beating. ‘How did that feel?’ she asked after a while, lightly stroking my dewy neck and gently rubbing my swollen bum. ‘I wasn’t too hard on you, was I?’ She had reverted back to the Marianne of old, the Marianne I’d known exclusively before she picked up that black cock-replacement and pummelled my bottom like a woman possessed. I sucked some humid air into my tortured lungs and wearily shook my head. She helped me regain my footing, and we both stared in awe at the reflection of my brick-red butt in the mirror above the dresser. ‘That’s gonna leave a mark,’ I joked sheepishly, tentatively petting my ravaged behind. There were already white ridges forming where she had applied the dildo extra-hard. I gingerly pulled up my panties and lowered my dress, then gave Marianne a big, heartfelt hug. ‘Thanks for all your help,’ I said, tears in my eyes. ‘Sometimes a little hurt is the best help a friend can give,’ she responded, her own eyes glittering. I’d learned a lot that afternoon with my best friend – about her, about me, and about the razor-thin divide between wicked pain and wanton pleasure. So, when Jim finally got home from work later that night, I could hardly wait to show him the visible proof of my lesson in life. I bared my battered bottom for him as he changed out of his suit and into a T-shirt and jeans. ‘Holy shit!’ he yelped, bending down to get a closer look at my tender, tortured petoot. ‘Marianne did that to you? Shy little Marianne?’ 145

‘She spanked me silly, yup,’ I replied. He pressed a finger against my warm tushe, and shook his head in amazement when the white mark he left behind was quickly swallowed by red. ‘Christ almighty,’ he muttered, then straightened up. ‘What in the hell brought all this on?’ ‘Oh, one thing sort of led to another,’ I remarked casually. ‘You know, sometimes girls like to play rough.’ ‘Uh-huh. It looks like it must’ve hurt – a lot.’ I turned around to face him, a mischievous smile spreading across my puffy lips. ‘It did…at first, but once I got into it – really got into it – it didn’t hurt at all; it felt good. Would you like me to demonstrate?’ He retreated a few steps when I drew one of Marianne’s yardsticks out from under our bed and advanced on him. ‘Hey, wait a minute, Kate! What’d you think you’re going to do with that?’ he babbled. ‘Naughty boy!’ I said fiercely. ‘Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to talk back?’ After Marianne had helped me ice down my flaming bum, she’d taught me how to use her various instruments of obedience – for maximum enjoyment. Jim laughed nervously. ‘C’mon, Kate, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you –’ ‘You come on, Jim!’ I responded angrily, then moderated my voice. ‘Do you want to spice up our sex life, or not?’ He mulled that over for a moment, watching me warily as I slid the long, hard, wooden ruler back and forth in my hands. Then he abruptly unbuckled and unzipped his pants, let them fall at his feet. ‘I’ve been a bad boy,’ he said with equal parts contrition and inquiry. ‘That’s better. Your underpants, too.’ I smacked the measuring stick across my hand. 146

He stepped out of his jeans and tugged down his Jockeys, never taking his eyes off of me and my spanking device. His thick cock sprung out, already partially inflated. I ordered him to bend over and place his hands on the edge of the bed, and he quickly complied. His big, bare ass presented an excellent target for my erotic anger. He gripped the bedcovers and spread his legs, then had the audacity to wiggle his bum at me. I smacked his pale ass lightly with the yardstick, giving him a taste. ‘Don’t get cheeky with me, mister,’ I intoned, getting in position on the left side of his exposed bottom. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘What?’ ‘I’m sorry!’ I swatted his round butt, harder this time, and an inchwide line of red flashed across his taut buttocks and then winked out. I hit him again, and again and again, the threefoot ruler making a cracking sound as I whacked it against my husband’s ass. He moaned, and began tugging on his now fully-engorged cock as he clung to the bed with one hand. He thrust his bottom even higher into the air, begging me to hammer him all the more. I walloped his jiggling buns repeatedly as he fisted his cock and groaned with a mixture of pain and pleasure. The yardstick whistled through the air and crashed into his derriere over and over, his cute caboose flushing as red as my face. His cries got more and more urgent, telling me that he was close to coming – too close, too soon, in my opinion. ‘You’re not going to get off that easy!’ I yelled at him, and halted my sensual ass abuse. An idea had occurred to me – an extremely nasty, dirty idea. He twisted his head around and dropped his rock-hard erection, gingerly touched his overheated backside. ‘Please, Kate,’ he whined. ‘I was almost there.’ 147

‘Oh, you’ll get there,’ I assured him. ‘But you’re going to have a little more help.’ I tugged open the bottom drawer of my bedstand, rummaged around, and plucked out the eightinch red dildo that I’d been relying on far too often lately. Jim stared unbelievingly at me as I slowly and sexily tongued and sucked the big, plastic faux-cock, getting it all nice and wet. Then he squealed with alarm when I suddenly shoved the bulbous head of the spit-slick pussy-pleaser hard against his clenched pucker. ‘It’s not going to fit, Kate!’ he shrieked. I thumped his ass with the yardstick. ‘I warned you about talking back,’ I sternly warned him again, then laid another hiding on his cooling posterior with the wooden sex toy. Once his ass was violently ablaze again, I retrieved the container of lube Marianne had generously given me, and sprayed some of it on my old faithful, and Jim’s starfish. ‘You’re such a baby,’ I said contemptuously as he whimpered. Then I prodded the head of the slippery dildo into his asshole. He desperately tried to reach back and spread his twitching, tenderized pillows as I relentlessly jammed the unbending cock into him. Inch by hardened inch I slowly sank the dildo into his virgin anus, until all but the base was securely lodged in his chute. I wiggled it around, and he grunted and buried his face in the bedspread. ‘Hold it in your ass!’ I commanded, and let go of the preformed prick and took a step back. I whipped the yardstick around in the air a couple of times to limber up my arm again, refresh Jim’s memory, and then slashed it across his beet-red butt cheeks, started flogging him all over again. ‘Fuck, yeah!’ he screamed, grabbing his enraged dick and pumping it. I smacked the ass-mounted dildo and his bum at the same time, sending shivers throughout his charged body. He 148

frantically jacked his meat, his hand a blur, his legs shaking as I spanked and spanked his violated ass. Then he bellowed my name and jerked thick ropes of semen out of his pulsating cock. I kept right on smacking his inflamed, dildo-stuffed ass with my borrowed tree chunk, as he sprayed a huge load of sperm onto our carpet and bed. He was punished for that, as well.

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Blame It On The Champagne by Gwen Masters I blame it all on the champagne. Or maybe I should blame the high heels. I wasn’t accustomed to them, after all. I don’t go to things like that awards show every day. I’m a quiet, simple kind of girl. I don’t go for the glamour and flash and glitz of the celebrity thing. How I found myself smiling for a camera and signing autographs is usually a bit beyond my realm of comprehension. I just write the songs. And last night, I spilled champagne on Mitch. Actually, it wasn’t just spilling champagne. It was running into him out on the carpet (not the red one, silly, the green one – it was the after-party-party, you know) and then landing in his lap. Well, almost. He wasn’t sitting down when I ran into him. But by the time I was done with him, we were both on the floor. Later we were on the counter. But we’ll get to that in a minute. So there I was, dressed to the nines and my date was nowhere to be found. Alan wasn’t a date in the first place, not really. He was more of an escort, a guy from a record label who just happened to need a cutie on his arm and I was 151

a cutie who just happened to need an arm. Perfect. I didn’t even know his last name. The show was over and I had a choice: go home and go to bed or go to the after party and hope that I met someone to go to bed with. I’m not one of those prudes who think that emotion has to accompany the sex. Hell, no. Give me a good-looking stud and a few shots of choice alcohol and I’m bound to do damn near anything. Then I might write a song about it. Fucking doesn’t pay the bills, but it does make for good inspiration. So that’s how I wound up in the middle of the party with a glass of champagne in one hand and the other fiddling with my little clutch purse. I was talking to some up-and-coming artist with an independent label, one of those whose dreams are bigger than any bank account could ever help satisfy. He was getting around to asking me if I would write a song for him. He wasn’t interested in anything more than that, and that certainly wasn’t what I was looking for. The evening wasn’t all about business, was it? I drank my champagne and smiled and said that I would come up with something. His manager could get with my publisher and they could talk it over. He smiled and immediately started looking for other people to talk to, anyone who might be willing to talk business and give him that oh-so-important step up the music industry ladder. I downed the glass and when the waiter came around, I plucked another from the tray. I wandered from one little group to another, mostly eavesdropping on conversations, finding nothing of interest. I plucked olives and cheese cubes from the catering table. There was sushi, and I had a bit of that, not because I liked it but simply because it looked good to act like I liked it. Sushi 152

