The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  Maybe, I thought... Just maybe, Kylie would have whatever indescribably quality seemed necessary for me to be able to get comfortable in the intimate presence of another human being.

  At any rate, for the time being we had bigger, longer, veinier fish to fry, as I brought Kylie up to Derek's hotel room with me, and the two of us knocked on the door.

  I held my breath as Derek popped out into view, clearly surprised for a moment, but then pleased soon enough, at what he saw.

  “You brought a friend,” he said, somewhere between a question and a statement.

  “Is that a problem?” I asked, and Kylie shifted her weight flirtatiously from one hip to the other as a means of further sealing our entry into his room.

  “No, no of course not,” he was quick to say, and after allowing himself to be flustered for a moment there, he quickly regained his cool. He opened the door, and ushered the two of us inside. “This is my friend Ashton,” he said, indicating a large, muscular individual sitting on the bed, dressed in some manner of a robotic exoskeleton. He had skin darker than Kylie's, a serious, brooding look in his eyes, and a perverse smile across his face that was quite similar to Derek's own. And God, was he handsome...

  What ensued over the next several hours was an orgy of such proportions that it defied and defiled even my wildest wet dreams...

  It took no time at all for the four of us to get intimately acquainted with one another, all of us grouped up on the bed and kissing one another passionately, leeching onto whatever set of lips we could gain access to in the moment. Eventually, though, we broke off into pairings, with me kissing Ashton, getting a nice, hearty taste of him, while Kylie made out with Derek beside me.

  This went on for some time, until Kylie and I decided it might be nice to treat our male guests to a bit of a show. We pulled ourselves away from their clinging arms, and began to kiss one another in our cosplay outfits, squeezing and groping and touching one another all over, ravishing each other's lurid bodies in every way imaginable.

  Ashton and Derek, from the sidelines, were getting some serious kicks out of this. Ashton pulled his cock out from beneath the spandex tights of his superhero costume, and was jacking himself off vigorously to the sight of us, while a metal doorway in Ashton's own costume slid open, allowing him to masturbate his long, hard robo penis in turn.

  Kylie and I kissed and pawed one another for some time in this way, to the point that our clothes were beginning to slide out of place on our bodies. But Kylie suddenly stopped me short, whispering an idea in my ear that I couldn't help but surrender myself to on the spot.

  “My friend thinks it only fair if the two of you kiss one another for us, as well,” I said on her behalf, and the two men looked up at us, stunned, clearly unprepared for such an idea. Their heterosexuality was suddenly at risk, they realized, even if they were already at the point of having their dicks out in their hands in one another's open presence. “Come on, you pussies,” I teased, and with some hesitation, they turned to one another and did as instructed.

  It was tentative at first. A few wet pecks, devoid of passion. But I think it took that quick introduction to the notion for the two of them to realize that there was nothing deadly about it, and before long this had the intended effect of getting them to fall into one another's arms. They kissed, and licked, and slurped one another up enthusiastically now, jacking one another off as they rolled and tumbled across the bed, surprising both Kylie and I beyond our wildest beliefs.

  Holy shit...

  Kylie and I, then, continued to occupy ourselves with one another for some time, playing with one another's pussies while we watched our men release their inner, repressed, homoerotic desires for one another.

  Soon, though, they seemed to miss the two of us, and we were brought back into the fold, to have our own folds penetrated at last.

  Our costumes became nothing more than a random assortment of fabric strewn wildly across the floor. With the exception of my mask and Kylie's ears, all four of us were ass naked now, entwined in one another's flesh, a writhing, heaving sea of flesh that twisted and turned like a serpent across the bed in its state of blissful ecstasy.

  Before long I was straddling Ashton, and he was pounding my wet, smoldering pussy from beneath, nailing me with every ounce of his tremendous, heaving muscle. The same was being done to Kylie by Derek right next to me on the bed, and the two of us turned to stare into one another, with looks of the utmost lust spread wildly across our faces.

  After a few more loud, wet claps of flesh against flesh, I collapsed onto Ashton, exhausted, but not wholly fulfilled. Fortunately for me, however, at just that moment Kylie was dismounting her horse, and Derek was climbing over in my direction, joining the pile of Ashton and I, with Kylie's fingers up her pussy, masturbating herself to the sight all the while.

  Derek slid himself inside me, drilling his long hard cock into my pussy atop Ashton's own. Inch by inch by agonizing inch of his immensity, stretching me out like hell in tandem with Ashton, and the combined force of the two men's erections driving me absolutely fucking wild with sensations.

  To think, just a few hours earlier that day, I'd still been a virgin, and now I was fucking like an old pro...

  The two men proceeded to tear into me, to pound me from either end, and I was left shrieking from the get-go, my body overwhelmed, and my head going light as the pair of them drilled me to my core. They smashed and thrusted and fucked their way deep, deep, deep into my cunt, pulverizing me beyond what words can describe, setting me on fire as their sweaty, muscular anatomies raged inside me.

