by Alison Tyler
#1 FAN
Gabriella Wise
The sign said, “NO Admittance,” but I pushed through the door anyway. I’d been waiting for weeks, watching the employees of Astral Athena Records enter and exit, and I knew that the door wasn’t guarded. I’d never done anything like this before, but I was desperate for a glimpse of my idol. I’d done my research. She was going to be recording in the studio for one day only. This was my chance.
I had on black satin pants, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, a bright yellow mail sack, and a black baseball cap emblazoned with the Astral Athena logo. I looked like all of the workers at Athena, young, hip, attractive. I slouched into the offices and nodded at the lovely woman seated at the reception desk, before heading past her to the mail room. She didn’t stop me.
I knew the layout of the building, information I’d bribed from a friend who’d done temp work for the label. I made my way through the mail room to the back corridor, ducked into the first elevator, and cruised to the fifth floor, where the recording studios were.
Another receptionist guarded this area, but I slid by her with a priority envelope I pulled from my sack. “I need a signature from Ms. X,” I told her. She looked me over, then waved me through. I took one step beyond the chrome doors and nearly bumped into my idol. I stopped, mumbled an apology, and lowered my head, waiting for her tirade. I’d heard about her awesome temper.
She surprised me. She lifted my chin with two fingers and stared into my eyes. I blushed, but held steady. “Excuse me,” I said again. “I wasn’t looking.”
“I’ve seen you,” she said. “But you don’t work here.”
I shook my head. There were others around us, and I sensed the largeness of the security guards, already nearby, waiting to drag me away. “No, ma’am,” I said softly. “But you might have seen me outside. I’ve been watching you.”
She grinned, her exquisite smile lighting the severe features of her face. “That’s right. And you’ve been at my concerts, too, haven’t you?”
“Front row, center,” I said, feeling those guards squeeze tighter to me, their muscles bulging.
My idol brushed them away and herded me into one of the offices, alone. Alone with her. She said, “You caught my eye. You’re striking,” and then moved back a step to stare at me before surprising me again. This time, she picked up a pair of scissors from the desk and quickly cut me out of my clothes. She remained dressed, in something soft and black. I liked the feel of her clothes against my naked skin. She seemed to like it, too. She caressed my back, the nape of my neck, kissed my eyebrows, my eyelashes, my cheekbones. She said, “It takes a lot to catch my attention. You’ve gone to some trouble.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I responded to her kisses, opening my lips on hers, sliding my mouth to her neck, kissing her there, kissing her breasts through the gauzy dress, going on my knees to pleasure her, but she pushed me away. Now, I was on the floor, on my back. She straddled me, with her back to my face, and then went down into a sixty-nine, pressing her million-dollar lips to my naked pussy lips, diving inside my cunt with her warm tongue. She used her fingers as well as her mouth, running her hands on the insides of my thighs, tickling me, pinching my skin, pressing my thighs apart until I ached at the split of my body.
I couldn’t totally believe what was happening to me. I’d woken often from this same dream before, from this fantasy, and I reached out and touched her with both hands to make sure she really was there.
“Is this real?” I asked, praying she wouldn’t dissolve into air, into a mirage.
She lifted her mouth off me when she felt me touching her. She said, “Yes, it’s real. I’m right here...can’t you feel this?”
And then she put her mouth back where it had been, running her tongue firmly along the opening of my pussy lips, coaxing my clit until it stood out from its hood, huge and demanding, desperate to come. She was cruel to it, biting it, kissing it a little too hard, or, maybe just hard enough. And then, when I thought I really would die if this were a dream, she began murmuring to me as she worked, singing something soft and low into my pussy. Her song brought me to climax. I came to the rumbling vibrations of a voice I had come to over a stereo headset countless times before.
I shuddered and grabbed her to me, wanting to reciprocate, but she easily freed herself from my embrace and stood, looking down at me. “It takes a lot to catch my attention,” she said again, as if confused by her own actions.
