Irresistible

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  If all went as planned, he’d be the one begging tonight.

  Next to the lingerie were the educational DVDs Natalie had bought herself: a porn star’s guide to oral sex techniques; a set of interviews with committed couples who then made love in front of the camera to lilting New Age music; a sexercise program led by an exotic dancer that culminated in a seductive lap dance. She and Keenan had watched the first two together. He’d been attentive to the expert’s cunnilingus tips but amused that all the couples seemed fixated on the outfits they were wearing when they first met. “I was too busy imagining you naked,” he said with a wink.

  The lap-dance video Natalie had kept to herself. She’d felt too self-conscious to pout and gyrate in front of Keenan. Besides, seductive dancing for her husband felt like something a smooth-voiced doctor would advise to spice up a staid marriage. Her depraved mind had come up with its own prescription, this haunting desire that made her feel hungry and dirty and dizzy all at once.

  She knew she could not rest until she tried it.

  Natalie let her gaze wander on to the part of the drawer where she kept the gifts from her husband. One Christmas he’d given her a flesh-colored butt plug, modestly sized for beginners. When she was especially “bad,” Keenan would bend her over his knee and slide the toy into her exquisitely sensitive back hole. Then he’d spank the plug in deeper, patiently strumming her clit with his other hand until she came in wracking spasms.

  He used the delicate feather duster he’d bought at their local couples-friendly sex store for an especially devilish purpose. He’d warm her up by sweeping the feathers over her bare chest and thighs, then “force” her to rub her own clit with the tip of the handle, while he taunted her for being such a horny slut she had to masturbate with a stick. He always stopped her right on the verge of orgasm and took her in some unusual way: seated on their low dresser, bent forward over the bed, standing up against the closet door. She’d be so hot, she’d actually climax from a few brushes of his fingers on her sweet spot.

  Tonight she hoped to work the same magic on him.

  Natalie felt her pulse quicken. There was so much of their erotic history hidden in this drawer. Sweet, dark couplings, some quite daring for an ordinary suburban couple. So far one thing had always been the same. It was Natalie who submitted to Keenan, opening herself to his voice, his fingers, his cock, probing and filling her. Yet surrender made her feel strangely powerful in a way she could never express in words. Only recently, after fifteen years of marriage, had she gotten the urge to give him the same gift in return. Was that why she could think of nothing else but Keenan on all fours, naked and whimpering in a voice ragged with desire? More, yes, more, please.

  Suppressing a shiver, she pushed the sex drawer closed with a satisfying smack of resolution.

  Scene Two: The Kitchen, at Dusk

  I have to do this. I’ll be obsessed with it until I do. But will he play along?

  Natalie gave the simmering lentil soup a stir and unwrapped the selection of cheeses she’d bought at their favorite gourmet shop. Dinner would be quick, no lingering over wine, although she lusted for the swaggering courage of a glass of cabernet. She quickly reminded herself that she needed all her wits about her. After all, she’d be the one directing the show tonight.

  Keenan had been a good role model in that respect. He had definitely gotten more experimental in the past few years, suggesting sexual acts that first shocked then thrilled her. Was she finally catching up? Of course, he might flat out refuse to submit to her. Yet she hoped that if she could guide him to the place she loved so well, where thought dissolves into pure carnal pleasure, any lingering shame that it was unmanly would melt away.

  As she sliced the phallic-looking baguette, Natalie remembered when this troubling obsession began—to the day. It was about a month ago, when her husband had been working from home. They skipped lunch for a shower together, and Natalie playfully soaped up his body, almost accidentally letting the bar of Ivory slide down between his asscheeks. His mischievous smile made her bolder, and she pushed the edge of the soap deeper, rubbing it back and forth in the crevice as if she were fucking it.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the shower’s spray.

  “Turn around and put both hands on the wall.”

  Natalie wasn’t sure where that commanding voice came from—her own throat apparently. Keenan’s eyes shot open in surprise, but he obeyed, placing his large palms flat against the tile as instructed.

  “Spread your legs wider,” she told him.

  He complied without a peep of protest.

  Her hands wandered over his backside freely, stroking his thick, strong thighs; raking slippery fingers over his tensed buttocks, hard as iron. But when her finger somehow found its way into his valley, she faltered, caught off guard by the tender, silky flesh. Even more surprising was her husband’s deep sigh of response. Her chest tightened. As if she’d crawled into his skin, she felt the electric shudder of being touched in this forbidden place, a witch’s brew of shame and pleasure.

  Taking a deep breath, she gingerly sought out his tight opening, tracing the rim with her fingertip. At the bottom of the oval, she found a little knob of flesh and instinctively flicked it. Keenan’s knees buckled and he moaned, a ghostly countertenor. She’d never heard that sound before from his lips.

  Too flustered to go farther, she pulled her hand away, although she burned to explore him in her fingertips, in her belly, in her heart now pounding in its cage.

  Released from her wicked spell, Keenan turned and kissed her hard, squeezing her buttocks as if to reclaim his sovereign right. “I should fuck you in the ass for that, you naughty little brat,” he growled. But he didn’t carry through on the threat. Instead he dragged her straight to bed and they coupled quickly, savagely, in the time-honored missionary position, soaking the pillow with her dripping hair.