bars were all the rage around town, God only knew why. I always preferred a good cheeseburger. I thought about switching to something else to drink and then changed my mind. Wasn’t it true that if one mixed one’s liquor, one wound up with a hangover? Or was that mixing liquor and beer? I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I wanted to get laid but I wanted to remember it. After another thirty minutes of wandering aimlessly, I gave up. Everyone was in the mood to talk business. It was almost one in the morning, and I never understood those who wanted to talk business long after the time for business had passed. So far as I’m concerned, anything after midnight should be strictly personal, not professional. I took my glass with me as I walked the other way down that green carpet. It was always odd to walk out of a highclass party like that. When you came in, there were flashbulbs everywhere. When you came out, there was nothing but trash along the sides of the carpet and all the well-wishers and reporters were long gone, probably sitting in front of their computers and coming up with ways to edit what you just said into something more interesting. It was a sad and lonely time, to come walking out of one of those things, especially if you were alone. I took a deep swallow of the champagne. I wasn’t paying much attention. That’s when I ran into Mitch. He was walking into the party, more than a little fashionably late, and I walked right into him. It was like running into a brick wall. My champagne splashed all over me, all over him, all over the carpet. He was just as surprised as I was, and didn’t have a chance to keep his balance. He went down on his rump with a surprised groan, and I landed right on top of him. My little purse went flying, 153

and so did the champagne glass. It rolled across the carpet but didn’t shatter. He looked right into my eyes. His were a deep blue, and they were filled with amusement. ‘Howdy,’ he drawled. Then he laughed out loud. The man was soaked with champagne, and that suit looked like it had cost a fortune. His hair was curly and a little too long, and in his ear was a diamond stud. He smelled great. His face was covered with stubble, the kind of stubble that is intentional. He might as well have had the word metrosexual written on his forehead in neon paint. He was sexy as hell, and I was sitting right in his lap. I started to get up. It was hard to do, considering I was wearing fuck-me pumps with three-inch heels. He reached out to steady me, and instead of doing that, his hand wound up on the curve of my calf. He was holding me right where I was. ‘I’m Mitch,’ he said conversationally, as if we were sitting at dinner instead of sitting on the floor. I was very aware of the presence of something hard underneath my thigh. Whether it was his keys or something else, I had no idea. I ground against him a little bit, just to find out. The amusement in his eyes darkened into something else, and I had my answer. ‘I’m Carrie,’ I told him. ‘Carrie,’ he said softly, testing the word on his tongue. ‘It’s good to meet you.’ ‘You’re covered with champagne,’ I said, and he laughed. I blushed. ‘That gives us something in common.’ I made a move to stand up, and this time he put his hand on my hip. There was no mistaking what he was doing. I 154

gave him a look that said so, and he gave me an apologetic smirk. I wanted this one. Yes, indeed. He looked at me closely, then his eyes grew even wider. ‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re the songwriter. Right?’ I nodded, and suddenly I realized who he was, too. ‘You’re the new guy with the record label.’ ‘Well, well.’ His smile broadened. He had a strong, square jaw, but his lips were full and soft. ‘Guess we’ve already made the acquaintance. What comes now?’ He looked at me openly, as if saying I could have anything I wanted. I knew what I wanted. I made a move to get to my feet and this time he helped me up. He watched my legs as he did it. When I reached out a hand to help him to his feet, he made sure to trail his hand all the way up my thigh. He settled that hand lightly on my waist, even as he looked down at his suit jacket. There was a splash of darkness across the left lapel. It was going to be a horrible stain, and for a moment I forgot all about my horniness. ‘I will definitely pay for that,’ I said, even as I thought about the low numbers in my bank account. A songwriter’s income is an iffy thing, determined mostly by radio airplay, and things had been slow lately. ‘No bother,’ he said. ‘The cleaners will know what to do.’ And then that part of the conversation was over. We stared at each other. ‘But I guess I do need to blot this a bit,’ he said softly. ‘Yes.’ ‘Maybe over there in the bathroom. That’s the best place, right?’ I looked around slowly. The hallway was completely empty. The sound of revelry still came from the party – it 155

was obvious that somebody had opened up a bottle more potent than the champagne. ‘Probably so.’ ‘And you need to clean up, too,’ he said. He ran his hand over the front of my dress. It was wet with champagne, and my nipple was poking at the fabric. His light touch made me shiver. Goosebumps rose all over my skin. His eyes were suddenly very serious. ‘You’re all wet,’ he said, and there was that smirk again. ‘Yes…’ ‘Let’s go clean up, shall we?’ He turned on his heel, the movement as fluid as that of a dancer, and held out his hand. He insisted that I walk before him. I knew he was watching my ass, especially when I bent to pick up that little clutch purse that matched my dress. When I got to the outer doors of the restroom area, I paused. One side was for men and the other for women. I walked into the women’s restroom. He walked in right behind me. ‘Mitch –’ His hand landed on my shoulder. He spun me around. I almost lost my balance. Then his lips were on mine, and I was holding on to his shoulders to keep from melting into the floor. There was no hesitation as his tongue swept into my mouth and took possession of what he wanted. He pushed me against the counter of the long, wide sink. My purse fell from my hands with a clatter. His hands delved into my hair. Hairpins pinged on the floor as my upsweep unravelled and my hair tumbled down. I unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it open. The shirt underneath it was silk. I unbuttoned that too. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his chest was covered with fine, blond hair. I ran my fingertips through it and found two hard 156

nipples. He groaned when I touched them. I kissed him harder, until he pulled back to catch his breath. ‘You sure?’ he asked. ‘Do I feel sure?’ He grinned down at me. The next kiss was on my shoulder as he found the zipper on the back of my dress and slid it down. He spread his fingers wide on my naked back. The heat of his hand was almost startling. He slid his hand down lower, until he was caressing the curve of my ass. His kiss trailed up my shoulder and across my collarbone. By then I had his shirt open and pushed off his shoulders. He was deeply tanned but, even so, his skin was covered with a fine sprinkling of dark freckles. His arms were hard as steel as I put my hands on them and pushed the shirt farther down. He moved back long enough to allow me to open his belt buckle and unzip his pants – then he was against me again, slowly moving up and down, grinding against me in a way that made us both moan aloud. ‘This is going to be good,’ he whispered in my ear. He grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the counter. The porcelain was cold as hell. He kissed his way down the centre of my chest until his hands reached my ankles. Then he started caressing his way up my legs, pushing my dress up as he went. I wiggled closer to the edge of the counter as he started kissing the inside of my thighs. He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder. I leaned back against the mirror. I was amazed that he wanted that – what I thought would be a quick fuck was turning into much more playtime than I had dared hope to find. He licked his way up my thighs and then he was pushing my legs wide apart, holding me open for his tongue. I groaned when he started to explore. He moaned in response. His hands tightened on my thighs. He was sweeping that tongue up and down, tasting everywhere. He 157

found my clit and pressed down on it. He didn’t strum it or flick it, but kept up a steady pressure, slipping his tongue from side to side and up and down. This was a man who had been around the block with a pussy or two. ‘Oh, God,’ I groaned. I held on to the counter so hard, my knuckles were white. I looked down at his blond curly hair as he moved between my legs. I was right on the edge, and from the motion of my hips, he knew it. Then he stopped. ‘Fuck!’ I hollered in protest. He calmly stood up and pushed his slacks down. What he had behind his boxers looked delightful, indeed – and it was more than enough to make me forget about his tongue. ‘I want to feel it,’ he said simply. He bent quickly and picked up my purse. ‘I’m willing to bet you were ready for this,’ he said. I nodded and took the purse from him. Inside it was a tube of lipstick, a credit card, a small amount of cash and a tiny compact mirror. In that compact a condom was nestled, just in case a time like this might come along. I held it up in front of him and he snatched it out of my hand, ripped it open, and let me watch as he rolled it on. It was almost too small, and that fact made me want him even more. ‘Give me a good ride, cowboy,’ I said, and he pushed my legs wide apart. One long stroke was what I got, and by the time he was fully inside me I was gasping for air and clutching at his shoulders. ‘Fuck, yes!’ ‘You like that?’ The smirk was back. ‘Fuck me,’ I said. ‘Fuck me hard.’ Mitch did exactly as I asked. I wrapped my legs around his hips and rode every stroke with him. I had my hands in his hair and my ass was being pounded hard against the porcelain counter, which was now just as hot as we were. His hands were on the small of my back, pulling me toward 158

