Gotta Have It

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Then he touches me just so, and it is my voice that fills the shadowy room. He slides two fingers inside me and strokes my clit with his thumb. I gasp, fingers digging into the mattress, wetness trickling on the sheets; giving up the smallest piece of me, all I’m willing to give.

  In that moment, his age becomes irrelevant. His fingers, my pussy; orgasm: nothing else matters. Not truth, not lies, not love or hate. Not my past or his future. Nothing matters at all.

  Do you believe me?

  A FORCED WITNESS

  Vampirique Dezire

  Stepping out of the shower, water covering my body, I see you standing in the doorway wearing nothing more than your black corset with the red lace trim that has a lot of trouble containing your 36D-cup breasts, plus the matching thong that makes me hard just from looking at you, and thigh-high stockings.

  Quickly, I dry myself off, eager to get you into the bedroom, wanting to kiss your body all over, feel your silken thighs clamped firmly around my head as I bring you to an orgasm.

  As if you know what I am thinking, you take me by the hand, laughing in that soft seductive tone, and lead me to the bedroom. I can see you’ve placed a chair at the end of the bed facing it. You instruct me to sit down. I know you are going to put a bit of a show on for me. This only leads to my shaft hardening more.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, you lift one of your feet onto the chair. I can feel the nylon just brushing against my inner thighs as you start to roll your stocking down, slowly revealing your well-shaped leg. As you lift your leg up, I can see the outline of your lips through the sheerness of your thong, right down to the little beads of moisture that have started to pool there, as if teasing me to lick each one off in turn.

  You throw the first stocking over my head, and I can smell your body lotion on it as I inhale deeply. A light moan escapes my lips, as you run your other foot, still encased in the nylon, along the length of my shaft, and then you remove it to roll the stocking down, placing it on the bed.

  Turning around, you bend down to rummage around under the bed, your firm, shapely ass wriggling just in front of my face. Leaning toward you, I start to caress the smooth silkiness of your cheeks with my lips as my hands curve around your hips, trying to pull you down to my lap. Quickly, you turn around and slap my shaft sharply with your hand, watching it sway back and forth.

  “Do not touch your Mistress unless I give you permission,” you growl at me in that whiskey-smooth voice of yours.

  Picking up the coil of rope you had under the bed, you begin to tie me up. Looping the rope around my wrists, you tie my hands behind the chair, then thread it down to capture my ankles, firmly pulling them together. As you weave the rope up and around my legs and over my thighs under the chair, I start to worry, finding that if I try to pull away the rope only tightens more. From under the chair, you take the rope and wind it around my body and the chair, stopping every now and then to knot it, making sure I cannot move. By now, I realize I am your bound captive and wonder what else is going to happen.

  Taking the stocking off my head, you proceed to tie one end around the base of my cock then loop it under my balls to finish it off.

  Seeing how hard I have become, you slap my cock with the palm of your hand, watching how the rigidness of it prevents it from moving far. As you continue to slap my cock repeatedly, I begin to enjoy the sensation, marveling at how much harder you have made me.

  I can only imagine what I must look like through your eyes, tied up with rope, my balls in your stocking restraint. Stroking one sharp nail across them, you coax a moan out of me, reminding me that only you can use me in this manner.

  Satisfied that you have me bound nice and tight, you sit on the edge of the bed and spread your legs wide, letting me see how wet and puffy your lips are, making me thirst for your taste.

  The look of shock on my face must be priceless when you clap your hands together and another naked male enters the room, quickly kneeling down between your legs, his head bowed as if he is awaiting your command.

  Leaning back on your elbows, you spread your legs wide, resting a foot on either post at the end of the bed, your thong not covering much as you open yourself up for both of us to see. What I would not give to be free of my restraints, kneeling between your legs, slowly, tenderly kissing each leg starting with your feet.

