Abby uncrossed her legs so they fell open slightly, allowing Steve’s hand better access. Taking the hint, he began inching higher and higher up her tender inner thigh, and as I watched it rise, so did my desire. He stopped just below the hem of her dress, his hand shaking. He looked at me, his dark eyes desperate for my permission. Abby waited patiently. I was sure she expected my answer to be no. She didn’t think I had the nerve, but I wasn’t the same person she had known—not in this room, not tonight. I wasn’t sure yet who I was becoming, but one thing was certain: I was no longer afraid. I stared at her boldly as I laid my hand over Steve’s and guided it up the rest of the way, giving them both my wholehearted consent.
Abby whimpered softly as Steve’s fingers made contact with her pussy. It didn’t surprise me that she wasn’t wearing any panties; she never had in college either. I couldn’t believe the rush of fire between my legs at seeing my husband’s fingers exploring Abby like that. I hesitated only slightly before taking the final plunge, pressing her full lips to mine. Her velvet mouth moved like a slow dance against my own, the faint trace of perfume from her lipstick lingering on my tongue. It was gentle, yet strangely familiar.
After a few shared kisses with Abby, I slid from Steve’s lap and onto my knees. My hands worked fast to undo his pants, releasing his solid cock from its restraint. I was amazed at how hard and ready he already was. Eagerly, I took him into my mouth, moving my head up and down his length.
“Oh my god,” Steve groaned.
I knew Abby was watching my naughty little performance, which only made me more intent on giving Steve the best blow job he’d ever had. I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing his cock deeper down my throat, at the same time Abby’s perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around its thick base and stroked it in perfect rhythm with my sucking. While Steve fucked my mouth, I listened to the wet sounds of him and Abby kissing and the quiet moans of pleasure flowing freely between her mouth and his. Her legs were open wide and I watched in awe as his fingers disappeared inside her. I saw the slickness of her pussy shimmering on Steve’s fingers as he worked them in and out.
“Mmm,” said Abby. “You make that look so good, Cami. Mind if I have a turn?”
I moved over, making room for her to kneel beside me, and she took over with a ferocity that quickly brought Steve to the edge. I devoured this scene with my eyes—my best friend sucking my husband’s cock, him pumping into the soft center of her mouth and groaning like a wild animal. It was surreal, like the sensation of some faraway dream that would be forgotten in the morning.
“You’ve been wanting this all night, haven’t you, Steve?” My words were more of a statement than a question.
“Fuck yeah,” he grunted.
I kept waiting for the inevitable jealousy to come and rip through the moment, but it never did. Instead the fever between my legs only seemed to escalate. Abby’s mascara began to run as she forced Steve’s cock even deeper down her throat, the delicious sounds of her slurping and gagging my own personal aphrodisiac. I knew Steve wasn’t going to last much longer. I wanted him to come—better yet, I wanted to see Abby make him come.
“Don’t stop,” I ordered, gripping Abby’s hair with my fingers, pulling and pushing her head down on to Steve. “Suck his fucking cock, you slut,” I heard myself say. “That’s right, choke on it.” I couldn’t believe I was saying these things; my voice sounded unfamiliar, even to me. Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief, but he was too close to coming to form any words. Abby groaned loudly; I knew from all her stories how much she liked dirty talk.
“Finish him off,” I said. “I wanna see his come dripping off your chin.”
“Holy shit,” Steve growled, finally losing control. Just as I commanded, he shot his load all over Abby’s waiting mouth.
While Steve regained his composure, Abby and I ripped at each other’s clothes and moved closer to the bed. Although I’d seen her naked plenty of times during school, nothing could have prepared me for the vulnerability I felt standing naked in front of her. She looked at me and smiled, pearls of come still shining on her chest. Everywhere her eyes traveled left a trail of goose bumps on my skin. My heart was pounding against my ribs, so loud I was sure that she could hear it.
“You always did have the nicest tits,” she said with admiration. “Since the day I met you I’ve wanted to know what they would feel like in my mouth. Why don’t you feed them to me,” she whispered.
