Then Adam pulled her down on top of his cock, filling her with hot flesh where rubber had been. The rubber had been good, but this was amazing, and her clit, liberated at last, ground against his pubic bone, and Adam cupped her breasts, still imprisoned in rubber, in his big hands, and they moved together.
She rolled her hips, moved up and down on his hard length, listened to his groaning and to the small sound, almost clicking, that they made together because she was so drenched.
Cecily could feel another climax building.
“I can’t last,” Adam grunted. “Too much.”
Might as well make it a real explosion, then. She grabbed the panties from the floor and used them to tease Adam’s always sensitive nipples.
And as he gripped at her hips and bucked inside her, she touched herself and released that last climax.
“So,” Adam whispered as they lay in each other’s arms afterward—they’d staggered as far as the bed for comfort. “What do you think of rubber?”
Cecily thought hard before answering. “I’m not sure. I feel all clammy now, and it pinches sometimes, and I don’t think it’s ever going to be my favorite thing. But being at the party like that…wow!”
Adam nuzzled her hair. “Wow, indeed. I think we ought to send the Ransomes a note and a bottle of something tasty to thank them for such an exciting party.”
SERGEANT PEPPER
Rakelle Valencia
I’m a city girl. I have no need to venture from my so-called hovel and range forth into the land of “leather and lust,” as my boyfriend fantasizes about doing. I like the city. I like my small apartment. I love all things compact and tight to the point of formfitting with no breathing room.
Dead cows pulled across my skin don’t give me even close to the same feel as my black PVC mini–evening dress, with nothing between me and it but possibly a smidge of talc. And I highly doubt these dude ranch vacations offer the shopping I can find three blocks away when fetish fairs visit my fair city. Mmm… racks of rubber and latex and PVC…a dream for a bustling, hustling girl like me.
And no one says a thing at work when I arrive to sit in my cubicle wearing navy blue PVC slacks that stretch and cling, so shiny and elegant, from my waist, over my ass to my knees, then flair off of my skin to whisper and tease where they don’t bind me snuggly.
I know my boss loves it. He rubs his hands together and scratches absently at his meaty palms when I walk by. I’ll bet he’s wondering what it would feel like to spank my encased ass or slide his hands over the smooth material that leaves nothing to the imagination or roll me in oil just so he could rub his body against me.
He licks his lips as he reads my slick-shaven lower ones through the tightly creased crotch. What he doesn’t know, and cannot see, is how wet I get from walking the aisles of cubicles to the coffee machine or the water cooler. The wetness lubricates the PVC so that it slides tantalizingly through my slit and over the small nub that hardens quickly to become overly sensitive to any movement of my teasing garment.
On these days, I walk around as much as I can, then return quickly to my chair, yank a small vibrator from the desk drawer, and cover its sensual noises with the constant running of my printer, which is old and loud. I can barely hear the vibration after the pocket rocket sucks into my PVC-covered crease and sticks while I rock back and forth. It’s in the effort to stifle the moaning, the squeaking of my wheeled desk chair, and the wanting to scream at each orgasm that my printer dutifully cranks out sheets of obsolete data, and my teeth chew into my lower lip.
My boyfriend actually wanted me to leave all of this for a week away on some dusty dude ranch. I did the horse thing as a kid. It’s over. I left it behind. But if I humored him, at least there would be the nights at this dude ranch. I’d pack my newest outfit, which was totally outrageous, as was its expense. It’d be worth it. Just the thought of wearing it had made the suit worth it already.
My cell phone rang as I was sitting on my roller bag to zip it shut. I couldn’t risk this suitcase under the plane. I needed to pack it lightly enough to fit in the overhead compartment. The ringing was insistent. I knew it was him. “Hello,” I answered innocently enough, while trying to stop envisioning licking my own arms adorned with the lengths of long-sleeved encasements in bright colors of PVC.
He’d been sent to Chicago for a meeting. He swore he’d meet me at the ranch as soon as he was done and could get a flight.
