Red Hot Reads Two

by Lucy Felthouse

  Marcus lay propped on a pillow next to her. He evidently had no intentions of releasing her tonight, and it didn’t even occur to her to ask him to.

  ‘So,’ she repeated, ‘who was it that picked up the cage?’

  ‘Clients. Friends of mine.’

  ‘What friends?’

  ‘They run a fetish club. A converted warehouse in the old dock area. I supply their play equipment.’

  She smiled. ‘Is that what you call it? Play equipment?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Play, like what we’ve done tonight. The cage is going to hang from a hook on the ceiling, next to the bar.’

  Lydia digested this information, pictured herself naked, hanging in the cage, next to the bar, being an object of attention – of public desire – in a fetish club. Scant hours ago she would have dismissed the thought out of hand. Suddenly, now, it seemed like a cute thing to do. Cute enough to make her clit tingle with anticipation.

  ‘And you go to this club?’

  Marcus laughed. ‘Of course. Most weeks.’

  ‘Would I...know anybody there?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe. The painter, the one whose pictures you saw downstairs. He comes once in a while.’

  Lydia had the feeling she was going to get a bad reputation, really quickly. Or a good one. It just depended on your point of view.

  ‘Take me with you – next time you go?’

  The words had a stiffening effect on Marcus, and Lydia burst out laughing. She might be the one cuffed to his bed, yet she could still control his cock by asking a simple question. It was clearly going to be light before either of them got any sleep.

  Fun on Cam

  by Jen Ricci

  As soon as your cam came up, I knew I had missed you more than I realised this past month. A shiver of sexual recognition shot through my body, desire hitting me like an arrow. I’ve always known I wanted to fuck you, but until now it wasn’t clear to me how much.

  You look at me and you seem to go through the same motions. You are lying on your bed, the PC on your stomach, a bit above your cock, which, for now, I cannot see. The cam shows me your face and torso. Your beautiful face and your powerful, strong body, toned but not excessively, I don’t like those impossibly sculpted bodies, yours is strong, yet natural. I can see the hair on your chest and that turns me on. God, Josh, I’ve missed you...

  I want to be dirty. We haven’t even spoken yet, but I want to be really dirty. I start playing with my fingers, sucking the index then the middle finger. I know you like it but I do it almost naturally, riding this vibe that comes from you.

  ‘Spit,’ you say and I spit in my hand. Then: ‘Rub it over your face, just like before.’

  I remember the first time you requested me to do this, how I’d paused, uncertain. ‘The shine on your skin makes you look even more beautiful via the cam,’ you’d told me and I’d flushed at the compliment.

  But over time, our relationship has evolved. It isn’t compliments I need from you now, Josh. And you know this.

  ‘More.’

  Yes, tell me what to do. I like it, the authority, the orders. It’s exactly what I need. I repeat the process until my face is silky, glistening on the screen.

  ‘Do you want to show me what you’re wearing?’ you ask. ‘Are you wearing any panties?’

  ‘I am,’ I whisper coyly.

  ‘It’s time for them to go. Show me your pussy now...’

  I stand back, so you can see me a bit better. There isn’t a lot of space between the chair and the wall, but any place can be erotic with you. I start undoing my belt, the jeans, I make them fall a bit, revealing my panties; they have lovely golden hearts and see-through fabric. You can see my trimmed hair through them. I inch down the panties, wanting to obey, yet still teasing...

  ‘A very nice pussy,’ you murmur.

  Next, without even a prompt, I pull my jumper up to show you my tits in a pink bra. I don’t take them out straight away, but massage them between my hands, taking the full cups.

  ‘Now rub some spit into those beautiful tits,’ you say, a little hoarsely and I do. The saliva runs in the gap between my breasts, then, slowly, I smear it all in. I make sure you see everything.

  ‘I want to come,’ I say to you. I stand up, turn and show you my butt and I can feel your gaze, Josh. Your eyes are fixated on me, like a snake who is about to attack and eat his prey. You scare me, yet somehow you excite me, and this draws me towards you. I want to lie down and give you my pussy, I want you inside me...

