Stolen Moments

by Stolen Moments [FF] (retail) (epub)

  “Good. Very good,” she said, giving me a quick once-over. “Now, take off the robe and make yourself comfortable.” She indicated the areas in which I could make myself comfortable—the couch, chair, or floor. “You can sit or lie, just realize you’ll have to keep the pose for a while.”

  The black man in the portrait had sat on the overstuffed chair, confidently spreading himself out. I couldn’t pose the same way a man had. I also didn’t want to have to worry about how self-consciously I could stand.

  I also could only think of the more classic nudes I’d seen of late, like Alissa’s.

  I turned away from Alex, dropped the robe, giving her a nice view of my butt, the only part of me that I really liked, then sat on the couch. I desperately wanted to cover myself up, but still managed to lean slightly back against the pillows, then bring my legs up onto the couch, relaxed, but still somewhat self-conscious. I laid one arm along the back of the couch and the other hand on my thigh.

  I was glad I was sitting upright, because then my breasts didn’t flatten out against me; instead they appeared somewhat perky.

  The air still caressed my private parts, and heat started coursing through me.

  “Good, I like that. Except… Can you bring yourself a little more my way?”

  I inched my hips forward a bit, looking to her for guidance.

  She smiled. “No, move your hips back and open yourself up a bit. Don’t be self-conscious. Know how sexy you look.”

  This direct reference sent energy running through me. Her gaze sent electricity through me. I knew she was watching me.

  I wanted to blush, or cover myself, and I hoped she couldn’t see how turned on I was getting.

  “Just relax,” Alex said. I heard the scratch of pencil on paper. “Breathe normally and forget I’m here.”

  She was trying to calm me, relax me, with her soothing tones, but she did the opposite. Her words proved that she was seeing me, seeing me as a woman, a woman who could be taken advantage of.

  I tried to relax and think about other things. I tried to leave my body behind, ignoring all of the electricity that was pulsing through me, but my eyes kept wandering back to her. I studied the length of her fingers, imagining what they would feel like inside of me. I noticed the sure way she moved, comfortable with her body, and then thought about what her skin would feel like against me.

  I just knew her body would be muscular, yet soft. That she would have curves my fingers would love, yet she would be sure of herself in bed. She would take what she wanted. I wanted her to take me and make me scream.

  I had never even gone all the way with any guy I’d known. I’d let them feel me up occasionally, and kissed more than a few in my day, but it had never felt quite right, I had never been really tempted to let them do what they wanted to with me.

  But with Alex, I wanted her to take me out of my mind. I wanted her to do whatever she wanted to with me. I wanted her to use and control me.

  I didn’t notice the passage of time, but I did suddenly realize just how wet I was. I was so ready for her, I’d come if she just touched me. Just the thought of her touching me, stroking me, sucking me, licking me…

  I looked over to watch her and the way she would look at me, then move her brush over the canvas. The hours had already ticked away. I hadn’t even noticed when she moved from pencil, or whatever, to brush and paint.

  I suddenly hoped she could see how wet I was. I opened my legs just a little bit more, hoping she could notice how turned on I was. I felt as if I could come. If she only just touched me I knew I’d have a screaming orgasm.

  For hours I had been getting wet and ready, feeling my nakedness throughout me—and she had just been watching. A voyeur beyond belief. She was watching and enjoying it, I was sure.

  She’d look up at me, then use her brush on her canvas, occasionally licking her lips. I wanted that tongue on my clit.

  I was exposed to her artist’s eyes, and she was enjoying it. I opened my thighs up a bit more, under the excuse of stretching. I left myself open, allowing her to see my swollen lips.

  I thought about touching myself, about squeezing my nipples, stroking my clit, dipping my fingers inside of myself. I wondered if doing so would drive her into action, would make her come over and take me.

  I wondered if she’d like to see me masturbate, see me touch myself intimately.

