by Violet Blue
But Emily could never bring herself to shave. She knew how disappointed they’d be if she went against their word. The punishment would be a moratorium on discipline, and she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t go a day without their loving straps or spankings.
Ultimately, Emily was glad she held out. After a couple weeks, her crotch stopped itching so much. A month later, she’d cultivated a respectable bush. The boys took note. They got out a ruler and measured the length. They compared her with the women in the postcards. After a good two months of growing it out, Emily was really rather pleased with herself.
The boys were pleased, too.
“I’ve never seen this much hair on a woman,” Yannik said, in that dark voice that made Emily shiver.
Hunter helped him tie her wrists to her legs, spread-eagled on the couch. Her thighs trembled. She thought she couldn’t hold the pose, at first. And then, as other things distracted her, the ache subsided.
“It’s dark,” Hunter said. “I’m surprised. I thought it would be closer to your hair color, but it’s almost black, isn’t it?”
“Almost,”Emily said, wincing. They always did this—ignored her pain, pretended she was perfectly at ease in whatever position they picked. Didn’t matter that her muscles were twitching, stretching, crying out in pain. That’s what they wanted.
“Look how wet she is,” Yannik said, patting her pussy.
“How can you tell?” Hunter asked. “I can’t see a thing beyond that fucking hair.”
All Emily could think was, Don’t act so disgusted by my body. You made me do this! But she bit her lip. She didn’t speak.
“There’s so much of it.” Yannik traced his fingers through her bush, making it stick up like a Mohawk so she looked ridiculous.
They played with her pussy like it was a toy. She wanted to feel embarrassed about all that goddamn hair, but she also loved the attention. Two men, four eyes, ten fingers focused on her hairy little cunt. But the boys’ humiliation plot was sagging just a touch, because she liked it.
“You’re right,” Hunter said, shoving one finger up her snatch. “Wow, she is wet.”
Of course I’m wet! You put on my black stay-up stockings, you split me open, tie my wrists to my legs and start teasing me? How could I not be wet?
“Take your finger out,” Yannik said to Hunter. “I want to do something.”
The moment Hunter withdrew his finger from Emily’s cunt, Yannik spanked it. He smacked her pussy with three fingers, hard enough for a wet echo to ring through the living room. There was nothing she could do to resist. She couldn’t move. Her muscles ached, but she remained in the wide-open position they’d chosen for her.
“I love that sound,” Hunter said. “Spank her pussy again.” Yannik smacked her without delay, just barely catching her flesh. Her hair acted as a buffer, which was such a tease.
“Again,” Hunter encouraged. “Harder.”
The next blow warmed her cunt enough that she wondered if her skin was getting red down there. Impossible to see.
“Open her pussy for me,” Yannik said. “I want to see the pink.”
Hunter growled as he grabbed Emily’s lips and parted them roughly. No, that wasn’t good enough—not for Hunter. He clutched her pussy hair and pulled, sending shocks through her body. If she arched forward, she could just make out the deep pink of her wet flesh. Hunter was mostly blocking her view, and he was also pulling on her bush so hard her vision started to blur.
“Watch your fingers,” Yannik said to Hunter before spanking Emily’s clit.
The first blow was off. It fell to the side. He tried again, and clipped her clit sharply this time. An electric pulse shot through her body. She arched forward, but there was nowhere to go without folding herself into a pretzel.
“That hurt, did it?” Hunter asked.
Emily bit her lip, nodding.
“Yannik.” The boys made eye contact, and Hunter commanded, “Do it again.”
Another sharp slap met her bare pussy, and she threw herself back against the couch. Her thighs screamed for a second, then got warm. Her pussy was glowing when he hit it again, catching her clit off guard. Her ass tightened up as a burst of lightning surged through her arms. Her heart raced. All of her body was connected to her clit—spank it and everything reacted.
Yannik offered a steady stream of spankings. “I wonder how long I can do this before she starts to cry.”
Ahh, the power of suggestion…
Either Yannik’s blows were falling harder, or Emily’s flesh had been as tenderized as she could handle. Tears welled in her eyes. She bit her lip hard to keep quiet.
