Hungry for More

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Carrie positioned herself so Andrew’s crown rested against her tender opening. She glided her hand over him in a firm, squeezing tug, then whispered, “Do you mind, sweetheart?”

  “Never, honey. I’m yours.”

  Carrie guided his penis past her barrier. The pressure was intense, far greater than her finger a moment before, but she eased until his tip anchored inside her. She moaned, taking a few sharp inhalations while Andrew nodded with half-slitted eyes.

  “Yeah. Damn, you feel good. So tight,” he muttered.

  Carrie grinned, pleased she’d made it this far and noting the pulsing she felt along her sensitive ridges. With him so sedate she could control exactly how far she took him in. The power made her feel beautiful. She clenched her vaginal muscles. They buzzed with the promise of a full-mind orgasm takeover, which spurred her on. Before she knew it, she’d taken half his length inside her. Andrew groaned as she put her lubed-up hands to use, coating their intersection and taking him farther in. The fullness was daunting, but Carrie had grown so wet at the thought of knowing this joy once and for all that she now dripped all over his crotch.

  “Andrew, this is kind of amazing,” she whispered. He gave another low grunt and placed his hands back on her hips. Carrie closed her eyes to slip her fingers over her clit. It raged and swelled as she rubbed it, and she cried before dropping down, Andrew’s cock kissing the highest reaches of her ass. The sensation brought the most surprising warmth into her pussy. “Oh wow…”

  “Yeah,” Andrew said. His sleepiness had taken over, and now he barely moved save for an occasional lazy squeeze of her hips. Carrie felt a shudder of guilt as she used her knees to lift herself up and down, but his moans kept right on coming, quiet yet present. She spread more lube along him and around her opening, her inhalations growing more spastic. Andrew jerked inside her and she heaved over him, riding and grinding ever faster against her fingertips.

  She was losing herself in it—the building force, the warmth, the overwhelming urge that coiled and burned inside her. She felt like a goddess, panting and throwing back her head, so pleased she’d not only managed to take him in but that she was finally understanding it as she thrust and felt him at her own pace. She sank lower and rubbed her clit, then raised herself and stroked harder. His length tickled her depths and as the lube squished between them she started running her fingers everywhere—inside her cunt, along him, over her breasts, then back down to tease her own nub. Andrew made a slight gasp and Carrie growled at the way he swelled inside her ass. Suddenly, her orgasm struck, pummeling her senses and driving her to slam against him. “Yes!” she moaned. She pounded so hard she couldn’t believe he was in her ass and she liked it, and when she forced herself all the way down, she howled, “Oh my god, Andrew, yes!”

  She sucked in a breath and toppled over him, her body weak and her fingers numb. She kissed his belly while she caught her breath, then lifted her head to share her sated grin with her husband. Who had fully fallen asleep.

  “Andrew?”

  Immediately, the blood in Carrie’s body rushed into her cheeks. She sat upright, her hands prunish, her pussy sopping—and his cock still solid and filling her ass.

  “You’re kidding,” she muttered. Slowly, calmly, she eased herself off him and staggered into the bathroom for a warm, wet cloth. When she came back into the room, Andrew rolled onto his side. She wrapped the cloth around his shaft and he jumped. When he peeled open his eyes, she pinched her lips in embarrassment.

  “What are you doing?”

  Carrie dabbed at his skin. “I…um…”

  Andrew shook himself. “Did I doze off?”

  Her cheeks were so warm she could barely face him.

  “Did you…?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, chuckling. “I guess you like anal now, after all, huh?”

  She tossed the washcloth at him. “I can’t believe you fell asleep!”

  Andrew grabbed her hand and tugged her back to the bed. He wrapped his body around her, letting his erection graze her from behind.

  “I was awake. Awake enough for you to take me—but it’s really no fair, you know. I didn’t get to fully experience it.”