  You now move your cam a bit and your cock is standing like a tent pole in your boxers. Oh my God, it’s so big. You now place the cam at the base of your cock and I can see it as you hold it in your hands, when really I’d like it in my pussy, my mouth.

  ‘Do you have a toy?’ you ask. Then you order me to move the cam to the living room’s rug so you can see me fully.

  Of course I have toys, plenty of them. But today I want something different, something new.

  I take a banana from the kitchen, then fully remove my jumper and my panties. I’m sprawled at the centre of my white, fluffy rug, my legs spread, and my pussy in your full view. I make sure my face is in the shot too, just like you requested.

  Then I place the banana into my pussy and kneel, as if I am riding your cock.

  ‘More,’ you say. ‘Right in. Let me know when you are coming. I want to hear you scream loud, I want to hear it like I’m there with you, under you.’

  You look at my face, and you see me smile. Your voice, your words, your presence; everything about you turns me on. I can kind of see you and I can’t because I’m so into touching myself, the rest of the world is blurring at the edges.

  ‘Press harder on your clit,’ your voice cuts through, and I do. I almost come. So close. Just a few more strokes is all it takes. And then I’m screaming. I tell you I’m coming and, within seconds, you are too.

  I’m in a state of confusion, as always after sex. I realise I’ve been too loud. I can hear people at my front door. Time to get back to reality. My heart is thumping, just like my pussy, in the wind-down from my climax. I can see your spunk all over you, trails across your stomach, your chest even.

  ‘If we met, darling, I’d lick you clean,’ I say. ‘Then, I’d kiss you...’

  Josh and I met on the net. I’m sure some things are predestined – they must be. It was a totally casual ‘add’ from a Facebook group I joined for no particular reason. Maybe I was looking for fake friends, or perhaps I was bored: I saw his picture and I remember hesitating for a second or two before sending him the friend request.

  I don’t remember if he asked me where we met; he did send me happy birthday wishes though. We started talking from there. I remember I often didn’t even respond to his messages...and just look at me now, hanging on his every word. He has taken over. Slowly but surely, he has penetrated my spirit and mind and made it his own. I haven’t even met him, yet I know we’d have sex – real contact sex – within the first hour if we ever were to. One day we will. Maybe...

  It’s been about two days and I haven’t heard from you. Sometimes I don’t hear from you for a while. I send you some pictures. Don’t they say a picture says a thousand words? They are snaps of my butt and breasts, a hand in my pussy. ‘Send’ is maybe the wrong word. My Facebook account has become yours. I have deleted all pictures, all friends, all past. There isn’t even a profile picture: only a space where I talk to you, post wall messages to you alone, post pictures that only you will see. Facebook has become our intimate online space. Just you and me.

  The day drags along. There’s work and there’s the bank and it begins to rain and I get drenched. Back home, I have a hot shower. The water slides down my body, reaches my pussy.

  I touch my clit while I think of you; I’ve been thinking of you all day, fantasizing about y
ou. My clit grows a bit and I touch it harder. I slip my index and middle finger into my pussy, finding the G spot. I sit down in the shower now, warm water falling down on me, my head, my body, it dribbles onto my pussy and suddenly I squirt. I rub harder on my clit and, while I fuck myself there in the shower, it is as if you are fucking me, Josh. I come, screaming with the release, and I rest there a moment, enjoying the warm water and the post-come tiredness.

  My gown is black silk, and slides easily down my figure. I feel clean, relaxed. My hair is still wet, but I like it like this.

  I sit on the sofa, a book at hand or maybe TV, I haven’t decided yet. When the phone rings I’ve just put on the music channel. My post orgasm state has made me even more relaxed than normal.

  ‘Darling, it’s you. You gave me a scare, I didn’t know this number...’ I say, hearing your voice.