him. It also pushed my breasts up toward his mouth, and he was sampling first one nipple and then the other, paying equal attention to each one. There was a gasp, then a shriek of indignation. I looked up to see a woman standing there in all her party finery. She was standing just inside the door, staring at us with wide eyes. Mitch glanced up briefly and then buried his face against my shoulder. He went at me harder. ‘Close the fucking door,’ I growled, and she disappeared like a puff of smoke. Mitch began to laugh. His belly jerked against mine, but he didn’t make a sound. He shoved harder into me and whispered into my ear, ‘How close are you?’ ‘I’m there,’ I said, and suddenly it was the truth. I was right there on the edge, as long as he didn’t stop moving, as long as he didn’t lose the rhythm. ‘Don’t stop…’ He knew exactly what I meant, and he didn’t stop. His motion was unbroken. He suddenly pulled back just enough to see my face. He took my hair in his hand to hold me steady. He was watching my eyes, taking in every expression. I looked right back at him until that orgasm started to sweep over me from the inside out, and then I closed my eyes to the sensation. ‘Look at me,’ he demanded. I opened my eyes. The orgasm slammed me. I cried out, not giving a damn who heard, too far gone to give a shit if there was anyone outside or not. I thrust up hard against him. The motion took him by surprise, and he was pushed back a step. But that gave him more leverage for that last thrust, the one that pushed him right over the edge with me. He hollered. He was louder than I was. ‘Holy fuck,’ he whispered, and pressed his forehead against my shoulder. He slowly caught his breath. When he 159

pulled out of me, I realized how hard it had been. I was going to be sore for days. I ran my fingers through his hair until he stood up and looked at me with that wicked smirk. ‘You’re all kinds of wet now,’ he said. ‘So are you.’ He ran his fingers over my skin. Every inch he could reach, he touched. He slowly pulled my dress back together and zipped it up in the back. He pulled the wayward pins from my hair and fluffed it around my face, then abruptly bent forward to breathe deeply of the scent. I was surprised at that look of contentment on his face. ‘There’s nothing in this world that smells as good as a woman’s hair,’ he said. Then he stood up and slowly put his own clothing back together. He let me watch. He pulled paper towels from the container on the side of the sink. He ran water over them and offered them to me. I cleaned up as he kissed me once more, harder than before. We both smelled like sex and champagne. It wasn’t long before we were both presentable again. He didn’t bother to blot his jacket – he simply threw it over one shoulder and quirked a smile at me. His hair was tangled and his eyes were bright. He put my purse into my hands and opened the door. ‘After you, sweetheart.’ I walked out of the bathroom and blinked at the bright lights. There was no one out there in the hallway, but I could hear voices from the valet parking, a motor coming to the curb, and the sound of laughter and music from the party. Mitch leaned down and kissed me one more time, slowly and thoroughly. ‘I’m sure we will run into each other again soon,’ he said. 160

He sauntered down the hallway. He picked up my empty champagne glass as he passed it, flipped it in his fingers, and held it up over his shoulder for me to see. The lights glittered off the glass. He didn’t look back, but I knew he was wearing that smirk.

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The Hotel Room by Dianne Cross Alexa paced the room, chewing on the side of her thumb. It wasn’t like him to be late. Since she and Mark had begun meeting in hotel rooms like this he had always been on time and as eager as she was not to miss their sessions together. She paused in front of a long mirror to admire the black silkand-lace bra, panties, suspender belt and stockings with seams, tweaked a stocking-top into place with a red-painted nail and smiled. Her black shoes had high, thin heels and sexy straps. She had really gone out on a limb with this outfit, but the cost was worth it: she knew she looked gorgeous. Anticipation hardened her nipples and she brushed the palms of her hands over the sheer silk fabric, imagining they were his hands, then ran a hot tongue across her lipstick making it gleam in the soft light coming from the bedroom. If he didn’t come soon she was going to have to start without him and bring herself off. There was a light tap on the door. As she moved to open it heat flooded through her and her heart beat faster. Today there was no time to admire the breadth of his shoulders, to smell the erotic scent of him before he crashed the door back on its hinges, picked her up bodily and rained kisses on 163

her neck and face. She laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist as he slammed the door shut with his foot and carried her over to the bed. ‘Hungry?’ He growled close to her ear. ‘What do you think?’ ‘Famished,’ she said, her voice teasing. ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ He rolled her onto the bed and lay on top of her, fully dressed, pinning her arms to her sides, nibbling at her lower lip, grinding his hips against the black lace. ‘I’ve been thinking about your body all day and what I’m going to do to it.’ He leaned down and sucked on her right nipple through the silk, teasing it, biting it gently. She held his head to her breast and kissed the top of his head. ‘You’re late. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’ Mark stopped teasing her nipple and looked up at her. ‘You’re beginning to sound like a wife, Alexa. That’s not what we come here for, is it?’ She bit her lip. ‘No, sorry. My mistake.’ She knew he hated discussing their lives outside the hotel room. ‘But…’ He silenced her with a kiss. ‘No buts, just sex…we agreed…OK?’ She nodded. ‘OK.’ ‘Good girl.’ It wasn’t hard for her to smile at him with her eyes as well as her mouth. Just thinking about his lovemaking always made her feel good and tonight was no exception. His late arrival made her ache for his body inside hers, and the sooner, the better. Removing his own clothes and dropping them on the floor, he slowly took off her bra and panties and left her in the suspender belt, stockings and shoes. He kissed every 164

inch of her body, ignoring all her favourite erogenous zones until she wanted to scream at him. ‘Mark, darling, I can’t take any more of this. Please, please fuck me now!’ ‘You’re nowhere near ready yet, my sweet.’ ‘I can’t, I truly can’t hold on another second.’ She dragged her red-tipped nails down his back and thrust her hips upwards. He groaned, a mix of pain and pleasure. Perhaps a few scratches would goad him into action. Something needed to happen, and fast. She couldn’t bear to stay on this plateau of ‘almost-but-not-quite-there’ for ever. He knew how close to release she was getting and his smile was wicked as he played with her body. Behind her ears, her sensitive nipples, her inner thighs, her throbbing clit were all saved until he heard her deep, ragged breathing and then he plundered them mercilessly with his lips and tongue. His timing was impeccable, as always. Just when she thought she would go mad with tension he opened her thighs and forced his hard, throbbing cock deep into her. She opened her eyes wide and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. His size and the strength of his thrust always surprised her. He lowered his mouth to hers, forcing his tongue into her, pushing in and out in unison with his cock, heightening the intensity of the fuck. She wrapped her legs around him and her arms around his shoulders and, moaning, gave herself up to wave after wave of orgasm. Just as Alexa began to lose her mind to the erotic sensations pulsing through her body, she heard Mark’s gravelly voice in her ear. ‘Don’t think you’re getting away with it that easily, you little bitch! I could be scarred for life by those nails.’ 165

Before she had time to drag her senses back to the present and think about what he meant by that, he pulled out of her and flipped her over onto her stomach with no more effort than turning a page in a book. Stunned, she felt him grip her hips and drag her on to her knees. One hand kept her in position as he slid a couple of fingers into her soaking wet vagina and scooped out her juices. Then he found her ass and slid his wet fingers in, making sure the entrance was well lubricated. Before Alexa realised what was happening to her Mark had gripped her hips, stretched open her ass cheeks with his thumbs and thrust his still-throbbing cock into the tightest hole of all. She gasped with shock, but soon a very different sensation washed over her as she felt his heavy sperm-laden balls banging against her wet clit. She opened her legs wider, pushed her bum higher and harder against him, greedily ensuring that every last centimetre of his hard cock was deep inside her. Suddenly, the thing she most needed was to feel the wet slap, slap of his balls against her clit. The new sensation was beginning to make every sensuous bone in her body feel as though it was melting. He leaned over her back and stroked her body until his hands were cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, feeling them peak and harden, driving her wild. Then he kissed her neck. ‘Happy?’ ‘Mmmm.’ ‘Good. So am I.’ He gripped her hips again and slowed his pace. ‘Mmm, this view is even better,’ he said, watching his cock sliding slowly in and out of her tight little ass, deliberately taking his time. Alexa smiled to herself. Mark thought he was in control, but it was time to show him he wasn’t. She gripped his shaft 166

with her muscles then slid a hand between her legs and gently started to scratch his balls. ‘Aaaahhh. No! That’s not fair.’ ‘What’s not fair?’ He groaned. ‘You know what that does to me.’ ‘I know. You love it. Besides, everything in lust is fair, surely?’ ‘Some things are fairer than others.’ Alexa could tell by his voice that he was close to the edge. Hiding her wicked smile, she continued with her scratching, wanting to push him over the top, wanting to be in control. In all honesty, she knew she was lost. He was thrusting against her so hard she almost lost her balance. Then with a last violent thrust he gripped her tightly as wave after wave of hot sticky sperm spurted into her. They collapsed in a tangled heap on the bed. Somewhere along the way Alexa had lost her shoes and her stockings were shredded. She smiled smugly. It had been worth it. She’d had her best fuck for weeks. Later, as Mark dressed, she said ‘You’ll call me again?’ ‘After this evening?’ He leaned over her and smiled. ‘Probably.’ ‘I was that good, huh?’ He kissed the tip of her nose and let himself silently out of the hotel room. She lay as long as she dared, wrapped in pleasurable contentment. Glancing at her watch she saw she would have to make a move. The real world was about to intrude. Later, at home in bed, she snuggled up to her husband. ‘God, you smell like you’ve spent the evening having sex with a cheap tart.’ She felt him chuckle. ‘Perhaps I have,’ he said. ‘Well, I hope she was good.’ 167

‘She was brilliant, actually.’ Alexa smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She paused for a second. ‘Seriously though, darling, did I hurt your back?’ ‘You didn’t draw blood, if that’s what you mean.’ ‘I wonder what you would have done if I had?’ ‘One day you might find out.’ Just then, one of the twins cried out in his sleep. ‘Oh, no,’ said Alexa. Then she brightened up. ‘It’s your turn tonight.’ Mark groaned as he slid out of bed and headed in the direction of the nursery. Alexa rolled over, buried her head in her pillow and went contentedly to sleep.