  “I didn’t realize, and I was in the moment…and I—”

  “Do you want to do it again?” He reached his hand over her hip, planting it squarely over her mound and pushing himself against her backside until she moaned. “I promise I’ll stay awake this time.”

  Carrie giggled at her husband. He skimmed his fingers over the sensitive knot of her clit, then ran his lips over her neck in a series of hungry kisses that made fresh goose bumps break over her skin. She didn’t know how much more she could take, but it did seem only fair.

  “Yes,” she whispered, gasping when he nudged himself between her cheeks.

  Then Andrew reached for the lube.

  UPSTAIRS AT THE AVA

  DelovelyOlive

  It was early May, but already summer had draped itself over the pristine Arizona suburb I called home. It shimmered like a mirage on the highway blacktop as we drove across town to Poncho’s, a local Mexican restaurant with the best sangria this side of the border.

  “Remind me why we live here again?” Steve complained, cranking the AC up another notch.

  I ignored my husband’s question and just enjoyed the full blast of icy air blowing through my bangs. The scenic desert rushed beside us as we sped along toward our destination. I gazed out my window at the endless blue above me and the seam of earth below, cracked and baking under the relentless sun; all the while thoughts of her walked in silent footsteps across my mind.

  Earlier that afternoon she had surprised me with a phone call; an impromptu business meeting with a regional curator (she’s a very in-demand artist) had brought her into town for the night and she was hoping to see me. It had been well over two years since our last visit, so I was more than happy to abandon the tight routine of my life for the chance to spend a few hours with her.

  Abby was the streak of red in my otherwise black-and-white world. She had been my roommate back in college, and in every way, my polar opposite. I would never forget the day she’d sailed through the door, a whirlwind of auburn curls and menthol cigarettes, and crashed into my orderly life. Abby had been the quintessential party girl, the one who never missed an opportunity to drink booze and fuck guys, or girls—she didn’t care. She was an artist, a self-proclaimed free spirit, living her life in the same loud and vibrant colors she used to paint her canvases. Though she was a constant disruption to the quiet order I tried so hard to maintain, I loved her immediately. She had a warm irreverent smile that took my breath away every time I saw it. My mother would have considered her a bad influence, but I was magnetically drawn by her wild energy. I had never met anyone quite like her before and haven’t since.

  Back in those days, my academic career had been my first priority, and being the devout scholar I was, that meant sacrificing countless parties and dates on the altar of higher learning. I had been known as the nice girl, the one who always played by the rules. I did what was expected; it was something I prided myself on. I was good at being the good girl. It wasn’t just a well-deserved reputation; it was my identity. At least that’s what I thought, but being around Abby made the carefully controlled woman I believed myself to be come undone.

  What no one ever knew was how cut off I felt, or the jealousy that would seep into my bones every time I heard the door close behind Abby’s black stilettos. It was all I could do not to follow her clicking stride as she set off into the night. Never in my life had I felt so desperately alone. I tried not to think about where she was, or what she was doing, tried to keep my focus strictly on my studies, but my mind always wandered back to her. Sometimes she would be gone for days, and I would be half-mad with worry, but eventually she would come back, and when she did, she would sit on the edge of my bed recounting her X-rated adventures in lurid detail. Shrugging it off, I would feign disi
nterest, but secretly I wanted more. Every word she said set my imagination on fire.

  My mind would swirl with visions of Abby down on all fours, her creamy freckled skin gleaming with sweat, her hazel eyes glossed over with lust. I could almost hear the primal sound of her moaning while getting gangbanged by a bunch of loud and rowdy frat boys, see their eager hands grabbing, slapping and pulling at her tits, their thick fingers buried in her flesh as they gripped her hips, each one taking his turn, pumping roughly into her juicy cunt. Even better was picturing Abby’s red head buried between the shapely thighs of a drunken cheerleader lapping hungrily at the plump young pussy spread before her, sucking on the swollen clit and thrusting her little tongue, like a tiny dagger, as deep inside as it could go, devouring greedily, until her pretty face glistened with come. These images, like flames, burned brightly inside my mind, igniting a heat deep inside me that seemed to fill the room until I couldn’t breathe.

