Sweet Love

by Violet Blue

  “Bolero” rose in mounting rhythmic fuck-sounds; things were getting serious.

  “All right,” she said softly. “Now fuck me.”

  I started slowly, gradually, working in and out inch by inch, shocked at how different ass felt than cunt. As I came partway out, she smeared lube on me with the hand that wasn’t on her pussy. Then, “Harder,” she begged, and I gave it my best, thrusting deeper until her asshole was around the very base of my cock shaft, then drawing back until I almost slipped out. I leaned forward, pinning her down so I could get more leverage with my hips. I started thrusting, slowly then quicker, quicker, quicker, as Carrie squirmed under me, the thrusts getting easier with each stroke. I was close—fucking close, fast as hell since her ass was so tight and the turn-on was tangible.

  “Um—I’m ready—you want it—?”

  “Yeah, yeah, up my ass,” she said irritably, breathlessly. “Come in my ass. Wait—not—not yet—”

  She rubbed harder, almost violently; I struggled to hold still while she went at it. Then she let out a low keening wail and her ass tightened rhythmically; she gave a yelp of surprise as my cock popped smoothly out.

  “Back in,” she pleaded, and I worked it back in. Her ass was still spasming as I drove deep inside her and started thrusting. In another moment I started to come, giving a girly little whimper as I gripped her hair and pounded her ass. Borne into the bed by my weight, Carrie lifted her ass to meet my thrusts. Her ass went slick with my semen. “Bolero” screamed its final whining cacophony, yowling to its violent end.

  I grunted. I finished. Her cunt and ass were still twitching, little “Oooh” sounds escaping her lips as she felt the afterglow of her orgasm. After a time I rolled off of her, lay on my back panting. Affectionately, she snuggled on top of me.

  The CD started again: Bum, da da da, ba da da da da da bum da da da… Christ, was Carrie really going to tell people for the rest of her life that she lost her anal virginity to the strains of “Bolero”? It seemed like adding insult to perversion, though I admitted the rhythm was mildly soothing, however much my asscheeks were clenching.

  She must have read worry on my face; she gave a broad grin, giggling evilly.

  “Oh, don’t be nervous, baby…. It was my first time, and tomorrow it’ll be your first time.” She laughed.

  “Tomorrow? I thought we said ‘some time.’”

  Carrie gave me her best innocent face. “Come on, baby, you’re not going to make me wait, are you? I didn’t make you wait… Well, not very long, at least. Please?”

  “All right,” I said. “I guess so. If you’re sure it won’t—”

  “No, it doesn’t hurt, baby. And you know you want it. Or at least you know you’re curious about it.”

  I shrugged, trying to play cool.

  “Don’t give me that,” said Carrie, and kissed my chest wetly, with lots of tongue. “Of course,” she breathed, “I would never want to do anything to you that you weren’t totally into. You can always puss out…and go back on your word…and get your girlfriend to give up her ass, but be chicken to—”

  “Forget it,” I said. “I’ll make good on our bargain.”

  Carrie gave her most mischievous grin, her whole body seeming to hum with excitement from the prospect—or maybe it was that she had just gotten fucked in the ass.

  “Would you…show me?” I asked.

  Carrie looked surprised.

  “I mean, you already bought it, right?”

  “Yeah, but I thought… I figured we’d wait until…”

  “Please? I’m just curious.”

  “Sure,” she said. “That’s hot. You don’t want…”

  “Tonight? No. I just… I’d just like to see it.”

  “Maybe suck it a little?”

  “Suck it? That’s weird.” I grinned.

  “Men,” she said, smiling. “All right. Fashion show. You wait right here, baby.” She got out of bed.

  Carrie’s campus apartment has shared baths between each pair of bedrooms. She seized a black plastic bag with a dog-collar logo from the decrepit particleboard laminate wardrobe, and paused at the door.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

  I rolled over onto my belly, felt immediately self-conscious—since that put my ass in a direct line of sight from the bathroom door. I rolled onto my side. My cock ached from the fuck; Carrie’s asshole was tight, and the heat of my first anal fuck was as hot as the excitement of taking Carrie’s anal virginity.