I shrugged and sat up, wrapping my arms around myself, hiding, lowering my lashes, as always. Humble. But then, because it had to be said, I spoke. “Of course,” I said, “I’m your number one fan.”
PRICE TO PAY
Eric Reiter
When I want something, I get it. If I can’t buy it, I’ll steal it. If I can’t find it, I’ll have it made for me. I was born rich and I have turned my birthright into a fortune that would have impressed my father, a man not easily impressed by anything.
When I saw Elaine up on that stage at The Pussycat, holding on to the metal pole and swinging her slender body around it, I wanted her. She has the kind of body that takes hours of toning daily: corded thighs, a flat, taut stomach, an ass you could cup in your hands. Her face was smooth and impassive, her eyes a dark, unwavering blue. I could tell she was wearing a wig; no one has hair that highly glossed except Barbie, and I wanted to know what her real hair color was.
I requested a lap dance, paid for it, requested another, paid for that, and then asked her out.
She said, “I don’t date the clientele.”
I said, “You ought to just say ‘yes’ now and save yourself the trouble.” She looked at me, questioning me with her cobalt eyes. “I always get what I want,” I informed her, matter-of-factly.
She smiled at me, if you could call it that. Her eyes were unresponsive, the smile in her lips alone. She said, “You must have a nice life.” One long beat. “I’m not for sale.”
“Everyone has a price,” I said, confidently. “Everyone.”
She tilted her head, her eyes never wavering from mine. “You can’t afford me,” she said, next, then stood and walked to the backstage door.
I was there at opening the next night. And the next. She would give me lap dances, would tease me with her body, with her eyes that never changed. I bought her gifts, sapphire earrings, an emerald bracelet, and finally a thin black collar with diamond studs. That caught her eye and I smiled to myself, realizing I’d overplayed my hand. Realizing that the answer was so easy I hadn’t even caught on. I walked to the back room, where the strippers change between shows, pushing past the bouncer who half-heartedly told me I wasn’t allowed. One hundred dollars makes the talk inside, to paraphrase Tom Waits, and I handed over a bill and stalked after Elaine.
She was seated in front of a mirror, her hair up, her real hair, a finely spun golden mane, and she had the collar in her hands, fingering it. I met her eyes in the mirror, took the collar from her, and fastened it around her neck. Then, without speaking, I lifted her into my arms and carried her out the back way, to the parking lot. I had my convertible with me, and I set her in the backseat and peeled off her clothes, devouring her nipples, her flat stomach, her cunt. I had been restrained longer than I like, and I let her know it, ravaging her body with my tongue, fingers, fist. She moaned, grabbed my hair, let loose with a stream of foul language that made me even hotter. “Fuck me, oh, please, fuck me. With your hand...harder! Harder!”
“Whore,” I spat, liking the way her eyes grew darker when I said it. At least I’d made them change. “You’ll be mine. You said you didn’t have a price. I didn’t realize that meant I could take you for free.” I slipped two fingers under her collar and tugged, so she could feel the bite of it. Then I went back down to her pussy and let her feel my bite there, on her cunt lips, on her clit, digging at her, lapping at her. It was so easy, making her feel it, breaking open that iced exterior and bringing her molten core to the surface. I swam in her, dined on her, ruined her
for another.
Then I wrapped her in my coat, brought her into the front seat, and drove her home, telling her, along the way, of my plans. “You’ll wear silk,” I told her, “or satin, or leather, or vinyl. Or nothing. You’ll have jewels and bathe in champagne, and anything you ask for will be yours.” She turned her head on the seat and looked at me. “But you’ll be mine,” I said. “Mine,” repeating the word and watching the way her eyes seemed to get softer, more willing. “And you’ll do what I say.”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured, agreeing, “whatever you say.”
I grinned, thinking about what I wanted, what I desired. “Part your legs,” I told her, “make yourself come while we drive.” She set her feet on the dash, spread her thighs, and placed her fingers against her clit, rubbing it while the cool night air washed over her body. She closed her eyes and rocked her hips against the leather seat.
