by Violet Blue
“Oh, you’re a wild one, all right,” the man said with a chuckle.
The van came to a sudden stop and the door opened. She heard another man climb in, but he said not a word. The click of the door locks snapped in the air.
“Roll over, get on your knees.”
It occurred to her that she could continue to fight, but it would only anger them. Perhaps if she obeyed them, this would be quick and painless. Trepidation trembled in her as she obeyed the command.
Strong hands immediately pushed up her dress. Underneath she wore no underwear. Fingers pressed into her, and spread her apart. Gasping, she jerked forward. A sharp slap bit into her ass.
Then she felt a cock prodding at her mouth. The same man spoke to her. “You’d better be good and please us. You don’t want to test our patience.”
She knew she had no choice. Opening her mouth to him, she swallowed his cock as the other man played with her pussy. The cock slid in and out of her throat as the other’s fingers pushed inside her.
The man’s thumb kneaded her clit and, despite herself, arousal pooled in her. She began to get wet under his exploration faster then she ever had before. Then his tongue began to explore her lips. Sensation poured through her, and her only venue to express it was through the cock in her mouth. She began to lick and swirl her tongue around it, swallowing deeply.
Moans escaped her. Strong need built in her, and the situation only fueled her desire. The man behind her withdrew his mouth, grabbed her ass, and kneaded it in his hands. With one strong thrust, his cock invaded her body. She cried out and went into an immediate orgasm.
Her body convulsed with pleasure.
The orgasm faded, but her ecstasy did not. She was so wet, so wanton. She bucked against him. Her ass slapped against his hips. The other cock rammed in and out of her greedy mouth.
She joined both men in another peak. Her mouth filled with seed at the same moment the man behind her squirted his hot come all over her ass. Exhausted, she collapsed. A sharp slap bit into her butt.
“You aren’t done yet,” said the first man. Pulling his cock from her mouth, he shuffled in back of her. “Back on your knees. Now.”
The man from the back now moved to her front, grasped her by her hair, and pulled her head up. His cock, slippery with her own juices, pushed into her mouth.
Another smack fired on her ass. She cried out, and moved back onto her knees. There was no choice but to obey. The concept filled her with a second wind, and new want.
Thrusting her ass in the air, she welcomed his cock as she sucked on the other. He drove into her with one hard plunge.
She rammed against him, and almost immediately came. Both men jerked inside her and filled her with their release.
Once again, her body collapsed. The man in front of her pulled up his zipper, and she listened to him open the van door, which he then shut behind him.
He was gone. She’d never heard his voice. She’d never seen his face. And she never would. That had been part of the deal.
She rolled onto her back. The other man untied her wrists and removed her blindfold. With a smile, she gazed up at her husband.
“Thank you, darling,” he said, reaching out to caress her leg. “That was great.”
“I have to admit, it was. I was so nervous.”
“Do you think you could do it again?”
“Surprise me,” she said with a light laugh. It was a new part of her—this sexual, uninhibited woman he was bringing out in her. It would take some getting used to, but she liked this part of herself.
Perhaps one day she would even surprise him.
THE GUY YOUR MOTHER WARNED YOU ABOUT
Chris Costello
I drew some dirty looks as I walked into the club, which gave me a thrill. I could practically feel my cock throbbing in my pants as I leered at all the beautiful girls—and I felt I should be embarrassed for having a hard-on. How long would it take them to make me, I wondered? Longer than I thought, as it turned out, because nobody came over and sat next to me, and Karita, the cocktail waitress, cast nary a glance in my direction.
Fuck, I thought. I did it.
Looked like nobody I knew well had decided to show up that night; that was probably part of the reason nobody spotted me. But I guess I still must have looked pretty convincing to get that kind of attitude from the waitress.
Now, the acid test, after ten minutes of waiting and two cigarettes—Marlboros, of course: “Hey, could I get a Hefeweisen over here?” I shouted at the top of my lungs, over the L7 blaring from the speakers. To me, my voice sounded squeaky, girly, too feminine—but the nasty look I got from Karita told me I was doing fine.
