Sweet Life 2

by Violet Blue

  “Oh, I dunno,” she said. “Five, maybe, or six.”

  “Amber here’s never had her pussy eaten before, and you’re gonna be her first.”

  “All right,” I said, my voice shaking.

  The blonde shoved my head forward and the brunette, Amber, took it away from her, her fingers tangling in my hair and dragging my face down between her legs.

  “I think I’ll give you something to remind you of your situation,” said the blonde as she turned around and sat on my lower back, forcing me down into a prone position with my upper body twisted uncomfortably, face an inch from Amber’s pussy. She grabbed my balls and jabbed them with the tip of the switchblade and I yelped. “You want to keep these, you’d better be the best pussy-eater in the world for the next few hours.” The three girls giggled. “Remember, Mister, She wants to come five or six times, you keep eating her until she does. You poop out on us and we’ll poop you out, Mister—permanently. You’ll be the one wearing the skirt.” They all giggled some more, and the blonde caressed my balls with the blade.

  The brunette forced my face—hard—into her pussy.

  My god, I’ve never eaten Christine out as well as I ate out that brunette. The taste of her pussy overwhelmed me and I almost choked—it was so different than my wife’s, so much saltier, tangier, less musky. But I got used to it, helped along in no small part by the blonde’s jabs with the switchblade into my balls.

  As anyone who’s ever tried it knows, it’s not always easy to make a woman come from being eaten out. I’d bought the whole line of enlightened-sex-nerd, sensitive-new-age-guy bullshit: that orgasm wasn’t the destination, sex was—and that orgasm was a stop along the way. Sanctimonious post-hippie garbage to begin with, but even if it wasn’t, not relevant one bit here. I knew that orgasms—many of them, half a dozen, maybe more—orgasms weren’t just the goal. They were my only ticket out of the eunuch club.

  Lucky for me, she was moaning. Loud. I spent the first five minutes feeling her out, sensing what she liked, whether she dug the tip of my tongue under her clit hood or on the top or back and forth over the sides, whether she liked friction or pressure or a combination of the two, whether she liked her labia licked or my tongue to wriggle up in her pussy, whether she liked me to lick her thighs way up high or way down low, whether she wanted to feel my tongue swirling lower and lower until it neared her pert buns, near her asshole, whether she liked me to suckle on her clit when I tickled it with the flat of my tongue. Her pussy was so smooth that I could feel and taste everything, quickly learning the way she wanted it. I don’t think she knew how she wanted it, never having been eaten out. But she learned—oh, how fast she learned. And I learned, too—every trick she responded to became my tool to save myself. Now I was focusing on her clit, with occasional licks down to her labia, and I could taste her pussy getting stronger as juices flowed out onto my tongue.

  She had clamped her smooth thighs around my face and pushed her ass up off the chair, gripping the armrests and whimpering. Her whimpers grew to moans. I glanced up and saw that her nipples were poking plainly out through her blouse, that her cleavage was flushed and her eyes were dull with pleasure. I paused for just a second.

  “Please,” I said. “I’m not stopping, I just want to say—if I had my hands free I could do more.”

  “Oh yeah, asshole? What could you do.”

  “M-more,” whimpered the brunette. “M-more. Don’t stop.”

  “I’ll show you. I promise I won’t try to get away.”

  “M-more,” the brunette growled, a cross between a sob and a snarl. “More!” She grabbed my hair and slammed my face back onto her pussy, grinding it so hard onto my tongue that it was all I could do to keep up.

  “How about it, Amber? You want this asshole’s hands on you?”

  “Yeah,” she gasped, and I heard the jangling of keys.

  The first thing I did was slide my hands up her body under her white schoolgirl’s blouse and feel her tits. They were big, maybe D-cups, and her nipples were so hard they felt like rocks. I pinched gently, tentatively—she let out a howl.

  My blood ran cold. “Good?” I asked her.

  “Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” she cried, shoving her pussy hard against my face.

  I pinched a little harder, caressing and gently squeezing her tits. She moaned louder, louder. Then the blonde was laughing.

  “Look here! Mr. world-class pussyeater is enjoying himself after all!”

