“Little wild child, aren’t you?” El asked, withdrawing her fingers from my dripping cunt. “You hardly made me work for it at all.”
I shifted against her, driving my crotch tight up against her package so that she gasped. “But I still might make you work for it,” I murmured.
“Like to see you try.”
Now, the thing about me is this: Don’t challenge me, because I’ll leave you in a whimpering, quivering puddle when I’m done with you.
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered, slipping from her lap to my knees. “You’re going to regret it.”
I was pleased to see the self-satisfied smirk fade. What was left was an expression of anticipation and hunger.
I unzipped her pants, which was no small feat given that they were practically painted on and she was packing a dick. The dick wasn’t a strap-on, so I pushed it out of the way as I dragged the pants down her hips, with her raising her ass to help me.
“Elvis doesn’t wear underwear either,” I said, tossing her pants aside.
The sneer was back. “Bad boys never do.”
“Let’s see just how bad you are.” I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I spread her legs as far as I could, holding her open before me. Nothing on the buffet table in Caroline’s dining room had looked so good.
“Pretty,” I whispered. I inhaled her musky, arousing scent. “God, you’re soaked.”
“Don’t admire it, eat it,” she rasped when I made no move toward her.
“Patience, El.”
She made to close her thighs and I wouldn’t let her. I pushed back until she was splayed even wider and she winced. “Not so fast, boy.”
I kissed the inside of her thigh and felt her jump. I smiled and did the same to the other thigh. This time, expecting it, she didn’t move. Still, I could feel the tension in her muscles, the quiver of anticipation and need. It made me feel powerful, in control. If she hadn’t already gotten me off, I might have been as needy as she was. As it was, my desire was a soft hum beneath my skin, a quickening in my pulse that was palpable but not yet desperate. Not yet.
I parted her cunt with my thumbs, baring her moist pink flesh to me. She was beautiful and savage all at once, and I could barely restrain myself from devouring her and bringing her off as quickly as she’d finished me.
“So beautiful,” I breathed, no more than an inch from her. “You smell like heaven.”
“And I taste like ambrosia, so eat me.”
I had to laugh at her fierce tone, so demanding and harsh despite the fact I was in control. She hadn’t learned yet, but she would.
I teased her with a promise, a quick lick from bottom to top, lingering only momentarily on her luscious, engorged clit before drawing back to look up at her. “We should probably get out of here before someone interrupts us,” I said.
“Okay.” I knew she would call my bluff.
I released her tender flesh and started to stand, but she instantly had her hands on my shoulders, drawing me back down, holding me in place.
“No way, no fucking way.” Her fingers dug into my shoulders. “Don’t leave me like this.”
I arched a delicately sculpted brow, imaging how I must look to her—a blonde bombshell on her knees, smiling innocently and angelically. No wonder she was gritting her teeth and scowling at me.
“What do you want?” I whispered, my fingers stroking the lips of her cunt so softly she shivered. “What do you need?”
“Your mouth,” she whispered. “I need your mouth on me.”
“Ask nicely.” I don’t know where the bitch attitude was coming from, but she inspired me to push harder.
“Oh god, please,” she said, her hands urging me between the legs she spread willingly. “Please.”
I wanted to wait longer, tease her, make her beg for it, but her voice, so husky and rough, made my pulse jump. Without warning, my need was suddenly as desperate as hers.
With a sigh, I buried my face in her crotch, sucking and licking her like a hungry animal. She clamped her thighs around my shoulders, anchoring me to her as if she feared I would stop again. I ran my tongue over her clit and down to the wet, open hole of her cunt, drawing her juice onto my tongue before circling her clit once more. She moaned and clutched at my head, the pins of the wig digging into my scalp.
I jerked back, yanking the wig off with a flurry of pins scattering across the bathroom tile. She stared at me, panting, as my brown hair cascaded down around my shoulders.
“I like that even better,” she said, attempting to pull me back to her.
I fumbled around for the dildo she’d been packing, drawing it up between her legs. It wasn’t particularly long, but it was thick and velvety soft. I teased her open cunt with it, rubbing the head against her clit before sliding it down and easing it into her ever so gently.
“Oh man, damn,” she groaned as I pushed into her. “Fuck me.”
“So hot, so needy, and still so bossy,” I teased. I withdrew the dildo and rubbed it over her cunt without penetrating her again, spreading her juices over her lips and inner thighs.
“C’mon,” she begged. “Don’t be such a cunt tease.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” I said. But I didn’t make her wait long. With one swift motion, I pushed the dildo into her up to the hilt, attacking her clit with my mouth at the same time.
She groaned from the multiple sensations, arching her back until she was bent nearly backward over the toilet, one leg hooked over my shoulder, the other braced high on the wall. I fucked her hard and fast while my tongue made lazy circles around her clit, then I swapped, moving the dildo in her gently while I sucked her clit like a piece of juicy fruit. Back and forth I alternated as her hips quivered and shook and thrust against me, never quite making up their mind what they should do.
She wasn’t as quiet as I had been, and her soft cries echoed off the bathroom walls. My own thighs were clenched together as I rocked my hips in time to the dildo in her cunt, aching to be touched again.