  As he moves his head in toward your wetness, I can’t stop the groan that comes from deep within me. This is torture sitting here, watching your face, as he begins to use his tongue on you. Does he know that you like to have tiny little kisses dropped along the sides of your swollen lips before having a tongue drag lightly along them, licking off all the moisture that has accumulated, sliding a tongue between those deliciously tantalizing lips, not once touching that hardening nub that aches to have homage paid to it?

  Does he know you like to have two fingers inserted into you straightaway, to have them curled upward, pumping in and out, hard and rough, making sure that your G-spot is stimulated until you are close to exploding? That’s when you like to have an open mouth cover your now-aching clit, biting gently down on it, flicking it with a tongue till you scream out as your juices gush freely over the fingers and the hand, soaking the face that is buried between your legs.

  The sounds of your screams reverberate through the bedroom, and I know that you have just attained the pinnacle of release. I am so jealous, sitting here; I do not want this strange naked man doing to you what should be mine and mine alone to do to you.

  Sitting upright, you place him across your lap. I can see his cock, so stiff and hard, pressing up against your silky muscled thigh. His body starts to quiver as you bring your hand down sharply across his ass. There is a look of pure bliss on your face, the way your eyes shine and glisten. This look I have never seen on you before, and then I realize I want to be the one to put that look on your face. I want to be the one who is lying across your lap, feeling your hand as it comes down repeatedly across my ass.

  Looking deeply into your eyes, I strain hard at the ropes. I can feel my precome ooze down over the head, my breathing becomes rapid and my balls lift and tighten until my body spasms, my seed shooting out in a long propulsive stream landing on the small of the man’s back while you spank him faster and harder.

  “I love you, my Mistress,” I breathlessly say.

  “I love you, too, my precious slave,” is your only reply, a smile lighting up your face.

  CONCENSUS

  Denise Hoffner

  Anyone home?”

  “Who is it?” a deep woman’s voice calls from somewhere inside.

  “My name’s Denise and I’m with the census.”

  A handsomely beautiful butch saunters to the door and pierces me with her eyes. My breathing changes when I see her. A sly smile spreads across her lips as she sees me flush. I dutifully point to the smooth government-issue badge dangling between my breasts. “This should only take ten minutes,” I tell her, running the edge of the questionnaire against the skin of my upper arm.

  “We need to count people where they live and sleep most of the time.”

  “Well, those are two different things.”

  “Okay, smarty-pants, what’s your name?”

  “Jay.”

  “Do you have a last name, Jay?” I chide, as I write leaning against my black binder.

  “DeMaurier.”

  “Can you spell that for me, Jay?” She’s so cute. I’m starting to have a hard time maintaining my composure. “I know this is going to sound silly, but are you male or female? We’re supposed to ask everything in bold.”

  “That is awfully bold, but not necessarily silly.” Jay pulls me closer and puts my hand between her legs. She obviously knew I was coming. Jay has a rise in her Levi’s, and by this time my enumerator questionnaires, my quick job aid brochure and my language identification flash card have fallen to the ground. Jay deftly spins me around so I’m now up against her screen door, my sundress hiked up, the cold metal frame on my ass th

reatening to cool me off.

  “Ah, fuck me, please,” I breathe into her ear.

  I taste the salty sweat on her neck as she holds me up, my legs wrapped around her hips.

  She’s hard and strong and tender all at once, and I can’t remember the last time my pussy felt so wet and ready.

  “I will. Don’t you worry, honey,” she says as she squeezes my rock-hard nipples that I’m anxiously pushing against her. She outlines my tits with the cord that my ID badge swings from. Then she flicks my nipples with the corner of the plastic badge that has the American flag. She unclips the card from its cord necklace and puts the clamp to better use.

  I unbutton her work shirt and am happily surprised to see a sweet lavender bra. I pull one of the straps off her shoulder with my teeth, biting, kissing and licking. I grab a handful of her hair, which is long enough for me to pull.

  Jay plays with my lips and clit. “You’re so wet and swollen.”