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Playing To The Camera by Stephen Albrow The only sound in the empty street was the metallic chime of Marianne’s silver-tipped stiletto heels on the pavement. It was almost two in the morning, so all the shops and restaurants were closed for the night. A few late night drinkers were spilling out of the 24-hour wine bar, but otherwise the place was deserted. She was completely alone, except really she wasn’t. She could feel the eyes gazing down upon her – the weighty stare of the CCTV cameras. A street lamp glistened near the vintage boutique where she’d bought the fake fur coat she was wearing that night. She window-shopped for a couple of minutes, admiring the pretty arrangements of handbags and heels in the display, but she could see something else in the window, too – the reflection of the CCTV camera hanging from the nearby lamp. Wondering if anyone was watching her, she undid the catch of her knee-length coat, pulled open the lapels and flashed at the window. Underneath the coat, she wore nothing but a pair of jet-black stockings and a suspender belt. She held her coat open, getting turned on by her own nakedness, but hoping even more that someone might be watching her. 169

Slowly, Marianne turned around and faced the CCTV camera. The chill night air had made her nipples harden, or perhaps it was simply a sign of her increasing arousal. Swaying her hips from side to side, she moved towards the camera, stopping just a few feet away from the lens. A trickle of moisture gushed from her slit, as she blew a kiss to the camera. Just the thought of being watched was an excitement to her, so she squeezed her full breasts together, then jiggled them like a burlesque queen. Alone in the High Street, Marianne giggled as she performed in front of the CCTV. Sliding her hands down her naked torso, she ran her fingers through her muff. She felt the moisture on her pussy, so she dipped a fingertip into her cunt, lifted it to her lips and then sucked off the juice. Growing in confidence, she started to rub her clitoris, while staring intently at the hidden lens. It was like she was issuing a challenge to the surveillance society, to the evil Big Brother who was always watching. If he was going to stick his cameras everywhere and behave like a voyeur, then she was going to give him something extra special and unashamedly decadent to watch! ‘Is there anybody there?’ she mouthed at the lens, her heartbeat quickening as the camera replied. It was just a split-second whirring noise, as the camera tightened its focus. It was possibly an automatic action, but it was just as likely that someone somewhere was watching her. ‘So you want to play, do you?’ Marianne asked aloud, then she wet her finger and touched one of her nipples. The moisture sent a shiver through the sensitive teat, so she pulled hard upon the swollen bud, pleasuring herself while performing for whoever might be watching. Some girls danced in gentlemen’s clubs or at home in front of webcams, but Marianne was hardcore – she did things for real. 170

The cool night breeze stroked her naked flesh, causing sensuous tingles in her bare tits and cunt. She was out there in the High Street, ready and available, the tingles in her erogenous zones making her hungry for sex. Not much happened in the town centre after two in the morning, but there was always a glimmer of life at the wine bar. She heard a sudden burst of noise as the door opened. A young couple walked out hand-in-hand, then hailed the only taxi in the rank. As the engine roared into life, Marianne turned and flashed at the vehicle, but it was heading in the opposite direction. She hadn’t been noticed, except by the CCTV camera. Once again the motor whirred as the lens tightened its focus upon Marianne’s body. ‘You like me, don’t you?’ she asked the camera, giving it a cheeky full-frontal flash. She imagined some excited constable sitting in the surveillance room at the nearby police station, his dark blue uniform open at the flies as he tugged his cock and ogled her flesh. There was a chance he’d send a squad car down to pick her up for soliciting or maybe he’d want to bring her in just to give the night shift boys a treat. Excited by the element of risk, a spasm ran through her pussy muscles. Sex was nothing without danger, the thrilling chance of being caught. Being naked in the High Street was no fun without the prospect of being seen, preferably by a good looking bloke. ‘At last,’ she breathed as the door of the wine bar reopened and two men stepped out into the empty street. They chatted on the doorstep, too far away for her to hear what they were saying. She could see them though – both were young and good-looking, one much taller and more broad-shouldered than his friend. After a short discussion, the two guys clasped each other’s hand and said a manly goodbye before setting off in opposite directions. The 171

shorter guy headed straight off up the street but his hunky friend came walking straight into Marianne’s clutches. Uncertain of the best way to approach him, she decided to play it by ear. He was dressed in a pinstripe business suit like he’d gone to the wine bar straight from the office. He was very well groomed with slicked back hair and just a hint of stubble on his masculine features. He hadn’t spotted her yet so she took a few footsteps towards him knowing the click-clack sound of her stiletto heels would attract his attention. Picking up on the noise, followed by the scent of her perfume, the businessman stopped in front of her. He gazed up and down the deserted street, not entirely sure what was happening, but pleased to see that they were totally alone. ‘You wanna have some fun?’ asked Marianne. She opened her fur coat and showed him the goods. He stared into her eyes as she was asking the question, then took a slow, meandering glance down at her firm breasts, curvy thighs, stockings, suspenders and five-inch heels. Straight away she could tell that he was interested, but she could also see he was nervous, perhaps afraid that this was some kind of trap. After a moment’s silence he asked if she was a prostitute. Marianne smiled, then stepped up to him and said that he could fuck her for free. ‘Are you for real?’ He didn’t get a verbal answer. Getting up on to tiptoes, Marianne kissed him firmly on the lips provoking an instant response from the hunky stranger. His stubble scratched her chin as he parted his lips wide and then forced his tongue between hers. Reaching inside her fake fur coat he then slapped her buttocks. ‘Is there somewhere we can go?’ He spoke the words right into her mouth between kisses. His hands applied more 172

pressure to her arse cheeks, drawing her pussy closer to his crotch so she could feel how hard he had become. ‘I’m happy right here,’ replied Marianne. She had answered him with confidence, but he was still nervous. She tried to silence any protest with another kiss, but he pulled his lips away. ‘Steady on,’ he said nervously. ‘Look, there are CCTV cameras all around us.’ ‘Then we’d better put on a really good performance.’ Her voice was low and husky as she reached for his flies and tugged at the zip. She pressed her hand inside his boxer shorts and gripped his rigid meat, then started rubbing his long, thick shaft. The guy fell silent, aroused but confused. He was desperate to fuck her, but she sensed another part of him was terrified of being caught. Just as she’d anticipated, he offered to pay for a hotel room. ‘No, let’s keep it a threesome,’ Marianne said, letting go of his prick and throwing off her coat. ‘A threesome?’ ‘Yeah, you, me and whoever’s watching.’ Marianne turned and smiled at the camera, curious to see what the man would do next. She could smell the red wine on his breath, so she hoped it had loosened his inhibitions enough to make him willing to fuck her in the street. He took a moment to think about it, his eyes transfixed by the sight of lovely flesh dressed in nothing more than stockings, suspenders and sky-high heels. She recognised a man whose brain was still uncertain. His cock, however, was in no doubt. Reaching out, he pulled her close and then leaned towards her chest. Marianne groaned as he kissed her cleavage and buried his face deep between her mounds. She momentarily wondered if he was trying to hide from the camera, but soon 173

he resurfaced. Taking a nipple in his mouth he lashed at the upraised teat with his tongue. His hands slid up and down Marianne’s back as he titillated the juicy bud, licking it with an almost unnatural hunger. Eventually he spat it out and headed straight for her other teat. His tongue swirled round and round Marianne’s dark brown areola, but she wasn’t leaving him in sole control. Placing her hands upon his muscular shoulders, she pushed him firmly down on his knees. ‘Kiss me here,’ she said, parting her legs and revealing her sex. He didn’t waste a second but planted kiss after kiss on her clitoris, sticking out his tongue and tasting the musky juices on the lips of her cunt. She gazed down at him, noticing the look of concentration on his face as he lovingly licked out her sticky pussy. The thrusts of his tongue became increasingly forceful as more and more juice oozed out of her slit. ‘Now fuck me,’ demanded Marianne, but she didn’t look at the man as she spoke – her gaze was fixed upon the camera’s lens. There simply had to be someone watching her, a voyeur enjoying her exhibitionist display. That’s what CCTV cameras were put there for, so that woman like her could bare their flesh and be watched doing dirty, unspeakable things. She winked right at whoever was behind the camera, then felt a sequence of spasms tighten her orifice barring the way for her lover’s tongue. It wasn’t rigid enough to force its way through convulsions of such intensity but his meaty dick would have no such problems. ‘I said fuck me,’ repeated Marianne, dragging the young man back to his feet. He picked her up in his muscular arms and carried her over to the vintage boutique. Needing something solid to fuck her up against, he pressed her torso up tight to the window, then let his trousers fall around his ankles. 174