  Since that day, Natalie had been obsessed with replaying the scene. But this time she would not stop before she was fully satisfied.

  The key turned in the front door. Keenan was back from dropping Sophia and her friends off at the movie theater.

  This is it. You can’t lose your nerve now.

  Her lips lifted into a smile. The games were about to begin.

  Scene Three: In Bed, with the Lamp On

  While Keenan was in the shower—to “freshen up after work,” as she suggested with a smile—Natalie put on the whore’s-red stockings and matching satin thong. Tugging it high on her hips to get a buzz going, she slithered under the covers of their marital bed.

  Her husband walked into the bedroom naked, his skin glowing pink, his penis already bobbing to attention. He smiled down at her and narrowed his eyes.

  He obviously thought tonight would be like every other time.

  Natalie played along at first, letting him kiss her and murmur approval when his wandering hands discovered the lingerie.

  Then she pulled away. “I want to have my way with you tonight.”

  He grinned. “You always do.”

  “No, this time I have something specific—and rather different—in mind.” She was pleased to note that her voice was flawlessly steady and assured.

  Keenan lifted his eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?” “You’ll find out soon enough. But don’t worry. The second you beg me to stop, I will.”

  Now he looked a bit afraid.

  “Can’t handle your own medicine?” Natalie teased.

  “This isn’t like you.” His smile drooped with a touch of uncertainty.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it? But enough discussion, darling. Now get on your hands and knees. Head down on the pillow, ass in the air just like I do.”

  “Nat, what are you up to?”

  “Do it.”

  In spite of her doubts earlier in the day, it proved that easy to get her proud, and, if truth be told, somewhat arrogant husband just where she wanted him.

  Kneeling behind him, she hiked the thong up
higher so the string bit voluptuously into her labia. The sensation reminded her of the way she used to masturbate in college, kneeling beside her bed and flinging one leg up onto the mattress so she could rub herself on the edge. Hard as it was to believe, she’d been too shy to touch herself with her fingers.

  How far she’d traveled since then.

  Natalie studied her husband, now bent forward in a classically submissive—and revealingly vulnerable—pose. In the golden lamplight, she could see the fine, graceful whorls of damp hair framing his delicate pink skin. She felt a clutch in her belly, lust mixed with fear. Could she actually do this in real life? Lean over and kiss him there on that delicate mouth? In her erotic reveries, she had him groaning at first touch, but what if he found her virginal efforts awkward, laughable? Keenan had rimmed her several times, reduced her to jelly, in fact, but she’d never thought to take notes on technique. Not to mention, this act was the very antithesis of wifely duty. Throughout history, men troubled by such a decadent desire had doubtless been forced to turn to a professional for satisfaction.

  She noticed Keenan’s body was trembling slightly as he awaited her next move.

  There would be no more waiting.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and bent forward. In the darkness, she was suddenly aware of the intense heat radiating from his body. She leaned in farther, breathing in soap mixed with his intimate male spice, a surprisingly innocent smell.

  Do it. Now.

  Eyes still closed, she extended her tongue and pressed it to the puckered orifice.

  Keenan gasped.

  Her tongue swirled in a full circle.

  He let out a groan.

  This was quite fun, she thought, rather like playing a musical instrument.

  She sought out the little knob of flesh. It felt somehow larger against the tip of her tongue than when she’d touched it with her finger.

  Again that strange, ghostly cry of pleasure filled the room, and Keenan choked out an “Oh, god.”

  Natalie flicked her tongue back and forth a few more times to drive her point home, then pulled away.

  “Do you like this, darling?” she asked in sugared tone.

  Keenan stuttered a yes.

  “I must confess I like it, too. I like having you on your knees and doing to you exactly what you do to me. Now I know what it feels like to be you, and you know what it feels like to be me.”

  Keenan groaned, in agreement or ecstasy, she wasn’t sure.

  She smiled. “Since we have such an equal marriage now, if you want me to keep doing this, you have to do something for me. While I cozy up to your back door, I want you to wank your willie. But don’t you dare make a big mess on our bed. If you ever have the slightest urge to shoot, stop and take a deep breath. Then start wanking again. Can I trust you to be a good boy and do as you’re told?

  “Yes, I’ll be good,” he croaked.

  “Then go ahead and get started on your assignment.”

  Keenan brought his hand to his shaft and began to tug. The bed shook faintly, rhythmically.

  Natalie felt her own body tremble, too. All day she’d worried that she’d be too scared or squeamish, but her biggest hurdle now was her own arousal.

  You’re in charge. Do it.

  She dropped her hands to the bed to steady herself. This time, her tongue found his sweet spot like an old friend. She teased him mischievously, brushing it with the tip of her tongue, blowing on it softly, then taking another trip around the taut, puckered ring. Keenan’s thighs shook and his breath came in melodious gasps. She could feel his fist moving more slowly to compensate. He was being a very good boy indeed.

  In contrast, Natalie quickened her attentions, licking him up and down with the flat of her tongue, lapping the edges of his valley as she might savor a cup of gelato with a doll-sized spoon.