Unable to deny her, I cupped my heavy breasts and brought them to her lips. Electricity blasted through every vein in my body as her tongue flickered lightly across my nipples. I whimpered helplessly, no longer in control of my actions. Raw instinct had taken over my body; it moved with a will of its own. I looked over at Steve; he was absorbed in the scene before him, a gnawing hunger growing in his eyes. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be ready again.
Arching my back, I thrust my tits farther into her mouth, feeling like I could come standing there just like that. Not yet though; I pulled away. It was her turn first, and I wanted to own her. Bringing her mouth to mine, I tasted the salty tang of Steve’s come on her lips. It tasted good, and I followed the sticky line, kissing her from her neck down the soft slope of her breast. A small metal barbell jutted through her left nipple. I took it between my teeth, tugging gently. I heard her sharp intake of breath and knew she was as close as I was. “Oh god,” she breathed against my neck. Her tits filled my hands and then some, as soft as the inside of a shell.
“Lie down, Abby,” I quietly demanded, “and spread your legs.” She followed instructions well.
Gathering up her legs, I brought her hairless pussy within inches of my face. I opened her up with my tongue and lapped at her hot little opening. She was sweet and tart like a strawberry; I savored every last drop of her juice.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she panted, pulling my head in deeper.
My own pussy was slick and swollen, aching to be filled. My ass gyrated like I was fucking the air. Stroking my clit, I could feel my orgasm building deep within my core.
“Come in her face,” Steve said as he plunged into me from behind. He bucked wildly, his staying power all but gone. As his cock stretched me in a painfully sweet way, I penetrated Abby with two fingers, thrusting them inside her the same way Steve’s cock was thrusting into me. The force of his fucking pushed my face hard into the folds of her cunt, while she added to the intensity by grinding against my mouth. I nipped and sucked at her engorged clit, feeling it quiver under my tongue as she screamed her release.
I closed my eyes, my own orgasm ripping through me. Bursts of light and color exploded like a comet shooting across the sky. We roared together. Abby’s pussy milked my fingers. I moaned with pleasure, imagining how good I was making Steve feel, too.
“Let me taste her,” Steve said. I pulled out my fingers, coated in Abby’s sweet syrup. I offered them to him to suck clean, then kissed him deeply, tasting all three of us at once.
We untangled and collapsed into a quivering heap of arms and legs. Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, casting a silver glow on our sweat-covered bodies.
“No fair,” Abby pouted. “I never got to taste you.”
“Maybe next time,” I replied breathlessly, sated and empowered. Now that I knew what I’d been missing, next time couldn’t come soon enough.
ORGANICALLY GROWN
Brandy Fox
When I got herpes from my husband and found out he was cheating on me, I kicked him out and took solace in the unlikeliest of places—our neighborhood natural food market. It fed me, both literally and figuratively. The rainbow of color in the produce section made my day feel brighter. The giant bins of granola and brown rice and whole-wheat flour assured me the world overflowed with possibility. I’d take a cold plunge by gliding through the freezer section, then dash to the deli to defrost by the rotisserie. The comfort of slow-cooked food, the pungent smell of bulk spices—a dizzying array of curry, basil, cayenne and ginger—
and the knowledge that everything in the store was produced fairly and sustainably never failed to lull me into a state of pure bliss.
My five-year-old, Lily, loved it, too. But her reason was much simpler: she got a free piece of fruit on each visit. So we started grocery shopping every day. I probably should have been spending less time at the market and more time at GreenSingles.com. But after getting burned by my husband, I was paranoid about giving someone herpes or getting something even worse. Visiting the market every day and cooking up a fresh meal for Lily and me, then heading to bed with my dildo and a good collection of erotic stories, satisfied my every need.
And then the market hired a new produce guy.
There is something incredibly hot about a man in a vinyl apron handling organic fruit and vegetables. When that man has a smile so bright it could power a grow light and hemp jeans that hug tight glutes, it’s easy to find excuses to return to the produce section multiple times in one trip. Within a couple weeks, we were on a first-name basis with Frank the Hot Produce Guy.
One day I wore a black T-shirt made of organic cotton that wrapped like iceberg lettuce around my melon-sized breasts, with a low-cut V-neck that dipped low on my cleavage. I paired it with a colorful pendant and butt-hugging low-rider jeans for another trip to the grocery store, where Lily got a piece of free fruit and I got a free peek at Frank.
When the automatic doors parted to let us in, he was sorting fruit near the entrance. He greeted us with that electric smile. His gaze flicked down to my chest, then back to the peaches cupped in his hands.
“Free fruit!” my daughter shouted from the cart.
“What would you like today, Lily? Peaches? Strawberries?” Frank teased, because Lily always asked for an apple. “How about a banana?”
I’d like your banana.
As if he’d heard my dirty thoughts, his emerald eyes met mine. Was it my imagination, or was he blushing? I gripped the cart handle, trying to calm my racing pulse.
“Apple!” Lily shouted.
I wheeled the cart to the apples and let my hands linger over their smooth green skins before choosing one and handing it to Frank. As he took it, our fingers brushed, sending a charge through my abdomen. Now I was the one turning red.
When he returned with a cup of apple wedges, I thanked him. His eyes trailed down my clavicle to my pendant, then paused at my tits before coming up for air at my face. “Anytime, Gayle,” he said with a husky voice that made the back of my neck sweat.
Reluctantly, I headed toward the dairy section for bulk eggs. Lily was too busy munching on apples to bother climbing out, so I parked the cart and grabbed my empty egg carton. With one knee, I propped the door open and bent down to choose the eggs one at a time. The brisk air cooled my flushed face and chest. I bent lower to let the air tease at my nipples. Movement in the back where stockers lurk to refill the dairy section made me look up. There, beyond the shelves of milk, those emerald eyes were staring.
I followed his gaze to my chest. What little was hidden underneath my T-shirt was all revealed now: the black bra, scooped down to show my taut nipples.
I gasped. The egg in my hand slipped and splattered on the floor near my feet.
“Oops, Mommy!” Lily shouted from the cart.
Instantly, Frank was by my side with a roll of paper towels. “I’ll get that,” he said, kneeling so that his pants tightened around his firm legs.
“I am so sorry!” I said, although I didn’t feel entirely responsible for the mess. I knelt down and held out my hand for some towels to help clean up.
He glanced at my hand, my chest, then the floor. “No problem. It’s not your fault.” He smiled mischievously.
“Yes, it is.” Lily corrected him. “Mommy dropped the egg.”
Frank swiped the floor one last time with a clean paper towel. “Well, yes. She did drop the egg.” His eyes wandered once again to my cleavage, then up to my eyes. “Do you still need more?” he asked, holding his hand out for the egg carton.
I gladly handed him the carton and watched his ass flex as he bent down. Cold air escaped around us and I imagined taking one of those eggs, crushing it against his asscheek and smearing it down his crack, around his balls and up his cock.
Abruptly, he turned around. “There you go.” He handed me the carton and eyed my flushed face.
As I wheeled the cart away, Lily said, “Mommy, you look sick.”
“I might be a little feverish,” I replied. “We better get going.”
I thought about Frank all the way home, my crotch twitching with the memory of his eyes on my bared breasts. I also noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring; I could ask him out. But the divorce was still so fresh, and the idea of juggling dates with single motherhood seemed daunting. First impressions and commitments and worrying about STDs and pregnancy—I just didn’t have the energy for all that. What I did want—craved!—was safe sex with no strings attached. Was that even possible?
At home, I put away the groceries and set Lily in front of “Sesame Street.” Claiming I needed to rest due to that fever, I went straight to my bedroom and pulled out my dildo.
In front of the full-length mirror, I stepped out of my jeans, spread my legs and lifted my shirt. I imagined the mirror to be the glass door between customers and the refrigerated section in the market, with Frank just beyond it, trapped behind the shelves of milk, watching me. He’s in nothing but his apron, holding it aside to grasp his hard shaft. I’m leaning back on a pile of tomatoes, mushing them into my backside so their warm juices drip down my inner thighs. He watches me lick my fingers and squirrel them under my G-string to massage the juice into my labia. With my other hand, I pull aside my bra and pinch my nipple. I sway my hips, pressing them into my fingers, working my clit into a knot of fire. His cock stings with cold as he works it between two milk jugs. Then I squat on the ground, insert the dildo and imagine him overwhelmed with the need to crash through the glass door and thrust his cock deep inside me. But he can only watch as I writhe over that dildo and fondle my nipples. I imagined both of us throwing back our heads, mouths open wide as we screamed in a simultaneous climax.
After coming, I sank to the floor and let my fingers linger on my groin and nipples. I added up the days until Lily would be at her dad’s house and I could grocery shop alone. Then I made a plan.
I put on nothing but a skirt and that same black T-shirt and returned during the slowest time of day. When I walked through the automatic doors, Frank was in his usual spot, shelving fruit and flashing his brilliant smile. “Hello, Gayle. No Lily today?”
“She’s at her dad’s house. Besides, there are certain errands I prefer to do alone.” I smiled deceptively and headed for the tomatoes and garlic.
From behind me, Frank asked, “Planning something delicious for dinner?” He was so close I could smell his woodsy cologne.
“I was thinking about a fresh marinara sauce.”
“Perfect day for it. Tomatoes were picked yesterday.” He picked up a hothouse tomato, tossed it into his other hand and lifted it toward the light on the tips of his fingers like a trophy. “Firm yet juicy.” His glance fell to my cleavage, then quickly back to the tomato. “Holds up in heat,” he continued. “Sautéed with a bit of olive oil and garlic, this tomato will be ecstasy on your tongue.” We both struggled against a smile.
“But it’s lost its stem,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t that mean its integrity has been compromised?”
He let the tomato drop into his palm. “You are absolutely right.” He tossed it aside like trash and let his hand hover over the rack of tomatoes, as though sensing their energy. He homed in on a pair, hooked his finger around the bright green stem joining the two, and lifted it. “Now these are perfect.”
I studied their undersides and declared, “One of them has a bruised bottom.”
He slapped his hand on his forehead. “Young lady, you are a tough sell.”
I chuckled at the “young lady” comment and glanced around at all the
tomatoes. “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m planning to make a lot. There don’t seem to be enough perfect ones here for an entire sauce. Is this all you have?”
His sharp emerald eyes met mine. “As a matter of fact,” he said, wagging a finger, “we have another box in back. Would you like me to…choose some for you?” His eyes swept down the length of my body. “Or better yet…”
“Could I possibly—”
“Come see them?”
“For myself?” I gazed longingly at him.
His eyes twinkled with understanding. He glanced around at the produce section. There was one other customer stuffing a bunch of broccoli into a plastic bag, looking to be in a hurry.
“Of course you can. Come this way.” He led me down the aisle and through the same doorway he always disappeared into when cutting up Lily’s apple. As I watched his ass muscles flex inside those tight hemp jeans, my pulse quickened. Was I really brave enough to do this?
I followed him around the corner and into a cool storage room with boxes of vegetables lined up on a counter. My breath caught with the sudden drop in temperature. He began looking through the boxes. Did he really think I was back here for tomatoes?
“Aha!” He came up with a perfect tomato. “These haven’t been over-handled like the ones on the floor. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for here.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame. “I think I found exactly what I’m looking for.” My gaze wandered to his bulge and lingered there for so long it grew right before my eyes.
The hand holding the tomato dropped to his side. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I…”
I approached him, stopping a couple inches away. Even in the cold room, the heat between us rose. I locked eyes with him and smiled knowingly. Then I caught sight of something behind him: a box of cucumbers. I reached around, took out the largest one I could find and held it up between us. “This is a gorgeous cucumber,” I purred. “Have you ever experienced anything like it before?”
Hungry for More Page 9