  This is how it works, our fun on cam. It never starts with fun straight away though. We talk about this and that, and I love to hear your voice. I’ve grown to recognise it and love it. You ask me how I am. Then more questions, before finally we come to the reason you have really called tonight.

  ‘Why did you send me those photographs? To entice me?’

  Nervous, I stay silent, waiting for you to go on.

  ‘Well it worked, I’m enticed.’

  So we switch from phone to cam. As soon as I see you, a gesture comes natural to me, dictated by a sexual impulse that goes beyond my conscious, as I start playing with my index finger on my lips and tongue. I am wearing an encrusted ring of fake diamonds on my middle finger that adds to the effect when I lustfully suck it, mimicking a whore sucking a cock. And though I’m not a whore, I want to be for you.

  I pull up my sweater, grab my tits really hard and squeeze, grab and squeeze again, then I spit onto the palms of my hand. I rub the moisture into my tits as I pull them out over my bra.

  ‘Yes, that’s nasty...do that more,’ I hear you say, as you show me your cock, already hard. You handle it roughly and I like that. Just the same as I like you to be a bit rough with me...

  See what you have done, Josh. Before meeting you, I didn’t even know how a cam worked. You said to me you wanted to see me on camera and I said I didn’t have one. I asked whether it was OK if I went to an internet café so you could see my face ...but it wasn’t just my face you wanted to see, was it, Josh?

  The cam changed everything. This may sound funny to you, but I was petrified the first time we spoke. You looked eager. You had spent a month talking to me with not much of a result.

  ‘I thought you were going to do a little show for me,’ you said, sounding disappointed when I showed you a few new clothes I had bought. I think you expected to see them off, not on.

  I stood back so you could see my full figure and, slowly, took off my jeans, revealing a red thong, which you could see in full view along with my long hair falling over my shoulders. I think the effect was somehow erotic as a glimpse confirmed I had your full attention.

  And that was the first show. Not much, was it? I bet you were used to having girls semi naked in record time...yet, in spite of my snail speed at getting my clothes off and performing the things you so love (or maybe thanks to it?) you’ve stuck with me for months and months. Josh, every time I see you, I know I have to have you – I need you – and I haven’t even met you. Yet I know, for certain, and it’s the first time in my life I’m so sure about something, that I will sleep with you: it’s like it’s inevitable.

  I feel this unbreakable bond, this energy that has already on some level been unleashed. It’s mad, when I think about it. I haven’t even met you.

  So here we are now, clothes off, panties off, my hands on my tits and your big cock filling the camera screen. I like it when you come. When I see the spunk on your chest, I imagine it on my face, warm. If someone had told me months ago, before I met you in this strange online world, that I would do something like this and that I would feel the things I feel, I wouldn’t have believed them. The woman I am now is so different from the woman I’ve always known.

  You’re a bit rough today. You ask me if I have a dildo, or a banana like the other day. Your tone is brief, requests sound like orders. The banana was a treat. Today I don’t have anything to insert in my pussy, but fingers, I don’t want you to get used to treats...I have to confess I like to tease you. Give you something, take it away, give it again. Show you my pussy, then lock my legs, provocatively, like a stripper. Take my nipples between my fingers, squeeze them and then put them back in the bra. Take my skirt up, show you my butt, slap it and cover it again. Walk on all fours, as I lick my fingers.

  While it makes you mad, because you can’t stop this torture through the screen, you have got me to a point now that you can demand to see my pussy, to open my legs and show you how I touch it. I always do in the end. Always give you what you want; because that’s what I want.

  ‘Put two fingers into your pussy...like that, but deeper.’

  I do so, but you don’t seem happy. You wanted a banana.I was planning a courgette for next time, but I won’t tell you this. I’ll choose a long, rounded one, not too thick because my hole is small. I was planning to suck it lustfully and lick it upside down and on the top, as if the courgette was your cock...

  ‘Yes, like that,’ you say, ‘Nasty, get nasty.’

  But I don’t feel like getting nasty, I want to do my thing. You have to follow my pace. To your credit, you’re making an effort, even if you do keep asking me if I’m ready to come.