  The thought of touching myself in front of another person made me begin to involuntarily arch. I wasn’t sure if she had seen it. But I was so turned on I could feel the ache in my abdomen, I could feel it in my stomach.

  I didn’t want to come while she watched. Maybe in the future it’d be fun, but not for today. I wanted her to make me come.

  Her eyes again lifted to look me over, studying every detail of my naked body. My hips surged upward, ever so slightly, and I knew I would go crazy waiting for her.

  I stood and walked over so I was behind her, staring at the canvas.

  “You’re a very good model,” she said. “Very relaxed and natural.” Her eyes stayed on the canvas, her fingers around the brush. I wanted those fingers deep inside of me.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ve never done this before.” She continued to move her brush, apparently oblivious to me. Her arm moved like a well-oiled machine, and I could sense the strength in her arms. “It turns me on to have you see me. To have you watching me.” My voice was thick in my throat.

  “A lot of first timers discover that to be seen by another is sexually enticing,” she said nonchalantly. Or apparently nonchalantly.

  I moved up behind her, putting my other hand on her other shoulder. My naked body pressed against her back. Her clothes rubbed abrasively, sensuously, against me. Her ass pressed against my cunt.

  “No,” I corrected. “Having you see me is what does it.”

  Her brush paused. I went for it.

  I placed her hand on my hip, rubbing it up and down my naked flesh. I breathed deeply when flesh met flesh. “No. This is for you.” I put her fingertips into my wetness.

  A tremor went through her body.

  I dropped my other hand down to the open collar of her shirt, running it inside over her collarbone, then dropping it further to caress her hardened nipple, unrestrained by a bra.

  Her breathing started to match my own. I started unbuttoning her shirt. “It’s such a turn-on to be naked while you’re still fully clothed.”

  She yanked off her glasses and quickly turned toward me. “Then let’s leave it like that for now.”

  Before I knew what was happening, the brush was dropping to the floor and her hand was cupping my cunt, sliding through my wetness.

  “God, you are so wet.”

  She ran her hands over my naked body, caressing my breasts, squeezing my hardened nipples, then grabbing me tight and pulling me hard against her. Her mouth found my tits, and then her teeth were caressing, sucking, and biting my nipples. I arched against her leg, which was now between mine, and it was as if I was riding her hard thigh.

  She dropped to her knees, then grabbed my ass and pulled

  me into her mouth. Her tongue explored my clit, collecting my wetness and making me even wetter. Her tongue darted up inside of me,

  and then she flicked it back and forth over the hardened apex that rode over my swollen lips. My hands found the back of her head, guiding her, directing her, holding her tight against me as her tongue worked me over. She moved her hand from my ass to between my legs,

  gradually penetrating me, first with one finger, then another. She slid into me, and I accepted and urged her on, even as my legs buckled beneath me.

  I fell to the floor, but her strong arms caught me, then lowered me the rest of the way, her tongue never stopping its exploration of my most intimate places, places no one else had ever been before.

  She was inside of me, and I rode her fingers, arching up and down to guide her, my body knowing exactly what I needed.

  She kept on top of me, even as I bucke
d and twisted and turned…

  The world was melting in on itself, and I could feel the orgasm gathering as I reached the brink…it worked its way up my legs and down my torso. I felt it in my stomach and thighs, a creeping fire building within me.

  She held on to me, staying with me, her tongue beating its pattern across my clit, her long fingers deep inside of me, touching me everywhere… Then it hit…

  …and…

  “God, oh God”—her mouth felt so good—“Alex! Oh Alex!” I was exploding…

  “Come for me, baby!”

  “God…”

  Her fingers, her tongue didn’t stop. She rode me relentlessly, pushing me on and on…

  “God…”

  And further still…

  “Oh my fucking God!”

  I came into her mouth, and she licked up all of my wetness, not wanting one drop to escape, and she kept going, making me come again and again…

  *

  I lay, naked, with her, fully clothed, lying between my legs, which were still spread wide, with her head on my thigh, her breath warm on my cunt.

