by Radclyffe
The guy in the leather chaps fucked like a metronome, driving his thick, long cock in and out with the speed and regularity of a piston. The one on his hands and knees muttered yeah with every stroke. I flashed on an image of me on all fours while strong fingers dug into the bend of my waist and I strained to keep my ass up in the air. I could feel the slap of leather against the backs of my thighs while I took some stud’s dick deep into my cunt. Shifting my hips restlessly, I gripped my crotch and tried to ease the tight denim away for my rapidly swelling clit.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” someone whispered in my ear.
I froze, my hand still squeezed between my legs. Her breath was hot against my neck, and she smelled faintly of sweet sweat and something else—something that set my clit thumping harder against the inside of my jeans. Leather.
“Don’t talk,” she said in a low, throaty growl. “Just watch the show.”
The guys had shifted position, and the big one in the leather chaps was lying on his back, his legs spread and his dick standing up. His crotch was toward the camera and I couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t matter—the waistband of the chaps and the cutaways on each leg framed a triangle around his dick and balls like a shiny black glory hole. The smaller one, blond I noticed now, faced the cameras and me. He straddled the big guy’s body, braced his hands on those thick, leather-covered thighs, and lowered himself onto the flagpole. His own cock with its wide, black leather cock ring jerked between his legs. I jerked too and heard quiet laughter.
“You like a bit of cock.”
It wasn’t a question.
One arm came around my waist and with the other hand she gripped my wrist, pulled my hand behind my back, and crushed my palm into her crotch. Leather, slick and soft. I closed my fingers around the cock sheathed along the inside of her left thigh and she thrust her hips forward, pinning my hand between my ass and her cock. She was hard, would always be hard, would give it to me hard, as deep and as long as I needed it. She bumped her cock into my hand while both arms came around my waist again. One hand traced my forearm down to where my fingers still massaged my crotch, and she pushed my fingertips roughly into my clit. The ache spread into my cunt and I moaned.
“Unzip your pants. And remember to be quiet.”
My breath was coming fast and I struggled not to make any more sound. Fortunately, the guys on the stage grunted and fucked so loud I doubted anyone else could hear me. I caressed the cock and imagined straddling her like the blond in front of me, my come sluicing onto her leather pants while I rode her until my cunt burst and I flooded her. I love the slick shine of come on leather. Hand trembling, I opened my jeans. I wanted to slam back on her cock just the way the blond in front of me slammed his ass up and down, up and down, up and down. I watched him and stroked her cock, the smooth leather a second skin skimming up and down the shaft.
When she slid her hand into my jeans and found my clit, my thighs went soft and I shot an arm out against the pillar to hold myself up. She rolled my clit between her fingers, soft and slow, and I bit my lip. I couldn’t take my eyes off the cock across the room, flushed red and drooling pre-come as it bounced on his belly. She worked her fingers down either side of my clit and pinched. I whimpered. Hurt so nice.
“Quiet,” she whispered.
I wanted to come really bad and I knew I wasn’t supposed to. The guy on his back reached around to rub his hand up and down the blond’s straining belly, then fisted his cock. The blond worked himself on the cock in his ass in short hard thrusts, all the time digging his fingers into the gleaming leather while the other guy jerked him off. I wanted it to be me, with her cock deep inside me and her jerking off my clit the way she was doing now. She was good, so good. She rubbed the head of my clit with the tip of one finger while she squeezed the core between her thumb and other fingers, pulling and rubbing in time to the guys fucking. I was creaming all over her and in another minute I was going to come in her hand.
Her face was slippery with sweat where she nuzzled against my cheek, and she was panting hard, pressed to my back. I still had a grip on her cock between us and she thrust into my hand making low, grunting sounds in the back of her throat. I wanted more, so I let go of her cock, yanked at her waistband, and got her zipper partway down before she shoved my hand away. She eased back and I rubbed my hand over her thigh. The leather was hot and supple, like I knew her body would be. A second later she slid her warm cock along my palm.
“Jerk me off while I make you come.”
I shifted a little to one side with my hand cupped by the outside of my leg so her cock could slide through my closed fist. I tugged it forward, then pushed back, and her fingers convulsed on my clit. Across the room, the blond cradled his balls in one hand while the other guy kept up a steady jerk-off motion. I fell into step, pumping her to the same rhythm. Every time I pushed back, my fist slapped leather, and she said uh.
Close by in the dark someone muttered, “Get ready for the come shot.”
She lost her rhythm then, her fingers clamped so tight on my clit that tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. My cunt pulsed the crazy way it does just before it explodes. The blond yelled and come jetted from his cock, a milky stream splattering on the leather chaps.
“Oh fuck,” she moaned, “here I come.”
I let loose in her hand but I managed to keep working her while she shuddered and groaned, her face buried in the curve of my neck, her fingers driving in and out of my cunt. All the while I was coming, I forced my eyes to stay open so I could watch the guys finish. The one underneath yanked his cock out of the other guy’s ass, stripped off the condom, and pumped his cock. When he shot, my clit tripped right into another orgasm so hard and so hot I would have gone down if she hadn’t been holding me so tight against her. The pleasure jolted through me, and I had to close my eyes.