I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but I stole silent glances, memorizing the look of ecstasy on her face, promising myself I would bring it to her often.
And forever.
MAKE IT A DOUBLE
Thomas S. Roche
My eyes roved wildly over the apartment as I paced back and forth.
“That definitely wasn’t decaf,” I said.
“You don’t say,” Sherry yawned. She had stripped down to her sleeping clothes: a white tank top and soft cotton shorts. She was curled up with a woolen blanket covering her legs and Sushi, our tabby cat, delicately washed his paws in her lap.
“I told them three times,” I growled. “Decaf! Decaf! Decaf!”
“Maybe they couldn’t hear you. You should have said it a fourth time.”
Sushi regarded me with even less interest than my girlfriend. Sherry flicked the remote control from channel to channel as I walked a six-foot ellipse around the living room.
“I’m just about ready for bed,” she told me.
“Not me,” I snapped, and continued my pacing while she channel surfed.
“I think I’d better go to the gym,” I finally said.
“They close at ten on Sundays,” she told me.
“Damn it!”
Sherry looked at me with a faint smile on her lips. “You’re sure that wasn’t decaf?”
“Very funny.”
She turned off the TV. “Come over here,” she said, patting the sofa next to her. Sushi issued a fervent hiss and meowed discontentedly, then ran for the hills, darting across the living room toward the cat tree.
I looked at Sherry with mixed suspicion and paranoia. “Why?” I asked.
“I’m going to hit you over the head with a flower vase and knock you cold,” she said.
“Please,” I said, sitting next to Sherry on the sofa.
She was on me in an instant, bearing me back onto the sofa, crawling on top of me. She kissed me, her tongue sliding against mine as she reached her hands down my sweatpants.
“I know what’ll calm you down,” she said.
“I doubt it,” I told her bitterly.
“But it certainly can’t hurt,” she said, pulling my sweats down. “Besides, your lips say no but your caffeinated cock says make it a double.”
She took my cock in her hand as it hardened, then bent forward and wrapped her lips around it. I sighed softly as her mouth began to slide up and down on my shaft. I was painfully hard in an instant, and as Sherry’s tongue swirled around my balls, she stroked the tip of my cock with her thumb, caressing me in exactly the way she knows will make me come faster than fast. Her mouth worked around my head, her lips closed tight around it, and when she pulled back she moaned, her breath warm on my glistening prick.
“Come on,” she cooed. “Let it all out. All that naughty caffeine into your cock. I want you to come French Roast, baby. Come on, I can take it.”
Then her mouth was on my cock again, and my fingers were tangled in her hair as her head bobbed up and down. Long, low moans escaped my lips, and I heard Sherry whimpering softly in the base of her throat. Her lips worked the head while her tongue lapped at the underside. Her hand began to pump the base.
Sushi was sitting at the top of the cat tree, blinking in bemusement. He made eye contact with me and pawed the air. I would have sworn the little bugger was shooting me the feline version of a high-five.
Sherry’s mouth rose off of me for just an instant. “Come on,” she said. “Let it all out.” Her mouth came down over my cock again and she hungrily pumped it, sucking me harder than before.
I moaned, my hips lifting, and let go. Pleasure washed over me as I came in Sherry’s mouth, listening to her tiny whimpers as she swallowed and hungrily sucked for more. A big sigh came out of me as I finished shooting.
Sherry snuggled up on top of me, cuddling close. She whispered softly in my ear.
“You’re right,” she said, licking her lips. “It definitely wasn’t decaf.”
I smiled ruefully.
“So now you’ll be up all night?” I said.
She giggled and kissed me on the neck.
“Yeah,” she told me, her fingers spidering up my stomach underneath my sweatshirt to tease my nipple. “But it’s not a problem, baby. Not a problem at all.”
Sushi jumped on top of us and began to knead Sherry’s hip.
DESERT FLOWER
Glenda Woodams
The drive to Vegas from Los Angeles is out-of-control boring. Nothing to see. Nothing to do. Nothing to look forward to except the next fast food meal. It’s always been that way for me in the past. But then, I’d never traveled with Tania before.