Marianne wound her arms and legs around the young man’s body, as he steered his phallus between the lips of her cunt. She squealed as his cock pierced her slit, then yelled louder as he drove the rest of his bone-stiff prick through her narrow tunnel. Her muscles had to stretch to accommodate his unnatural length and girth. His helmet seemed to have lodged itself somewhere just beneath her belly-button, planting a rich, warm glow in her stomach that intensified as he began to thrust. He fucked her hard and fast. His fear of being caught in the act spurred him on. He was racing towards a climax, and Marianne was just as eager to come, pumping her pussy forward to meet each of his thrusts. As their genitals fused again and again, she hugged her lover closely, but her focus always remained elsewhere. To him, if he noticed at all, she must seem hypnotised by the CCTV camera. And she was. She knew that on the other side must be some horny, unseen surveillance officer jerking off as he watched her getting fucked. ‘Yes…yes…yes…’ yelled the born performer, her cries of pleasure punctuating each thrust. She shouted the words directly at the camera, which captured the lust-crazed stare in her eyes and exposed her for the total slut that she was. Totally in the zone now, her pussy started churning, her internal muscles gripping extra tight on the young man’s cock. But he was strong and athletic, so he just rammed his way through the high-speed spasms, determined to deliver the lusty thrusts that would bring both him and his lover to a climax. The windowpane creaked, as the man upped the tempo, putting all his remaining strength into a final burst of passion. A sex storm brewed within Marianne’s pussy as the friction between the man’s dick and her cunt muscles 175

sparked a fiery, pre-orgasmic heat, which could only end in a blistering climax. Pulling back his hips, the man withdrew then instantly hammered his full-length home. A thick jet of spunk burst and throbbed against her internal walls. Responding, her pussy muscles convulsed around his bulging tip as the businessman thrust forward again, sucking another jet of creamy semen from his balls. The extra thrust caught her by surprise, but was not unwelcome. A groan of pleasure burst from her lips as a wave of tension shot through her cunt. Immediately, all her muscles grew taut, not just in her pussy, but throughout her naked body. She stared at the camera as the feeling overwhelmed her, triggering her orgasmic release. A torrent of juice flooded her pussy, perfuming the air with the ripe scent of sex. Sensing the climactic tension in her cunt, the man started thrusting his hips again, wanting to make her scream with joy. He pumped his dick in and out heightening her climax with the depth and power of his penetrative thrusts. Her screams filled the night, echoing up and down the deserted road, loud enough to drown out any sound except that of the approaching car. A flashing blue light cast its glow upon the copulating couple as a squad car pulled up at the bottom of the road. The businessman stopped thrusting straight away, then turned and watched nervously as a policeman climbed out of the car. ‘Shit,’ he said, struggling to break free, but Marianne’s body was still high on lust. The tension in her pussy had spread to her limbs, locked tight around her lover’s torso. ‘It’s the cops,’ the man cried, forcefully disentangling himself and then reaching down to pull up his trousers.

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Marianne didn’t care. Her eyes were closed and her body was still rushing. One hand on her pussy and one on a breast, she kept her orgasmic glow alive. Clutching the waistband of his trousers, the businessman sprinted away into the night. The cop headed for the naked girl. Obviously ashamed for leaving her in the lurch, the businessman glanced over his shoulder. His concern turned to incomprehension when the policeman stepped straight up and kissed her. ‘You don’t half take some risks,’ said the uniformed officer, eventually pulling his lips away. Marianne slipped her hand down the front of his trousers. She smiled when she felt the come in his pants, since it proved he’d ejaculated while watching her get fucked. ‘What risk?’ she giggled. ‘When your husband is head of the surveillance unit, you know he’s the only person who’ll see.’ ‘And he liked what he saw,’ admitted Marianne’s husband, his dick growing stiff within her hand. Grinning he picked up her vintage fur from where she’d unceremoniously dumped it and then wrapped it around her naked body. ‘Let’s get you home, you slut,’ he added, leading her to the squad car, its light still flashing. Before climbing into the passenger seat, Marianne peered to where the businessman stood looking totally dumbstruck. She blew him a friendly goodbye kiss. Her public peepshow was over for the night, but her freshly-fucked body was still tingling with lust. ‘When are you next working the night shift?’ she asked her husband, already thinking ahead to future fun and games. The CCTV camera had loved her that night. She 177

couldn’t wait to make an exhibition of herself again – all for her and her husband’s pleasure.

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Open-Bottle Policy by Jeremy Edwards ‘Well, it looks like you’ll be making out on the leftovers, Dave,’ said Charles with an affable smirk, as he suavely – and generously – grabbed the bill from our server. I studied the lovely form of the woman who had waited on us, as she headed back to the kitchen. If my memory was correct, she had introduced herself as Becky. But I wasn’t at all sure on this point. I’m usually pretty good with names, but not when distracted by a pair of kind, laughing eyes situated in an elegantly-impish feminine face. Whatever her name was, I had enjoyed our brief moments of interaction this evening even more than I’d enjoyed the company of my old friends Charles and Amanda. I assessed the appealing remnants of the exquisite Thaifusion dinner, which all of us were now too full to dally with any further. ‘What do you mean?’ I said to Charles. ‘You and Amanda should take some of it.’ I shifted my gaze to Charles’s wife. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Amanda?’ My friend Amanda is the type of woman who has a subtle, but potent, sexiness. I think the only reason I don’t respond to her more strongly is that I’m so conscious of the fact that she’s a long-time crony who’s happily married to 179

another long-time crony. It’s true that I have, on occasion, fantasized about her. This sort of thing can’t be helped sometimes in one’s bed late at night. But under normal circumstances I have succeeded in feeling only a chummy affection for Amanda. And yet, in a tangential way, spending an hour in the presence of her charm and beauty – always well-presented in the perfect clothes and perfumes – usually leaves me in a sexy mood even if the feelings are not directed toward her. Amanda smiled graciously. ‘Charles is right, Davey. We’re heading straight to the theatre from here, and we can scarcely carry big, fragrant leftover containers into the auditorium with us.’ ‘It wouldn’t be polite, since there’s not enough to share with everyone else in the audience,’ added Charles. I chuckled and nodded, recognizing that their offer of all the food was as practical as it was polite. Since my hotel room was in this very building – and equipped with both a refrigerator and a microwave – it was logical that the leftovers would devolve to me. ‘Sorry again that we couldn’t get you a ticket,’ said Charles. ‘Next time you’re coming to town, give us a little more notice!’ He gave me a playful punch in the arm. I laughed. ‘If my company ever gives me more notice, I promise I’ll give you more notice.’ ‘Oh – what about all this wine?’ said Amanda suddenly. We had ordered a modest-looking Merlot that had turned out to be remarkably good. In the course of this convivial but all-too-brief dinner, Charles and I had consumed only one glass apiece, and Amanda had limited herself to half a glass. None of us wanted to see what was left in the bottle go back to the kitchen – though, for my part, I wouldn’t have objected to watching Becky carry it back to the kitchen, if you know what I mean. 180

‘Dave can take that, too,’ Charles answered. ‘Can I?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Aren’t there rules against it?’ ‘Let’s ask the server,’ Charles replied optimistically. ‘After all, you wouldn’t even be taking it out of the building.’ At that instant Becky reappeared, and Charles gave a jovial wave to attract her back to our table. ‘All ready?’ Becky asked. I observed that although it was Charles who was proffering his credit card, and Charles who had requested her return, her eyes kept shifting in my direction. Or was I just imagining this, because I found her so pretty? ‘Question,’ Charles began. ‘Can Dave here take the rest of the wine up to his room in your hotel?’ Now Becky turned her gaze fully toward me, and her mouth curled into a mischievous smile. ‘So, Dave wants all the wine, eh?’ I probably blushed. ‘I guess I do. That is, I’d be glad to share it… if I had someone to share it with. But seeing as I’m all alone in this great big hotel, I’m fairly sure I can do justice to what’s left in the bottle.’ I thought I saw something especially gentle creep into Becky’s smile as I said the word ‘alone.’ ‘There’s no rule against that, is there?’ Charles continued. ‘Actually,’ said Becky with a professional briskness, ‘there is an ordinance about open bottles in this town. But since Dave isn’t exactly leaving the premises, it may be okay. Let me ask the manager.’ Watching Becky’s confident behind walk toward the manager’s station, I thought about how she seemed to enjoy calling me by name, as if we were already pals. As Becky led him our way, her boss telegraphed his accommodating answer by means of a wide, customerservice-friendly grin. ‘You’d like to take the wine upstairs?’ 181