  I felt both exposed and powerful. I buried my hands in her thick dark hair, urging her to move up my body, to lie with her head on my breast, holding me.

  “Oh, baby, I know you’re gonna be ready for more. You gotta be,” she coaxed.

  I felt myself arching yet again under her soft caress, turning me on yet again. She blew softly on my wetness, and to my sensitized body it was torture, but with her gentle ministrations, it became heaven. I stretched out, wanting her hands on me again. I opened up for her, letting her examine everything. I wanted her to know me, intimately. I wanted her everywhere, touching every part of me.

  We kissed. Long and hard. She fucked my mouth with her tongue, hard.

  I rolled her over onto her back, wedging my leg between hers, pumping it against her crotch.

  I enjoyed the way she arched against me when I held her arms out above her head on the ground.

  “You’re not gettin’ off so easy,” I said, using one hand to hold both of hers down. With my other hand I ripped open her shirt, exposing her beautifully full, pert breasts.

  “I like silk,” I said, caressing the shirt just before I tore it off her body.

  I reached down to grab her crotch through the coarse denim of her tight jeans, then pulled down the zipper and reached into her panties to finger her hot, wet cunt.

  Her lips were swollen and she was so wet she was practically dripping. My fingers slid in and out of her easily. I wanted to taste her, feel her juices on my face and tongue.

  I yanked her jeans and underwear down and off her, leaving no question as to what I wanted. I sat up on my haunches and looked down at her beautiful body, liking the contrast of the dark triangle of hair between her legs with the paleness of her skin.

  I reached down and opened her lips, examining her in the light, looking at every inch of her.

  She squirmed under my gaze, gradually arching, wanting my touch on her.

  I reached to touch her plush breasts, enjoying the softness of them as compared with the hardness of her nipples. Then I began to softly caress her entire body, running my hands over her skin, enjoying her softness and the effect my touch had on her.

  I loved making her wiggle and squirm. She had made me do so for far too long.

  I reached between her legs and opened her lips, then I lay on my stomach and gently began licking her.

  I loved the power of it. I loved the effect my tongue had on her—I loved making her arch up and cry out. I pressed against her, burying my face between her thighs, burying my face against her, in her wetness.

  I thought about what I liked, I noticed what she liked, and I kept doing it—first running my tongue up and down her, imagining how it would feel against me, then flicking her hardened clit back and forth, gaining power and confidence as she arched and squirmed.

  I brought my fingers up to touch her hole, teasing her, but I wouldn’t give her what she wanted. She groaned her protest when I didn’t enter her, when I didn’t give her what she was aching for.

  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fuck your brains out.” I shoved three fingers harshly into her, my other hand squeezing her nipples, hard. Pinching them. Pulling at them. While my tongue beat against her and my fingers plunged in and out of her.

  Her squirming and moaning told me she was enjoying every moment of it.

  As I was.

  I loved the control I had over her, and I loved her taste, and silkiness. The smell of our sex danced around us in an erotic swirl as I gained momentum, fucking her hard.

  Her hands were in my hair, pulling and tugging at me as she increased momentum, as I took her further and further. She alternated between harshly yanking my hair, then gently smoothing it down, playing with it like silk.

  I loved being inside of her, I loved the way she bucked me, the way she began throwing me across the floor—but I held on to her, not wanting to lose a moment of her incredible orgasm.

  I was beating her like a plow horse, and I knew I couldn’t stand it much longer…but I had to keep it going, had to keep it up, doing her, being inside of her, taking her…

  I wanted her to remember me.

  “Fuck me, Kirsten!”

  And then I fucked her. Hard. I rode her like a bronco, like a new-bred, thrusting in and out, my whole hand sliding up into her, being consumed by her, and then I began pulling it out, pushing it in, all the while feeling her body against mine, feeling myself inside of her, consumed by her. I shoved, pushed and pulled…taking her all the way…

  “Kirsten!”