When I opened them, the room was bright and my back was to the pillar on the side away from the set. I guess everyone else was crowded around the stage, talking and laughing. I shoved my shirt into my jeans and zipped up, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on my face. Then I swung around the pillar and started toward the group.
A woman in a sleeveless black T-shirt and black leather pants separated from the crowd and met me halfway.
“I’m the production assistant,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m the lunch truck driver.”
“Good. We worked up an appetite.”
I glanced down at her crotch and she brushed her fingers over the hint of a bulge. The leather gleamed wetly when she moved her hand away. My come. Her cock. Leather slicked with sex.
“No problem.” I met her eyes and grinned. “I brought enough for seconds.”
First Sight
Three pairs of eyes probed my naked flesh. Hers were remote—blank discs of impenetrable blue, so impersonal as to leave a chill in their wake. His were clinically appraising—studying me with curious neutrality, making me wonder if my heart still beat.
Only your eyes were alive—slow-dancing over the hills and valleys of my body, dipping into my secret places with unfettered abandon. The satin-covered marble beneath my thighs was slick and unforgiving. If I moved at all, every fragile dream would be exposed.
“Uh…we need a model…for the special class I take at night…to pose,” you said, looking past me out the window to the quadrangle far below. “Nude.”
I laughed. We’d been roommates for eight months, and you were still shy with me. I suppose it was because when we all showed up for the fall semester and got our room assignments, there’d been whispers about you. Lesbian, they’d said. Carefully polite, but with just that little hint of prurient excitement. Sure, everyone seemed cool about it, but you must have known that everyone was just waiting to see who would be in the bed across from yours, ten feet away, for the next nine months.
I sensed the others stare at me when first your name, then mine, was called. But I was watching you. Your eyes darted to m
y face and then away, and then cautiously back again. I was still looking at you when you finally searched my eyes for the answer. The uncertainty in your expression made me want to hold you, and I’d never felt that way about anyone before. I wanted to say, “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care who you love. Just don’t look so scared.” But I didn’t know if the words would hurt more than help, so I said nothing. But I smiled, and that must’ve been all right, because you smiled back.
“Nude, huh?”
You nodded silently.
“Sure, I’ll do it.”
“Bend your knee up, please,” the faintly accented voice of the instructor requested from just beyond my field of vision. “Very nice. Open just a little…yes, just like that. Perfect.”
It was my fourth session, but only the first time I could see you clearly as you worked. I’d been aware of you before, sitting expectantly with charcoal in hand as I removed the white robe and let it drop behind me before settling onto the dais. The room was always very quiet as I bared myself, but the very first time, I imagined I heard a small hitch in your breath. You were careful not to look at me then, at least not until I could not see you.
You were always so careful around me. Careful not to walk in while I was changing. Careful to keep your eyes on the ceiling while we lay naked in our respective beds, talking late into the night or delaying the moment in the morning when we would have to separate. Careful not to ask me about the dates I went on, when I returned to find you still awake, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a book in front of you that I was certain you had not been reading.
I was careful too. Careful not to tell you that I’d rather stay at home with you, laughing about our day, or bitching about our classes, or confessing what we thought about and dreamed about and hoped for in our futures. I was careful around you the way I never was around the other girls, because I understood that you weren’t like the other girls. And to treat you as if you were would have been cruel, as if I didn’t know you at all. I didn’t tell you I was a virgin, and I don’t know why. I guess because you weren’t like the other girls, and I liked that.
I liked that a lot, and sometimes, sometimes I wished that you would look at me as if I weren’t like the other girls, either.
Once I became “the model,” a breathing still-life, I couldn’t watch you any longer. I was a prisoner, unbound but restrained nonetheless. I could not turn my head to see if the heat I felt building inside was the result of your charcoal tracing the line of my skin on your paper. And always, when I was finally released from my invisible bondage, you had already risen, hurriedly packing your things with a downcast gaze, rushing to leave. I was forced to walk home beside you as if I had not just spent an hour with the promise of your hands upon my body. We never talked about it, and you were so careful not to look at me.
Not so tonight. Tonight your eyes were everywhere.
Tonight, you’d shifted your easel to a new spot. I could look at your face, and you, it seemed, could look directly into my soul. You sat upon a stool, a rectangle of canvas propped upon wide-spread wooden legs the only barrier between us. Your face was unmasked, your emotions as exposed to me as my body was to you. Your hands moved out of sight, sliding over my breasts, down my belly, between my legs, with swift sure strokes. Your eyes, wide and dark and unknowingly hungry, swept over my body in the wake of your touch with far less restraint, grazing my nipples to hardness and teasing my inner thighs to a soft sheen of welcome. To everyone else I was a profile, an abstraction, a study in light and shadow. To you alone, I bled and breathed and quickened.
You did not know what your expression revealed, and I did not disclose what I saw, lest you hide your passion and your desire. Thus we sat, souls on display, pretending we were blind.