  “Oh fuck... Oh fuck... Oh fuck...” I was groaning, and I loved terribly the sensation of the two men's cocks grinding up against one another inside my pussy.

  And then, God help me, with a final, hulking smash, the two of them hurled their way up inside me, and proceeded to ejaculate wildly into me. They drenched one another in their own fluids, their still thrusting shafts coated with molten layers of one another's sperm, as was the entirety of my throbbing female anatomy.

  A final, relentless orgasm came shooting through my system like a drug, causing me to see stars, and then sheer, solid white for a moment, as the two tremendous men continued to hold themselves

  inside me. I was shaking, shivering all over, ready to burst.

  And at last, the sensations ebbed away, and the two men pulled out of me, leaving me to collapse upon the bedspread in an exhausted, sweaty heap.

  Finally, Kylie came crawling up to me on the bed, and began to suck the two men's fluids out of me, pleasuring me with her tongue in the process, and this last act was what managed, after so very long, to pierce my shy and frightened shell.

  With a heavy sigh, I reached up, and I cast the mask I'd been wearing from my face from the side, revealing myself fully to my three lovers for the first time. I was sweaty and exhausted, as vulnerable as a person could make herself around others. And for once, in my long, awkward, and anxiety-laden life, I found that I didn't care anymore.

  I was fine with myself, with revealing the true me to all those around me.

  My mask had at last, after all these years, been penetrated for the first time, as had I.

  The three of them wrapped me up in their arms, my demeanor unchanged, and we proceeded to bask in the haze of the afterglow for some time, kissing and licking and fucking for hours on end, and already looking forward to tomorrow's events.

  And God, oh God, how I began to love comic cons...

  THE END

  Taboo Menage

  I always wanted to become an artist. From my earliest days, I remember playing with crayons, water colors, building blocks… and music. I never learned to play an instrument, which has been one of my greatest regrets, but I still keep telling myself it is never too late. But I love music, in any imaginable way. Always did, and always will. Regretfully, my career and my family life – ugh, let's not get into that just yet – have taken me in different ways, until now. I found a job rather quickly a
fter getting my degree in architecture, and got married a few years later. This is my story, of how I returned to what my heart always longed for, in more than one way.

  He was a prick, to say the least. Catching him cheating was probably the easiest thing in the world, and then I cheated on him back. But unlike him, who found some buxom blonde airhead to cheat on me with, I went for something a little more classy – one of the best lawyers around. Needless to say, the divorce went through smoother than the lawyer had went into me. Picking up the money that belonged to me, I decided to get out of town and find my happiness elsewhere. So I moved to the big city just like my big brother said I would and I found a job that has nothing to do with my master's degree. I do not even care anymore about that as long as I get to pay the bills and have a little extra for myself, I guess all is fine. Instead, I decided to pursue my old passion again.

  My stepbrother Mitch was already in the big city, and he had always been supportive of me in every possible way. When I was four, my dad and his mom got married, he was fourteen at the time and we lived together until I went off with that prick I call my ex. He moved to the big city around that time, and never got married. To be honest, dad always thought he was gay. Sometimes I thought the same. What matters is that Mitch was the complete opposite of what you would call “brotherly love”. Always showing nothing but appreciation and support for everything I do, be it drawing and painting when I was just a little kid, all the way to my school and career choices. Even if he disagreed with something, he always made it clear that he would always be there for me. When I was just a little girl, he always applauded and commended loudly for every little drawing I would make, usually giving me a big kiss on the cheek, and proudly telling everyone “This is my little sister!” When I was in high school, he would embarrass me in front of everyone by reading my girly little poems out loud. He meant well though when listening to him, one would be deeply convinced that he thinks the best about me. Then, later on in school years, he introduced me to a gang of bikers, rockers and metalheads. We drank together, sang together and banged our heads together at local concerts and gigs. When I started university, he held me in his embrace as if we would never see each other again. He could not have been more wrong, as I am about to tell you.

  So now, after having a few ups and downs in my life, and after a few strong decisions, I figured I should finally start doing something about it. A girl at work told me about this exotic dance course, and after giving it a bit of thought, I figured why the heck not. I am nearly forty years old, and I should do something for my body. The lazy bum dropped out after two weeks, but I did not. I enjoy the music, and I enjoy learning how to adapt my body to the rhythm. I am not the best, especially when I started out, but I am far from the worst. I think my passion for art was my first and greatest driving force, which made me follow the rhythm with my movements, as well as change my pace gracefully, according to the melody. For the first time in years, perhaps even decades, I felt like I was heading somewhere good, somewhere beautiful.

  “Watch your hands, Madeline!” my trainer's voice threw me out of my thoughts, making me focus on what I was doing again. “Your feet, too!” she said in a strict tone. I stumbled for a beat or two, then got back into the rhythm, taking closer care of my hands and feet. I have to admit those were the main reasons why I thought I was not the best. Annabelle, my trainer, apparently thought otherwise. Just now, I was doing an extra hour, as she demanded at the beginning of this lesson. The two of us were left alone, her leading me and taking close watch over my moves, and me mostly enjoying the opportunity to dance a little bit more than usual. She hadn't said why she wanted me to stay, and at first I feared it was because she thought I needed extra attention in order to catch up with the rest of the group. As I started doing a more complex figure, she walked around me, looking over my body closely.