  But with Carrie, nothing is ever simple; what’s more, she’s fantastically persuasive. When I’d made my thoughts clear—that anal sex was fucking hot, and I couldn’t wait to do it—she conceived of a bargain. She’d never done it before, but she would. I could be the man to initiate her into the pleasures of back-door love. If I’d offer her the same consideration.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong. I played hard to get. I blushed, hemmed and hawed, wasn’t sure I could do that—still wasn’t. But the night she suggested it, fuck! how my cock swelled and throbbed.

  Ever since then—three weeks, now, long enough for her to buy a strap-on and me to read three neurotic books on safety, tips, guidelines and precautious—I’d been half-obsessed, careening wildly between imagining Carrie’s tight ass snugged around my slick cock, and her cock, buried deep—Motherfucker, I couldn’t even think about it without popping a hard-on, which I did, and before I knew it I was stroking—my cock wet with lube and Carrie’s ass, my ass feeling suddenly hungry. My cock was sore, the tip stung slightly, and still I fucking stroked it, reaching back to touch my own firm cheeks—good god, was I a pervert?

  “Baby?”

  “Patience!” she cried back. “This thing’s not sweats and a goddamn T-shirt, Jackie boy, and it’s not attached to me!”

  “Sorry,” I said meekly.

  I went back to stroking gently, almost hyperventilating. I’d decided: why put off until tomorrow… My cheeks clenched. I squirted lube and reached back there.

  I was tight—tighter than Carrie. Two fingers took some work to get in. Three was almost impossible at first. Four—well, once I’d done three, four seemed like an awesome idea, and then I was fucking, wetly, eyes rolling back into my head. I was clean, I’d seen to that, knowing this was a possibility—since my vivid fantasies had me doing just this, fucking Carrie’s ass and then…oh, fuck. I thrust fingers deeper, pumped my cock, felt my asshole relaxing….

  “Bolero” was pulsing louder.

  “Baby?”

  “Goddamn buckles! Just a minute.”

  I watched, panting and stroking, as I waited for the door to open. The CD had started over before it did; she sashayed out adorned and gussied; I stared gape-mouthed as her eyes flickered over my lube-slick cock. I’d slid my fingers out of my ass and was caressing my prick with both hands.

  “You like, I guess,” she said.

  “Those boots!”

  “They match the harness,” said Carrie.

  “Expensive?”

  “I hope my dad doesn’t check his credit card statement this month. I’m just saying.”

  Her hand went gliding slowly down her body, fingers nuzzling her tits, her belly, then circling the big flesh-colored cock jutting out of her harness.

  “It looks so real,” I said, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

  She stroked her cock as she made her way across the bedroom, spike-heeled patent-leather knee-high monstrosities spearing lube packets and discarded comic books. “I thought…you know, smooth, purple or something, that’ll be less, er, real. But then…you know, there’s something hot about how it looks like a real cock. Isn’t that kind of hot, Jackie? Jackie? Oh, my…”

  My mouth engulfed the head of her cock and I felt a powerful charge of excitement go through me. Oh, fuck, I was actually going to do this.

  I took her cock down easily to the back of my throat, my head bobbing up and down as she ground her hips forward. It wasn’t just the anal sex books I’d lea
rned from; never having seen her strap-on before, I had already gauged the angle of the base. Line drawings can be so helpful. I calculated its proximity to Carrie’s clit, which, let’s be frank, I knew the location of pretty goddamn well. I started sucking, hand around the lower portion of the shaft, got the base of the dildo tight against Carrie’s clit, and—drunken sailors never moaned so loud when street whores’ throats went tight around their cock shafts.