  Despite my indifference, Abby knew I savored those intimate stories. They were her way of making up for all the stress she caused me, but what she didn’t realize was how I used those stories to keep myself company during my long and lonely nights of study-induced isolation. How easy it had been to recall the naughty glint behind her autumn eyes, and the sound of excitement twinkling in her voice as she relived her sexual conquests. Her words created my fantasies, filling my head to the brink, destroying my concentration until I couldn’t help but touch myself. Daydreaming about Abby was my only relief. I would bring myself to orgasm over and over again, until my body was limp and shaking. The best thought of all, though, was wondering what Abby would do if she happened to walk in and catch me in the act. This fantasy was truly unbearable and always made me come the hardest.

  “You’re pretty quiet over there,” Steve said, glancing at me with concern.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Thinking about the good old days?”

  “Yeah,” I chuckled. “Something like that.” If only he knew.

  By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I was already wet. She was there and waiting, sitting cross-legged at the bar in a typical Abby dress, too short and too tight, sipping on a lime margarita. Even in the dimly lit space I could see that time wasn’t having much of an effect on her. Her beauty appeared virtually unchanged, perhaps a little more refined since the last time we had seen each other. Her in-your-face sex appeal had been polished into something a little more alluring and sophisticated, but still the air around her sparkled with the promise of sexual ecstasy.

  “Cami!” she squealed, jumping down from her perch and bouncing over to embrace me tightly. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “It’s good to see you, too, Abby,” I laughed, holding on a little longer than I should have.

  We walked together arm in arm as the hostess showed us to our table. Steve commented on being the envy of all the men in the restaurant as he pulled out our chairs; I couldn’t help but notice the way his brown eyes never left her cleavage as he said it. I could hardly blame him; her body was a forbidden fruit, ripe with possibility.

  It didn’t take the two of us long to catch up, and by the time the first round of drinks had been served, it felt as if no time had passed between us at all. That’s how it was with Abby; she always knew just how to speak to me, how to use the soft edges of her words, or the slight touch of her hand to draw me out of my shell. We laughed so hard our cheeks ached, and talked until the blazing sky outside had faded to black.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the sangria, or the magic of her presence, but somewhere over the course of the meal, I realized that our conversation had become flirtatious. It was only halfhearted at first, playful, like a dirty joke, or a compliment with a sensual twist, but along the way, between the appetizers and entrees, our words had begun to carry the weight of intention. My normally reserved inhibitions had become nothing more than a crumbling wall, letting loose a strange new idea which skittered nervously along the outskirts of my mind. I couldn’t deny how much I wanted her; curiosity had burned inside me for so long, it had become a dull aching throb. I could never go behind my husband’s back though; cheating was cheating, even with a woman, but if I had his permission…

  I knew Steve wouldn’t mind sharing me with another woman; he himself had said what a turn-on it would be. “What guy hasn’t thought about being with two women?” he’d joked. Only one question remained; could I share my husband without jealousy ripping me apart?

  The three of us together—the image flickered like a firefly behind my eyes. Just the very thought of it spread the rousing warmth of desire throughout my entire body, making my palms sweat and my hands tremble ever so slightly. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, enjoying the smooth silky feeling of freshly shaved skin, although doing so only seemed to stimulate the growing heat between my legs. I could tell similar thoughts were stirring in Abby based on the way she kept biting at her lower lip, a sexy little habit she’d had since college, and something she only did when sex was on her mind. I knew she’d always had a thing for Steve, admitting to me once how hot his tall and muscular frame made her, and how she wished she’d fucked more football players when she had the chance. I knew I could trust him, so I took it as a compliment. Maybe tonight she would have the opportunity, a little voice whispered in my head.

  “I don’t want this night to end,” Abby sighed, gazing at me with her golden-green eyes. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed, holding her stare, hoping she could sense my hidden longing.