Karita was a twenty-something punkette like me, only way more femme than I could ever hope to be (or want to). She was wearing a tight pair of leather pants that laced up the sides and a tight, low-cut, bright red tank top that said, I’M THE GUY YOUR MOTHER WARNED YOU ABOUT. It was cut off just below her breasts. She looked even better than usual, and my practiced male swagger made me want to leer at those full breasts, pretty face, and bee-stung lips in a weirdly entitled fashion. I felt I had every right to walk up to this distant acquaintance and bury my face between her breasts, just because I wanted to—which was something I had never felt in my life.
Feeling like that was making me incredibly wet.
It was an empty night at the CoCo Club—maybe twenty, twenty-five women lounging about in various stages of festivity, a few of them dressed up, but most in their casual Sunday clothes: jeans, T-shirts, sharkskin jackets, leather, the uniform of mostly-under-thirty San Francisco dykes on the make. Sexy, tough, rugged. Hip.
There in the corner, though, sat the girl of my dreams. She was pale and gorgeous, femme and curvy and more than a little slutty-looking, an impression she obviously cultivated. She always dressed up—I’d never seen her without heels, makeup, and her hair done up with that messy just-fucked look she liked to work. Tonight the girl was wearing a tight little red dress that would have been a slip on a more proper girl, and just barely that. I could see her breasts, braless, and her panty lines through the tight red slip, which for some reason my inner lech found incredibly sexy. She was also wearing a red feather boa casually draped around her shoulders, a trademark I’d seen on her more than a few times. Her stockings were black fishnet, the lace tops and garters visible just under the lace hem of the slip, and she had what must have been four-inch heels.
Karita and a couple of other people had told me her name was Danielle, but we’d never been formally introduced. Still, we’d flirted more than a few times, and how I’d never managed to even get an introduction was beyond me, especially now that I was pumped up on imaginary male hormones. I resolved to walk up to her and introduce myself, then suddenly felt the butterflies in my stomach that had taken me over the last three times I’d tried. It’s not as if Danielle hadn’t given me more than a few smoldering looks, but I was supposed to be the butch here, wasn’t I?
Not that I was a real butch, most of the time—oh, I tried for that hard-edged swagger and a sneering chuckle, but a perky, boyish bounce and a red-faced and vaguely unfeminine giggle were the best I’d been able to manage. Tonight was different, though—I wasn’t just butch, I was a sexist pig and itinerant male oppressor, so Danielle could bloody well blow me. I’d barely had that thought when I saw her looking at me with a smirk on her face—had she made me? Or was she just so impressed by my cojones in walking in here that she figured I was cool, even if I was a party-crashing straight dude? God, she was fucking gorgeous—big brown eyes and long black hair contrasted hard against her pale skin, lips painted the color of blood. I wanted to taste those lips so bad it hurt.
Karita took her time with my beer, finally sauntering over well after I’d cracked the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue I’d brought along—the finishing touch, in case I failed to piss anyone off. When Karita came over, she told me, much colder than the beer, “Three-fifty.”
I handed her a fiv
e. “Here you go, dollface,” I said in my gruff voice, and patted her ass. “You can keep the change.”
That’s when she made me—lucky thing, too, because her fist was already balled up. Dykes like Karita don’t slap.
She bent forward and peered into my face.
“Chris?” she asked tentatively.
“The name’s Chad,” I told her. “That’s a great pair of pants you’re wearing, honey. Nice top, too. And I like what’s in it. You know, I really am the guy your mother warned you about. What time do you get off?”
“Oh, I’m getting off right now,” she said through a wicked smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover, but you’re about to get lynched on the dance floor if nobody but me takes a closer look.”
I crushed out my cigarette. “Thanks, Sweet-cheeks,” I said, hoping she didn’t see me go pale. “You need a big comfortable lap to sit on later, you know where to find me.”