  I felt wires, but didn’t think twice about them; I was too fixated on sucking Carrie’s strap-on. I started working fervently, my hand around Carrie’s firm body, gripping that perfect ass I’d just fucked and pulling it hard against me, hard cock down my throat. She held me, her crotch against my face, her hands gripping my hair as I struggled to keep her down as deep inside me as I could.

  “I’ve been practicing,” I rasped when I came up for air, which was not for a good long time.

  “You little whore,” she said. “You’ve been playing hard to get.”

  Don’t make me beg, I thought. I’ll puss out.

  But she didn’t, she just let me suck and suck, my own cock throbbing, until I looked up at her with big wide eyes and she gave me a little push onto the bed.

  “On your knees, lover.”

  “But you said tomorrow,” I whined with a vague smile, even as I obeyed her push and got on my hands and knees.

  She got behind me.

  “But your ass says now, now, now.” She didn’t bother with a glove; she’d trimmed her nails short. I’d left the lube half-opened, leaking goo onto her pillow. I groped after it, handed it over my shoulder, and felt a cool slick stream joining the thick coat that still greased my asshole.

  I made girly sounds as her fingers worked into me. Carrie’s fingers were considerably narrower than mine; she got two, three, four in there, easy as pie, and then before I even knew it a shockingly realistic dildo was up against my asshole and my eyes went wide with momentary fright.

  Then with a little push, my girlfriend entered me. The cock was not enormous, but she had not gone mini, either; it was healthy in its thickness and my asshole opened slowly. But she got it in, a little push, another, another, another, sliding easily back and forth until Carrie’s thighs settled tight against mine and I could feel her cock all the way in my ass.

  Between pulses of “Bolero,” I heard a click, then a buzz; felt a throbbing. Carrie moaned.

  Holy fuck. She was going to fuck me till she came. Just like a real assfucker—just like me, in her ass, that gorgeous ass flexing and releasing with every thrust of her cock into me, an ass filled with my come—

  I started stroking.

  Carrie moaned louder, one hand steadying herself on the small of my back, the other working the wired vibrator, varying its pulses as she teased herself to climax and the music built louder and louder.

  Then she came, her thick cock pounding deep inside of me, her thrusts matched to the spasmodic jerks of her orgasm, shuddering pleasure raging through her cock and into my ass. The assfuck gave every possible hint of realism except her cum pumping—and I provided that part, hot streams shooting over my hand and arm, soaking the bed as I cried out. Whether she came first or I did, I really don’t know, because she was making noises for a good long time as she drove me down into the bed and bit deep into the flesh of my shoulder and neck, leaving hickeys, I was sure of it. When she was good and done and sated, she switched the vibrator off and I felt the buzz dissipate.

  We lay like that through another half-playing of the CD, as Carrie’s hot breath ruffled my hair and her fingers caressed my arms.

  “Are we even, Jackie baby?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You’ve got a pretty awesome asshole, baby. Maybe a few more times should do it….”

  With a little push, I eased her out of me.

  DISHPAN HANDS

  Jan Darby

  As she trudged through the rain from the car to her back door, it occurred to Jane that sometimes she thought she’d be a lot happier as a conscience-free psychopath. She could throw together a bogus expense report without agonizing over which meals she’d really worked through and which she’d enjoyed with friends. She could tell Leanne in accounting that yes, every single thing in the anorectic woman’s wardrobe made her look fat. And, best of all, she could strangle her cheating boyfriend. All without a single pang of guilt.

  Jane unlocked the door and stepped into the dark mudroom. Replacing the bulb in the overhead fixture had been on Mark’s list of household projects for months and months and months. So long, in fact, that she didn’t even bother trying the switch. Mark had had plenty of time to do a few projects this past weekend while she’d been out of town on business, but he’d been at a hotel with Leanne, doing her instead of his chores.

  The brightness of the adjoining kitchen was just one more annoying reminder of her ex-boyfriend. He’d apparently forgotten—again—to turn the lights off before he left this morning. He always left a mess behind for her to clean up.

