by Violet Blue
I use one hand to guide the dildo and one to reach under you, stroking your cock as I press into you. “Breathe out,” I tell you, and push the head in; you take a sharp breath as you feel it popping into you. I’ve selected a particularly small dildo, but it’s still a big step for someone who’s never been fucked like this. I feel your muscles tense underneath me; then slowly you relax and I sink into you, stroking your cock as mine enters you all the way.
Hearing you moan like this turns me on all over again. I could easily make myself come, but now I’m more interested in feeling your cock surge and spurt in my hand. I lift myself up with one foot on the couch so that I can have more control as I slowly give you my cock, stroke after stroke. I hear nothing but pleased noises from you, but I’m very careful to go slow—however much I want to fuck you harder and harder until you scream.
The whole time, I’m fondling your cock, feeling it hard in my grasp, feeling dribbles of pre-come running down from the head. It would be easier if I made you stroke yourself, but I want to feel it as you come with my cock inside you. I hear your breath quickening. I pump your cock harder, sensing your anus loosening as you relax into the sensations, then tightening as you get closer to orgasm. Then, all at once, I realize you’re at the point of no return. Your body shudders, your cock throbs and spurts in my hand. I keep stroking, in and out of your ass, back and forth on your cock, until I hear a gasp from you and know you need me to pull out. I gently ease back, waiting for your tightened anus to release me of its own accord. My cock slips out and you let out a relieved sigh. I lay down on top of you, feeling you slump onto the couch. I rest my cock in the curve of your ass as I nuzzle your neck and whisper, “Now you’re mine. All mine.”
A Few Good Men
JASMINE HALL
We’d talked about it for years. You know, in the way that couples do. Almost shyly, confessing glittering secrets to one another late at night. Speaking softly of fantasies and daydreams. We’d shared just as much as we possibly could, pressing each other’s boundaries. Pushing preconceived limits. Making sure that our desires overlapped, and that at the end of the day we were each getting exactly what we wanted.
This concept started out like all the rest—with me and Marc under the sheets in our tiny bedroom, limbs entwined, voices hushed. “You tell me, then I’ll tell you—” was our game, a grown-up version of little kids playing doctor. When you’re with someone for a long time—like ten years—having any sort of secret is difficult to fathom. So when Marc told me his brand-new fantasy, his number one jerk-off vision on the X-rated dial, well, I had to make it come true.
“But would you be jealous?” he asked, concerned.
“Me?” I asked, incredulous.
His eyes brightened at my response, and he nodded and said, “That’s right. You’re never jealous.”
I’m not. I know that Marc and I are in it for the long haul. We have a bond that will last. Any other partners who happen to find their way into our boudoir—well, those are only small-time, bit-part players.
“How about you?” I whispered to him, trailing my fingers through the reddish fur on his chest. “How would you feel?”
He ducked his head for a moment, suddenly bashful. “I’d love it,” he told me. “Every fucking minute.”
So there it is. My defense. Why I did what I did. I knew exactly what would happen, planned in dreamy detail every single step of the way.
“Oh, fuck, you didn’t,” Marc said, his handsome face contorted in pain. His forehead furrowed, ginger-red eyebrows contracting as his green eyes squinted at me. I remained silent, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t say a word. He set his elbows on the table and then rested his chin in his hands, using his fingertips to gently massage his temples as if he had a seriously mood-darkening headache.
“I didn’t mean to.” There was a pouty edge to my voice.
“Lacey, I know you. I know all about your wicked sense of humor. Just tell me that you’re teasing, all right? Tell me now, and I’ll go easy on that sweet ass of yours later.”
“Easy?” I asked.
“I’ll only give you ten with the sole of my bedroom slipper instead of twenty.” I was pleased to see that he hadn’t entirely lost his sense of humor. “Sure, I can tell you that I’m teasing—”
His face brightened.
“—if you want me to lie to you.”
