Change of Pace

by Radclyffe

  Unfortunately, just as I managed to divert my attention from my crotch with thoughts of next week’s corporate division meeting, the sheet was whisked away and resettled just below my buttocks. I felt a slight breeze across my bare ass, and the sudden exposure made me jerk. The thigh clench that accompanied it only tweaked my clit more. If that weren’t bad enough, warm lotion was being spread over my cheeks, into the cleft between them, and slowly worked into my skin with long, smooth strokes. A bit of the heated oil dribbled down my ass and into the folds of my labia, mixing with my own hot come. I shifted my hips automatically, spreading my legs slightly. The oil reached the underside of my clit, warm as a tongue lapping at me. I bit my lip to hold back a moan. