by Alison Tyler
She reddened.
Malcolm took the meerschaum out of his mouth and looked his wife up and down with disapproval.
He growled, “Behind on reading our text messages, are we?”
Lily tried to hide the ruler behind her back, but Malcolm and all three of his tweed-suited guests had already seen it.
She stammered, “I’m sorry....I was busy all day.”
Malcolm looked her up and down again, his face stern.
“Being a very naughty girl, I shouldn’t wonder,” he said.
Lily almost fainted.
Her husband turned to his three companions, whose faces bore the exact cocktail of cruel distaste and rampant lust that, Lily knew from her long afternoon, spelled very red cheeks for each very bad girl and a very fervent thank you from the grateful girl following her stern correction.
Malcolm growled savagely: “Would you agree my wife’s been naughty, gentlemen?”
They did.
Blushing, Lily handed over the ruler.
There was a very long evening ahead of her.
Naked Lunch
By Angell Brooks
Knock, knock.
You look up from the report that has been destroying the wonderful day you’d hoped to have chatting online with your friends.
“Come in.”
I slowly open the door, extending my leg encased in thigh-high stockings and strappy high heels, allowing that to be the first part of my body you see. I hear a sharp inhale, and I nudge the door open with my hip, so that you can see the rest of me. I’m wearing a little black dress that hugs in all the right places.
“Lunch is served.”
You rise slowly, allowing my gaze to travel down to the crotch of your pants, and see the obvious bulge—no need to adjust. I lick my lips and look up to meet your eyes. Nothing needs to be said. I lock the door and lean on it, waiting for you to come to me. But that’s not how it works in your world. You snap your fingers and gesture for me to stand in front of you. I shake my head, a playful smile dancing across my lips. You sit back down and put your feet up. You’re in no hurry. You can wait for me to submit. You begin to stroke your hard prick through your pants, clearly amused as my eyes grow wider with every movement. You know I won’t be able to resist you for long.
As I take my first step, your voice, low and husky stops me. “Take off the dress, honey.”
* * *
“I’d love to, but there’s that damn zipper in the back. I’ll need some help. Should I come over?” You nod, and as I wander over to you, you sweep the report, and a whole ton of office supplies, off the desk surface. You sit on it and pull me between your legs. Shivers wrack my body as you pull the zipper down, kissing the exposed skin. I feel hot all over.
Once the zipper’s open, you slide the arms down, over my shoulders, and discover that there’s no bra underneath. I turn around slowly and you kiss me. I moan, and you tangle your hands in my hair and pull me back. Only two words come out of your mouth. “Suck me.”
“With pleasure,” I reply, sinking to my knees, and unzipping your pants. I am very pleased to find that you’ve gone commando today and that your cock is standing at perfect attention. I have to maneuver myself to fit the monster into my mouth, and then I start sucking for all I’m worth. I move over the head with my lips, tugging gently, and use my nails to lightly scrape your balls. Head bobbing, I take as much of you in my mouth as can possibly fit. Not wanting the rest to feel left out, I use my hand and stroke in rhythm with my blowjob.
Looking up briefly, I see your head tilted back and that gorgeous mane of hair hanging there, and I long to run my fingers through it to see if it’s as soft as it looks. But I go back to my business, because, after all, you haven’t asked me to stop.
Sex is in the air. I’m anxious for something to be put in my wet cunt, but I don’t dare ask. I know that it’s the one way to not get it from you. But you seem to read my mind, because you grasp my upper arms and bring me back to my feet. Reversing our positions, you lay me down on the desk, and raise the skirt above my waist. You are greeted with a black lacy thong. Slowly, you draw them over my legs and off, and being the devil you are, slip them into your jacket pocket.
You lower your head to my inner thighs and take a quick nip. I squeal, and that causes you to lift your head. “Want to get caught?” I shake my head.
Returning to the task before you, you lean in close, and I can feel your breath on me. Your large, thick, capable fingers part my lips and you instantly close your mouth over my clit. Sucking on it, while inserting two fingers into me, you are causing me to have the biggest meltdown in my sexual history. It doesn’t take long before I’m coming hard against your mouth.
You step away, wiping your mouth with my panties and grinning evilly. Not a word is spoken as you lift me off the desk and position me in front of the window. Eighteen stories up or not, it’s still a public spectacle, and I know that if it was possible for you to be harder than you are, it’s happening now.
As I brace myself against the window, your hands sneak around and grab my tits. You pull and tug at the nipples with your fingers, causing me to moan again. You whisper in my ear, “I’m going to fuck you hard, but one word out of you, and I’m stopping. I don’t need you as much as you need me.” Obviously, that’s not true, but I’m not about to point that out. I nod my understanding as I hear you take off your jacket. Closing my eyes, I ready myself for what is bound to be the most amazing sex I’ve ever had.
One thrust, and I take all of you in. You start rocking back and forth, and it’s all I can do not to cry out loud. You back us up away from the window, still inside me, and bend me over a chair that is conveniently facing the window. You start slowly fucking me, going in slow and pulling out to the tip, then slowly going in again. I feel like I’m floating—it’s so good. Just when I’m into the rhythm, you stop with the slow fuck and go straight for the pounding I’ve been hoping for.
