“I’m not a cougar! They go hunting in bars.”
“Well, I’m a cougar-hunter with my trusty weapon.” He smiled into her eyes and snapped the rubber band against the warm skin where she had pressed her coffee cup.
The slight sting flowed instantly into both her nipples, waking them up. She shifted in her seat, aware that her hardened nipples could be seen through her thin beige bra and clingy sweater.
“You’re a brat.” She reached for his hands, and he grabbed her wrists. She raised her trapped hands, stood up and leaned forward to push him off, but he pulled her to his chest. Before she could back off, he released her wrists and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her slight weight securely.
“I’m your disciple and loyal servant, milady. Don’t I deserve a reward for my years of devotion?”
She didn’t struggle out of his grasp, so he leaned forward and kissed her. It was a soft, deep, satisfying kiss, combining just the right amounts of friendship and passion. He slipped a hot tongue into her mouth, and she didn’t bite it. He actually trembled with relief. When he reluctantly pulled away from her, both of them were breathing hard.
“Xavier.” The large nipples that crowned her modest but perky breasts pressed into his chest, which was covered with a threadbare T-shirt. Her solid points were not merely philosophical, and Xavier reached up to run his fingers gently over them.
“You want me,” he told her. “Say it.” As though showing his devotion, he reached under her hair to pull her head toward his lips.
Maureen jumped when he snapped his rubber band close to the back of her neck.
“Heh,” he chuckled. “My dear, imagine what it would feel like to be hit by a lot of little rubber catapults. A snap here and a snap there.” He playfully snapped his weapon on her shoulder and down her back while she squirmed and squealed like a girl.
“You need that treatment yourself! That’s my elastic, you know.”
“So you admit it! Why do you have so many in your briefcase, woman? Collecting rubber?”
Maureen stretched her arms around his back, looking at him seriously. She suspected that he had given this topic some thought. “Elastic bands are useful,” she explained, as though to a slow learner. “They hold things together. Until they break, anyway. Tell me what you use them for.”
“Not them. It, dear woman, the wondrous fruit of the rubber tree. As smooth as an oil slick and as stretchy as a nice, welcoming pussy. I bet you wouldn’t have stayed childless all these years if your gentleman friends hadn’t dressed their little soldiers in latex suits.”
“True,” she laughed. “And if you came here for that, I hope you’re not going to be too disappointed.”
Xavier looked stricken to the heart. “Did I come here to hide the sausage? To tear off a piece? Is that what you think? Perish the thought. I came here to enjoy the company of my beautiful, smart and challenging friend Maureen, whom I want to know as deeply as possible. In the carnal sense, down to the core. I want to hear you scream with pleasure.” He reached under her sweater to stroke her back and search for the hooks of her bra.
“Okay. You want to see what’s under my clothes and I want to see how you’ve grown up. I’ll take something off and you take something off.”
Maureen stepped away from him, ran all her fingers through her glossy brown hair, shook it, and let it fall slowly to her shoulders. Then she grasped the bottom edge of her sweater and pulled up, turning it inside out as she raised it over her head.
Her translucent, seamless bra looked weightless, less a source of support for her breasts than a thin covering like a condom. Her puckered, deep-pink nipples were clearly visible on her girlish mounds beneath the fabric. “Perfect,” he told her. “You should air them out more often.”
She shimmied slightly like a stripper, unhooked her bra and tossed it on the table with a broad sweep of her arm. Xavier applauded. “All right!” he said. He bent down with a flourish to kiss each of her nipples.
“My turn,” he bragged, grinning uncontrollably. He stood before her, bowed slightly and yanked his T-shirt over his head. After forcefully throwing the faded cotton shirt to the floor, he posed for Maureen, discreetly flexing his arm muscles so that his lightly furred chest rippled and bulged. “You’re built, my man,” she said. She knew this was what he wanted to hear, and it was true.