  “Please,” I beg. “I need it.”

  Jay plunges three of her fingers deep inside me. My whole body is a beating heart, a beating cunt. In and out. In and out. She feels for my G-spot. I’m tempted to make a joke about her locating my “map spot” (census lingo for an address’s map location), but I don’t want to break the moment. I feel like I’m going to come all over my OFFICIAL BUSINESS placard that’s staring up at me from the ground. Jay pulls her fingers out. I notice it also says FREQUENT STOPS on the placard. Jay unbuckles her pants and pulls out her cock. I shimmy out of her hold and get down on my knees and suck it. She pushes my head down and moans. I know where she feels it. Jay pulls out and straddles me. It’s amazing no one’s come by, but I don’t even care at this point. She gives me what I want. She fucks me like she’s known me forever, unafraid and open. I relax into her loving, and at the same time tense with desire. I try to stay in the moment and not think I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this! I come hard and put my own hand over my mouth. “Oh, shit, I got it on the black binder.”

  I told her it would only take ten minutes.

  DON’T STRUGGLE

  Valerie Alexander

  You know I wouldn’t really hurt you.” This is what I said to you in the bar and then again on the phone when we were designing our assignation. Now I say it a third time, and that’s magic, in the park where we’re conducting our first scene. The words expedite the hemp rope I’m tightening around your wrists. It’s knotted just a little too tight, tight enough to leave marks I can sign with my tongue tomorrow in a café, in a way that looks like I’m kissing your hand. So romantic, the women in the other booths will say. But the only romance here is you surrendering up your will to me along with your underwear and your earrings and your trust.

  I remember the first time I said those words to someone else. Tying a girl in my calculus class to a playground jungle gym, drunk on a windy March night, her laughter fading as she realized this dare was going farther than expected. Cuffing my college housemate to the bathroom pipes and leaving her like that for our other housemates to find, panties around her knees with her pussy showing and her face scarlet like the exhibitionist she always wanted to be. It’s what I always say. I mean it in the sense that my volunteers interpret it: No physical harm will come to you. Shaking up their psyches, though, rattling their egos and cutting my name into their hearts, is a different story. I make no promises about that.

  You clear your throat and force a smile. Your nervousness is my tenderness. I smooth your long dark hair back, the strands that have escaped from your ponytail, and hook them over your ears. Your earlobes are reddish where your earrings were fastened too tight and it makes me think about you primping in front of the mirror this evening, admiring maybe your softness, your lack of cynicism and your willingness to believe that wolves have good intentions even though you are the most beautiful little lamb to ever enter a forest alone. This isn’t actually what you admire about yourself, of course. It’s what I admire in you.

  “Lift your arms up over your head.”

  You look confused for just a moment—your wrists are tied in front of you—before obeying. This arches your back and thrusts your breasts forward and the position embarrasses you. You’re always embarrassed by the hedonism that is your body, the peach-soft, pillowy tits, thighs and ass you possess in such abundance. You are a walking spectacle of comfort and sex. Everyone wants to fuck you. But right now you are mine and only mine.

  The sound of an engine on the access road makes us both pause. We’re trespassing here in the state park at just past midnight, but my car is well concealed and the risk of discovery is slight. The motor fades off into the night. No one is around to help you should I begin violating you. Probably someone sensitive would start with you in your bedroom, binding you up in your own environment so you could look around at your furniture for reassurance. But I wanted to shove you off a cliff so I could catch you and win your trust. You’ve been down this road before with the wrong people. At the time, the wrong people sounded exciting but you found out they weren’t, that wrong can just mean misery, and you started questioning your dreams of submission, and then you met me.