  I must admit, after years of a fruitless marriage, I was not used to people looking at my body anymore. It was not that I had let go of myself, I had always taken good care of my diet, but it was only when I turned thirty-five that I realized how important some kind of exercise would be. I remember my ex twit once saying, “Your body ain't built for bedrooms anymore.” Needless to say, he never got any sex from me again. I could not give a damn about what he thinks, though my body has never been one of a glamor model, but I never had a pot belly (unlike him), and I had my fair share of curves. At first, I even thought they would get in the way of my dancing after seeing some of those girls on TV. They looked far thinner than me but I found a few girls in this course who filled their yoga pants and had cleavage much more than I ever could. One of these girls was so voluptuous that one would think her boobs were going to spill out every time she would jump or arch her back. They never did, though. And she was really trying hard, I'll give her that. If there would ever be a guy watching us dance, I'll bet his eyes would be fixated on her. Or on Annabelle.

  Back to my own dance routine, though. I could sense Annabelle's eyes scanning all over my body, almost as if they were trying to laser-sculpt some kind of a Greek statue out of me. She put her hand on my shoulder, and the other under my lower back, helping me arch properly. I remember the first time she did this it was as if my entire body turned into a rock. A rock with millions of goosebumps. Her hands were strong, but had soft palms, and her touch on my body felt almost too sensual. After a few weeks of these lessons, my skin would not tense at this sensation anymore. The touch of her hand was always like a gentle caress, and a strong massage at the same time – and it always managed to put my body in a certain state of trance. It was as if my every single muscle was tightened, yet my movements after that were as if I had danced all my life. Even she commended me for that. Still, I accepted it as helping hands, not as seductive ones – it was a little silly of me to ever think of them otherwise. It was her job to teach me, not to seduce me. Besides, neither of us had any interest in girls. She was happily married, and although I never told her anything about my private life, I did not get the impression she would fall as low as to poke her nose where it did not belong.

  “Oh, I'm divorced too,” she noted dismissively as we sat for a coffee break, an hour later. “You mean the ring?” she chuckled again, as I looked at her left hand. “I put it on later. I am now married to dancing,” she stated. I sipped my coffee, quietly. “You know,” I finally said, “I think I understand you.” She gave me a look, then smiled. “I knew I made a good choice when I told you to stay for an extra hour today,” she asserted. “Yes.” I noted my curiosity, “What’s all this about? Am I that bad?” “Oh no”, she replied quickly. “Au contraire.” Her eyes burned into mine as she purred a sexy French expression. Was she trying to seduce me? I chuckled at the thought. “Here is the deal,” she started, leaning towards me a bit, exposing a glance of her cleavage. I swear, if I was a guy, I would be swimming in my own drools by now. “Yesterday I heard about this competition,” she continued. “Nothing too big, just a few local TV stations recording, and one of the categories is called solo dancing. I was thinking you might want to show your talent there.”

  I almost spit out my coffee. “Me? Are you serious? I just started doing this, I'm not sure I can...” “Nonsense, honey,” she interrupted me. “You have talent, I can see that in you. Your heart is in this, and I know I can carve you into a dancing perfection.” Did… did she just call me honey? Anyway, I could not hide my excitement. “This is why I called you to stay longer today, and it's basically why I'd like to work with you an extra three or four hours every week, for the next month.” I could not believe my ears. "Would you be up for it?" she asked in a serious tone. I just nodded nervously, not even taking the time to think it through. By the time it sank in, it was already done. "I know we can make it, you and I," my instructor asserted. "I just know it. I can feel it in you." A sense of anxiety came over me. I had never done anything like this before. But it was too late, I had already agreed. And besides, a part of me really wanted it. I just nodded again, forcing
a smile. "I'll do it," my voice finally managed to get out. "It won't be easy," she warned me. "Prepare for some hard-working, sweaty hours." "I'll do it. I don't care how hard it will be, I want to become a real dancer," I concluded.

  Later that evening, it sank in completely. It overwhelmed me with excitement, but also gave me a spark of fear. Would I be able to do it? What if I disappointed Annabelle? No, I must not. The more I thought about it, the more I thought of the look in her eyes, piercing straight into my heart, haunting but also fascinating me. Somehow, I felt an incredible urge to impress her with my dedication, and with the skill I was about to acquire. It was almost as if she had me spellbound in both her seductive demeanor, as well as her apparent trust in my talent, as she called it. Then, it dawned on me. She was not trying to seduce me, she was showing me support. Her words, and the look in her eyes, everything – I knew those very well. It was just like Mitch, my big brother, so many years ago. I then realized nobody has shown me this level of support since Mitch. Annabelle was on my side, just like he had been so many times before. It was then that I remembered how long it has been since we last saw each other, let alone had a good talk over everything that happened. I decided I should call him.