Great. I contemplated not even going as I plucked the plane ticket from my dresser and opened it to read the time I needed to be at the airport. The brochure about the ranch was behind the ticket packet. I looked at it. The pictures of smiling family trail-riding parties and an entire side of beef roasting over a pit fire served to turn me off further.
The only saving grace about venturing forth to meet stink and grime was that I had bought city-chic jeans with the worn ass and knees already built in. To top those off, I’d also found a pair of faux-leather, tall, cowboy-boot-wannabes that would also look fabulous with the newest PVC purchase. Bolstering my spirits, I took a last look around the apartment, feeling as if I would never get back. I whispered, “See you soon.” Grabbing my bag with one hand, I blew my bedroom a kiss with the other as I exited this life for a full week of another.
The short plane hop was terrible, as I was squashed against the window by a grandmother who used too much potent-smelling powder in hopes of covering up the stink of not showering in the last week. Extremely thankful to be exiting the plane, I almost threw myself at the cowboy carrying a sign for the dude ranch guests. That is, until I was overrun by a pack of screaming children clamoring to be the first under the sign in hopes that they could ride shotgun in the van.
He sent the families to the baggage claim after explaining where to meet up again. I stayed.
“Alone?” he asked.
I enjoyed how his eyes perused my body, dancing from my face to the floor and back again. “For the moment,” I replied.
“Well, whoever left you to drift wasn’t very smart. Here, I’ll get your bag.” His crooked smile was charming in a rugged, no-nonsense way. “The van is over here. Guess you’re riding shotgun. I’m Vance, by the way.” He held a tanned, weathered hand out, and when I took it, his grip was solid, confident and strong.
By the time we arrived, I swore I never wanted to hear any rendition of “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” again in my lifetime. After parking, Vance went to get the key for my lodge suite, then walked me over. His butt looked so delicious swaying in those tight Wranglers that I quickly forgot the last hour’s torment. Once inside, he said, “Here you go, ma’am,” and swung my bag onto the foot of the queen-sized bed as if it weighed nothing. “You have a pleasant stay. And I hope to see you around the corral.”
I tried to tip him and he laughed. “No, ma’am, I work for a living.” I stepped up and kissed him instead. His blush ran about as fast as he did.
Dinner looked a little too rugged for my first night at the ranch. Luckily, I had packed crackers and cheese with a short bottle of sparkling wine. I unpacked, ate, and showered, then fingered this evening’s outfit, which I’d laid across the bed. Dropping my towel, I flopped next to it, breathing in its new aroma and rubbing a long sleeve against my cheek.
Dave was due to arrive soon. The sun had set. Darkness filled the two rooms. In the distance, occasional lightning lit the sky, but it wasn’t stray electricity that tingled my flesh, sending goose bumps racing along the lengths of my arms and legs. I couldn’t wait much longer for Dave to arrive, and I certainly couldn’t wait a second more to stretch jacket and pants over my bare body, feeling their perfect fit.
I dressed with sensual slowness, appreciating everything from smell to feel to finished look. I desperately wanted to lap my arms and rub a finger through the crease of my cunt to my ass. And there would have been more, so much more, as the suit heated and practically liquefied to me while my body moved around the room in front of the mirror. It was perfect. B
ut I couldn’t start now or there would be nothing left of me for Dave.
The wait was becoming unbearable. As the storm mounted outside, my sexual anticipation grew. I wanted Dave to look at me, stroke my PVC-encased body, lick it and bite it and torture the skin beneath. I wanted to see his white come splatter the shiny surface. And I wanted his waning prick to smear the spunk all over me. I could almost feel the sensations. My cunt grew wet, wetter than it had ever been. Twat lube had found a way to slip not only the length of my crease all the way to my ass, but also down the inside of my thighs.
I couldn’t help it. I rolled onto the bed and rubbed on the overlarge pillows, humping and pumping in the slick warmth until I almost screamed with release. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I had to and needed to. But I would wait.
My cell phone rang. I popped it open to immediately hear Dave’s voice. “There’s a storm that’s holding the planes from flying. I might not make it there tonight.”