He sighed, obviously accepting the fact that I was actually offering him the truth. “But how?” he finally asked. “I mean, Christ, baby. How could that happen?” He ran his hand through his thick red hair in a helpless gesture.
Now, I just stared at him.
“All right, I know how. I’m sorry.”
We sat facing each other across the mint-green formica table. The videocassette case that usually held our favorite home-made X-rated creation was open. Inside rested a professionally made copy of A Few Good Men, the copy that belonged to our local video store. It was emblazoned with various messages in bold red ink: “Do not copy for personal use!” “Be kind, please rewind!”
“Just start at the beginning,” Marc said, his broad shoulders sagging dejectedly, so I tried. Still, he knew the story as well as I did. We’d been watching our video together on the couch, already half-naked and in a passionate clinch, when one of my friends had come down for a visit from the apartment upstairs. Quick to hide the evidence, I’d popped out the tape and handed it to Marc, who had slid it into the container for A Few Good Men. His erection was a little more difficult to conceal, but he’d left the room for a few minutes, to get himself under control. Slightly disheveled, I’d managed to open the door for Darlene, who had eyed me coolly and asked if I’d forgotten about our date. Yeah. Totally. Sex makes my brain a bit addled.
We’d had drinks with Darlene, had played a round of pool at the café around the corner, then come home and crashed. In the morning, I’d returned the wrong film to the corner store. So maybe it was my fault—but at least on the surface it wasn’t all my fault. Marc had been the one to put the video in that case in the first place. Sure, I knew what I was doing—but he didn’t have to know that. At least, not yet.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I should have reminded you this morning. But any way you look at it, the situation sucks, doesn’t it? We’ll never be able to go back there again. And we’ll be god-damned lucky if the next person to rent the film doesn’t upload our dirty movie and sell it for a million bucks on the Internet. I mean, we won’t even get a cut of the profits.”
“We’re not Pamela and Tommy Lee.”
“You’re as hot as she is.”
Charmed, I smiled at him, then ran my fingertips along the bodice of the pale blue halter-style top I had on. The one with the ruffle in the front and the tie in the back. I wanted Marc to notice what I was wearing, to pay attention to the fact that this story might not have such a devastating ending after all. I’d spent extra time this evening on my hair and makeup. A dark merlot hue glossed my lips. A silver band held my long hair up in a shining dark ponytail. My skimpy halter was on over no bra. My skirt was slightly more than semisheer and beneath I was completely pantyless.
“What?” he asked, catching onto some change of emotion in the air, but not able to fully identify what I was trying to tell him.
I just kept smiling slyly.
“Come on,” he said. “Spill it, Lacey. I’ve had enough unexpected news for one day. And I’m serious about my slipper meeting your upturned ass.”
“You know that guy who works there—”
“One of the metal-heads?” he asked, but it was obvious to both of us that he was intentionally playing dumb. Yes, there’s a slew of dipsy-dyed, multiply-pierced youngsters who work the cash register at Red Rocket Video, but there is one young buck in particular who has caught Marc’s eye in the past. Among the motley crew of video fiends, this attractive creature stands out. His build. His attentiveness. His way of cruising both Marc and me with his sexy, gray-eyed gaze. It’s always been a
dangerous turn-on of ours to imagine bringing a third partner into bed with us. A young male partner. A player whose sole purpose is to soak up our devoted attention. A lover like this one. This is the situation Marc had confessed to dreaming about late at night. This is the plan that I’d put into action.
At my unwavering stare, he answered his own question. “Alden?”
I nodded.
“What about him?”
I was about to tell, when the doorbell rang.
“We’re not playing pool again with Darlene, are we? The girl can’t hit a ball to save her life.”