  She teased the tip of the switchblade slowly up the shaft of my erect cock. I squirmed under the sensation, but didn’t stop eating Amber or working my hands on her breasts.

  “Looks like he’s kind of sexually re-cep-tive—is that what Sister Bernice called it in Health class? He likes being taken, y’know?” She and the redhead giggled. Amber was way, way beyond giggling. She was about half a decibel from screaming at the top of her lungs.

  That’s when I felt the blonde’s finger between my cheeks. She had licked it and it was slippery—just a little. So that when she pushed it home my back arched and my face pulled away from Amber as I groaned.

  “Look at that! He is sexually receptive! How does it feel to be fucked, Mister? I know us girls are supposed to like it, so why shouldn’t you?”

  The two girls giggled as I squirmed, and Amber howled “M-more!” and shoved me hard into her crotch again. Her ass was off the chair, her legs were clamped around my face. She ripped her blouse open so fast the buttons went raining all over me. She grasped my hands and pushed them hard against her breasts, whimpered “harder! harder!” as she started to come. I pinched her nipples harder and licked her clit faster and faster as she let out a shuddering cry. The blonde drove her finger into me all the way as her friend came, and came, and came—until I felt a tiny trickle of ejaculate leaking out of her and onto my tongue. I swallowed, as I listened to the blonde’s wicked, savage laugh overhead.

  “I said open wide, Mister.” I parted my lips and tasted the tang of the switchblade sliding into my mouth, lying easily on my tongue. She began to move it back and forth.

  “You’ll have to do it better than that if you want your reward,” said the blonde. “See, Becca here has her eye on you. And you know what? She’s never had a guy. She’s a vur-gin.”

  Becca’s face went red in an instant and she said, “Shut up, Crystal! I am not!”

  “Oh yes you are,” said Crystal as she worked her knife in and out of my mouth, fucking me with it. “Never even been fingered. But you aren’t going to finger her, are you, Mister? You just want to stick your dick in and shoot your spooge, like all guys. Come on, suck it.” She pushed the knife in deeper, almost to the back of my throat. I gagged, terror coursing through my veins. “Suck it better than that.” I began to suck it, running my tongue all over it and kissing it with my lips as she held it in my mouth. “That’s better,” she cooed. “You want to stick your dick in little Becca over there? She’s fif-teen, Mister. You want to stick your thing in a fifteen-year-old virgin?”

  “I’m sixteen!” snapped Becca, rolling her eyes.

  “Not until next week,” said Crystal. “How about it, Mister? You ever popped a virgin before?”

  I shook my head, moving it back and forth just a hair as I sucked the switchblade.

  “Well, now’s your chance. You can just stick it in and shoot it off, fill her up—ain’t that the way you guys do it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, is that right? You want to make love to her!”

  I nodded, still sucking.

  “You want to make our little Becca feel like she’s the most special girl in the world? Suck faster, bitch. Remember, this is my dick.”

  I nodded, sucking faster.

  “You want to make little Becca come, don’t you, Mister?”

  “Yeah,” I said, the sound muffled by Crystal’s hand on my face and the knife in my mouth.

  “You want that, Becca? That hard dick of his look good to you? You want this filthy guy to pop
your cherry?”

  “I told you,” whined Becca. “I’m not a virgin!”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Becca, whatever you say. He’ll just be another in a long line of conquests. You want to fuck him? You want him to make you come?”

  “No!” she said, blushing deep, deep red.

  The blonde giggled. “Too bad, Becca. Because you’re gonna. This putz is gonna pop your cherry.”

  “I’m not a virgin!” she whined again.

  “Yeah, we’ll see,” said Crystal, slipping the knife out of my mouth. “Take your clothes off, Becca.”

  Now her face was really red. Becca looked at the ground.

  “Take ’em off!”

  Wordlessly, Becca stood up and began to unbutton her shirt.

  The bedclothes were dirty, tangled with sweat and sex. They made me change them, Crystal holding her knife at the ready in case I tried to make a break for it. They made me put on the satin sheets. Becca stood in the doorway, stark naked except for her white stay-ups and mary janes. Her pussy was as red as her hair. She had freckles all over her body and pert little C-cup breasts with pale pink nipples. She had a little heart tattooed on her left thigh. It had a banner that said “MIKE.”

