by Alison Tyler
A soft knock on the door caused his head to jerk up.
“Go away, this room’s occupied,” Karolyn called out. Ian backed away and stood watching her as she rolled over and spread her legs.
“Well, you made a mess, now clean it up,” she responded to his silent question. With a smile, he dropped to his knees and buried his face against her pussy, once more relinquishing control to her—like they both preferred.
As he lapped at her swollen and battered folds, Karolyn draped her legs over his shoulders and fisted her hands in his hair. He neighed against her pussy in response.
WINGS AND ALL
EMERALD
KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO BE for Halloween yet?” Justin asked me on the phone. When I’d last talked to him I’d been trying to determine my costume for the Halloween party my best friend had announced she was throwing tomorrow night.
“I’m going to be a bee,” I informed him, grinning excitedly even though he couldn’t see me.
“A bee,” he repeated. “That’s…interesting.” He sounded nonplused.
I was unfazed by his reaction. He didn’t understand how adorable my bee costume was because he hadn’t seen it. When I’d spied the costume on one of my favorite lingerie websites the week before, I knew the thing was mine. “You’ll love it. I promise.”
“If you say so.” Justin sounded like he was smiling. I pictured his smile, one of my favorite things about him. There were a lot of things I loved about Justin: the way he looked, the way he watched me, the way he spoke to me, the way he kissed me. There was only one problem on the horizon of our budding relationship, but I had to admit it was one that I was having a hard time ignoring.
“Maybe you can come over after the party to show me,” he continued.
“Sure,” I said casually. My friends who would be at the party had heard a little bit about Justin—to the point where they had dubbed him my “nice guy,” as that apparently served as enough of a distinction to distinguish him from the other guys I had fucked. And therein, perhaps, lay the problem. I had no problem with Justin’s “niceness,” of course, but I had found that it overwhelmingly pervaded the one place I didn’t necessarily want it to—which was in bed. Justin fucked sweetly. And he usually let me initiate things. Nothing wrong with that. But sometimes, I simply want to be thrown down and fucked. Fucked like I’m just there to provide pleasure for someone else. Fucked, to paraphrase the immortal words of Nine Inch Nails, like an animal.
But that wasn’t the way Justin fucked.
I tuned back in abruptly as I realized he was talking again, telling me to stop by whenever I was done regardless of how late it was.
“Sure thing,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”
Twenty-four hours later, I stood in a towel, fresh out of the shower, collecting the accessories I had assembled to go with my costume: black thong, black fishnets, black vinyl thigh-high boots, black vinyl arm-length gloves. I spread them out on my bed along with the costume pieces and surveyed everything like I was checking the parts from the box before assembling a set of shelves.
I picked up the delicate pair of wings that were joined in the center by a fabric black-and-yellow-striped bee body. They were shaped with wire around the edges and filled with a fragile yellow mesh flecked with gold glitter that was already scattered dazzlingly on my floor. A black plastic headband sporting fuzzy yellow balls on springs served as feelers. I smiled as I pulled them out of their plastic wrapper. Then there was the costume itself—a smooth, black-and-yellow-striped tube top–style bodice ending at the hips, where it turned into a bright yellow multilayered tutu about eight inches long. It covered approximately half my ass.
I turned from the costume and sat at the vanity to do my hair, piling curls on top of my head before arranging the feeler headband among them with the care of a bride setting her veil. I smiled at the fuzzy bouncing feelers in the mirror above my mass of ringlets. Then, piece by piece I slid the costume on, ending by slipping my arms through the elastic loops attached to the wings. With a last glance in the mirror, I headed out the door.
The party was at my best friend Kennedy’s house. I parked and got out of the car gingerly, careful not to catch my wings on the door frame. My fairly exposed fishnet-covered ass raised a few eyebrows at the party, but thankfully no one said anything. I knew this group wasn’t used to seeing me like this—much as they may have been used to hearing about my various sexual exploits—but it was Halloween, so apparently I was afforded a few liberties. When Kennedy’s husband Dave emerged from the kitchen and spotted me, he burst out laughing.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you managed to make a costume meant to represent an insect look like a fetish whore getup. Why didn’t you just pick something easy like a dominatrix or something?”