  I held on to her while she tossed me across the floor.

  When she finally released me, I could think of nothing except that my blond roomie and her friends had no idea what they were missing.

  Season Pass

  LC Jordan

  Heat shimmered above the pavement of the narrow two-lane highway as I drove home in the late afternoon. It was miserably hot and so humid that you could probably wave a bandanna around and wring a pint of water out of it. The greenhouse effect of the sun slanting through my windshield made the air conditioner basically useless.

  I slowed as I approached a line of traffic that was turning left off the highway into the old county fairgrounds and instantly knew what to blame for the heat. Every year; it never failed. It could have been the coolest summer on record for a century, but when the fair came to town all bets were off. For that one week in July, the temperature could be counted on to be at least ninety degrees with 70 percent humidity.

  Despite that, I could remember going every summer until I went to college. It is ironic that as you age, your world both shrinks and expands. We outgrow things, tuck them away in our minds, and are surprised to find them again one day.

  Maybe it was nostalgia or just the ingrained instinct of sheep following one another off a cliff, but I turned on my blinker and headed for the parking lot. At the ticket gate, I rolled down my window and paid the admission fee.

  Once parked, I allowed myself to be swept into the small ocean of people as I slowly walked down the midway. The maze of booths and trailers with their colorful lights and streamers provided a distraction from the oppressive heat. The food vendors were lined up first and the tantalizing aromas reminded me that I hadn’t eaten yet. After paying a ridiculous amount for a lemon shake-up and a corn dog, I continued my exploration.

  The games hadn’t changed much in ten years; darts and balloons, numbered yellow rubber ducks with rings, and hand-crank minicranes that were highly addictive to me. The pitches and taunts of the barkers rose above the general din of the crowd. I followed the sound of pulsing music and muffled screams and headed toward the rides.

  The big draw seemed to be the Octopus. A group of at least twenty teenagers waiting their turn gathered behind the fence surrounding it. Edging closer, I had no intention of buying a ticket, but I did want to watch the kids try to stand up straight after they exited the ride.
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  The machine slowed to a halt and the man at the controls brought each compartment down to earth in turn. A woman in a blue tank top and jeans raised the bar on each capsule and freed its occupants, only to fill it again with more excited teens. A Chicago Cubs ball cap was pulled low on her head and mirrored sunglasses hid her eyes. When she had safely locked in the last of the riders, there was still an empty compartment left. She spotted me and crooked a finger in my direction. “Room for more,” she called out.

  Looking behind myself, I realized she was talking to me. “Oh, no thanks,” I yelled above the noise, shaking my head.

  The woman grinned and secured the last capsule, waving to the operator to start. As I stood watching the ride pick up speed, I tried to nonchalantly observe the carnival worker. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, the muscles clearly defined by the tight-fitting top. A short dark ponytail peeked out the back of her cap and a pair of gloves hung from the back pocket of her jeans. A two-way radio was clipped to her belt and as I sipped the last of my drink, she reached down and brought it close to her lips, saying something I couldn’t hear. Within a minute or so another carnival worker appeared, apparently to take the woman’s place.

  Before I realized it, she had casually swung over the fence and was walking toward me. I couldn’t read any expression on her face and those damn sunglasses didn’t help. In four or five long strides she closed the distance and stopped in front of me. Only then did she tip her head to the side and smile.

  “You look a little lost.” She swept me with a quick gaze, taking in my pleated skirt and silk shirt, which I realized was at the moment plastered to my breasts. “Not exactly dressed to go on any rides.”

  Hoping she would attribute the rising color in my face to the weather, I nervously explained, “This was an impulse. I just got off work and haven’t been home to change.”

  Her smile widened. “Impulsive women; gotta love ’em,” she said, but was cut short by a disembodied voice on her radio. “Shayne, Carl has some kind of problem at the front gate. Can you get out there and see what’s up?”