I use the arms of his chair to push myself up and off of him, giggling again when I look at you and see our cum on your now softened cock. I notice the napkin on your desk from lunch and use it to dab away some of our wetness from you and then me. Toss it in the trash, and carefully tuck your cock back into your pants. You pull up your zipper and I straighten my clothes up.
"Shall we, Mr. Sinclair?" I ask as I offer my hand to you.
You take my hand, simply reply, "We shall, Sweetheart."
Leading me to the elevator, no words are necessary at this point. We step inside, look to each other and smile, and giggles echo through the elevator as we struggle to gain our composure. In time to here the ding, letting us know we have reached the lobby, the doors open and I turn to you.
"See you for dinner!" I say to you as I turn, my eyes aglow from the effects of our office sex.
Your hand catches my arm as I go to leave, spins me back around to you, then you take me in your arms, firmly holding me there as your mouth captures mine and we kiss passionately. You hold me a minute, let me escape and I start to walk to the lobby exit.
You add, "Thanks for lunch, my wife. Will you bring me lunch tomorrow?"
I hear the laughter in your voice as I turn to see you wave with a smile, just as the elevator doors close. I walk to the exit, letting the doorman open it. Nodding at him gleefully. I wonder if he realizes what just happened in that office up there. I avert my eyes to the street as I pass him, and then return my gaze up to see where I am going. Leisurely I saunter back to my car quite happy that worked out well.
The End.
Mirrors
The false whore finally saw the black van. The one she was waiting for. The one they were looking for.
She adjusted her halter top and stepped off the curve to greet it. It stopped as though she were a long lost friend. Just as she had known it would.
The passenger side window rolled down with the soft susurration of an electric motor, its whine the perfect accompaniment to the whispering of the night breeze that lifted her hair.
She bent down to the window, offering the driver the vista of her firm 44D tits. She knew he could see the jutting nipples from this angle, dangling before him like the worms on an angler's hook.
He reached over to roll the right one between his fingers, pinching it hard before cupping her breast.
His face was shrouded in darkness, but a streak of neon light revealed his eyes. Death danced in those pupils, a wild tango that promised an end to both night and day.
"Lookin' for a date?" she asked him, giving the gum in her mouth the mandatory pop.
"That depends," he said. "How much?"
"Not here," the false whore told him, pulling the door open and getting into the van. "Later. When they're not watching us."
"How long?" she asked him.
"All night," he said. "My place."
"That's not what I meant," she whispered coyly, reaching over to give his crotch a quick squeeze. Mr. Death was already plenty long. "But it will cost you just the same. Are you willing to pay the price?"
The van driver snickered. "Baby, for something like you, no price can be too high."
"I'm glad to hear that," she said, running her fingers along the inside of his thigh. "Start driving."
When he opened the door, the first thing that struck her were the mirrors. They were everywhere. The ceiling, the walls, even parts of the floor were covered with them. There were no windows. No distractions from the outer world to disrupt this temple of inner space. She saw a million copies of herself watching her, reflections within reflections within reflections, like the images in a fly's eye, all waiting for death's sweet arrival.
She felt his hands on her back. "Take off your top," he told her.
She peeled off her halter top and her breasts spilled out into the reflected light. She turned so he could see them, and a million ruby nipples rotated in the flawless glass of the mirrors.
She stood on her toes to kiss him, pressed her naked breasts against his chest and ground her crotch into him. She felt him grow hard against her, and she dropped to her knees to unzip him.
When he sprang free, she saw that Brenda Sullivan, the one that had gotten away before he could bring her to this place, had not been exaggerating. He was easily ten inches long.
She took the tip, as big as a golf ball, into her mouth and sucked it like a lollipop, swirling her tongue around it before impaling her head on as much of the shaft as she could take in. He grabbed her hair and began to move his hips, pumping into her eager mouth as he clenched her head tightly against his crotch. She fondled his balls with her hand, rotating them, feeling them contract as he was about to come.
But then he abruptly pulled out of her mouth, leaving it feeling empty and deserted, the only memory of that magnificent cock the taste of the pre-come on her tongue.
"Not like that," he said. "I want to see you. Take off your clothes."
She quickly tossed off her shoes and peeled her hot pants and black lace panties down her firm tanned legs. She stood up, naked before him, conscious of his eyes roaming over her breasts, the dark triangle of her crotch.
"Put these on," he told her, handing her two sets of handcuffs. "One on each wrist."
"B & D will cost you extra," she said. "A thousand for the night."
"No problem,' he said, retrieving a wrinkled envelope from the mantel. He pulled our three crisp thousand dollar bills. "These are all yours if you do what I tell you."
"You're the customer," she said, snapping the bracelets over her wrists.
"Now get on the bed, " he told her.
She climbed up on the four poster and turned over on her back. She knew what he wanted.
He cuffed her hands to the eyehooks that had been screwed into the headboard. Then he used leather straps to tie her ankles to the hooks at the other end of the bed. She was now spread eagled and helpless, her sex open to his wanton stare.