I can feel your cockhead with every thrust, and despite your orders, I cry out.
True to your word, you stop fucking me, and turn around to put your jacket back on. I grab your arm. “Please. Don’t stop.”
Turning slowly, you smile at me. “You want more?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
You sit slowly down. “Make me believe it.”
I get on my knees in front of you. “Please. I really, really need you to finish fucking me. Please baby, please fuck me until I come.”
Examining your nails, you look satisfied. “Okay.” You look me dead in the eyes. “Get on.”
Sinking low in the chair, you start stroking your huge cock. Gathering my dress in my hands, I straddle you in the chair, my tits right at your eye level. Slowly, once again, I start moving myself up and down. Your hands find my tits, and your mouth finds my right nipple (the more sensitive one). As you suckle it, I bite my lip to keep from crying out and halting this exquisite agony once more.
You start helping me out, lifting me with your powerful arms and allowing me to sink down on my own, daster and harder. I come with a huge shudder and a strangled cry. That’s about as much as you can take and you practically throw me off your lap.
You stand in front of me, cock in hand, and say two more words. “Swallow me.” Without a word, I take you in my mouth and swallow every delicious drop.
Spent and happy, you help me dress again, and decide that taking a lunch break is a good thing after all.
Just a Kiss Away
By Thomas S. Roche
One hand down her dress, the other up it, he said to her,”No kissing.”
She said, “Huh?”
“Trust me?”
Breathing hard, her half-bare breasts heaving, her legs spread wide, her lips parted for that kiss that never came, her garters pulling tight at he
r open thighs, her nipples erect from his pinching, her sex liquid from the smooth even thrusts of his fingers, she looked up into his dark shadowed eyes, his outline looming over her in the half-dark.
She told him, “Yes.”
He fucked her more deeply, his fingers working up into her, caressing her swiftly swelling G-spot. His thumb alternately worked her clit hard—grinding firm against her pubic bone—and gently teased it, barely touching. He pinched her nipples, moving from one to the other while she writhed, her legs open wide, her hips working rhythmically. She needed to fuck her cunt onto his hand.
She clutched him tightly, huffing his scent. Her nails dug into his broad back and almost rent his suit coat.
He stopped what he was doing.
He growled, “Hands down.”
She obeyed, pouting. She put her hands flat down on the park bench. The warm country breeze, an autumn blessing, blew in off the ocean. She drank deeply of it and looked up into his shadow, his outline stark against the moon.
“Trust me?”
She said, “Yes.”
He lunged at her, his fingers returning to her sex and her breasts. This time they pushed deeper, the hand in her cunt working firmly up against her mounting swell, his thumb working her clit until she almost came. She needed to come, very badly. She pulsed close to a climax, and sensing this, he took his hand away from her sex. For many long minutes, it was tit and nothing but. He got her dress down; she goose-bumped everywhere knowing she was open in the night, the warm breeze blowing across her bare tits. He got her dress down to her ribcage; there wasn’t all that much to the thing, so it was pretty easy to do.
He said, “Keep them spread.”
She’d let her thighs come together—not even realizing she had. She opened them.
He told her, “Keep them apart. Don’t make a sound above a whimper. Or else.”
She told him, “Yes.”
He bent down and started making love to her tits in earnest. His mouth worked her nipples, his teeth and tongue doing things that made her crazy. Both his hands worked her breasts now as well, mauling and squeezing and rubbing while his mouth moved from nipple to nipple. He pinched. He ground.
She struggled not to scream, not to close her legs, not to grab him and try to throw him down and fuck him.
He teased her harder. He knew she could come that way; her tits were exquisitely sensitive. He knew it because he’d done it to her once before—he’d made her come just by touching her tits. But that had been in the bedroom; this was in public. On a park bench, where anyone might see. The very thought drove her nuts. It was awful. It was wonderful. It was awful. It was wonderful.
She was already close; he brought her closer.
She tried not to look into the darkness to see if someone was watching.
She worked her hips, fighting not to close her legs. She was close!
She moaned. She cried out.
He stopped.
He pulled away.
She uttered a desperate sound very much like a sob.
She whimpered, “Please?”
“Trust me.” This time it wasn’t a question.
He loomed over her in the darkness, his face close to hers, his breath warm and familiar. His lips were near. She tried to kiss him, instinctively, her full red-painted lips trembling as she lunged up toward him. Before she could reach him, he said sternly, his lips a millimeter from hers, “No kissing.”
She pulled back at the last possible instant, pouting, trembling, her salivary glands swollen and needy. Her mouth spoiled for a kiss. She licked her lips and moaned.
“Remember? No kissing tonight. Trust me.” It was very much, now, not a question.
She whimpered in torment.
Leaving the top of her dress down, her tits exposed to the warm autumn breeze, he put one hand in her hair.
She gasped slightly.
His other hand went up her dress again, his fingers plunging deeply into her while his mouth descended to her throat.