“See this?” he asked her, unzipping his jeans. He kicked off his shoes, then stood easily on one foot as he pulled a pant leg off his other leg, then repeated the process with the other pant leg. He threw his jeans into a corner and stood naked except for slick black rubber shorts with an opening that gave his cock room to grow. The gleaming texture of his fancy pants looked hypnotic next to his warm beige skin.
“I’m Captain Goodride, baby,” he bragged. “Check it out.” He turned around slowly, letting her see the smooth planes of his body from all sides. Then he leaned forward from the waist and shook his ass in her face as well as he could. He managed a sensuous side-to-side undulation.
Maureen slapped one of his buttcheeks, releasing a faintly industrial smell of rubber.
“I’ll get you back, Queen Bitch,” he threatened cheerfully. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her roughly to his chest. This time, he pressed his hot lips to hers and ravished her mouth with his tongue. She staggered backward, feeling weak in the knees. He tightened his grip with one hand while using the other to find the back zipper of her linen pants.
Maureen held on to his incredibly hard arms, trusting him to support most of her weight while he undressed her.
She expected Xavier to tease and withhold and make her beg. Instead, he reached down the front of her pants to find her moist bush. “I don’t need latex for this,” he assured her, sliding two fingers up and down her slit, enjoying the treasure hunt. “No mercy,” he explained. “I can’t be sure you’re not an enemy agent, so I have to make sure you’re not carrying any recording devices.” Maureen laughed and groaned, remembering their argument about whether their own government did as much spying on its citizens as most others.
Once Xavier had found her clit, he rolled, pinched, squeezed and stretched it. He plunged his two fingers as deeply into her wetness as they would go, then alternated the finger-fuck with the tormenting of her clit. “Oh!” she exhaled, despite her intentions. “Xavier! I’ll come!” His strategy was so far from her expectations that she seemed likely to erupt from surprise.
“Giving in so easily?” he taunted. “I bet you can hold out longer than you think. Come on, woman, try it.” He continued exploring her depths and coaxing her clit to its ultimate size. She squirmed in his grip, and found that this increased the friction in her most sensitive places, bringing her closer to an explosion.
She yelped when her pussy squeezed on its own, clutching his fingers as though she didn’t want him to withdraw. Her spasms seemed to go on forever, although, as her logical consciousness reminded her, they could only have lasted a few minutes at most.
“Good to know what you like,” he smirked, pulling her crumpled pants down past her knees, taking her stretch-lace panties down with them. Her own clothes felt ridiculous to her by then, although Xavier’s rubber shorts looked as natural on him as the underwear of a rogue spaceship captain.
Maureen tried to fold her pants neatly, but Xavier impatiently grabbed her hand and forced her to drop them. Not wanting to seem like a bully, he took them from her and laid them on a chair. “You want more, girl?” he leered, looking her up and down. “If you want to know what I’ve got, you have to get these off me.” He looked down at the stretched rubber that barely covered the hard bulge of his cock.
He had already scoped out the house, and he knew where he wanted to go. He pulled her, naked and still wet, into her own bedroom.
Above the unmade bed hung a large poster of a woman crouched for action, holding a leather-handled whip with rubber strands. Her tousled brown hair, pale skin and slim body looked like Maureen’s. Her intense green eyes st
ared challengingly at the viewer, giving her face a completely different expression from Maureen’s usual guarded smile. The woman’s shiny black catsuit clung to every part of her, and it flashed in the moody light from a full moon and a sky full of stars. She stood on gleaming black stilettos, sure of her balance.
“Ah,” Xavier acknowledged, apparently to himself. “So where’s your suit, honey?”
Maureen’s blush spread beyond her face to her upper chest. For once she didn’t know what to say. They both knew that she could afford a much more extensive fetish wardrobe than he could. And now they both knew that she was afraid to give in to her deepest desires.
The hunger of her skin and the demanding need in her cunt didn’t make her helpless in the hands of a man. Not really. Certainly not in the hands of Xavier, who respected a woman’s will and self-knowledge. Only a conventional image of the sanitized professional she stubbornly thought she was supposed to be could defeat her and make her look like a fool in his eyes. He was seeing her without her usual defenses, and she felt totally exposed. “Haven’t had time to go shopping,” she mumbled.