She’s a photographer for some of the most avant-garde fashion magazines in the industry. We met on a shoot in Hollywood, and she invited me to accompany her to Vegas. I was impressed by her candor, and by her convertible Jag, and I said yes. But sprawling my long legs on the dashboard, considering the five long hours to kill, I had sudden reservations.
As soon as we were out of the city and had hit the desert, however, Tania began to change. She’d been quiet the first forty-five minutes of the drive. Now she started talking, telling me how much she liked the desert, the air, the hot sand, the way the heat looked when she photographed it.
“How do you shoot heat?” I asked.
She didn’t respond for a few minutes, and just when I thought she wasn’t going to answer my question, she pulled the car over. I looked at her, questioning her, and she said, “Come on,” grabbed her camera, hopped out of the car, and made her way into the sand. I followed. What else could I do?
When we reached a group of boulders, hot from the sun, she said, “Strip.”
“Here?”
She nodded.
I shrugged—this was more exciting than driving—and pulled off my T-shirt, boots, and jeans. She had her camera poised at me before I was completely naked. Then, with only a little direction from her, I began to pose. I could feel the sun baking my naked skin, could feel the blue of the sky caressing me in a way it never had. And as I turned, as I showed off, I tried to see what she described, the heat...but I couldn’t.
When she set her camera on a rock, I knew what was coming. She had that look, the look she’d worn when I met her at the shoot, and she came forward, teeth bared, eyes hard and silent. Her hands on me were insistent, probing, squeezing my small breasts, running the length of my body, parting my cunt lips and revealing me. She went on her knees in the sand, using her thumbs and pointers to pinch open my nether lips, to probe at me until my come was dripping into the sand below.
She said, “Piss for me.”
I looked at her, startled, but saw that hard thing in her eyes that told me not to argue. I squatted and she put her hand out and let the warm stream stain her fingers before it landed in the sand. She caught the last few drops with her tongue before turning me around and bending me over, standing and freeing her synthetic cock, plunging it into me.
There were other cars driving by, and they slowed to watch these two animals rutting against each other. She fucked me hard, driving
me forward until I pressed my hands flat in the sand, open and offering her all.
Tania said, “I wish someone could take our picture like this.” Her words were low. “Raw against the rock and sand and sky.”
I couldn’t answer. Felt her filling my insides with that huge cock, felt my muscles grabbing onto it like a life preserver and trying to keep it in me.
“We’ll set up the tripod on the way back,” she said, still going at it. I was stunned at how she could talk while she fucked. “We’ll capture it all on film. You and me. You pissing into the sand. That was fucking gorgeous, you know it?” Slamming me to the hilt now, not even breathing hard as she did it. “Your golden stream of piss against the golden sand.”
I couldn’t answer, just kept myself bent and thought about what she had said earlier, in the car. The desert is magical. Life grows out of nothing. And the heat, the heat that you can actually see surrounds you. I blinked and opened my eyes and I saw the shimmering light before me, saw the silver and gold halos of air all around me. White and glistening, all around me.
Saw the heat.
NEW TRICKS
Nica Jacobs
My new dog was a biter. Not just a chewer, ingesting my shoes, my sofa, my brand-new prize Chanel purse, but people, as well. And, although Chanel is more important to me than most people I know, it took Rex biting my beloved sister for me to finally enroll him in obedience training school.
“Get rid of him,” Sheila suggested instead. She wasn’t pleased with the tiny little teeth marks on her delicate ankle.
“No,” I told her. I had rescued him from the pound. I wasn’t about to return him. He wasn’t a bad dog, simply an untrained one.
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” my sister offered unhelpfully. I ignored her.
I’m the type of person who likes to drop off my laundry and pick it up clean. I don’t do dishes; I have a dishwasher. I don’t make my bed; I have a maid. When I found out I had to enroll in the school myself, I was a little peeved.