He found that perfect sensitive spot on her neck while he pulled her hair, another thing she loved almost as much as having her neck kissed. He shoved his fingers harder into her. He bit her as he fucked her with his hand.
She lunged up against him, writhing, insane with desperate need as his teeth took up her flesh and gnawed. His tongue, his teeth, his lips, his breath, his fingers inside her, his thumb on her clit—she exploded, almost. She screamed inside, her mouth open wide because she needed so very badly to scream with it, but he wouldn’t let her—he would stop. He couldn’t stop! He wouldn’t stop; she wouldn’t make a sound, she wouldn’t. She’d stay quiet. She’d stay spread. She’d keep her hands on the park bench, flat, not even trying to cover herself, not trying to touch him, not caring if she was seen, if she came, if he made her come—it was up to him; she was his—the very knowledge of it made her throb closer to orgasm.
She was a whisper from climax now—it was just a kiss away. It was a kiss she knew he’d withhold from her.
She began to tremble; her thighs made a butterfly motion, spasmodically closing. Her body undulated. She couldn’t control it. She must remain silent—keep her legs spread—her hands down flat, her back arched, she must not try to kiss him; she must not make a sound—
She tottered on the edge—about to come. About to come hard.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she heard herself gasping—and he withdrew.
She shuddered and writhed, trying to open her legs for him—but her muscles wouldn’t work. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop moving. She was completely out of control. He’d been teasing her, here in the hidden copse in the warm breeze of midnight with the park bench cold under her ass and her thighs; he’d been teasing her for two hours. She was mad. She was crazy. She couldn’t open her legs.
So he opened them for her.
He pushed her thighs wide with his hands and held them there, feeling her surge and squirm against his weight. He felt her undulate. He felt the spasms through her thighs and smiled. He knew how close she was. Very.
A kiss away. A kiss. Just a kiss.
She tried. She lunged up at him. But this time he had her good; he had her knees so tight against the park bench, forcing her legs spread wide, that she couldn’t get purchase to lunge for his mouth. She couldn’t kiss him. She undulated and lunged and fought, but his kiss stayed just out of range.
“Please,” she whimpered. She was desperate. She’d do anything.
He looked into her eyes and knew it.
He said, “Hands down. Legs spread. Not a sound above a whimper. Do you trust me?”
He held her there, in his eyes, in the dark.
He held her pinned down, spread.
There was nothing but the moon, outlining his hair in a halo. She couldn’t really see his face—not even his eyes. She didn’t need to. She knew they were there. She knew they held her.
Like his hands held her—open. Like his weight held her—open. Like his hands hand held her tits, her clit, her G-spot. Like his hand held her face or her throat or her hair.
Her muscles as he looked into her eyes by the light of the moon.
He held her spread legs and said, “Come.”
She whispered: “May I touch myself?”
He said, “Of course not.”
“Will you touch me?”
She whimpered and shuddered and looked up at him, disbelieving her lover’s cruelty.
She whined softly, “Then how can I come?”
He said sternly, “Just come.”
He held her pinned wide, her thighs open so she couldn’t rub them together. He held her down on the park bench, her tits exposed. She couldn’t touch her nipples. He wouldn’t let her tip back and rub her sex on the bench.
Looking up into his eyes, she started whimpering as she squeezed her muscles. They were Kegels, basically; she didn’t know why she did them. She knew what they were, yes, but she had no idea whether they could make you come. She thought they couldn’t. She was sure they couldn’t. But fuckin’ A, it felt good. She throbbed closer, looking into his eyes, feeling very much as if she was falling. His eyes were dark. His hair was dark. The night was dark. The moon above was bright and she lost all perspective, falling up into it, surging against his hands holding her spread, humping her cunt up into air as she fell into his eyes and to the moon beyond. She was going motherfucking crazy.
She felt herself pulsing closer. She was near. She whimpered, “Baby, may I kiss you?”
…and he sneered savagely and said, “No....”
…and her eyes rolled back as she spasmed in pain, whether emotional or physical she could no longer tell. The distance between her mouth and his gave her both kinds of pain, and many more beside.
She squeezed her muscles. Violently. Rhythmically. Her eyes were half closed, half rolled back; she must have looked a pretty sight, half dressed and forced to spread on a park bench, pulling a Linda Blair, mouth open wide, her eyes rolled back. She must look a sight.
She worked her muscles violently; she realized, with mingled shock and horror, that it was going to happen.
She exploded.
The pleasure started as a tremor; it came deep in her cunt, not shallow like the orgasms she felt while fucking or fingering or whatever. And not hot like the blast of white energy that radiated out from a clit explosion. This was pure cunt—terribly deep in her cunt, terrifying and unfamiliar, like her body was going all wrong. The way it feels when you lose it. When you’ve drunk too much. When you rise too fast from a crouch and you get a head rush. When you need so, so bad to come and your lover won’t let you—
—till you do. Her climax exploded through her; her eyes came down to their rightful place and locked on his, and she shuddered violently, coming. She uttered a howl; she was so surprised she couldn’t stop it. She came with a scream.