She cried out as I twisted the dildo inside her and nibbled her clit. Whimpered when I withdrew the fake cock and drove it back into her. And then, with a banshee wail, she came against my mouth, her legs tense and quivering, her fist against her mouth as if that would stifle her.
I rode the wave of her orgasm with gentle licks on her clit and the hard, deep thrusting of the dildo in her cunt until she unwound from me and groaned.
I smiled up at her, twisting the dildo inside her so gently before slowly drawing it out of her still-clenching hole.
“Oh. My. God.” She panted and shook, fingers clenching and unclenching.
“Yeah?”
“Amazing.”
I grinned at her praise. “Thanks.”
She straightened up, trying to compose herself, which was difficult given that she was buck naked except for socks.
“That was incredible.”
I started to say she could return the favor, but there was a knock on the bathroom door.
“Damn.” She scowled. “I wasn’t quite finished with you yet.”
A boy after my own heart.
I snatched my dress up and tugged it on. “Later.”
We got dressed quickly, her forgoing the wet T-shirt and carrying both it and her shoes in her hand. I didn’t bother with the wig—even if I hadn’t been drenched in sweat, it wouldn’t have been the most comfortable thing to put on.
“You go first,” I said, nudging her toward the bathroom door.
“Ladies first,” she said, pushing me forward and opening the door before I could say otherwise.
Caroline stood there, grinning like the know-it-all she was. That didn’t bother me nearly as much as the twenty-odd costumed people standing behind her and applauding.
I looked at El and she looked at me. I burst out laughing as she said, “Thank you, thank you very much.”
Caroline dragged me off to the kitchen, no doubt to get the dirt on my fling with a rock star
, but not before El could drag me close and whisper in my ear, “Hell of a performance, doll.”
“How do you feel about giving me a private show?” I said over my shoulder.
“For you? That was just an opening act,” she said.
Like I said, a boy after my own heart. Blue suede shoes and all.
Flirting into Cami
Tara Alton
Today, in an effort to be more creative, I moved all the lovely Bettie Page merchandise, such as the key chains, postcards, wallets, and jewelry, into one central location in the store. I figured anyone coming into the store to look for items featuring the most beautiful 1950s pinup in the world would appreciate my initiative. However, Viv, my boss, didn’t appreciate it at all. She said she liked everything in Scarlet Leather the way it was. Bor-ing. I know you may be thinking: To the general public, the store doesn’t seem boring because it’s a fetish store, featuring everything from leather to PVC to vintage lingerie, but to me, it was the most boring place in the world. I hated working here. Nothing ever changed, and I never made enough money to put a deposit on an apartment, so I had to rent a room by the week in this dingy, ancient motel across the street.
Who knows how much longer Viv will put up with me? Therefore, probably rendering me homeless as well. My list of workplace sins multiplies by the week. I have already been reprimanded for wearing the merchandise, which I figured might help sales because I was modeling it, but Viv says how could we call it new when my skin has been all over it.
Another sore point was that I’m a vegetarian, and sometimes I feel compelled to apologize to the leather for its untimely and painful demise. I tried to steer people to the non-leather items, but leather was our best-seller. You can imagine the conflict.
Now, I had an even bigger problem. If I got caught, I was done for sure. I’ve been spying on someone in the dressing room. To Viv, the dressing room is a sacred place, the holiest of holies. She said people needed to feel safe while they try on their kinkiest fantasies, and they needed a bond of trust with us.
I agreed with her, but then again, she hadn’t seen Neha, this girl from India, who worked at a restaurant around the corner. She came in on her lunch break, and while listening to a CD on her headset, she tried on clothes. Mostly, she chose the same camisole every day. It was baby pink with a zipper down the back. I thought she looked amazing in it, and I loved her boldness and abandon while she danced. No wonder I had become infatuated with her.
I’ve never had an actual crush on a woman before, but I have had some experiences. I was roommates with a bisexual girl who went to after-hour lesbian clubs, and she took me with her. I experimented, but mostly because my roommate was doing it. In the rear of the clubs, in the dark shadows, I liked making out with tomboyish girls, but I’d never gone past second base.
Another experience was with my yoga instructor a few years back. I nearly had a Tantric sex threesome with her and a fellow student, but I chickened out at the last moment. I made a quick exit and went home to have a soy milk blueberry smoothie instead.
Now I was into this naughty schoolgirl thing. I liked wearing tartan skirts, white blouses, and knee socks while wearing facial piercings. I can’t say that it has been working for me. I haven’t had sex for months. In an effort to curb my sexual frustration, I’ve been ripping electrical tape off my skin while I masturbate. I know; I’m a freak. But I’m really into the pain and pleasure at the same time sort of thing.
After Viv gave me a firm reprimand about Bettie Page, she left for lunch. I restored all the merchandise to its original location, apologized to a former cow that was now a leather mask, electrical taped my nipples behind the counter for later, and proceeded to stare at the walls.
And then, Neha came in.
I couldn’t believe how gorgeous she was. Her skin was like the color of coffee with cream. Her eyes were like a cat. Her long hair swept over her shoulders like the darkest night.