“You know I don’t need Halloween to give me an excuse to dress like a fetish whore, David,” I answered sweetly. “I just happen to think bees are awesome. Do you realize that the job of the queen bee is to basically get fucked by various boy bees all day long? Buzzing lovers who come in, do the job, and then fly away? I appreciate the chance to pay homage to such a brilliant species.” I turned and smiled as Kennedy, dressed as an exotic witch, approached to offer me a miniature bag of candy corn from the plastic jack-o’-lantern she was carrying.
Greeting me with a hug, she said, “Somehow that wasn’t exactly what I pictured when you told me you were going to be a bee.” She looked me up and down with a smile. “I have to say, though, until tonight it would not have occurred to me that I would find a yellow tutu sexy. Well done.” She looked back at me and winked. “Shame you’re wasting it on us.”
“Actually, I’m stopping at Justin’s after I take off tonight.”
“Oh, your nice guy,” Kennedy recalled with a nod.
A few hours later I said goodnight and click-clacked my spiked heels down the sidewalk to my car. I arranged myself in the driver’s seat, paying careful attention to my wings and ducking my head to keep the feelers out of the way while I closed the door. I checked my hair, which had kept its carefully curled placement during the party, and started the engine.
As I made my way to Justin’s apartment, I fidgeted a little. My wings made driving a bit awkward, and the vinyl encasing my limbs was starting to make my skin feel hot. I was admittedly beginning to look forward to taking the whole thing off.
I parked and walked up to the apartment, entering when I heard a “Come in” in response to my knock. Justin’s roommate Jake was on the couch watching TV; he laughed at my costume as I closed the door behind me.
“Hey, Elizabeth. Nice feelers,” he said with a wink.
I smiled broadly at him and headed for the stairs that led up to Justin’s room. The vinyl on my legs squeaked as I walked through his doorway. He looked up from his computer screen at me.
“Do you like it?” I turned around and looked over my shoulder, sensing my fuzzy yellow feeler springs bouncing as I craned to see the back of the frilly yellow tutu. I wiggled my hips and flipped it playfully, which wasn’t really necessary because it didn’t cover my ass even when it was placed properly. I beamed and turned my head back around, reaching for the elastic straps at my shoulders as I prepared to take the wings off.
Before I could, I felt Justin up against me from behind. Surprised, I started to turn, but he wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms against my body and holding me in place as he softly kissed the side of my neck. I shivered. The wires of my wings pressed against my shoulder blades as Justin’s hands moved slowly down my arms to my hips, where they snaked around to the front of me and glided up to my breasts. He hooked his fingers under the top of the black-and-yellow-striped elastic and slid it down, exposing my tits and immediately covering them with his hands.
Surprised, I tried to move again, but his body and arms held me in place. He moved from kissing my neck to my ear, still standing behind me. The unexpectedness of his actions made me breathless, and I felt myself getting wetter with e
very move he made. I ran my hands over his, the ebony vinyl of my gloves shining in the dim light from his computer screen.
Justin pulled away slightly and spun me around, the black vinyl of my boots creaking as I moved. I caught my breath as he reached and cupped my crotch. My breathing continued in short gasps as he slowly maneuvered his fingers for a moment. Then his hand stilled; his eyes on mine, he suddenly gave a hard yank. Taken by surprise, I lurched forward against him as I heard the ripping of my fishnets. Immediately, I realized he had been maneuvering his fingers into their tiny holes to gain the leverage needed to tear them.
It worked. Obviously the wings weren’t the only part of the costume that was delicate.
Pulling his cock out of his jeans, he grabbed a condom from the bedside table and had it on by the time he pushed me down on the bed, meeting my eyes in the darkness as he pressed himself on top of me and hooked his arms around the vinyl on my thighs. I heard my fishnets rip further, tearing along my inner thighs, and felt him push my black thong out of the way. My head went back against the bed as he shoved my thighs against my body and entered me. My shiny black heels bounced above his head as he fucked me harder than he ever had—as hard as I’d always wanted him to. But it was the unfamiliar carnal look in his eyes that almost made me come.