He took off his shirt and she could see the ribbed muscles in his abdomen. He kicked off his shoes, stepped out of his pants. His cock was magnificently erect. The largest she had ever seen. Her lips longed to be wrapped around it once again. Forever.
He reached into the drawer of nightstand and brought out a large carving knife.
Her eyes opened wide at that. "What's this?" she asked.
He drew the razor sharp steel blade across her taut abdomen, drawing a thin red line of blood. "Fucking the dying is so much better than fucking the living," he told her. "The living are always thinking ahead to the next shopping trip, to Monday night alone with their pimp. For the dying, there is only you. They know this moment will be their last. They want to make it perfect. For them. For you. I will make it perfect for you, Beatrice."
"My name is not Beatrice."
"Oh, but it is. And will be for the rest of your life. Have you not read Dante? Beatrice is the guide to the other world. To heaven and hell. Will you show me heaven, Beatrice? I have seen quite enough of hell," he whispered, drawing the dull edge of the blade across her throat.
He stared up at the mirrors on the ceiling. "Do you see our eyes, Beatrice?" She looked up to see a thousand eyes staring at her, seeking out their one true self. "They are the eyes of the dead," he told her. "We are already dead, you and I."
"I should tell you something," she said. "I am not what I seem to be. I am a policewoman."
"Oh and do I have the right to remain silent, Beatrice?" he snickered. "How naive do you think I am? They are looking for me very intensely. Where is your backup, Beatrice? No policewoman knowing who I am would allow herself to be cuffed as you did."
"Let's just say I'm doing this on my spare time," she told him, watching his dead eyes for any sign of a reaction.
He chuckled at that. "Nice try, Beatrice, but I am afraid you are nothing but a common whore. Let me show you your predecessors, Beatrice, my former guides who were so good as to accompany me partway into the afterlife."
He walked to t
he large freezer that was busily humming away in the corner of the room and opened the top. Looking at the ceiling mirror, she could see the frozen heads nestled within. Piles of them. He pulled one out and carried it over to the bed. Despite the pallor of the skin, the frost over the eyes and cheek, she recognized it as that of Renata Santiago, the whore that had gone missing back in May, before her body parts were discovered in a dumpster off Graylock Street. All that is but the head that now stared at her through spectacles of white ice. The eighth victim.
'This is Athena, Beatrice. The goddess of wisdom. One of the best. It is very cold where she has gone. Could you perhaps provide her some comfort?" He placed Santiago's frozen lips over her breast, the frost burning her nipple, which became instantly erect. She felt a thrill go through her whole body as he pressed the head more tightly against her breast before removing it and replacing it gently in the icebox.
"You could give yourself up," she said softly. "You don't have to do this."
"Oh but I do, don't you see. I very much have to do this," he said.
"Soon you will be joining my other guides to heaven," he said, indicating the icebox with his black eyes, "but first you must show me the way."
He ran his tongue up her leg, over her knee, up her inner thigh to the aching crack between her legs. His arm muscles were steel pistons, flexing as he lapped her. The touch of his tongue was electric, and she opened herself to him, overcome by wave after wave of the greatest pleasure she had ever known. She arched into him, cramming her mound against his face as he sucked her, and then he was climbing up her, his muscles rock hard against her soft breasts and his tongue found her other mouth and she sucked it as he thrust into her, six inches at first, then eight, then the full ten as he reached depths within her that no man ever had and she sucked him into her, her whole body a mouth seeking to engulf him, to keep him within her forever.
Her tongue swirled around his earlobe as he pumped faster and faster into her. "I am death come to receive you," she whispered to him as he exploded inside her, the warmth of his seed spraying her womb, suffusing her body with a glow she had not thought possible.
"You are the best of them, Beatrice," he whispered later as they lay there together, his legs wrapped around her, his hand softly cupping her breast. "You will be the one to show me the way where the others failed. You are death itself. I will return to you, Beatrice, and you will show me the way to heaven. Sleep well, my angel." He got off the bed and shuffled into the next room, leaving her in the darkness.
When she woke, she could hear him breathing softly in the next room. It was best not to press her luck, she thought. While the coroner said there had been multiple attacks on each victim, he could not say how many. The second could be the last. Reluctantly, her body still basking in the pleasure of his touch, she reached for the hairpin and began working the lock on the cuffs. She knew the gun still sat unmolested in her purse.
The man's eyes opened when he felt the cold of the steel barrel pressing against her temple. "You should have believed me," she said, raising her badge to his face. "I'm detective Veronica Hughes of the L.A.P.D., and you're just the man we have been looking for. That I've been looking for.
"Take those off," she said, indicating his pajamas. He looked at her strangely as if wondering at her nakedness, but complied, pulling off his shirt, then standing and dropping his pants to the floor.
"I thought you were special, Beatrice. I thought you were the one. You don't know how disappointed I am," he said, his eyes never leaving her huge breasts.
"Now put these on," she said, tossing him the handcuffs.
He shut the clasps over both wrists and looked at her expectantly.
"Now get in there." she said, indicating the first bedroom. He got up and walked into the room across the hall.