There was a loud banging at my door in the same instant. “Folks who can help should get to the corrals. The cowboys are roping and haltering the horses to walk them off of the ridge. The rain’s washing down the arroyo in a flash flood and we have very little time!”
That was that. Tossing the cell phone to the middle of the bed, I hauled on my black faux–cowboy boots and went out into the storm. My deep red suit with its PVC trim of gold braid caught a few eyes at first, but there was frightening work to be done with horses rearing and screaming as they were hustled from the ridge into the corral. The guests coupled with cowboys to get pairs down through the lightning and wash of rain. Vance was roping and haltering. He turned, just as I was there to take the scared horse from him. His look said it all.
As the last of the horses were pulled from the ridge with no tremendous incidents, guests and cowboys alike started filing from the corral to get under cover and most likely change from their soaked clothes.
The lightning had passed, but the rain continued to drive down. I felt each drop hit my suit with a cold exhilaration. Leaning against the corral rails, I didn’t want to run for cover. This was a new twist to what PVC had offered me. I didn’t care if I looked like a lost band member in a pasted-on suit.
“I’ll bet you’re not totally dry.” Vance startled me. The wind tortured his yellow full-length slicker, ripping the sides open until I noticed that he was sopped with rain and sweat. His lightweight cotton checkered shirt was see-through, defining pectorals that only an outdoorsman could attain without looking like a gym bunny. His Wranglers were rain-darkened down the front but still advertised the visible bulge of his excitement.
He put his hands on the rails on either side of me. Twisting his head to the side so that his hat stayed on, he whispered in my ear, “I want to rub my cock all over that slippery wet ass crack of yours.”
“And I thought you were a shy one.”
“Lady, there’s nothing shy about Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. And I am enjoying the show.”
I lifted my breasts and stretched to follow one of the lines of PVC yellow-gold braid trim with my tongue. The rain splashed my face and continued to create a thumping and stinging sensation along my suit.
Vance sucked at my lips for a kiss and gently entwined his tongue with mine before spinning me around and placing my hands two rungs down so that I was bent at the waist. His open slicker slapped at me in the wind. He rubbed against my ass and reached for a moment to follow the lines of my body, sliding easily along the wet ensemble.
When he took his hands away, I heard his gritty zipper protest at his yanking. His prick was fully engorged and the sodden Wranglers were not releasing him willingly. His hard-on popped out, slapping me in the backside.
I giggled.
“You liked that, did you?” He rose to his toes, riding my crease.
The feel of him seemed bigger than I had ever experienced. I reached back.
“Uh-uh,” he said as he took hold of both my wrists to place them in front of me and pulled my body into his, as his cock followed the slit between my legs.
I gripped my thighs shut.
He hauled me slightly from him and slapped my ass. The PVC mixed with the rain made a resounding crack that echoed much worse than what my skin felt. But I had felt him. His full hand on my buttocks was bound to have left a red mark.
The slashing rain washed between us, slithering down my back. Vance used it as lube to hump and slide his dick first up my ass crack then down between my legs. He still held my wrists and tucked them into my belly as his free hand pinched and pulled at my cunt lips before rubbing stiffly and quickly against my blood-filled clit shaft.
I sucked the water rivulets off of my upper arm, lapping when it dried too much. I felt him poking and prodding me to ecstasy, but I wanted my fantasy. I wanted to see thick, rich cream spurt in ropes onto my red and gold PVC suit. I wanted my fingertips to play in his seed as if it were art I was creating.
He grunted. He bit my earlobe. His hands clenched and unclenched about my wrists until he let me loose to grab at himself. I took the opportunity to turn and kneel in front of him as he drained pulse after pulse of come onto the Sergeant Pepper PVC jacket. I looked up into his wild face and laughed. He heard what little the wind hadn’t sucked from my throat. Then he watched as I swished his essence over my covered breasts and pricked at my nipples.
Vance leaned forward and rubbed his waning penis through the rain-mixed semen.