With no hesitation, she took the baby pink camisole into the dressing room. I sighed, wishing she would give me her own private fashion show, when I realized she had left the dressing room door completely open. Being the quick-change artist of the century, she had already stripped down to her panties and put on the camisole.
Beginning to dance to the music on her headset, Neha glanced over her shoulder at me, shimmying her shoulders to the beat of the music.
I was too stunned to move. Hanging onto the doorjamb, she twitched her hips in a seductive pattern. It was almost as if she was fucking someone. My mouth went dry. Letting go of the door, she beckoned to me with her finger. Like the good sales assistant I was, I took a few hesitant steps her way.
“Do you like me in this?” she asked, very loud, as if she were a little kid wearing a headset who couldn’t gauge the level of her voice.
“Very much,” I said.
She lowered her headset.
“I’m saving up my tips from the restaurant to buy it,” she said, her voice quieter. Now it sounded like honey. “My father says most of my money has to go to college. He would be furious if he knew I wanted to buy this, or if I was even here.”
Gracefully, she held up her hair off the nape of her neck and spun around.
“Do you think I look sexy?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Like ‘oh baby I want to fuck you’ sexy?” she asked.
I nodded.
“So say it,” she said.
“Say what?”
She looked at me. I realized what she meant.
“You look ‘oh baby I want to fuck you’ sexy,” I said.
The moment the words left my mouth, I blushed.
“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked.
If she had X-ray vision and looked at my crotch, she probably could have seen the visible proof that I did.
“If you take some of that metal off your face, I’ll kiss you,” she said.
Hands trembling, I removed my lip and eyebrow ring, but I left my nose stud.
Gracefully, she put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I was startled by the softness of her lips, so smooth. She broke away.
“You taste like an apple,” she said.
“I ate a Jolly Rancher before you came in,” I said.
“Put this music on,” she said, taking out a disc. “We can play.”
“Play what?”
“Girl stuff,” she said.
“Will there be more kissing involved?” I asked.
She nodded. As I locked the front door, put up the “back in fifteen minutes” sign in the window, and popped the CD in the stereo, I wondered if I should be doing this. Viv would have a kitten if she caught me. The music was Indian Bollywood. Soaring crystal vocals accompanied by an up-tempo beat filled the store.
“Let’s be leather girls,” she announced.
“I don’t do leather,” I said.
“Okay. PVC then.”
As she went to pick out some outfits, I felt self-conscious getting undressed. I took off my white blouse and tartan skirt, and I looked at myself in the mirror. Now that was a good look: white cotton panties, white socks, nose ring, and the electrical tape on my nipples.
She came back with the most outrageous bright purple PVC hot pants with matching halter top for me. Was this how she saw me? There was no way I could wear my underwear in these. Turning around, I dropped my panties to the floor and tugged on the shorts. I liked the way the PVC hugged my skin, but I wasn’t entirely sure how they made my ass look. I started to put on the halter, but she stopped me.
“No. Just wear that,” she said. “I like it.”
Meanwhile, she took off her own panties. There was no turning around for her, though. For herself, she chose a wet-look PVC and chain thong featuring a stretchy Lycra back and elasticized ends on the chains. Her skin was so smooth. I noticed a spray of freckles on her hip.
“My pink cami doesn’t go with my thong,” she said, looking in the mirror.
She was right. The styles clashed. Unabas
hedly, she unzipped her camisole and shrugged it to the floor. So much for its being her favorite thing. Breasts now bare, her nipples erect as little pencil erasers, she reached down and held up a pair of nipple clamps with a chain in between them.
“Now, this goes with my thong,” she said, smiling. “Put it on me.”
Although I had stocked plenty of these, I had never actually used them. With just a light squeeze, the outsides opened up and I positioned them on her. They were not adjustable. I could tell by her face the pressure was intense, but she sucked in her breath, admiring the almost flowerlike style of the clamps gripping her nipples.
Her fingers strayed over to my breasts. I was wondering what she was about to do when she caught a fingernail under an edge and ripped a piece of tape off me. Yikes. I gasped. The shock nearly knocked me to the wall. It never felt like that when I did it. Nevertheless, I sure did like the tingling afterward. Three more rips and I was exposed, my nipples a nice rosy glow to go with my purple hot pants.
She motioned to me to take off her nipple clamps. Her eyes widened and she held her breath.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
She let out her breath.
“Like pins and needles,” she said with a laugh.
There was a pause. She looked intently at me. I hesitated. Even with all this nipple torture, I realized we still hadn’t gone past second base. Did I want to go any further?
Sliding her arms around me again, she embraced me. I felt her body. The bones of her rib cage felt delicate under my fingers, the contours of her body felt downy. I traced her body as if I were tracing my own, intimate, soothing, caressing. Her hands slid down to my ass and she squeezed it hard. She liked me in these hot pants, I realized.
“I want to stick something in you,” she said.
Your tongue would be nice, I thought, but I realized she was looking at the display case just outside the dressing door. On the top was a clear Pyrex dildo with blue bumps. It looked more like a work of art than a sex toy.
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