“Thank you, that will be all for tonight.”
I read the disappointment in your face, felt the loss of our connection immediately. You did not, as you usually do, immediately begin to gather your charcoals and pencils. I rose slowly while the others prepared to leave. Within minutes, we were alone. I held the robe before me but did not yet put it on.
“You’re not finished, are you?” I said at last.
You gave a start, as if surprised that I had spoken. Then you blushed.
“No.” You indicated the canvas with a sweep of your hand, your voice laden with frustration. “Tonight was the first time I felt like I might capture some part of…you.”
“Why tonight?” Although I knew.
You looked up from the image of me and into my eyes. “Because tonight was the first time I let you see me. Before tonight, you’ve been the only one brave enough to do that.”
“All the other nights,” I whispered as I moved closer, “you looked at me, but tonight, you touched me.”
You nodded and I saw you shiver. Your voice when you spoke was urgent and low. “I could feel you lead my hands over your body, guiding me, teaching me.” You held my gaze so desperately, your longing so open and pure, I ached. “I was almost there.”
In the distance, I heard a door close as the others left. I let the robe fall, a ribbon of white gathering between us on the dark floor. “I want you to finish.”
You stared for an instant, a soft groan escaping from somewhere deep inside, then you turned with outstretched hand toward your charcoal.
“No.” I grasped your wrist and brought your hand to the center of my chest. The edges of your palm nestled against the inner curve of my breasts. “This way. I want you to look at me. I want to watch you looking at me.”
Your fingers were hot and trembled on my skin. Oh God, you whispered as I shuddered.
I focused on your face as you softly traced my breasts, my heart pounding wildly as the wonder rose in your eyes. You stepped closer until your jeans brushed my thighs and you brought your thumbs to my nipples, fingers splayed to cradle the weight of my breasts. I tilted my head back as pleasure bowed my spine and when you put your mouth on my neck, warm and wet, I made a sound I’d never heard before. A whimper, a plea, a paean of delight. My legs quaked, and I sagged into you, trusting that you would not let me fall.
You pressed your face to my throat, your breathing ragged, while your hands, those sensitive wonderful hands, explored my body with slow reverence. I was your canvas and you painted me with desire.
“Don’t be careful anymore,” I begged. “Tease my nipples. Touch me. Touch me before I shatter.”
You whimpered then, long fingers clamping around the hard points of my breasts. Sharp, pure, delicate pain. My clitoris hardened and ached. I braced my arms on your shoulders and sought your mouth with mine, needing you somewhere far deeper than my skin. Your cheeks were damp, and I kissed away your tears. You drove a thigh between my legs, and I soaked the denim. Seconds, minutes, hours passed as we thrust and moaned and gasped, until I couldn’t stand the slightest barrier between us. I curled my fingers in the thick damp hair at the back of your neck and put my mouth against your ear.
“I need you. I need you inside me.”
With your mouth fused to mine, you wrapped an arm around my waist and turned me until my hips hit the stool. I sank gratefully upon it and you pushed between my legs, one hand knifing high between my thighs. I arched to take you in, and you hesitated, fingertips dipping into me, but going no further. I framed your face with my palms, my fingers trembling over your cheekbones and your mouth.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I whispered. “Please.”
You kissed my fingers as you parted my swollen flesh, caressing my clitoris with swift, hard strokes, making me come. So close now, I succumbed to the hunger in your eyes as you slid deep inside me. Filled with you, surrounding you, coming for you, I saw what you hadn’t wanted me to see all these months.
Desire. Passion. Love.
You touched me, and, finally, I saw.
A Flash of Gold
“I feel like I’m in college again.” I surveyed the common bathroom and shower facilities and shuddered. Cold tile flo
ors, toilet stalls that undoubtedly didn’t lock, and one huge cubicle with showerheads on three walls. At least the pungent bleach smell was oddly comforting.
“Well, you are in a college dorm, after all.” Taylor dropped her equipment bag and bent over the sink, one shallow basin in a long row of them set into a stainless steel counter beneath a smudged rectangular mirror.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming back every summer.”
“Because you love to have five days of uninterrupted cruising.” She splashed cold water on her face and neck. We’d been in weapons class all morning in a poorly air-conditioned gymnasium, and we were both dripping with sweat.
“Ha. Five days of martial arts hell is more like it.” Her position afforded me a very nice view of her spectacular ass. It always looked good, high and firm and tight, but in her slightly baggy white cotton karate pants, it was downright mouthwatering. I sidled up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, leaned over her, and snuggled my breasts to her back and my crotch to her butt. Her hard, tough butch butt. I wiggled a little, enjoying the way it made my clit hum. “The next time we come to one of these training camps, we’re staying in a hotel. I can’t even find a working outlet for my hair dryer in here.”
Taylor spun around in the circle of my arms and grabbed my hips, pulling me between her spread thighs. She nuzzled my neck, licking the salty streaks. “In another few hours, everyone will be too tired to notice what your hair looks like.”