He was looking at Charles and Amanda, but Becky nudged his elbow and cocked her head my way. ‘If it’s no problem,’ I said. ‘No, there won’t be a problem with that,’ said the manager. ‘Our open-bottle policy within the building merely states that your server must escort you to the elevator. We simply need to verify that you are taking the bottle directly to your hotel room, you understand.’ He flashed us another cordial grin, then retreated. Becky beamed. ‘I’ll get the cork, and then I can see you out whenever you’re ready, Dave. And I’ll be back in a sec with your credit card, sir.’ I saw that she barely acknowledged Charles, even as she addressed him. Her attention seemed to be locked in on the co-ordinates of my face. A minute later, the leftovers had been boxed, the wine had been re-corked, the credit card slip had been signed, and Amanda was telling Becky, course by course, how much we’d all relished the meal. ‘I’ll let my manager know that I’m taking you to the elevator now,’ Becky said to me when Amanda had finished. ‘I’m due to go on my dinner break, anyway,’ she confided before leaving us. ‘Well, buddy, it looks like you’re in good hands,’ said Charles with a wink. Beautiful Amanda tittered conspiratorially, while favouring me with a goodbye kiss on the cheek. ‘Enjoy the show!’ I shouted as they left the restaurant. I didn’t realize that Becky had managed to sneak up behind me, and I nearly jumped when I heard her perky ‘All set, Dave?’ ‘Huh? Oh – yeah, I guess so.’

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She touched my elbow and steered me toward the door. I was wearing short sleeves, and the feel of her fingers on my skin sent a thrill through me. It took us only a few seconds to cross the lobby to the elevator, but the car was currently occupied somewhere above. Becky, carrying out her professional assignment, continued to hold the wine bottle while we waited. ‘This feels so silly,’ she suddenly blurted, with a rather unprofessional giggle that I found adorable. ‘Almost like we’re on a date, or something.’ Then she added earnestly, ‘Not that dates are silly, mind you.’ Her presence was making me feel like I was melting all over. Well, almost all over – there was one place on my anatomy where I was, by contrast, definitely solidifying. The elevator arrived. I saw that this was the time to act. ‘Hadn’t you better escort me all the way upstairs?’ I said with a transparent slyness. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss for not ensuring that the wine went straight to my room.’ Becky looked at me, looked back toward the restaurant, and then back at me again. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes glinted. I was holding the elevator door open, and she entered swiftly. While the car ascended with a soothing whir, Becky broke the silence. ‘I don’t know if this was strictly necessary, according to the open-bottle rules. But I am going on a break… and I can do whatever I like on my break.’ She stepped closer to me. ‘Whatever I like,’ she repeated. And she reached forward and tapped my chest, ever so briefly. I looked at Becky and took in all I could see. Bright blonde hair, long and casual. Those laughing eyes, that sensitive mouth. The trim, athletic body, shown off to nice 183

effect in her white blouse and tight black slacks. I felt warm, nervous… and excited. The spell was broken for a moment by the ‘ding’ of the elevator, and the door opened on to my floor. Becky stepped out without hesitation, in perfect stride with me. As I led the way along the corridor, she hummed cheerfully. The cozy sound of our feet shuffling along the carpet accompanied her voice very nicely. ‘Here we are,’ I said when we’d arrived at my door. I stood at the threshold, brimming with desire and uncertainty. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ she coaxed. So I opened it. She entered, ahead of me, wine bottle still in hand. Hoping for the best, I closed the door behind us. Once inside the room, I quickly put the leftovers down, not even giving much thought to where. Becky finally handed over the bottle. ‘Thank you,’ I said self-consciously. There was a short silence while I decided what to say next. ‘Would you like some wine?’ was what I came up with. ‘Thanks for the offer,’ she replied. ‘But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to return to work with alcohol in my system.’ ‘Ah, of course,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She reclaimed the bottle from me and placed it out of the way, on a table. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. ‘There are plenty of other things we can do during my break.’ ‘We?’ I barely had time to utter it before she began to smother me with kisses, while reaching around to grab my butt in her strong little hands. Because her restaurant provided room service, it was natural that Becky would be familiar with the standard layout of rooms in the hotel. So I was delighted, but not 184

surprised, that she was able to navigate us toward the bed without even having to watch where she was going. ‘Just because that bottle’s sealed, it doesn’t mean everything around here has to stay under wraps,’ she breathed in my ear. An instant later, I felt her reach for my zipper, and I reciprocated by teasing hers out of its home in the nook of her sexy trousers. We wiggled the clothing down each other’s legs with semi-graceful synchronization, engaging in an eager dance of undressing. The dance continued as Becky lifted my cock out of my shorts, and I stroked the moist black cotton between her legs. ‘I can’t wait,’ she chirped, rushing to slide her own panties down while my prick stayed in a holding pattern. Then she sank into the bed, giggling becomingly and spreading her nicely-toned thighs so that I could see her soft blonde curls and her glistening wetness. Her blouse was still buttoned; nevertheless, as I pounced on her I felt the warmth of her breasts, reaching me through bra and blouse and my own shirt. Her sensuous wiggling beckoned my face down to her center of pleasure. I kissed and licked at her sweetness, and she squealed and pressed herself against my mouth. Despite the sturdy vigour of her personality, she felt delicate down here – and she tasted, indeed, like a delicacy. Becky was ready to be brought to ecstasy, and it was no challenge to do so. Her muscular legs kicked beautifully as she climaxed. ‘You certainly know how to get things flowing,’ she purred, lifting my head. ‘Now, how about we put a cork in it for a while?’ She guided my cock into her vessel, and I felt the warmth of her love-vintage bathing and caressing me. 185

Friendly little kisses and nibbles – signs of a healthy appetite – pampered my neck and ears while we bounced together. All too soon, I felt myself spilling into her, and she clutched me tightly and whispered my name. ‘Oh, Becky…’ I answered. She guffawed, and hugged me even tighter. ‘It’s Betsy.’ She rolled me over, and straddled me like a woman who knows exactly what she wants to get out of her dinner break. Then she proceeded to show me, in no uncertain terms, that she wouldn’t dream of holding an innocent mistake against me. With my prick in the spirited embrace of Betsy’s powerful cunt, my mind rolled hither and yon in ecstasy, and random thoughts about the evening began to flash by. Charles had been right about taking the wine upstairs, said one random thought. And he’d been right that I was in good hands, said another. By now, Betsy was fucking me with a positively athletic exuberance, and leading us rapidly toward a joint climax. As our bodies vibrated together, I heard something crackle from behind my shoulders. Styrofoam. Oops. Charles had been right again. I was making out on the leftovers!

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Buccaneering Blarney by Jim Baker I was sipping a coffee at the Phuket Yacht Club when the Marie-Anne sailed in. Everything about her breathed class and money. I’m not keen on boats, but the idea of taking a trip on this one had a lot of appeal. Especially in the company of a well hung, handsome man. Little did I know… Three days later, I was in my bikini, soaking up the sun on the private beach of Le Meridien Hotel. It was the tenth day of my three-week break in Thailand. I’d fled from the cold of the English winter. I’d been dancing for six months in a London West End musical. It was a minor role, but the money wasn’t bad. I’d been offered a part in a new production, but rehearsals weren’t starting until May. My actor boyfriend Mark had gone to Africa on location for six months, so I’d taken a trip to Thailand. The sun beat down. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift back to our last night together. 187