“Use something else besides your hand,” Hunter said, egging Yannik on. They always played this way—boys against girl, plotting every way to torture her. “Get the crop. That’ll work perfect.”
“Ooh, yeah.” Yannik jumped up and raced to the spare room, where all their sexual paraphernalia was kept.
Hunter had been staring at her pussy all this time, but he looked into her eyes now. Something about the angular line of his jaw made her heart beat a little faster, especially when he smiled in that conniving way of his. Emily blinked, and her tears fell in searing streaks down her cheeks.
“I don’t think we’re ever going to let you shave again,” Hunter said, pressing two fingers inside her swollen cunt. Two, then three. Emily whimpered when he rubbed that spot inside— the G-spot so many people claimed didn’t exist. Well, something was in there, and Hunter had no problem finding it. She whimpered as he stroked her.
“Uh-oh,” Yannik said, standing behind Hunter with his unassuming black crop. “Looks like someone’s enjoying herself a little too much.”
Hunter grinned. “Wouldn’t want that. Emily’s already spoiled, living with two hot guys.”
“Guys who buy her vintage gowns and take her to fancy dinners,” Yannik replied. “Emily’s the most spoiled little girl I’ve ever met.”
“Same here,” Hunter said, as he fucked her with his fingers. “We give her everything she needs and all she does is take, take, take.”
“Greedy, greedy girl.” Yannik whisked Hunter’s fingers out of the way and loomed between her legs. “Greedy girl deserves a smack.”
She’d been smacked a good many times already, by Yannik’s own hand, but she wouldn’t remind him. Emily knew how to behave. She could keep her mouth shut with the best of them.
Yannik slid the small tongue of his crop between her spread legs. Emily could feel her slick wetness coating the black leather as he drew it up to her clit, then back down again. Her pussy was sopping, dripping juice along her asscrack. She missed being able to see what was going on down there, that gorgeous leather sliding against her bare flesh, but the longer she grew out her bush, the more affection she felt for it—like a crop she’d cultivated herself, and could take pride in. There sure was a lot of hair.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” Yannik said, and brought the crop down hard.
Emily cringed even before the leather tongue touched her. The desperate cry it made as it whipped through the air was more than enough to send the fear of god through her body. She tried to close her legs, but her bindings made it too difficult. All she could manage was to roll so the crop caught her hairy pussy rather than her glistening, cherry-red clit.
“Oh, Em, that was not smart.” Yannik stood back for a moment. “If you can’t be trusted to keep still, you know what’s in store.”
She stared at him, no response. Her heart clambered into her throat. It was all she could hear as Hunter climbed onto the couch. Facing away from her, he straddled her body, and held her legs open by the ankles. Once he’d found a good position, he set his weight on her so she couldn’t struggle. All she could see now was the back of his T-shirt. All she could feel was his grip around her ankles. His fingers were still wet with her juice.
“Hold her good and still.” Yannik traced that little leather tongue up and down Emily’s splayed pussy. It was such a tease, no
t being able to see. The suspense was torture enough.
And then Yannik slapped her clit with the crop, and she screamed bloody murder because, god, it hurt. It hurt like hell. Her tender pussy blazed, sending explosions right through her nervous system. The pain was so severe she thought about using her safeword. She thought about it, but…Christ, she wanted more. She did.
Hunter gripped her ankles a little harder as Yannik whipped her pussy—twice, this time, in rapid succession. The first one didn’t even register until the second strike hit. Then, her hips bucked without her consent, and Hunter sat heavier on her belly, molding her body around his, and driving her back into the soft couch cushions, for which she was thankful.
She didn’t realize she was mumbling until Yannik hushed her. What had she been saying? It hurts. It hurts. I can’t stand it. It hurts so much…
Yannik struck her again, and she wished to god she could see her clit. It felt utterly distended, as big as a cherry. Did it look that way, or were her nerve endings blowing things out of proportion?
Between strikes, her pussy seemed to absorb all the cool air in the room. Her clit was blazing. It hurt. Why did she want more of this? She must be crazy.
“Do it again,” Hunter encouraged. “I love the way she shakes when you hit her clit. Her whole body trembles.”
“Does it?” Yannik brought the crop down on her pussy. This time, instead of just smacking her clit and moving the leather tongue away, he left it there, pressing squarely against her clit.
“It burns!” she screamed. Emily always tried to keep quiet while the boys were working her over, but she couldn’t manage that now. Her body was blazing, like her pussy had caught fire. “Fuck, it hurts! It burns!”
“Really?” Yannik asked, slapping her again, with that same callous trick of leaving the crop flush to her clit. “It burns?”
“Yes!” Emily was crying, sobbing. They obviously couldn’t see her face, but couldn’t they hear it in her voice? “Guys, it’s killing me. It hurts so much!”
“This does?” Smack. “This hurts?” Smack. “A lot?” Smack.
“I can’t take it anymore!” Tears coursed down her cheeks as Hunter pressed his back against her face. His spine dug into her cheek, but that was the least of her concerns. “It hurts so fucking much!”
“It hurts, huh?” Yannik smacked her dispassionately, like he was doling out a predetermined punishment. Every strike was measured, metronomic. He played her body like an instrument. Every blow made her sing.
“It hurts,” she sobbed into Hunter’s back. His shirt absorbed the mess as her nose ran and her tears flowed. She was even drooling on him, because she couldn’t manage to close her mouth between sobs. Her words weren’t words anymore, just a steady stream of, “Ahhh.”
“Think she’s had enough?” Yannik asked Hunter. He traced the leather tongue around the perimeter of her pussy, like he was mowing her pubic hair from the outside in. “Maybe she’s forgotten her safeword.”
“Has Emily forgotten her safeword password?” Hunter asked, loosening his grip on her ankles.
“No.” Emily wiped her face across Hunter’s back. “I didn’t forget.”
“Well,” Yannik said solemnly. “Sometimes daddies know best.”
Hunter bowed to her pussy and spit. That soft drizzle landed like a balm against her clit, soothing her blazing flesh. Part of her wanted more from the crop. It hurt like fuck, but crying was cathartic. She loved sobbing wildly while her men destroyed her. But she trusted them above all else. If they said she’d had enough, she’d had enough.
Yannik untied her wrists, but warned, “I wouldn’t close your legs, if I were you.”
When Hunter rose from on top of her, Emily got her first glimpse at her hot, red pussy. It looked even more engorged than it felt. She must be seeing things wrong. How could her little pussy possibly look so distended? So fat and red and ripe?
“Sit still and relax,” Hunter said. He left the room while Yannik turned on the radio, and reappeared with a damp cloth. When he set it against her blazing cunt, she let out a sigh because nothing had ever felt so good.
Emily sat with her legs wide open, and Yannik settled on the floor between them, kissing her thighs while Hunter sang along with the radio.
“Hey, is there something on my back?” he asked Emily, sitting beside her on the couch. “My shirt feels all wet.”
“I don’t know, man.” She bit her lip to keep from snickering. “Maybe you were sweating a lot.”
Yannik shook his head. He knew her too well. “How’s your pussy feeling?”
“Still hurts,” she said as Hunter adjusted the cloth against her mound. “You know what’s weird? I’m really starting to like all this hair.”
“I had a feeling you would.” Yannik glanced at the wall above the couch, where he’d hung his postcards from Paris. “Growing a full bush is a lost art, but the impact is just as erotic in person as it was in those photographs, if you ask me.”
“Me too,” Hunter replied, looking up at the postcards.
Emily couldn’t see the cards from where she was sitting. Instead, she gazed between her legs, into the dark bush she’d cultivated out of nothing. With a smile, she said, “Me three.”
MAGIC TRICKS
Sue Lenèe Cix
I’m busy doing a whole lot of nothing when I hear Danny’s step in the hall. The creaky door swings open, and there’s rustling: the sound of his raincoat coming off. “Hi, beau,” I call.
“Hi,” he says, walking in, his shoulders swung back and his head lilted to the side. Silvery moisture clings to his hair; his eyelashes are damp. He’s got a white bag in his hand—the kind that gifts come in. He looks proud of something. “How’s the search?” he says, flashing movie-star teeth.