  “Mike,” I said. “Is that your boyfriend?”

  “No!” spat Crystal. “That’s her daddy! Get in bed, Becca!”

  Becca sheepishly went over to the bed and climbed in. She pushed her legs together and looked up at me, terrified.

  The brunette was slouched in the beanbag chair across from the bed, watching. Crystal held the knife in my back. “How do you make love to a woman, Mister? Especially if it’s her first time?”

  “I’d kiss her—”

  She jabbed the knife into me a little. “Don’t tell me, asshole! Show me! Show her!”

  Gingerly, I climbed onto the bed. Becca was quaking.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I whispered. “We can fight back against her.”

  “Shut up, Mister. You don’t know her.”

  “You want me to do it?”

  “Just do it!”

  I put my arms around her. I let my hand trail up her body, pausing over her breasts. Her nipples were soft, silken. I put my lips to hers, kissed her gently. I kissed her some more. I let my tongue ease out into her mouth. I let it slide deeper in. I felt her nipples stiffen so suddenly in my grasp as my tongue plunged into her—then she was sucking on it, hungry for it.

  “Never even been french-kissed, ain’t that what you told me, Becca?”

  “Uh-huh,” moaned Becca. I pinched her nipple gently, teased it, played with it. She arched her back and pushed her thighs together. I slid my hand down her belly and paused over her thighs.

  “Open your legs,” I whispered. “Please. I’ll be gentle.”

  She hesitated, looking up into my eyes dreamily, fear mixed with desire—maybe.

  Crystal spat: “Open ’em, Becca! You want your cherry popped or not?”

  Becca parted her legs, as wide as they would go.

  I ran my hand gingerly up her thigh, slowly, savoring every inch of her smooth skin. I trailed one finger into her pussy—and she gasped so loud, twisted so hard, shuddered so powerfully, that I pulled my hand back.

  But she was wet. I’d felt it, in that instant. She wasn’t just wet, but gushing.

  I brought my hand to her pussy again, gently teased her lips apart. When I did, I felt a dribble of juice running onto my palm. I slid one finger inside, and felt it so tight that I could barely penetrate her.

  “She wet, Mister?”

  I looked into Becca’s eyes. “No,” I said.

  “Bullshit! Don’t bullshit me!” She jumped onto the bed and kneed me in the balls again, wrestled me down on top of Becca. I felt the handcuffs going back around my wrists. She shoved me onto my side and pushed Becca’s thighs further open with her knees, making the younger girl whimper. She shoved her hand into Becca’s crotch, and Becca gasped and yelped as Crystal slid first one and then two fingers into her, eliciting a gasp of fear and pain—and then a low, slow sigh as the tension went out of Becca’s naked body.

  “Oh, yeah, Becca, you ain’t no virgin! You’ve been with hundreds of guys! They just had dicks so small they didn’t pop your cherry! What’s that on my fingertip if it ain’t a cherry?”

  “I don’t know,” whimpered Becca.

  “It’s your fuckin’ cherry! You’re a virgin, aintcha, Becca?”

  “Uh-huh,” she groaned.

  “Ever been kissed?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ever sucked dick? Been fingered?”

  Becca shook her head, no.

  Crystal waved the knife in front of my face. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ lie to me again, Mister. This bitch is dripping. Now put your dick inside her.”

  “But—”

  “Oh, you want to eat some more pussy? Tough shit. Becca, next time when I ask you if you want to fuck, you say yes, Ma’am, understand? Especially when you’re so wet you’re dripping, understand?”

  Becca nodded, trembling.

  Crystal held the knife between us. “Now, tell me, Becca, do you want to fuck this asshole?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” said Becca softly.

  “Louder! Say, ‘Fuck me, Mister!’ ”

  “Fuck me, Mister,” whined Becca.

  “Louder! Say, ‘Fuck me, Mister, stick your thing in my pussy, pop my cherry.’ ”

  “F-fuck—”

  “Louder!”

  “F-fuck me—Mister, stick—stick your thing—”

  “Louder!”