TIGHT SQUEEZE
Rachel Kramer Bussel
I’m always looking for ways to show off my boy toy, Randy. He’s fifteen years younger than I am and more than lives up to his name. Actually, he’s my boyfriend, but that sounds way too formal. He doesn’t mind boy toy, and I certainly enjoy the fruits of our lusty relationship, plus our age difference makes it even more fitting. While I’ve just turned the cusp of forty, he’s smack in the middle of his twenties, both of us hitting our sexual peaks together. This means we’re both eager to try new things, but he lets me take the lead since I’m older and more experienced. The age difference might give me cause to doubt his fidelity, if he didn’t worship me so. I’m not sure if he knows it, but Randy has been the catalyst for bringing out my dominant side. Not just the occasional bad-boy-over-the-knee routine I’ve used in the past, but a kind of dominance that permeates our relationship. We’re not 24/7 anything, but he does defer to me in all matters sexual, and has bravely and boldly allowed me to usher him into countless kinky scenes that he’s enjoyed as much as I have. All he needed was a little prompting.
So the other day, as I gazed at his naked body, all rippled with muscles and sculpted to perfection, from his sleek chest with its perky pink nipples to his six-pack abs and flat stomach, down to the cock that just keeps on giving, I started to imagine what he’d look like in a catsuit. Usually, when you think of a catsuit, it’s worn by a woman in my position, a woman in control, a woman who wears latex to shore up her sense of her own strength and dictate to everyone around her that she is the kind of cat that hisses, snarls, bites and claws. To show she’s a feral wildcat who can dominate everyone around her with a single glance. But on the right body, I figured, a catsuit could be a sign of submission, a way to expose his naked, ripe body even more fully than if he’d been unclothed, to emphasize every luscious part. And the image of his nine-inch dick, just as perfect as the rest of him, nestled snugly inside a shimmering blue latex sheath, made me wet instantly. “Randy, come over here for a minute,” I said, sitting back on the bed and parting my legs just enough to give him a glimpse of what lay between them.
“Yes, Marianne,” he said, turning to give me a dazzling smile. As he turned, I watched his cock harden, and a vision came to my mind. He walked closer, and when he got near me, I simply ran my hands up and down his glorious chest, along his sculpted arms and over his pert ass. I felt him up, down, and around while he simply smiled at me serenely as his cock bulged, growing bigger and bigger.
“Just checking on you,” I said
before tweaking his nipples, twisting his twin nubs simultaneously as I watched him squirm and try not to flinch. Then I focused on pinching them as hard as I could, which never seemed quite hard enough to satisfy me—or him. “You have beautiful nipples,” I said before leaning back and beckoning him to get on top of me and let me lick them while his hard cock rubbed against my skin. The one thing he lacks is a pair of heavy, beautiful breasts, the kind I could get lost in for days, the kind I love to be smothered by. Fortunately, we have a gorgeous minx of a girl named Eva who comes by once a week and lets me torture her breasts to my heart’s delight. With my hands roaming along Randy’s back while I bit and licked his nipples, I knew what I had to do.
When he seemed ready to explode, I sat up, leaned back against the pillows, spread my legs wide and ordered him to masturbate. “Come for me—and tell me your favorite color. Be specific.” I already knew the answer was green, but I wanted to hear him describe it while he got off. As for me, I’d have been happy to dress him in any color, as long as the latex gleamed brightly, shined up so I could show him off.
The oddly juxtaposed tasks seemed to throw him off, but Randy knows how to get off in almost any situation. Pumping his thick, hard dick with slow, even strokes, he stared at my pussy but spoke to me. “Green, but a smoky kind of green, like a lush forest seen through a slight fog of smoke. Almost grayish green, but still alive, verdant. A green that’s the equivalent of blood red, powerful, sacred, rich and demanding. Green like envy and money but pure, like love. Green like turquoise, green like visible camouflage. Green like the sun and the sea making love.” I had never known him to be such a poet, and the power of his vision was making me wet. I relaxed my pose, and leaned forward, one hand between my legs, to suck him into those final moments of ecstasy.
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