“Mournful,” I say, pouting. I half-close the laptop I’ve been staring at, supposedly seeking jobs. “What’s in the bag?” I ask.
He winks. “A little something I picked up today. I gotta go to work. I just wanted to bring this over.” He shifts from one foot to the other, rests a hand on my shoulder. Something sturdy and clear seeps from his skin to mine, and I breathe him in: cardamom, clove, mahogany, nightfall, magic. He unfurls my fingers to put the handle of the bag there, kisses the ridge of muscle between my shoulder and neck and then hurries out the door.
I wait for the click of the handle, touching where he touched, savoring. I feel his gorgeous presence dissipate from the room, and I close my eyes, relishing the space between contact and desire. Knowing Danny, I suspect that the contents of this bag might have more to offer me than the Job Search page of the Council of Nonprofits website.
So I go ahead and reach in. My hand closes around a tall plastic tube. I lift it out, and start laughing. Inside the tube is: a dick. Dark green, it waits inside a transparent sheath, looking a little like some prop for an absurdist sci-fi movie. It’s high quality, good silicone, erected from a little round base of the same color and consistency. The package slides open, and I take the thing in my hand. It wags at me, pert. I close a fist around it, feel it yield slightly to my grip. The tip swells outward in a pleasing likeness to Danny’s.
The bag still feels heavy, so I stick my hand back in and retrieve a small package containing coiled leather straps, situated around a cool steel ring.
Oh boy.
My cunt stirs. Danny and I talked about this, not so many weeks ago. We were lying in bed, too tired to fuck, but wandering in and out of each other’s fantasies, trying to find new things to learn about each other. I was explaining what kind of boobs I like—which, truly, is most of them, but particularly ones with pointy nipples. Danny said, “Do you ever fantasize about having a dick?”
I laughed, overwhelmed. Danny’s sexiness is blunt, open faced, shameless. He’s teaching me. But still, I stumbled, unsure what to say. What person hasn’t fantasized alternate sexual organs? Sometimes when I’m fucking, two fingers shoving hard against my G-spot, I can almost feel my clitoris swelling into a hungry co
lumn, so hard it could enter something.
He waited for my silence to become speech. “Who doesn’t?” I said, remaining offhanded, sarcastic.
Kindly, he slid his hand around my back to smooth over the flesh of my round ass. “Well,” he said, “I have a fantasy about you fucking me. Your finger feels so good in my ass, but I want to know what it’s like to have more.”
And, drumroll please, here is the more.
I clasp around the base of the shaft and press it to my crotch, over my pants. Do you ever wonder what it’s like to have a dick? I repeat the question to myself, excited. Danny’s the coolest person I’ve ever dated. I lick my lips, which still taste like sugary coffee and unemployment. I slam my laptop closed and peel off my pants as I walk to my bedroom and kick the door shut.
The harness takes some puzzling—what goes where?—but the sleek, dark leather feels good in my hands, soon kissing against the outer lips of my cunt and sitting tight under my asscheeks. I yank the steel hoop outward, which pulls on the straps, and I roll my eyes back a little, loving it. I get hard from the struggle to push the dildo inside the harness, watching it bend and flap around obscenely.
Once it’s in, I have a dick! I wag my hips back and forth, looking over my tits and hips to watch the thing wag with me. I go so fast that it slaps my thigh, and then I laugh. I stroke it, pressing down so it rubs against my sex. I walk back and forth through my apartment, catching myself in silver mirrors. I get down on my hands and knees next to the tall mirror on the bathroom door, and I watch myself touch this new thing that’s neither me nor not-me. I sit back with my legs bent and my knees parted, and I pinch one nipple while stroking my labia between strips of leather. I moan a little—leather! I trace my fingers along the edge where it meets my flesh, purring. I tilt my head back and grab some lube—why not? I drizzle a little of the stuff onto the tip of my new dick and watch my fingers slide down. I add more, this time dripping it right on the cock and watching it move slowly down the shaft and pool at the bottom. Licking my lips, I guide the wet stuff over the steel ring and down to my cunt. I slide it over the petals of my sex, push my finger inside. I watch myself in the mirror, leaning forward to see my tits looking so good.