  ‘C’mon, I’m ready to shift my load now – are you coming?’ You can’t get much more to the point and this turns me on in a funny way. I should find it offensive really, but I come; it’s so intense. It’s all the encouragement you need to burst. Neither of us talks, so I ask if you want to chat.

  ‘I’ll call you later. I’m very tired now,’ you say.

  I send a kiss and you smile.

  ‘I had a very tough week at work.’

  Don’t ask me why, but I like to be this friend for you, also this.

  I go to bed and sleep like a log. Why do I feel so well after cam sex? Exactly as if I’ve had physical sex. Josh, what have you done to me?

  The night’s dreams are varied. There’s nothing as dark as a night without dreams, but mine has been bright. Over breakfast, a banana reminds me of the cam fuck. I peel it and lustfully suck the tip off, smiling to myself, tasting it, my tongue playing with the sweet fruit.

  It’s time to get changed and go to work. It’s getting cold outside; I’ll have to wear a pair of tights, cover my pinkies which are so pretty in their red varnish. I study them while extending first one leg, then the other, suspended on the chair at the breakfast table. Sometimes I wonder if I should become a whore, or a pole dancer, or a lap dancer, but it’s only a fleeting thought generated by my lustful nature. Yet considering I’m so highly strung, I’m also incredibly naïve on other levels; how could I never have tried the cam before you came along, Josh? It’s the most fun I’ve had in years. Fun on cam rocks!

  Maybe not a whore, I ponder. Perhaps I could do some work on cam for websites if they paid enough,just another fanciful thought. Would I enjoy it though? Do I love the cam because it’s with you, or do I like it because...I like it?

  It’s difficult to tell. All I know is now I can’t imagine my life without you or the cam, which is sweet in a way. After all, Josh, you were my first; you took my cam virginity. I hope it isn’t too long before I can express my gratitude to the man behind the camera.

  Dionysus

  by J. Manx

  I go back each year and have done for the past twenty years. I tell my family I need a break, just a week away by myself, to recharge my batteries. It’s become a bit of a family joke, my need to recover from the stresses of their company. My husband’s very good about it, he says he understands. But he doesn’t. How could he
? How could I explain to him the real reason for the annual sojourn? How could I explain what happened all those years ago?

  ‘Darling, 20 years ago I took part in a bacchanalian orgy. I just need to return to remind myself of how alive I felt.’

  He would never believe me and even if he did, what then?

  Twenty years ago, I’d just finished university and, like many others of my generation, I took a year off to travel. I was a great fan of classical antiquity and had decided to spend a chunk of the year in Greece, visiting ancient historical sites. Top of my list was a visit to Delos, an island that had great cultural significance during the classical era. It was, reputedly, the birthplace of Artemis, the goddess of hunting, Apollo the sun god, and Dionysus.

  Dionysus was the god of wine, the inspirer of ritual madness and ecstasy who was followed about the country by his entourage of maenads and satyrs. The ruins of a famous Dionysian shrine where a pillar is topped by the remains of a huge, broken, stone phallus can still be seen on Delos.

  Although rich in legend and history, Delos is virtually uninhabited, so I based myself on the nearby island of Mykonos about two kilometres away. There, I rented a room from a fisherman who supplemented his meagre income by accommodating comparatively well off European tourists. Mykonos is a favourite package holiday resort and has a vibrant nightlife. However, back then it was an entirely different island, sparsely populated and lacking in most day-to-day amenities. But it was beautiful and peaceful.

  I’d spent two days visiting Delos, soaking up its history. At the end of each day I’d be taken back to Mykonos by boat and, after a basic supper, with little else to do, I spent the remaining daylight hours exploring the surrounding countryside.

  It was on the third evening that it happened. I’d returned from Delos in the late afternoon and after a light meal of cheese, bread, fruit and wine, I went for a walk to explore, for the last time, the local terrain. I’d initially intended to go down to the sea for a swim but changed my mind and decided to travel further inland.