Shaking my head, I walked down the hallway. Before I opened the door, I looked back over my shoulder to where Marc still sat at our kitchen table. My expression should have told him everything he needed to know, but I gave him a clue just in case. “Alden’s coming to change tapes,” I said. “He caught the error at the rewind stage and is kindly giving us back ours—”
“And what are we giving him?” Marc asked, finally catching on to the fun. I pulled open the door, revealing Alden standing outside in a red Sex Pistols T-shirt and skin-tight black jeans. He had our tape in one hand and a bottle of expensive vodka in the other. He didn’t say a word, but followed me into our small apartment, then looked around the room and nodded in appreciation. The place is tiny bordering on mouse-hole minuscule. But it’s classy. Vibrantly colorful art hangs on all the walls, and we have a multimedia center that would make most directors go green.
“Your tape,” he said, placing it on top of the television set. I smiled when I noticed that he had rewound the cassette to the very beginning. To me, that meant he’d taken the time to view the piece in its entirety first. I also thought about the slogan: “Be kind, rewind.” How kind was Alden prepared on being?
“And here’s yours,” Marc said, entering the room and handing over the video. Alden looked at it, then looked at me. He appeared slightly nervous as he set the vodka and the correct video on the coffee table. Then he waited. Was it my job to make the first move?
“I liked your movie a lot,” he said, and that was all it took.
“Which part was your favorite?” Marc asked, taking a step closer. Suddenly, he was back in his own, rare form, taking the helm. I felt myself relax, knowing that he would be in charge. “This one?” he untied my halter as he spoke, and as the fabric fluttered forward he slid his hands under my small breasts, caressing my pert nipples with his thumbs. “Or this—” he continued, moving his hands now to the waistband of my feather-light skirt and slipping it down my thighs. I stepped out of the garment, then pulled my shirt over my head, so that I was entirely naked save for a pair of red, open-toed sandals. I knew just how good I looked—my skin glistening from a shimmering body lotion, my pussy cleanly shaved.
“To be honest,” Alden said, speaking to me, “I liked your role. High-class,” he continued. “The way you looked right at the camera when he made you come.”
“Ah,” Marc and I sighed together. Alden wanted to be in the middle. In a hurry, we made our way to our tiny bedroom. The king-sized mattress takes up almost the entire room, but that’s okay. The bed is the most important part. The boys were naked in moments, and Alden was in the center of the mattress, facing me. I felt his fingers wander over my collarbones, down my neck, over my breasts, toward my pussy as Marc got into position. I stared into Alden’s cloud-gray eyes, then let my own fingers take a trip along his body.
Touching a new lover for the first time always brings out a wide range of emotions in me. I took in every part of Alden’s face—his strong cheekbones, his high forehead, the light growth of raw whiskers on his jawline. I let my hands skim his strong chest, working my way down until I had a firm hold around his cock.
He let loose with a low, shuddering sigh, and that let me know exactly how to work him. Steadily. Firmly. A strong touch. A well-placed squeeze.
Marc was taking his time admiring Alden’s backside. He’d begun by licking in a line down Alden’s spine—I knew he was doing this, because Alden shivered and tensed at the sensation, which is exactly what I do when Marc kisses me like that. Then, with an anxious groan, he’d parted Alden’s tight rear cheeks and gotten ready to start the fucking.
To ease Alden’s suspense, I continued to play with his prick. It was long and strong and I ran my fingertips lightly along the shaft, then cupped my palm around the head. When Alden suddenly gripped onto me, I knew that Marc had driven his cock home. I turned fully on my side so that we were creating a sinfully decadent sexual smorgasbord—Alden the filling in a hero sandwich, with me and my man the bread. As I parted my thighs, Alden slid his cock into the wetness of my pussy, so that the three of us were truly connected.
With each thrust of Marc’s cock into Alden, the video store stud rocked his body into me. I held onto his shoulders, and Marc did the same, so that our fingers overlapped and our wedding rings made a light clinking noise. When I looked past Alden’s glazed expression, I saw that Marc was watching me intently. What was he thinking? It could only have been what I was thinking—thank fuck that I’d had the nerve to switch those tapes, or we’d never have made it to this fantasy place. A place where Marc and I were both in charge of our own pleasure and Alden was the catalyst to take us there.