  It was then that the strangest image popped into her head: a small pink change purse she’d bought in Chinatown long before her marriage. The purse was impractical, holding no more than a dozen coins, but it was so cute, so mysteriously foreign, she liked to hold the little pouch in her hand until the satin grew as warm as her skin. Then she’d slip her finger through the drawstring and stroke the coins. They added up to little more than a dollar, but to her this coin purse had magical powers. It could transform ordinary money into fairy’s gold, a currency that could buy the most precious, priceless things on earth.

  Perversely, this sentimental recollection filled Natalie with a lewd new hunger. This hadn’t been part of her fantasy, but she wasn’t about to lose her nerve this time. Fearlessly, she pressed the tip of her tongue to his pink satin purse and pushed it in a few millimeters. The walls were tight but elastic, the flavor faintly metallic. Her pussy throbbed in empathy.

  She commenced a series of shallow, stabbing motions.

  Keenan’s hand dropped from his cock, and he collapsed onto the mattress. “Stop, oh god, I’m going to come all over the bed if you don’t stop.”

  With an exultant smile, Natalie sat back on her heels. This act was supposed to be degrading—“brown-nosing” was not a pretty word—but instead she felt a rush of power surging through her body. Was it that she had “known” her husband in a hidden, vulnerable place, breaking several taboos along the way?

  “Well, I did promise I’d stop,” she said coolly. “But I’m not done with you. Turn over on your back and use that rock-hard boner you have from my ass-licking to fuck me. Don’t you dare come until you’ve pleased me well.”

  Still panting, Keenan rolled over and waited compliantly for her to swing a leg over him. Natalie pulled aside the thong and sank down onto his cock. Unable to restrain a moan of pleasure, she rocked against him hungrily. Without further instruction, her husband began his multitasking magic that always brought her to orgasm quickly: nursing one breast and twisting the other nipple between his fingers, all the while tickling her anus through the thong with a dancing forefinger.

  Natalie arched her back and thrust her pubic bone into his hard stomach. The tingling between her legs gained force, surging up into her belly as a ball of red-hot flame. On cue, Keenan’s finger burrowed under the thong strap and sank knuckle-deep into her anus. The fireball exploded, hurtling her up into space, then easing her down with a series of contractions that made her hips buck like a bull rider’s.

  Afterward, Keenan gazed up at her, his eyes glowing. “You’re priceless.”

  Hooking his hand around her neck, he drew her gently forward and kissed her deeply.

  “By the way, I’ll let you come now,” she murmured when their lips parted. “But only if you’re a good boy and keep thinking of the wicked thing I made you do.”

  “Oh, I’ll be a very good boy,” he said with an impish smile. Grabbing her hips, he began to thrust up into her, slowly, as if he meant to take a long time.

  Relaxed and fully satisfied, Natalie closed her eyes to enjoy the ride.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  KRIS ADAMS writes short fiction, fan fiction, poetry and erotica. Her work has appeared in Best Women’s Erotica 2009, Best Lesbian Romance 2010, Girl Crush and Daily Flashes of Erotica.

  JANINE ASHBLESS has had five books of erotica published by Black Lace. Her short stories have been published in many Cleis anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica 2009 and 2011, Best Bondage Erotica 2011 and Fairy Tale Lust. She blogs about Minotaurs, Victorian art and writing dirty at janineashb-less. blogspot.com.

  HEIDI CHAMPA (heidichampa.blogspot.com) has been published in numerous anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica 2010; Please, Sir; Orgasmic and Alison’s Wonderland. She has also steamed up the pages of Bust magazine. If you prefer your erotica in electronic form, she can be found at Clean Sheets, Ravenous Romance, Oysters and Chocolate and The Erotic Woman.

  KARENNA COLCROFT is a former schoolteacher who now writes full-time, when her muse allows it. She has been published by several e-publishers, including Pink Petal Books, Ellora’s Cave and Siren. Karenna lives in the northeaster
n United States with her two daughters and her real-life romance hero husband.

  ELIZABETH COLDWELL lives and writes in London. Her short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies including Please, Sir; Smooth and Orgasmic. She can be found blogging at The (Really) Naughty Corner, elizabethcoldwell.wordpress.com.

  JUSTINE ELYOT is the author of full-length erotica titles On Demand and The Business of Pleasure. She has a range of shorter stories available from Total E-Bound, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Xcite Books and Noble Romance. Her double life is lived in the UK.

  A. M. HARTNETT published her first erotic short in 2006. She lives in Atlantic Canada and has set most of her work in this locale. For more information on her publications, please visit amhartnett.com.

  KAY JAYBEE wrote the erotic anthologies Quick Kink 1, Quick Kink 2 and The Collector. A regular contributor to oystersand-chocolate. com, Kay also has stories published by Cleis Press, Black Lace, Mammoth, Xcite and Penguin. Details of her work can be found at kayjaybee.me.uk.

  DELILAH NIGHT is an American living in Singapore with her husband and young child. Besides erotica, she writes about sex after parenthood and sex-positive parenting. In time, Delilah hopes to be a licensed sexologist and sex educator. She invites you to visit her website, delilahnight.com.