  “Stick your thing in my pussy, and, and—”

  “Say it!”

  “Pop my cherry,” shouted Becca.

  “You heard the girl,” said Crystal, crawling off the bed. “But suck his dick first, Becca. Look how hard it is.”

  Becca looked at me tentatively, terrified. I was lying on my back and my cock lay throbbing against my stomach. Trembling, Becca leaned down and took it in her hand.

  “Put it in your mouth, virgin.”

  Becca opened her mouth and took it in slowly, gingerly. My back arched and I let out a moan as I felt her mouth enveloping my cock.

  “Now suck it.”

  She started sucking it. Inexpertly, maybe, nervously, uncomfortably, but fuck! I had to hold back not to come. She licked up and down, her red pigtails bobbing against my thighs as she sucked my cock. After a minute, Crystal said, “All right, now. Time to pop Becca’s cherry.”

  Becca took my cock out of her mouth, glistening with her spit. She rolled over and lay face up, her legs spread.

  “Do it, Mister.”

  I crawled on top of Becca and kissed her. Gently, I nudged my hard cock between the swollen lips of her pussy. I could feel it slick with desire, dripping, hot. Gently, I began to slide it very slowly into her.

  The head hadn’t popped in before I felt the tightness—hard, thick, impassable. Becca looked up at me, scared.

  “I’ll try not to make it hurt,” I whispered.

  “No, Mister, make it hurt. She wants it to hurt! Or at least, I do!”

  I pushed, gently at first, then more forcefully, as I heard Becca gasping. I pushed harder, harder. She strained up against me. I felt the resistance, pushing, hard, not wanting to let me in—then, all of a sudden, it gave way, and Becca’s hymen broke as I slid smoothly into her tight pussy.

  Crystal started cheering and whooping, and the brunette, having recovered from her orgasms, was laughing. The two of them applauded.

  Becca was sighing, gasping, giggling a little, and then she was clutching me tight, moaning. I looked down and saw deep red blood leaking from her pussy, dribbling around my balls, staining the sheets. Becca began to push against me. She began to moan.

  “What do you know?” laughed Crystal. “The little virgin is going to come!”

  And then she did, about a half-second before me.

  I was lying in bed, the schoolgirl’s virgin blood sticky on my cock and
balls, the scent of Love’s Baby Soft and Scotch thick in my nostrils. I brought my slicked-up hand to my mouth, licked my fingers, tasted the chemical tang of artificial sweetener.

  I heard the front door. I saw Julie outlined in the light of the door. She wore tight jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt, but her flame-red hair was still in pigtails.

  “How was that for a birthday celebration?” she asked.

  “I would say unbelievable,” I told her. “Except that I know you. And I know Steve. Where’d he get the switchblade?”

  “He grew up Catholic. He probably bought it from a nun.”

  “And the blood? Your idea or his?”

  “What do you think?”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Trade secret.”

  “I could have sworn you really had a hymen there for a minute. I was beginning to wonder if you really were my wife.”

  “Vive le Kegelcisor.”

  I watched, enraptured, as Julie stripped off her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and her breasts looked at once familiar and new with their pink nipples, freckles, schoolgirl pertness. She wasn’t wearing anything under the jeans, either, I saw, as she kicked off her sneakers and dropped her jeans. Naked, she climbed into bed and nuzzled against me.

  “Happy birthday,” I told her.

  “Thanks.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, stroking her hip, “I understand why you wouldn’t let me see you naked for the last two weeks.”

  “That’s your birthday present,” she said.

  “Six months early.”

  “Whatever.”

  Bad Doggy

  JULIA MOORE

  Late last night, I told him what I wanted: Dark. The type of dark that you don’t talk about when daylight shines through your windows. The kind of dark dreams you’re not even supposed to have when you’re the fresh-faced girl that I am. Sweet and innocent. Pure and unmarked. Christ, people are so fucking dense. They get lost on surfaces. They look at me and see all the light and cheerful adjectives found on your average Hallmark card. But they don’t see the real thing. They don’t see the flaws or the bruises, or the desperate fantasies. Nobody sees the real me except Justin.