As I shifted my body on the mattress, Alden moved to bring himself above me. He did slow push-ups over my body as Marc took him from behind, doggy-style. With a grace that belied the fact that he was getting his ass fucked, Alden paid careful attention to my needs. When he slid his cock all the way inside me, he stayed sealed to my body, pressing up and back with his hips, so that he skimmed my clit with each rocking motion. I raised up to get the contact that I craved, and I groaned whenever Marc’s skin brushed my own.
I was so turned on that I didn’t notice immediately that Alden wanted my attention. Because suddenly, Alden was talking, surprising both Marc and me. “I couldn’t believe it—” he said softly, and I felt his cock swell and expand inside me.
“Which part?” I asked, staring up into his beautiful face.
“The way you looked when he fucked you like that.”
“Like what?” I whispered, knowing but wanting to hear him say it.
“Ass-fucked you. And you looked as if it was the sweetest thing you’d ever felt.”
“And is it?” Marc asked, before sinking his teeth into Alden’s shoulder. “Is it, baby?”
“Oh, god,” Alden sighed, “oh, yes.”
The situation was suddenly more intense for me. I was getting to see Alden’s expressions change as Marc took him fiercely. And I could just imagine what I looked like at that moment, the moment that Alden was talking about. Yeah, we made the film together—but this was somehow more true. A real-life enactment for my own viewing pleasure.
“You like that, baby?” Marc asked again, and this time I knew that he was talking to me.
“Oh, yes,” I said, echoing Alden.
The strangest part was that I felt closer to Marc than I ever had before—closer, even though we were separated by a real human body. A living and breathing lover who continued to pump into me as my husband drove into him.
The situation was suddenly too powerful, and soon we were coming together—the three of us—making those rough, inhuman noises. More grunts than groans, yells than moans. When Alden collapsed against the mattress, Marc pulled out and took his spot on my left, so that now I was in the middle, bathing in the warmth of my two men. No one said a word. There are times when there simply are no more words left to say.
“So, Lacey—” Marc said softly after Alden left. His fingertips tricked along my slippery skin. “Did you enjoy the viewing?”
“Viewing?” I asked.
“You know, of A Few Good Men?”
I nodded happily.
“Really?” he murmured, obviously wanting me to talk more.
“Yes,” I assured him. “Oh, yes. But you know how it is with the classics?”
Marc just waited, looking expectantly at me for
the punchline.
“You need to experience them over and over to really appreciate the art form.”
Now, Marc smiled, and I saw his gaze flicker over to the box of our home-made movies, as if trying to decide which one we’d return “by accident” next time.
Breakfast in Bed
EMILIE PARIS
Breakfast in bed was delivered to Marla by her handsome musician boyfriend. At the squeak of the bedroom door opening, Marla rolled over to see a nearly naked Zach carrying a carefully prepared tray filled with ripe, red strawberries, a well-endowed banana, a crescent of green melon, and a bunch of glistening-wet purple grapes. She looked up from the tray into Zach’s feisty green eyes. He had plans. Marla could tell.
“Hungry?” he asked, grinning broadly at his blonde-haired lady.
“A little,” she answered, honestly. Who wouldn’t be ravenous after all the energetic activities of their wild, raucous night? As usual during one of their many ten-hour sexual tournaments, they hadn’t gotten much sleep. There were too many ways to play, too many activities that they needed to try. But dream deprivation didn’t matter much to either one of them. Dark under-eye circles were acceptable payment in exchange for the many decadent orgasms they’d shared. “You can sleep as long as you want when you’re dead” was one of Zachary’s favorite mottos.
While Marla waited to hear what was in store for her, Zach kicked out of his satiny black boxers and tossed them aside. The he climbed onto the mattress and began to prepare their feast. With extreme casualness, he lifted the lone banana and peeled it. His motions were slow and exaggerated, as if he possessed no ulterior motives. This was all about a healthy snack, right? Nothing could be more simple or elegant than breakfast in bed. That’s what his calm expression said, anyway. But Marla was wary. She knew that she should be preparing herself for something unexpected.