  So here we are in the dark and the trees where just the rustle of the leaves makes you shiver. I’ve taken off all your clothes except the short plaid skirt I made you wear. Your nipples are stiff, your legs are spread and your brown doe eyes are filled with a question. You want to know if I can make it happen for you the way it feels in your head. I scratch my nails down your tits. Your moan shudders through you. This is what I saw in you when we met, that you were no performer or kinkster poseur but a bomb of sensation waiting to be set off. I stretch your perfect nipples out, one then the other, then bite them hard enough to make them swell tomorrow. You wince and twist, your heels digging in the dirt. I run my nails hard down the tender insides of your thighs. You look so beautiful with long red welts on your skin: my exotic pet to cage and fuck and pamper.

  Your pussy is so wet under the skirt. When I breathe in the smell of you mixed with the smell of your shampoo, lust hits me like a rush of drugs in my bloodstream and I start squeezing you everywhere. I grab cannibalistic handfuls of your ass and thighs; I rip out your elastic hair band and fill my hands with your hair. And then I’m slapping your tits, biting your mouth, and you’re crying and begging for it in a wordless kind of plea. I clench your hair in my fist and force your legs apart to finger you. Your pussy melts around my hand like molten honey. You’re really struggling against the rope now, panting raggedly, and as soon as I play with your clit, you come gushing and throbbing around my fingers.

  I smear it over your mouth. “You just came like a little whore,” I tell you. Then I kiss you, deep and tender and romantic, because I want you to understand that we’re in this together; that when I degrade you, I do it with love.

  In some ways dominance is a long con. I fly under the radar, my agenda obscured by my benevolence. I had a black kitten once; he had this plaintive mew that melted my heart, and I was so charmed that I taught him to do it by giving him his favorite treat. I mean, of course, that he trained me, and I was so enchanted with his softness and purr that it was a surprise one night to turn from the treat cupboard and see the mercenary calculation in his eyes. Every captive becomes a strategist.

  I don’t own you tonight. Everything you’re drowning in—euphoria, self-congratulatory rebellion—is selfcontained. The little dependencies will creep out later, like vines with a mind of their own, so quietly you won’t notice. Not like it was with the wrong ones. I’m the good one, the delivery and the dream, the one who comes on your face and respects you in the morning. The one who makes your boundaries dissolve like fog until you’re dissolving into me. It’s already begun, your legs shaking and your dazed eyes looking at me like you’re an astronomer discovering a new planet. I’m the one who makes you feel safe. I’m the wolf who can untie you and hug you good-bye, and hours after you leave, you find you’re still bound.

  PLOTTER

  Monocle

  I’m ticklish below my belly button, the only place I am, really. She knows this. She’s using it against me. With her tongue, she’s teasing that line of hair that leads down, slowly tracking, leaving my clenched stomach muscles wet. It actually makes me squirm. Me! And she likes that. I can see the quirk in her lip, the arch of her eyebrow as she crouches over me. She likes doing that to me. Turnabout is fair play; I see the thought in her eyes.

  She knows what she’s doing to me, not just from the jerking of my abdomen under her touch. My cock prods the space between her breasts, achingly hard—another tease, being surrounded like that by heat and softness. Teeth gritted, I think about grabbing her by the hair, tight, and lifting her from me to force her wicked mouth down on my shaft. But that would be admitting a limit to my control, that there was something I couldn’t take—something from her.

  So I concentrate on relaxing, will myself to feel her touch as a caress, as the smooth and sensual thing it is. I work to let the defenses rest and let her in. I’ve managed it before. I recall the tentative hands of exploration from long ago, in a previous life. She was sweet, and we’d melted together, once. I seek that peace, that trust once again, ignoring what came after in that different life.

  And I find it. Spreading from her darting tongue is a warmth, a thawing of the body. I feel myself relaxing, unclenching under her, settling and exhaling. I’m incredibly aroused, but at peace.

  She knows this. She’s waiting for me, patiently, biding. Because when I do sigh and sink into the feeling, she moves her head lower, mouth finding and engulfing my cock hotly, wetly, completely. It catches me off guard, instantly overwhelms me. I jerk, body controls shortcircuited. Limits shattered, I come suddenly, violently.

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