“Oh, I’ll find you,” she replied. “But I have the feeling Danny’s going to find you first.”
A chill went down my spine. Some leather fag bouncer they’d hired, maybe?
“Danny?”
“Danielle,” said Karita. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way she’s looking at you, Chad.”
Danielle was staring, her chin propped on her fist, her eyes roving over me from across the bar.
I reddened.
Karita disappeared and I drank half my Hefeweisen in one gulp. I tried to light another Marlboro and found my hands were shaking. I told myself this was too crazy, I couldn’t just walk over there and turn on the charm like some tough-guy. I couldn’t even change the fucking oil on my Kia Sephia, for God’s sake. All right, I would have two more beers and then I’d go up and introduce myself to Danielle as Chris, she’d recognize me, I’d take off the mustache, I’d slip off the sharkskin suit and the suspenders, unknot the tie, and take off the dress shirt so she could see my slight breasts in the white undershirt I wore, know it was really me. Then we’d have a laugh over it and maybe I could ask for her phone number, take her to the film festival the week after next. That was always good for a first date. No way was I going to play this charade of drag-king swagger with a girl I actually liked—that would be stupid; she’d never go for it. That sort of thing would seem silly to an accomplished glam queen like Danielle.
“Excuse me, sir?”
I looked up from my beer and my ears popped; all of a sudden I felt dizzy and nauseous.
“Y–yes?”
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” said Danielle, standing closer to me than I expected—so close I could smell her perfume even over the cigarette smoke and beer and sweat of the bar. What was it? Something I recognized, something my older sister Candace had worn to her junior prom.
“I’m Danielle.” She put out her hand, palm down.
I remembered my manners and stood. “I’m Chad,” I said, grasping her hand, touching my lips to it, and lingering a bit too long. “Chad…Costello.” I found myself taking a deep breath, sniffing up her arm like some character from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I turned her hand over and smelled her wrist, finally placing the scent.
“Chanel No. 5,” I said. Now that’s femme. “A beautiful scent for a beautiful woman.” My heart was pounding and I felt like I was about to faint—or throw up on her. That wouldn’t have been very butch at all.
“Oh, Mr. Costello,” said Danielle, making a show of hiding her face and even blushing a little bit—how the hell did she manage that?—even while her eyes showed a wicked sparkle and she licked her lips sexily. “You’re flattering me. I always get so embarrassed when men flatter me!”
“I’m sure it happens a lot,” I said. “And please call me Chad.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said. “We’ve just met. I don’t want to seem, you know, that way.”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with being that way,” I said. “And besides, we’re going to get a lot more familiar, you know.” Fuck, had I actually said that? Impossible. Feeling drunk with power and fear, I said, “Please sit down.”
She moved to sit in the chair across from me and I gently grasped her arm. “Not there,” I said, hardly believing I was doing this. I patted my lap. “It’s much more comfortable over here.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” She managed to suppress the ironic smile that played at the edge of her mouth. I could see her nipples through the thin silk of her slip—harder than before? Was this turning her on? I knew I was so wet I could have slid right out of my chair.
“Please,” I said, and Danielle didn’t have to be asked a third time. She settled into my lap and draped her arms around my shoulders, her breasts just inches from my face and straining to get through that lacy slip. She playfully twined her feather boa around my neck and tickled my nose with the other end. I breathed deeply of her scent and felt my cunt respond, my nipples pressing against the Ace bandage I’d used to bind my breasts. I knew from the way Danielle was sitting that she could feel the bulge of the precariously arranged dildo strapped to my body and stuffed into my jockstrap—and in case I had any doubts, she began to squirm against it, rubbing her ass against my cock as if casually, though there was nothing casual about it.
I looked up into Danielle’s delectable face, hoping I didn’t look too much like a schoolgirl in love. To cover my consternation, I let one hand rest unceremoniously on the place where her ass rested on my knee, and brought my other hand up to her thigh, placing it at the spot where her garters met her lace-top fishnets, right at the lace hem of her slip, so much so that my thumb even went underneath the garment. I smiled up at her mischievously, like an adolescent boy doing something bad, which is how I felt—the part of me that wasn’t terrified she’d slug me and my chances would be ruined.