"Now get on that," she said, indicating the four-poster. He looked at her strangely then, but climbed on the bed.
"Now lie down," she said.
He lay down on his back, and she could see that he was becoming erect, already eight inches at least. She took the other pair of cuffs and closed the bracelet around his right wrist and cuffed him to the eyehook. She unlocked the other cuff from his right hand and climbed over him, her cunt on his nose, to cuff his left hand to the other eyehook.
She held the gun against his temple. "Don't even think about moving," she told him, and she slid down his body to tie his legs with the leather straps. Now Mr. Death was himself tied to the bed, naked, spread eagled and helpless.
She climbed up him, her moist cunt tracing its way up his hard chest. "Oh, but I am the one," she told him. "I am Kali, the bringer of death. I have tasted its pleasures a thousand times. I will take you places you have never been before.
She sat on his face, her cunt engulfing his mouth and nose. "Come to me," she told him. "Taste your death." She began to rock on his face as his tongue found her, swirling around her clitoris, probing her vagina, running along the inner lining of her labia. She grabbed his hair and pressed into him, rocking more violently, feeling his crushed nose sliding up and down her cunt, as he lapped her harder and harder until she finally spent, releasing her fluids all over his face, her juices running down his cheeks, staining the perfect black satin of the sheet beneath him.
She kissed him violently and then slid down the sheets until his magnificent cock was finally resting against her cheek. She fingered the base as she took it inside her mouth, feeling his whole body shiver as she took it deeply within her, cramming it down her throat while she fondled his swelling balls, filled with the juices of life. She took each ball in her mouth and sucked it as she slid her hand up and down his cock, touching it gently at first, then more violently, squeezing it to hold back the flow. She lapped underneath the head, then took the helmet in her mouth as she gave his balls a final squeeze before climbing up him to impale herself on him, his ten inches sliding into her secret depths, and she reached across him, her nipples brushing briefly across his chest as she retrieved the carving knife from the nightstand.
She traced its sharp point down his chest, drawing a thin line of blood as she began to rock on him, and she could feel him becoming even harder and longer as she played the cold steel of the blade over his chest and took him deeper insider her, thrusting herself violently down upon him.
He looked at her with love in his eyes as he arched his body into her. She felt his muscles tighten as he prepared to come and she drew the blade quickly across his abdomen, watching the surprise in his eyes as his gigantic prick grew even longer within her and she pumped him harder and faster, feeling the glow within her body building to a crescendo she had not thought possible. Her whole body shuddered as he came in a violent, rushing torrent inside her, his last seeds of life desperately seeking a new home as she felt the warmth inside her mixing with the hot fluid from his entrails as they spilled from his ruined stomach.
She leaned over to kiss him and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "You're so right, darling. Fucking the dying is much better than fucking the living. So much better." She saw the recognition in his eyes before the light faded. And the slight smile at the corners of his lips.
In the mirror she could see the icebox, filled with teachers waiting to be reunited with their star pupil.
The End.
Pushing Boundaries
Lizzie's heart pounded inside her chest as they walked from the car.
Her sex life had been adventurous, but she never dreamed she would do anything like this.
Touching herself in front of a lover was one thing, having a threesome with her best mate and her boyfriend was another, but performing with a virtual stranger in front of a whole crowd was territory unknown.
She'd shared fantasies online with Simon for months after meeting briefly at a party and becoming friends on Facebook. Her best friend Kate had introduced them but warned her that Simon snared women and held them under some sort of mind control. Lizzie was smitten before that mind control even began.
She'd opened up to him with no inhibitions whatsoever, talking candidly about her sex life with past lovers. They'd progressed to cybersex, first on social networking sites, then through Skype. There was a certain detachment that enabled Lizzie to push the boundaries, enjoying multiple orgasms without even being in the same room as the man who was making her day.
"Skype?" the text would say whenever Simon felt horny. More often than not Lizzie would oblige, immediately excited at the prospect of a stolen hour of fun and fantasy.
She was ensnared in a world of self gratification and the couple soon perfected the art of cybersex, bringing one another to climax slowly, sensuously.
Simon was most definitely in control; something Lizzie hadn't been used to in previous relationships. She'd always been the dominant one, making the first move, pushing sexual boundaries and taboos.
Now she was a pussycat, ready to roll over and succumb at the blink of an eye.
She remembered the first time they fantasised about having sex in front of strangers. It had driven her wild.
"I want us to fuck in public today," Simon had said as they chatted online.
Her heart raced as she imagined a group of strangers watching them.
"We're at a gig. There are thousands of people all around us, all wrapped up with watching the band," Simon had said.
"We only have eyes for one another.
"We're dancing together.
"Touching.
"Everywhere.
"You're wearing a low cut vest top.
"I pull it up, revealing your naked, pert breasts underneath.
"The people around us notice what we're doing Lizzie. They're looking at your breasts as I bend down and tickle your nipple with my tongue, the other breast grabbed in my hand."
"I want you," Lizzie replied.
"I want you too Lizzie, but first you have to perform.
"Perform for your audience."
The Rougher Explicit Collection of Stories Box Set Compilation Page 147