I ran my vinyl-covered fingers through his hair and held on tight, biting my lip to keep quiet. His roommate was downstairs, and it was my practice to be quiet when we fucked at his place. So it was silent as he took me, wings and all, on his bed in the dim light of the computer screen.
Justin got up on his knees, pulling my ankles to his shoulders and running his fingers lightly down the vinyl encasing my legs. He ran them all the way to my pussy, where he continued the motion until his fingers covered my clit, his blue eyes piercing mine, that same look in them relegating me to near-incomprehensible desire. He smiled slyly as he saw how close I was and knew how hard I was trying to be quiet. It had never been so difficult before. Then in a flash he was on top of me again, his fingers not breaking their rhythm as his lips found my ear.
“Go ahead, baby. The queen bee runs the show—I’m sure she’s allowed to scream if she wants,” he whispered.
His hot breath in my ear sent me over the edge, and I heard him chuckle as I cried out, shuddering, then gasping breathlessly as I lay in near-oblivion. Justin got back on his knees, slamming into me as I felt the rough glitter on my wings scraping against my back. He reached down and clutched my throat as I squeezed the yellow frills of my tutu with vinyl-clad hands. My head went back; I felt the springy feelers getting crushed between my head and the mattress. When he came, it was with a vengeance I hadn’t seen before. His eyes squeezed shut, a harsh groan pushed through him as he slammed into me from above.
I watched his eyes as he opened them and looked into mine before pulling slowly back off me. Breathless, I eased myself into a sitting position, smoothing the front of my costume somewhat back into place.
Justin grinned at me, watching as I began to slide the wings off my shoulders. Shaking my head a little, I pulled the headband from my hair, now a mess of falling tendrils pasted with sweat to my neck. Justin leaned forward, licking the side of my neck, and I realized this was one buzzing lover the queen was going to keep.
SEDUCTION WITH A SPLASH
JEREMY EDWARDS
KARA HAD TO PISS like nobody’s business. This could work out perfectly, she thought. She had discovered long ago that flooding her panties was the best way at her disposal to seduce a certain kind of man. And she had also discovered, long ago, that she very much enjoyed doing it—so much that she often did it when there was no one around to seduce. Alone. Hot and dripping over her kitchen floor. Maybe it was kinky—okay, she had to admit it was definitely kinky—but Kara was making no apologies. It was a kink that repaid her in orgasms, time and again.
Now she was especially glad that she was headed toward Daniel’s office, to drop in unexpectedly.
She shifted sensually in the driver’s seat.
She knew that one type of guy would run screaming from a woman who was unabashedly pissing herself and expecting him to like it. But Kara had discovered, long ago, that she could easily live without that type of guy.
Come here and wet upon me, beautiful lady. Contain yourself just long enough to walk briskly across this room and straddle my zippered lap. Mount me and wiggle into position…your ass, in sassy panties, pressing on my summer trousers, your short skirt draping down to tease my legs with its crisp edges. Then flood my lap, you gorgeous creature, let me feel your wild ecstasy of release washing over me. Let me know the sensation of your soaked knickers clinging to my hardening fly. Let me memorize the charismatic, fluid texture of your warm piss as it creeps saucily between your clenching thighs and my bony hips. Come wet me, darling.
Driving toward Daniel’s building, Kara wondered if she was the only woman on earth who wrote flowery but crazy-lewd love letters to herself in her head—in the voice of a refined, imaginary man who lived to watch her urinate. Though the topic of her fantasies might have caused many jaws to drop, it was the voice rather than the content that puzzled Kara herself. Where the hell did that vaguely old-fashioned, literary tone even come from? English One-Fucking-Ten, way back in freshman year?