We made love three times, and he used his fingers, tongue, and cock to make me come five times. When I woke in the morning, he was doing push-ups by the side of the bed, naked. ‘Show-off,’ I said, and he bounced to his feet. ‘Cheeky.’ He’d jumped on to the bed and wrapped a powerful arm around me. I shrieked as he tickled his fingers up and down my ribs. He flipped me across his knees and tickled the backs of my thighs until I begged him to stop. ‘How about if I tickle you here?’ He worked his fingers between my legs and up into the red curly hair. I groaned as he stroked a fingertip back and forth across my clit. He kept it up until I was squirming on his knees, then rolled me over and slid his long, hard cock up inside me. I was sliding my fingers under the waistband of my bikini when a voice jerked me out of my reverie. ‘Good morning. I hope I’m not disturbing you?’ I snatched my hand back and opened my eyes. A tall, distinguished-looking man was smiling down at me. ‘No, that’s all right. How can I help you?’ I hoped the wet spot between my legs wasn’t too obvious, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hair was tinged with grey, his face was deeply tanned, and his eyes were blue and sharp. He held out a hand and I took it automatically. Rainbows flashed in the diamonds in two gold rings. ‘Hello, Sarah. I’m Stuart Northby. I saw you at the Yacht Club when I sailed in, and I’ve noticed you here every day since, on your own.’ ‘How did you know my name’s Sarah?’ 188

‘Twenty dollars is a lot of money for a bell-boy in Thailand.’ I laughed. ‘So, Stuart, what can I do for you that’s worth twenty dollars?’ ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you seem to be a little lonely.’ He was right. I had been to Thailand before, and the novelty had worn off quickly. The Meridien had been a mistake – it was a superb hotel, but it catered almost exclusively for families and middle-aged couples. Sadly, my fantasy of sex on the beach in the moonlight with a sun-bronzed Apollo had not materialized. Mark and I had discussed our situation in bed, on the afternoon of the day he’d left. ‘Look, sweetheart,’ he’d said. ‘I’m going to be away for six months. Most of the time, it’ll be on location with a lot of people, including some sexy girls. You’re going to be working with about a hundred people on the new show, and you’re going to meet some good-looking blokes.’ ‘And?’ ‘And we both like it far too much to go without it for six months.’ ‘And?’ ‘And so let’s see what happens. I’m very fond of you, Sarah, but I’m not ready for a commitment and I’m pretty sure you’re not, either. So we keep in touch, but with no conditions either way, okay?’ He was right. I wanted to live day by day, without making plans for the future. I kissed him, and walked my fingers down his stomach. ‘Okay. Now what sort of touch did you have in mind?’ ‘Sarah, my plane leaves in three hours.’ 189

He caught it. Just. ‘Sarah?’ ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away.’ ‘I asked you if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight, aboard the Marie-Anne, at the Yacht Club.’ I almost said ‘No,’ and then the name jolted my memory. ‘The Marie-Anne? That gorgeous yacht? It’s yours?’ ‘Afraid so.’ ‘I’d love to.’ ‘Splendid. Meet me for a drink in the hotel bar about seven.’ Later, I wondered if I was doing the right thing, but it looked like a no-lose situation. If his intentions were honourable, I’d get a good dinner. If they weren’t, I’d get a good dinner and get laid afterwards. He wasn’t in the first flush of youth, but I’d received my fair share of pleasure from men of his age. It’s not just talent that wins parts in the theatre. The yacht was beautiful. A Filipino in a dazzling white jacket served exquisite food, and poured excellent wine. ‘There are only three crew members,’ Stuart explained. ‘Almost everything is controlled by computers nowadays.’ He was good company during the meal. He said he was a fashion designer, and he took a lot of interest in the costumes I wore on stage. ‘I’m not Christian Dior,’ he said, with a smile. ‘But I’ve made good investments and got lucky.’ After dinner, he suggested a stroll on deck. I expected him to kiss me, but he only wanted to show me the stars. He pointed out some of the constellations, and then we went back inside for coffee and brandy. He glanced at his slim gold wristwatch. 190

‘I’m sleeping on board tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Patrick to call the car and take you back to the Meridien.’ I didn’t believe it. Surely he’d say, ‘…unless of course you’d like to stay?’ But a few minutes later, he escorted me to the Mercedes and kissed my hand. ‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘I hope I shall see you again.’ I went back to the hotel, frustrated and puzzled. The next morning I woke late, showered and ordered breakfast in my room. I was just finishing my coffee when a bellboy delivered a huge bouquet of roses. There was a card in a red envelope: Thank you for coming last night. Now I’m going to be even more presumptuous. Will you come for a cruise with me, for three or four days? Please meet me for lunch in the Ariake restaurant at 12.30 and say yes. Love, Stuart. Was this a ploy – a chaste dinner first, followed by three passion-filled nights on the Andaman Sea? Why not? We sailed from the Yacht Club two days later. Stuart introduced me to the crew. Steve was a young, muscular American, and Lek a wiry Chinese Thai. ‘And, of course, Juan,’ Stuart said, waving at the Filipino, whose white jacket had been replaced by a sweaty T-shirt. Stuart explained that we would cruise around in a circle, and drop anchor off a few islands where we could swim. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘So relaxing.’ ‘Sounds great,’ I said. As long as you throw in some beautiful sex with it. On the other hand, if you don’t, young Steve looks as if he might have something interesting in his locker. 191

I donned my smallest bikini and went up on deck. Stuart held out a glass of champagne. ‘We’re going to anchor close to that island,’ he announced, pointing towards a speck of land on the horizon. ‘Juan will take us ashore. Wonderful beach and we’ll take a picnic hamper.’ ‘Lovely!’ How about a nice soft blanket for some nookie under the coconut trees? The beach was beautiful. The food was superb, and the champagne was delicious. There was even a big, soft blanket. Juan set everything out and retired back to the inflatable dinghy. We ate, we drank, and we talked. And talked. My hormones had reached screaming point when there was a buzzing sound from the small leather satchel Stuart had brought with him. He took out a two-way radio. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and walked away a few yards. ‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ I heard him say. He came back, looking apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. Business. I have to send an email to Miami. You stay here – have a swim. I won’t be long.’ Without waiting for my response, he strode down the beach, calling out to Juan, and moments later the two of them were heading back to the yacht. I poured myself some wine and watched until they reached the boat and scrambled up the ladder to the deck. It seemed odd – all just a little too contrived. Surely they weren’t going to abandon me, like Robinson Crusoe? As I sipped the wine, I studied the distance between the Marie-Anne and the beach. Couldn’t be more than 150 metres. I could swim that all right. The water was warm and it took me no time at all to reach the foot of the ladder. I climbed up slowly until I 192

could just see the deck. The scene in front of my eyes almost caused me to lose my grip and fall back into the sea. Lek was on his hands and knees on the deck. His pants and shorts were round his ankles, and Steve was kneeling behind him, naked. Steve certainly had plenty in his locker. It was long, thick and looked very hard as it pumped rapidly in and out of the Thai’s arse. Both men were slick with sweat, and as I watched, Steve’s body tensed and he let out a loud groan. He stayed rigid; his cock buried to the hilt, and then fell forward, half burying Lek beneath his huge frame. They were dead to the world. I swung myself over the rail and tiptoed behind them to the stairwell leading below deck. The door of my cabin was ajar and it swung back silently. My clothes were strewn over the bed, except for the ones Stuart had selected. He was admiring himself in the dressing table mirror. He was wearing green silk panties, a blue bra and a pair of black fishnet stockings. ‘Poor colour match,’ I said. He whirled around. As he opened his mouth to speak the boat rocked violently. From the deck, I heard Juan’s shout. ‘Boss! Pirates!’ Stuart looked panic-stricken, but before he could move a huge black-clad figure, with a pistol in his hand, stepped into the cabin. ‘Get dressed,’ he said to me, and waited silently while I wrapped myself in a robe. He escorted us to Stuart’s cabin, allowed him to change into shirt and shorts and ushered us on deck, where three tough looking Asians, carrying automatic rifles, were guarding the crew. 193

We stood in a circle. The big man stuck the pistol in his belt. ‘Now, lady and gentlemen, I’ll explain the rules.’ His voice was soft and Irish. ‘Firstly, no one is going to hurt you. Mr Northby and I have some business to conduct. You will be locked in the cabins below. If you behave, no problem; if you misbehave, you will be put on my friend’s boat.’ He waved his hand at a dirty fishing vessel, which was moored about fifty metres away. He spoke to one of the Asians, and then turned back to us. ‘You three.’ He indicated our three crewmembers. ‘Go with them.’ The Asians herded them away. ‘Now, Mr Northby, we have business to discuss. But first let’s sort out the accommodation. Are you and the young lady an item, as they say?’ I jumped in before Stuart had a chance. ‘No!’ ‘Right. There are three cabins down there. My men will sleep on deck, so you and your crew can have one cabin, I’ll have one cabin, and the young lady can keep hers.’ He grinned at me. ‘Please go down to your cabin. I have to have a talk with Stuart here.’ I took off the robe, stripped off my wet bikini and took a shower. Pirates? Pirates were one-legged men with parrots on their shoulder, who shouted about pieces of eight and made people walk the plank, not hard-faced Asians with automatic rifles or polite Irishmen with pistols. What the hell had I got myself into? I wrapped myself in a towel and lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes and was dozing when there was a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’ Number One Pirate appeared in the doorway. ‘I just wanted to be sure you’re okay.’ 194