  She was too tired to deal with it right now. As she turned toward the stairs to the second-floor bedroom, she heard the sound of splashing water and clinking china. It sounded like someone was in the kitchen, washing dishes.

  She peered around the corner, and there, standing at the sink with his back to her, his shirt off, his hands in water up to his elbows, was Mark. The cheating bastard.

  He deserved to die, she thought. He really did. But she was sane and she couldn’t kill him in cold blood. Especially not while he had his back to her.

  She’d always thought his back was spectacular. Jane watched the play of muscles until her gaze caught on the tiny mole beneath one shoulder blade, right where she used to cling to him while coming.

  He was damned good in bed, which only made her wish, once again, that she were insane. Then, she might be able to convince herself that the physical pleasure was enough. It was so tempting. But she couldn’t give in. She was nothing if not rational.

  She could indulge in a little righteous indignation, though, and her voice reflected her annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t turn around, simply continued what he was doing. “I’m washing the breakfast dishes.”

  “I can see that.” Her fists clenched, and she hid them behind her. She was not going to kill him, no matter how much he deserved it. “You aren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to leave this morning. Permanently.”

  He shrugged, setting his lovely back muscles into play again. “There was work to do here first. I owe you that much.”

  She tore her gaze away from the skin she knew so well. The skin that Leanne now knew better than she should. “A warehouse full of clean dishes wouldn’t settle your debt.”

  “It’s a start.” He tossed a towel over his shoulder. “My dad always told me that women love a man who’ll do household chores. He’d say, ‘All the domestic violence these days, and you never hear about even one man who died while washing dishes. Remember that, and you’ll live happily ever after.’”

  She forced herself to look away from his appealing back and stare at the floor, where puddles were forming around Mark’s feet from his exuberant rinsing. He couldn’t even clean things without making a mess. “Your father died of a heart attack while cheating on your mother.”

  “He was always better at giving advice than taking it.” Mark turned around to face her. “And I didn’t cheat on you with Leanne.”

  “Why would she lie about it?”

  “Because she’s jealous of you, and she wants you to be as miserable as she is.” He pulled the towel off his shoulder and began drying a cereal bowl. “She knows your itinerary from reviewing your expense reports, so she knows how much you’ve been on the road lately, and it wouldn’t take much to guess that it was affecting our relationship.”

  “Our relationship did suffer,” she said. “But it was surviving until you broke it.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t cheat on you. She played you.”

&n
bsp; He sounded so disappointed, she almost believed him. Almost. “The house was a wreck when I got home on Sunday. You certainly weren’t here washing dishes the whole time I was gone.”

  “I wish I had been.” He put down the first cereal bowl and picked up another. “It was stupid. I meant to do some stuff around here, but I lost track of time playing video games.”

  She’d complained often enough about the hours and hours he wasted with his stupid games, but he couldn’t have thought they were worse than cheating on her. “Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?”

  “You were too angry to listen,” he said. “I was waiting for you to calm down.”

  She’d been so angry last night, it wouldn’t have taken much to push her over the edge of sanity. She’d known it too, and had sensibly locked herself in the bedroom until the rage dissipated. Toward morning, she’d begun to consider her own contributions to the failure of their relationship. She wasn’t entirely blameless. She owed him a chance to explain. “I’m calm now. What did you want to tell me?”

  “I didn’t do what she claimed,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

  “If you weren’t with Leanne, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I didn’t cheat on you, but I did fail you,” he said. “I’ve let you do all the hard work the whole time we’ve been together. That’s what I have to apologize for.”

  “I suppose it wasn’t really about Leanne,” Jane said. “She was just an excuse. I’m tired of doing all the work around here, and even more tired of trying to get you to help.”

  “I did this morning’s dishes.”

  “That’s a start,” she said. “How much longer are you willing to do them?”