“Take mine,” he dared her, beckoning her on. “Come and get me.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, then dashed to the other side of her bed, where he stretched, crouched low, swaying from side to side and posing like a boxer. “I’ve got a big package for you.” He snickered. “But you have to unwrap it.”
“I’ll peel off your fancy panties, spaceman,” she bragged. She ran around her bed and lunged at him, hair flying, while he tried to dodge her. They fell on the bed together and rolled over as she tried to hook her fingers firmly under the waistband of his shorts. He pushed her beneath him and tried to immobilize her, but she rolled away and renewed her grip.
Xavier’s slick shorts clung to him like a secret fantasy and resisted Maureen’s efforts to peel them off. Her manicured fingernails (one of her little self-indulgences) were no help. Each time she lost her grip, the rubber returned to its original shape with an aggravating snap. She realized that she would have to roll it down, even though Xavier wouldn’t stop moving.
Maureen tickled him over the ribs, close to the armpits and on his sensitive belly, keeping him off guard. Then she grabbed his shorts with both hands and rolled. “You can’t do it,” he gloated. With each roll, the rubber grew less flexible.
“Then I’ll do this.” With a strength she didn’t know she had, she rolled the man himself onto his side. Holding him in place with one hand, she leaned over him to reach the metal-backed hairbrush on her bedside table.
“Bad boy!” She swatted him with the brush as a kind of experiment. She loved the sound of the metal meeting the rubber that covered his tight, muscular ass. The thought flashed into her mind that rubber was actually a hardened liquid, and it could conduct sensation almost as well as water.
Whap! Maureen swung the hairbrush with more confidence.
“Oh, ma’am, I’ll be good,” whined Xavier, barely suppressing a laugh. He seemed as amused as a spoiled teenager who thinks that his parents will always bail him out of jail, no matter what.
Whap! Whap! Whap! Maureen felt as if she could pull strength from the glorious image on her wall, the unstoppable woman who would never let an opponent or a playmate turn her into a joke. Xavier inhaled sharply, and the sound tickled her.
“You don’t get to keep your pants on in my bed, boy.” She had just made up this rule, but it sounded sensible to her. Whap! Whap! He was obviously feeling her strokes.
“Will you take them off, or do I have to blister your behind?” Glancing at his front, she saw that the bulge at his crotch was bigger than before. Whap! Whap! She didn’t want to lose the momentum.
“Oh! O-kay, Maureen, yeah, please, okay, jeez, you hit hard.” His nose was running and his eyes were damp.
Whap! “One to grow on,” she told him. She backed off to let him peel his shorts down.
He rolled onto his hands and knees, and used both hands to pry the rubber away from his sore skin. As the slick black shell came down by inches, she could see the satisfying redness she had left on his buttcheeks. Xavier slid off the bed and stood on the other side to finish peeling off his pants.
For a moment he stood, shorts in hand, with a hard red boner pointing straight at Maureen. “Ma’am,” he said respectfully, hardly daring to look at her. He handed her the shorts, and she held them to her nose.
The unmistakable smell of male jizz and crotch-funk mixed with the smell of rubber to form a distinct symphony of aromas that sang of want and need, power and submission. Maureen loved it. Like a finicky cat, she turned the shorts over and licked the crotch, which almost felt steamy from Xavier’s body. She trailed her tongue along the poreless and seamless expanse of rubber, leaving a wet streak and watching him watching her.
He seemed to be vibrating. Captain Goodride, thought Maureen. She certainly hoped so.
“Good boy,” she said, looking at his mutely expressive cock. “We need to dress him up for the party. Open the top drawer.”
Xavier obediently opened a bedside table drawer and found a packet of condoms in neon colors and ribbed textures. Not daring to choose for himself, he handed her the whole package.
“Hmm,” she muttered, making up her mind. “Purple for you.” She ripped open a small packet with her teeth and beckoned Xavier back onto the bed. He understood her.
