Random Acts of Lust

by Primula Bond

  My breasts tumbled forwards, bouncing against his face. I let them rest there for a moment, relishing the sensation of that mouth so close to my nipples. Then I raised myself up to look at him. I was rubbing myself against him without knowing it, hungry to get him inside me. Everything about him was irresistible, his eyes, his full lips, the little bubbles of saliva at the corners like a kid impatient to tell you something, the pulse pummelling in his tanned neck.

  He reached under me and unzipped his trousers, hoisting his hips up to pull them right off.

  ‘I wish I was the first,’ someone, me, said into the quiet.

  ‘You were always the first for me, mademoiselle. Now, give me those tits, so good, good enough to eat. Christ, I want to fuck you.’

  ‘Embrasse moi,’ I whispered.

  He cupped my breasts, massaged them together, rubbed them against his mouth. I licked my lips like a porn star. After all this time I had this boy on my bed, a familiar stranger. I wanted to hold off the pleasure for as long as I could bear. Meanwhile there was other pleasure to be had. His cock, released from his trousers, was jerking upwards, banging against my stomach as I started to rock against it, letting my pussy open gently against its length.

  He held my thighs open, my clit grazing his cock. I looked out at the darkening day, over to his mother’s house and that empty window, shivering with all that returning pleasure.

  ‘I want to suck your tits, mademoiselle,’ Charlie whispered, threatening to lift me on to his cock. ‘I want it all to come true.’

  ‘So you can go back and tell the boys?’

  I smiled at the fantasy, because it was mine now. Now that it was safe. All those burgeoning boys creeping into the cold spare room, parting the curtains to spy on me, peeping toms one and all, hard young cocks in their hands, watching us.

  So I leaned over him, letting the tip of his cock touch inside my lips, and dangled my breasts over his lovely face, juicy like fruit. My nipples were raspberry dark with desire. They were inches from his mouth and lips and tongue and teeth. He was my boy once, but now he was my very own man. And I wanted him to suck me.

  I arched my back and thrust my dark, aching nipples towards his waiting mouth. The moment closed in around us. I’d forgotten how pleasure does that, presses down on you, obliterating everything else. All we both wanted, before the fucking, was this sucking, this sucking.

  His hands came up from my hips, slid up my ribcage until they reached the outward curve of my breasts. I breathed in tiny gasps as his hands slid closer. I could hardly breathe. The room felt colder, but my skin was sizzling. His body was straining up under me. My nipples were swollen now, each one the size of the tip of his little finger.

  ‘Let me,’ he groaned. I rubbed one across his mouth. I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach. His face flooded with red heat. His curly hair sprang with sweat.

  I let my nipples hover just above his mouth, torturing us both. I felt his cock jump in my hands, his warm balls shrinking back.

  Downstairs, more doors were opening to let out the noise. They were calling our names –

  ‘Let’s hope they find the petits fours’, Charlie laughed.

  ‘And leave us alone.’ I laughed, too. ‘Now, where we were?’

  I pushed my swollen breasts into his face again. My nipple spiked up, poking against his palm. I went limp as his fingers closed round. I spread my knees to lower myself, my pussy opening, my breasts jumping into his face with each heart beat.

  My stomach tightened as he played with both breasts, moulded them, squeezed until I could bear it no longer. I lay on him, smothering him, so that he had no choice but to nuzzle in between, press each breast against each of his hot cheeks. My breasts were heavy with wanting. I rubbed one taut nipple against his mouth again and again like coaxing a lamb to suckle. Just the sight of me offering it to him made me want to come. I jammed myself against his legs, my pussy tight with longing.

  His tongue flicked out and I angled the tit right into his mouth. His lips nibbled up, tongue lapping round, then, at last, he drew the burning bud in, pulling hard, and began to suck. Sparks pricked at me. I closed my eyes as the sensations ripped through me. And yes, I admit, I pictured him as the eager schoolboy he was when I was his French mistress, eyeing me up secretly, wanting me, and me, finally, taking his virginity.

  Charlie grabbed the other breast roughly and turned his head this way and that, lapping and sucking, snuffling through his nose to breathe, groaning, biting and kneading harder and harder as if he owned my breasts now. It wasn’t enough for one breast to be suckled, they both had to be. That’s what really does it for me. Suck one, pinch the other until they’re both singing with pain. So the harder I pushed into his face, the quicker he learned, the harder he bit and chewed and pinched, and the sharper my pleasure.

  ‘Fuck me,’ a woman howled, and it was me.

  ‘Show me,’ he grunted back.

  I wanted him to go on and on sucking and biting my tits, but I wanted his stiff cock in my cunt, too, feel it ramming up me. But somehow I still kept it slow. I wanted him to remember every single move.

  I planted my knees on either side of his thighs so I was straddling him, still crushing his head between my tits, still making him suck. I wanted him to suck and suck for ever, except that soon I would come against his leg, grinding against him like some randy bitch and what sort of lesson would that be?

  As my nipples burned and throbbed, I slithered down onto his stiff dick. If I wasn’t careful he’d come like a bloody train, before I wanted him to. I ground myself onto him, my toy, my boy, sucking my tits as if they’d make him stronger. I tilted myself over him.

  ‘See how beautiful it is,’ I crooned at him, rising to show him his cock slicked with my juices. ‘See how well it’s going to fit.’

  He let go of my nipples, letting them sing with pain in the cold air, and lay back, spreading his arms out lazily. His hair tangled across my duvet. He never seemed to stop grinning.

  ‘Like I said. Fuck me like I know nothing, mademoiselle.’

  I aimed the tip of his cock towards my bush, let it rest just there, but it nudged into my wet lips and I shuddered as each inch went in. He lay there and watched me. I pushed my breasts at him, for more sucking, but he watched me, and that made me so horny I wanted to scream. I started to move up and down, relishing the way my tits bounced just above his face, rubbing the nipples across his collar bone, his chest, to get the friction, but going wild with the way he was making me work for my pleasure.

  I couldn’t hold on to it for much longer, and I let him slide up inside, all the way to the hilt. It was tempting to ram it, but once it was right in I forced myself away again.

  ‘Make me fuck you!’

  We’d both lost the power of language. Fuck was the only word we knew.

  I moaned in answer, tossed my head back, and down I went onto him again, holding onto his hips so that he was in as I ground myself down on him.

  He filled me. God, there were years of wild lovemaking ahead for him and any woman lucky enough to have him. I swung my breasts over his face, saw the blood rushing there, his mouth dropping open as we started to jerk frantically and rock together.

  I pressed one nipple into his open mouth, moaned as he took it and sucked it, pushed harder so that he chewed and bit and pinched at the other, sucked me so hard that it made me whimper joyously with the blazing pain

  I was riding him now, jacking up the rhythm, rocking up and down his cock. I needed to ease the urge to come, but of course that only made it worse and more intense and I was getting tighter and tighter, holding him like a vice and his cock was getting even harder, harder with each frantic thrust, ramming right up inside.

  ‘Tell me I’m the best of all the guys you ever had,’ he suddenly shouted, grabbing my hips and lifting me off him. ‘Want to hear you say it.’

  ‘Shut up and fuck me, Charlie.’

  His nails dug into me. ‘Tell me, you bitch, tell me I’m the bes
t!’

  ‘You’re the best, baby,’ I said. And I meant it. ‘You’re my boy. Young, gorgeous, well hung, strong, eager, dirty, fresh, obedient –’

  Then I flicked myself so that his cock slipped up inside again. I was trapping him inside me and going at him so that we were welded together, releasing him so that he could draw back, trapping again as he tensed his buttocks and thrust inside, throwing his head back, pulling my tits with his teeth, thrusting faster now and faster, hearing my own crackling gasps of pleasure as I came and he saw me coming and he laughed with disbelief as he tensed and hardened to bursting point and shot it up me.

  I slumped forwards onto his chest and listened to the drumming of his heart. I thought my head was empty, but I heard myself say ‘I wish I’d been the one to break you.’

  His laugh rumbled under my ear. ‘Make me, you mean.’

  I got off him. I went to sit on the chair opposite, my legs spread sluttishly apart. Although I was spent I still fondled my sore nipples, keeping them hard.

  People were restless downstairs, moving about in the hall. We heard our names. Slowly he got off the bed, packed his gorgeous cock away, opened my door, beckoned to me.

  ‘Did you really tell the boys you’d fucked me?’ I asked him. ‘All my pupils?’

  ‘It was my secret.’ He shook his head solemnly. Then he really grinned. ‘But wait till they hear about this!’

  And they all watched us tumbling down the stairs together, giggling like school kids and flushed and ripped and dripping wet with sex.

  ‘Ever wondered how I got to be so fluent in French, Mum?’ Charlie said, sauntering over to the punch bowl and lifting the ladle.

  ‘What you talking about?’ Hilde absently tucked a corner of Charlie’s tee shirt into his trousers. ‘Lovely party by the way, Mary liebe.’

  Poppy’s jaw was dropping. Chloe was sulking. The nephews were oblivious. The men were looking at me with eyes on stalks.

  ‘Mademoiselle Mary taught me everything I know,’ Charlie said, pulling me over to him, running his hand up my spine. ‘And that’s why, tomorrow, she’s riding on my pillion all the way to Paris.’

  Cougar

  THE GALLERY DOMINATED ONE corner of the Meatpacking District, turning its chic facade disdainfully away from the wind blasting off the Hudson River and instead facing a huge Abercrombie and Fitch billboard of a naked male torso in monochrome. Up above, greenery trailed off the rusting steel struts of the old High Line.

  ‘You take that photograph, Sophie?’ Stella asked, draping an arm around Sophie’s neck as they stared out of the huge window. ‘Looks just your style.’

  ‘Honey, if I had we’d all be millionaires.’ Sophie tapped her fingernails on the glass. ‘I wouldn’t be criss-crossing the Pond like this selling my wares.’

  ‘You make it sound like you’re some kind of tinker.’ Stella handed her old friend another glass of champagne. ‘This is art, girl. Your art. You’ve been taking classy photographs since we left school. And at last people are starting to get it. You’ve made more money this evening than that wheeler dealer husband of yours makes in a month.’

  ‘How do you know how much my Martin makes?’

  Stella ran her tongue over her blood-red lips and winked. ‘Pillow talk, darling. You know, a few years back when you had other fish to fry and you lent him to me that long hot summer?’

  Sophie laughed. The kind of laughter that came very close to tears. ‘OK, fair enough. You’re the only one who can knock some sense into him –’

  ‘Fuck some sense you mean –’

  ‘OK, enough already.’ Sophie held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘You’re only allowed to borrow him when he’s gone too far with this open marriage lark. When even I’ve had enough of fucking his friends.’ Sophie stared again at the monochrome six-pack on the billboard opposite and the traffic lights swaying in the wind in front of it. ‘When he’s taken one mistress too far –’

  ‘So you find some friends of your own to fuck.’ Stella turned quickly away. Too quickly.

  ‘Well, he’s promised to abstain while I’m here. It’s a test. A big test.’

  ‘Oh, quit fretting. He’ll be good as gold.’ Stella was distracted. I could tell by the way she was tugging at her dress. ‘But in the meantime you’ll have to make do with me for company. See that young sales chappie at the back desk, there? The one who’s been flogging your work all night and is now adding up all those lovely numbers? Those numbers equal your success, girl. Enjoy!’

  She waved her hand at the few remaining punters padding quietly round the gallery, gazing thoughtfully at the images framed on the whitewashed walls. At the red dots in the corner of nearly half the frames.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Sophie, glancing at her watch. ‘Jake and Seb are meeting us a bit later at the Gramercy rooftop bar.’

  ‘It was a shame they were too busy to pop by this evening to support you.’

  ‘I forgive them. They’re tycoons in the making –’

  ‘Just like Daddy?’

  ‘And they’re taking you and me out for a slap-up meal later!’

  ‘Oh, they’re good boys really.’ Stella nodded vaguely, but she had that look in her eye. That Italian mumma look, like she wanted to eat something juicy for breakfast. ‘But isn’t he just the cutest?’

  Sophie glanced over at the guy behind the desk. Daniele, the gallery owner, had jetted off somewhere, leaving his assistant in charge. But she’d not really noticed him once the party started. He was cute, sure, in a squeaky-clean kind of way. Sleek and groomed, but still young enough, she noticed, to cut himself shaving.

  Stella licked her finger and smoothed down one unruly curl. ‘He looks like a young, just discovered Brad Pitt, no? When he was about to fuck Thelma. Or was it Louise?’

  Sophie slapped at her friend’s bare arm. ‘Thelma and Louise is right, doll. We’re old enough to be his mothers!’

  ‘You reckon he can handle two mothers?’ Stella put her arm round Sophie’s waist. ‘Well, you’re the Susan Sarandon one, whichever she was. You’ve got the hair and the eyes and the tits.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m a dead ringer,’ Sophie breathed, mirroring Stella’s gesture as the young guy ushered the last remaining guests out of the gallery. ‘But she wasn’t the one who got fucked by a boy in cowboy boots, was she?’

  The cuddle wasn’t just for show. She loved Stella. She loved her big, warm body, her warped loyalty, and her filthy mind. The guy glanced at them as he flicked the spotlights off over the door to show the gallery was closed. Stella couldn’t resist it. She slid her mouth across Sophie’s pale cheek and let her tongue flick out, like a snake’s, across the other woman’s scarlet-painted lips.

  ‘Which means he’s mine.’ Stella chuckled. Sophie parted her lips very slightly, almost reluctantly, keeping her eyes on the boy, and delicately sucked at the tip of Stella’s tongue. Martin would be stunned. She squirmed against Stella’s hip. ‘Ooh, fuck, I’m horny. Look at him. Box fresh. And he’s got that young boy’s mouth, you know, all red and wet and glistening, like he’s only just spat out the teat?’ Stella moved away from Sophie and tipped her spine so that her big breasts swelled out of her low-cut black dress. She actually purred. ‘Todd? Or is it Grant?’

  The guy gulped. His hands flew up to the knot in his tie. ‘Er, it’s Matt, actually.’

  ‘Talk about Bambi caught in the headlights! You’ve scared the poor baby out of his wits,’ Sophie hissed as Stella strained at the leash. ‘Forget Brad Pitt. Those glasses make him look like Clark Kent!’

  ‘So, Matt darling.’ Stella swayed across the polished wooden floor. She was in full Sophia Loren mode. I’d seen grown men – my husband, amongst others – go pale when she bore down on them like this. And I mean bore down. I knew her favourite position was on top, because I’d seen her in action, crushing them beneath her warm, curvy body, working up a sweat, clamping them between her strong brown thighs like some kind of Venus fly trap. Suffocating them between her bre
asts, pushing her huge dark nipples, elongated and stiff with desire, into their eager, sucking mouths. ‘What are you doing after you lock up here tonight?’

  The guy clicked his pen shut, stared straight at the huge breasts curving out of Stella’s tight dress. He smoothed his silk tie down over his crisp white shirt, plucked his jacket closed.

  ‘Have to go over these figures with Mrs Epsom.’

  Stella stopped and flung her hands on her jutting hips, Carmen-style. ‘Well, hush my mouth! You turning me down, boy?’

  ‘Signor Tremelli told me to be sure to get the figures checked.’ Matt glanced past her bare shoulder at Sophie. He licked his lips nervously. Just spat out the teat, huh? Sophie’s stomach tightened. Good. It reminded her to suck it in. The dove grey Roland Mouret dress and these teetering red Laboutin heels took no prisoners, after all.

  ‘Daniele Tremelli has spoken, Stella. So put him down!’ Sophie exclaimed, flushing hot. The dress felt too tight now, pulling in around her breasts, squeezing her bottom so all you could do was wiggle. Stella swore under her breath. Matt scuttled back to the desk and held the accounts book in front of him like a shield. ‘Go make yourself useful. Get yourself to the Gramercy Park and tell my sons I’ll be a little late.’

  ‘Fifty says you’re so busy obsessing about that no-good husband of yours back home you won’t have this lovely boy’s cock out in half an hour.’ Stella crooked a finger through the window and by magic a yellow cab stopped outside. ‘It’s your big night, after all, honey,’ she called, swaying out of the door. ‘So don’t let me down!’

  It was like Stella had sucked the life out of the room once she’d gone. Sophie couldn’t breathe. She stared at Matt across the half-lit gallery.

  ‘You’ve gone way over Daniele’s projected target figures, Mrs Epsom,’ Matt said, perching on the edge of the desk and swinging one long leg. ‘It’s all good news.’

  ‘All down to you, Matt, seducing the clients.’ Sophie murmured, coming closer and staring at his flushed cheek. ‘So which is your favourite?’