‘I’m fine.’ ‘I just wanted you to know that you’re safe. We’re not out to hurt anyone.’ ‘Good.’ ‘Tell me about yourself. Northby told me your name’s Sarah and that you’re a dancer. What are you doing here, Sarah?’ ‘To be honest I’m not sure.’ I told him the story. He laughed when I told him about Stuart wearing my underwear. ‘When he first invited me, I assumed that he wanted me for sex. But he never touched me, and then when I found him in my bra and pants…’ I giggled at the memory. ‘But what’s going on? Who are you?’ He hesitated. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m finding it a bit difficult to have a conversation with you lying on a bed in a towel, knowing as I do what lies beneath it. Put on some clothes and come up on deck.’ ‘How do you know what’s underneath it? And what’s your name?’ ‘I’ve seen you in a wet bikini, Sarah, and I’ve got a powerful imagination. And you can call me Patrick.’ I put on a fresh bikini and a pair of shorts and went up on deck. The yacht was under way and the fishing boat was following. Patrick was standing with a pair of binoculars, making a slow sweep of the surrounding ocean. I could see one of the Asians in the wheelhouse. Patrick lowered the binoculars and turned around. ‘Sarah! We’ll have a drink. Mr Northby has a fine taste in wine, so he has. Red, white or bubbly?’ ‘Bubbly would be good.’ ‘Fine choice.’ He took a bottle of champagne and two glasses from the cold box, which someone had retrieved from the island. We clinked glasses and drank, and the cold 195

dry wine tasted delicious. He topped up our glasses and took my hand. The touch of his fingers sent a little shiver up my spine. ‘Okay, Sarah, let me tell you a bit about Stuart Northby. Firstly, that’s only one of at least four names he uses. Secondly, he’s not a fashion designer; he’s a con-man. And thirdly he’s…well, he’s a sexual deviant.’ ‘A what? Is he gay?’ ‘Not gay. He just can’t have a normal relationship with a woman. The only way he can get his rocks off, if you’ll pardon the expression, is by dressing in women’s underwear.’ ‘From what I’ve seen I can believe it. But why did he go to all the trouble over me? Was it just so he could wear my knickers?’ ‘Partly, I suppose. But mainly for his reputation. Not many people know about his problems, and it’s good for his image to be seen with attractive women.’ ‘So where do you fit in? What exactly are you doing?’ ‘Northby preys on old people, taking their money and destroying their lives. He uses all sorts of scams. Two years ago he conned my father out of all the money he had. It killed him. It took me a long time and a lot of money, but finally I got into a position where I could take my revenge. This boat is Northby’s pride and joy. We’ve been watching him for weeks and this was the chance to snatch it from him.’ One of the Asians appeared from below deck. They spoke briefly, and the man went back below. ‘Interesting,’ Patrick said. ‘Apparently there’s a big safe hidden in the main cabin. No chance of you knowing the combination, I suppose?’ ‘I wouldn’t know that.’ 196

‘No matter. Somphong will get it open before we dock. He’s a genius with locks.’ ‘Patrick, where are we going? What are you going to do with Northby?’ ‘We’re going to Indonesia, to an island called Bintan. I’ve got a buyer who will pay me cash for the boat. It’ll be less than half of what it’s really worth, but that’s fine. I’ll pay my guys off, and they’ll scuttle the rust bucket.’ He waved his hand at the fishing boat, which was following steadily in our wake. ‘Then I’ll go home, where there’s a gorgeous Thai lady waiting for me. The rest of the money will pay my expenses, with a fair bit left over, which will go to charity.’ ‘And me and the others?’ ‘There’s an island on the way, about ten hours sailing from Bintan, with a fishing village on it. The idea is to drop Northby and his three cronies on the uninhabited side with plenty of food and water. It’ll take them a couple of days to get to the village by which time this little darling will have different colours and a new name, and we’ll be long gone.’ ‘And what about me?’ ‘What would you like me to do with you?’ ‘Right now I’d like you to kiss me.’ He smelled of sweat and salt and his stubble scratched my chin as our lips came together. His arm felt like a steel cable around my waist and I revelled in the feel of his hard body against mine. He took his lips away after a long time and his green eyes gleamed as he looked down into my face. ‘It would be a terrible waste to make you walk the plank.’ The inside of my cabin was dark and cool, compared to the bright sunlit deck. He groaned as he peeled off his black T-shirt. 197

‘God, I must smell like a goat.’ His chest was a jungle of black hair and I scratched my nails down through it. ‘I like goats.’ His trousers were the bottom half of a track-suit. I pushed them down his legs. He wore no underwear, and his cock jumped into my hand. I took his balls in my hand as his fingers fumbled with the tie of my bikini. My top fell away and he cupped a breast in one of his huge hands. I pushed down my shorts and bikini pants and kicked them away. I guided his hand between my legs and shivered as his fingers touched my pussy. I grabbed his cock, and fell back on the bed with him between my legs. ‘Come inside me!’ He entered me with one long thrust, my muscles clamped around his cock and I came straight away, in a long, shuddering, glorious climax. When I opened my eyes, he was looking down at me with a broad smile on his face. ‘Well, to be sure, you’re easy to please.’ His cock was still hard, and deep inside me. I looped my arms around his neck. ‘So fuck me. Show me what a Jolly Roger really is.’ I lifted my legs as high as I could, and locked my ankles behind his back. He began to thrust inside me. I felt the tingling beginning in my pussy and moving up through my body. His fingertip tickled my clit and I groaned. Reality evaporated as he thrust harder and harder and from a long way away I heard his hoarse whisper. ‘I’m going to come, little colleen, come with me, come…Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, oh…yes!’ His cock jerked inside me, and seconds later, I dug my fingernails into his back as my orgasm hit me. Wave after 198

wave of pleasure racked through my body and from somewhere I heard a long ecstatic wail. I came down slowly, trembling, and opened my eyes. Patrick was slumped on top of me, panting hard. He pushed himself up, looked down at me and grinned. ‘A pussy as tight as that should never be walking the plank,’ he said. ‘I think you’d better come to Bintan.’ The rest of the voyage passed in a glorious mixture of sex, food, drink, sunshine and more sex. Northby and his crew were brought up on deck to eat, two at a time, three times a day. They were under close guard and Patrick always offered Northby a half a glass of his own wine, while we quaffed the remainder of the bottle. Between meals and the times that Patrick took over the wheel of the boat, we made love. Patrick was stronger and bigger than Mark, and could do things with his tongue and his cock that made me scream with pleasure. He could keep me on the brink of orgasm until I begged him to let me come, and then hold me in a climax so that I came over and over again. ‘Where did you learn how to do all this?’ I asked him. ‘I’ve lived in Thailand with Thai girls for a long time. They’re very demanding. And they give the best blowjobs in the world.’ I took the hint and was running the tip of my tongue up and down his cock the next morning when there was a knock on the door and a voice called out in Thai. Patrick got up reluctantly, pulled on a pair of shorts, and went out. There was a huge smile on his face when he returned. ‘Somphong’s opened the safe. There’s about two-fifty grand in US dollars in it, and some other bits and pieces. That’s a real bonus for the charities.’ He pulled his shorts off and flopped down on the bed. ‘Now if you could just give this guy a little kiss…’ 199

The next afternoon we were standing on the deck, watching the marina getting closer. We had dumped Northby and his crew, and sailed on to Bintan Island. Patrick squeezed my hand. ‘Now, colleen, as soon as we dock, go to the Bintan Lagoon Resort. Stay one night, and get them to organize a ferry ticket for you to go to Singapore tomorrow.’ He handed me a small roll of banknotes as his eyes scanned the marina. ‘This is rupiah for the taxi. I’ll have to move very fast, so we’ll say our goodbyes now. You’ve got your passport and credit cards, and your air tickets?’ I nodded. ‘Okay, you should be able to do a deal with the air ticket you’ve got. Don’t go back to Phuket.’ He handed me an envelope. ‘This is yours.’ He kissed me and then stood back and stroked my cheek. Rainbows flashed from the rings on his fingers. ‘What is it? Patrick, those rings…’ ‘Buried treasure. Goodbye, Sarah.’ I opened the envelope in my room at the Lagoon Resort. It contained twenty-five thousand US dollars in cash, and a brief note. All pirates share the spoils. Look on this as compensation for an interrupted vacation. I’ll watch out for you on Broadway. Yo-ho-ho, colleen. Love, Patrick. I made myself a drink from the mini-bar. Twenty-five thousand dollars. London would still be cold and rehearsals didn’t start until May. The Caribbean seemed like a good idea. Might be a few Jolly Rogers to be had there…

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