  “I know,” Steve interjected. “You’re staying not too far from here, right, Abby? Why don’t we buy a bottle or two of wine and head over for a nightcap?”

  “Sounds good to me,” she said, handing the waitress her credit card and flashing me that knowing smile I remembered all too well. Grinning to myself as we left the restaurant, I couldn’t help but relish the sound of my own high heels clicking across the terra-cotta tiles. Tonight I was going to lead the way, consequences be damned.

  Abby had booked a room in the historic district, just off the boulevard, in a quaint little bed-and-breakfast known as the Ava House. Complete with white shutters and a wraparound porch, it was a charming old house, with years of character in every nook and cranny. Abby never stayed in hotels when she traveled, claiming they were too conventional and generic. Instead she found places where she felt inspired, then used that inspiration later on in her paintings. We tiptoed like sneaky teenagers up the stairs to the top floor, the timeworn hardwood creaking under our feet as our muffled laughter filled the dark hallway.

  Once safely in the room, I excused myself to the bathroom and faced the mirror. My outward reflection was calm, but beneath my smooth unruffled exterior, a potent combination of insecurity and excitement churned. I splashed cold water on my wine-flushed cheeks and scrutinized the woman framed in glass. Did I really have the guts to go through with my plan? This was something Abby would do, not me—not the good girl—yet, in that moment, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  In the bedroom just beyond, I could hear Abby’s laughter bubbling brightly as Steve lavished her with his charm. Her little crush was becoming more apparent with each glass of wine. I loved and trusted them both; who better to live out this fantasy with? Still, I worried, wondering if they would reject my advances. Not likely, I thought as I listened to their flirty banter. My anticipation intensified my desire. I needed this. A life lived vicariously through someone else was no life at all, even if that person was as outrageous and beautiful as Abby. Tonight I needed to live for myself, throw my worrisome what-ifs in the trash, and be the woman I had only dared be in my dreams. I reapplied my lipstick—dark red, the color of rebellion—and fluffed up my short blonde bob with a few small head flips before exiting.

  “We were beginning to wonder if you fell in!” Steve laughed and handed me a fresh glass of wine. I sashayed over to him, accepting the proffered drink, and nestled down in his lap.
I could feel his arousal through my skirt and made it a point to squirm more than usual. Sexual tension infused the air like smoke; it was in every look and every movement, emanating from our pores, but years of self-control and inexperience made navigating the situation difficult. I took a long sip of wine, letting the dry bitterness coat my throat, a shot of liquid courage. It was now or never. Seizing the moment, I made my move, leaning in toward Steve for a kiss.

  I knew Steve would be expecting the standard married kiss, quick and modest, but little did he know that tonight I had no intention of being anything of the sort. I parted my lips, coaxing Steve’s mouth open with my tongue, inviting him to stay awhile longer. Instinctively, he obliged, but kept himself properly restrained. When he finally did pull back, his eyes were wide and uncertain; it wasn’t like me to show such public displays of affection. I bent forward again, this time holding his face firmly between my hands, keeping his mouth from escaping my own.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “Kissing you,” I replied, careful to keep the rhythm going despite our bits of conversation.

  “But what about Abby, darling? We don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable.”

  I stopped then, looking at her directly. “You don’t mind, do you sweetie?” A wicked smile uncoiled itself on my lips.

  “Not at all,” she answered back. Then, like a dare, added coyly, “You know I like to watch.”

  Picking up our kiss where it left off, I watched her watching me, the thrill of exhibition soaking my panties. I wanted her closer, and beckoned to her with my fingers. Accepting my invitation, Abby sauntered over, sitting down next to us on the couch, her eyes never leaving our mouths. Sitting so close I could see her pupils dilate, and knew the scene was turning her on. Much to my surprise, Steve made the next move. Tentatively, he reached out his hand and rested it atop her bare knee, caressing it with his thumb in slow circles, careful not to let his lips stray from mine.