He lay down carefully on his back and looked up at her expectantly. She was tempted to leave him in suspense, but her own need felt too urgent to be denied much longer. She rolled the latex sheath onto his cock, which jerked slightly at her touch.
Maureen eased herself down on his manly shaft until she felt completely filled. She savored the feeling for a moment, and then began to ride him, first in gentle bounces and then harder, finding her rhythm. She milked him with her inner muscles, and he groaned in delight.
“Maureen! I can’t wait!” he warned her.
“Sure you can,” she sneered. “Hold it as long as you can.”
As she had guessed, this order brought him closer to a crisis point. “Uh!” he grunted. “Lady!” He came in a long gush, keeping his eyes closed as though he preferred to be in the dark when all the sap flowed out of him. While Xavier was melting down, Maureen came again. It was like a quiet sneeze, just enough to take the edge off her need. Desire still hummed under her skin like an electric current. She knew she wasn’t finished for the day.
For an instant, Maureen wondered whether come could be used to make anything, and then she realized how silly that thought was. Of course. She wondered briefly what her baby by Xavier would look like, assuming she could still conceive. She decided to file that image away to be studied later. It was the scariest fantasy she could remember having.
Almost reluctantly, she slid off him, collected the limp purple bag of his fluid, and deposited it in the wastebasket. She didn’t want their mood to be spoiled by the presence of messy waste products. She wanted more smooth, exhilarating rides.
When she came back to bed, she held him in her arms, and he hugged her as though he never wanted to let go.
“Who would have guessed?” she asked rhetorically.
“Lady Maureen, you are one scary mama. I knew I could unlock your potential.” He managed to sound humble but smug.
“You unlocked my potential?”
“Not all of it. We’ve just started. You need my help to go for what you really want. You know I’m right.” She laughed, not trusting herself to say anything.
He wasn’t finished. “You’re a woman, not a walking textbook. Not everything you do has to make sense.”
“But everything happens for a reason,” she corrected him.
She looked at him, and he grinned back at her. He knew that he had stretched his luck, and he was glad. She knew that she had stretched her boundaries and enlarged her future in the process. Maureen and Xavier were both developing a mental image of their relationship as something dark and limitless as outer space, fluid and stretchy and s
lick and shiny, as bouncy as a ball and as snappy as a rubber band.
They both knew that their next date would be a shopping trip.
TIRE STUD
Jeremy Edwards
As a hard-core environmentalist, I’ve always felt weird about my obsession with big-ass automotive tires. I never wanted to buy into the Great American Motor Vehicle Fetish…to glamorize these machines that are, at best, a mixed blessing.
But I had to spend a lot of time on the road when I was a traveling saleswoman. My hilarious friends used to kid me about my alleged romps in the hay with farmers’ sons. Meanwhile, the reality was that I was fucking truck drivers northbound and southbound on I-95. Inhibitions were broken down in many a breakdown lane, and very little rest was obtained at rest areas.
As for the truck stops, I knew them like the back of my clit. Like anyone who travels for a living, I kept track of the best places to pee. But I also kept track of the best places to give or get head, get stroked against a wall, or do a set of pantyless knee-bends onto some fresh driver dick.
Jesus, I loved the way those places smelled. The aroma of hot truck tire permeated the parking lots and even the insides of the buildings. All around me, I could sense rubber that was as hot as I was. The rational part of me knew that what I was inhaling couldn’t possibly be good for the environment. But I couldn’t control what it did to my senses—nor, to be honest, would I have wanted to. It acted on me like a drug, making my pulse race and my pussy throb, and I reasoned that as long as I didn’t unnecessarily contribute to all this intoxicating toxicity, it couldn’t hurt for me to enjoy it for all it was worth, as I slid wetly out of the car in search of my next trucker ride.
By the time I turned thirty, I had settled down a lot. I’d taken a job with a local nonprofit, as I’d always wanted to, and I’d traded in my road-weary Honda for a shiny new laminated bus pass. And though I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a celibate, I was on a moderate fuck diet of one or two poets/musicians/ activists a month, rather than one or two truck drivers a week. I kind of liked getting old.
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