But she didn’t slug me, didn’t pull away. Instead, she snuggled closer, letting her breasts hover ever nearer my face while she ran her fingers through my hair. She cocked her head and breathed seductively into my ear.
“Waitress,” I shouted. “Get this lady a drink!” Then, softer, “What’re you drinking, Danielle?”
“Cosmopolitan.”
“One cosmo!” I called out to Karita. Then to Danielle I said, “You must watch that HBO show with all those horny women.”
“In bed with my clothes off,” said Danielle with a smile. “Every fucking week.”
Karita brought the cosmopolitan and another beer, and I held up a ten.
“On the house,” said Karita. “Dykes with balls get special consideration.”
“Then go buy yourself something lacy, dollface,” I said, holding out the ten.
Karita smiled. “Oh, you mean it, Mr. Costello?” She set down the tray of drinks on an adjacent table and put both hands on her tits, pushing them together and bending forward until she could pluck the bill away with her cleavage. She did exactly that, and I didn’t even move the $10 to make it any easier for her. A couple of women across the bar hooted and applauded as Karita came away with the ten-spot stuck between her breasts at the slight V of her tank top. I guess by then they’d figured out I wasn’t a tourist. Karita bent forward and gave me a kiss on the lips.
“Whore,” Danielle said to her, putting one hand on my cheek. “Get your own man.” She kissed me, too, her full lips meeting mine and her slender tongue teasing its way into my mouth as Karita made a snide comment—“That’s what I was doing, slut”—and danced away.
Danielle’s lips parted with mine and she smiled.
“You don’t know what a thrill it is to get a man in here,” she cooed. “I mean a real man.” She squirmed some more against my cock.
“I guess you don’t get many guys in here,” I said gruffly. “I mean, in this kind of a club.”
She giggled, kissed my ear. “Well, you know…. The management does sort of discourage it. We never know when a virile guy like yourself might walk in and steal all the femmes away.”
“Is that right?”
“Oh, yes. You know how we are
. We’ll come here, all right, but we’re just waiting for the right man to come in, drag us home by the hair, and throw us on the bed. That’s what we all want, isn’t it? Even if we don’t know it.”
“Oh. Is that what you want?”
She looked into my eyes, her big brown ones seducing me in a way I’d never been seduced before. I could smell the liquor on her breath—
I tried to suppress my guffaw, which didn’t work—instead, it turned into a giggle, as if I were a six-year-old playing dress-up with her best friend. I couldn’t stop giggling. I started coughing to hide the sound, and to cover my nervousness I slipped my hand even further up Danielle’s dress. Now I could feel the soft skin of her thigh, and I found myself noticing that with my other hand I couldn’t feel those panty lines that had so turned me on when they showed through her slip. I ran my fingertips over the heart-shape of her ass and wondered aloud at their absence.
“I took them off,” she whispered into my ear. “I thought you’d like that. I know how a tough guy like you doesn’t like to waste time undressing a woman.”
Now my head was spinning for real, and I thought I actually might pass out. I tried hard not to blush, but as we sat there and drank our drinks, Danielle’s flirting increased a notch as we traded double entendres and brushed our bodies against each other. I got wetter with every sultry caress she gave the back of my neck, with every time she ran her fingers through my hair, with every kiss she planted on my lips. I had come in here planning to bewitch with my arrogance and braggadocio, but now this femme was seducing me with all the subtlety of Marilyn Monroe on ecstasy. I can’t say I minded.
“You ever been with a real man?” I asked her in between flirts and kisses, in between letting my hands casually graze her breasts as I held her.
“Oh, I turn them into real men,” she said, kissing my forehead.
“Think you could pull that trick with me?” I asked.
“Oh, I won’t need to,” she said. “I could tell that right away.”