But she recognized that she wanted, someday, to have a man like that—a man whose soft, soothing voice would fuck her with its eloquence. A man who would convince her, with earfuls of beautiful words, that the sight of Kara Rebecca Wallace taking a leak was positively sublime. That’s why the fantasies were so powerful, she realized. They represented exactly what she craved. She wanted to be someone’s pissing paragon of loveliness. Paragon—now there, thought Kara, was a nice leftover word from college. She wished she remembered more words like that.
With aching reluctance, she resolved to put her fantasies aside for the moment, lest she end up losing it—and seducing the seat of her car with her fresh piss, rather than Daniel.
Right where the street skirted the park, she hit a red light. She looked around at the scenery while her knees twitched together, and she saw a young man lying on his back along a thick stone wall. His girlfriend stood above him, her feet positioned on either side of his waist. Her knees were bent enough to allow her to reach down and clasp both his hands. Kara noticed that the young woman was weaving gently from side to side, as if she were peeing lovingly onto her boyfriend. She realized that she was projecting her own obsessions, that this was almost certainly not what was happening; but, symbolically, the feeling Kara got from the scene was of that kind of intimacy, that kind of tender anointment (as the voice in her head might say). Her hand fluttered down from the steering wheel and pressed tightly against her underwear.
The green light snapped her out of it. So much for keeping her mind off her favorite topics. She was still managing not to dribble pee into her panties, but they were getting damp enough that it almost didn’t matter. With a laugh, she acknowledged that, however you sliced it, Kara R. Wallace was all about wet panties this afternoon.
A few minutes later, she had parked her car and was heading up the stairs of a nondescript downtown office building. Daniel, who wrote content for various local websites and dabbled in tech support, inhabited a tiny space—a desk, a filing cabinet, a phone, a bathroom. He’d be alone there, as always, and it would be the perfect setting.
She walked through the office door, ready to make a big splash for…
A man she’d never seen before?
“Oh, hi,” Kara said, at a loss, her crotch pulsating with all kinds of insistence. “I was looking for Daniel.”
“I think he’ll be out the rest of the day,” said the stranger. “He had a meeting with a client. I’m just here to work on his quarterly taxes till I take off at five.” The man instinctively looked at his watch.
Ah, Kara thought. The occasional accountant needed by every small business.
But she had not come here to piss herself for an occasional accountant.
>
“Gotcha,” she said. “Do you mind if I use the restroom before I leave?”
Sitting on the toilet, she almost felt like crying. This pee should have been for him, damn it. But she quickly saw that a sulky, defeatist attitude was stupid—and unnecessary. There would always be more pee. It was her birthright.
Let me watch you in the morning, when you tiptoe into your bathroom, only to eschew the seat awhile. Let me enjoy the sight of you brushing your teeth or combing your hair, while your body twists and shimmies in a manner that I know feels as delectable to you as it looks to me. Let me see you wriggle as you sit on the bed, pulling up your beige stockings. Let me silently observe you as you stand jiggling before the dresser, slowly donning bra, blouse…even earrings. Allow me to study you while you study yourself in the full-length mirror, so satisfied with the lascivious elegance of your bare-bottom, bare-cunt ensemble. You are dressed everywhere, delicious woman, except across your intimate turf. Permit me to follow you as you walk back to the bathroom, which you do as if you were crossing the lobby of some stately building. You have confident, businesslike strides, as though your readiness to pee were your most discreetly kept secret. Then spread your legs, like a sex-hungry lover, and I will watch you lower your naked ass onto the seat, to finally give yourself over to the sea that rises within.
Even with her bladder empty, the fantasies made her squirm. As she switched the engine off in her driveway, one hand was already active inside her moist panties.
She had the rest of the day free, and she had a pretty good idea of what she was going to do with it.
Come drink wine with me, and let loose your brazen torrents in my bathroom, your breath ripe with a tipsy vitality. Then we shall continue to drink together, until, at last, you release yourself over me. Yes, I long to share tangibly in your sensuality, to come alive with erotic fever beneath a private rainstorm of urgent, splashing fluid from your dancing body. Teach my hands to tickle at your nipples and surprise you under your arms, while you soak my loins with the poetry of your urination, my special one.
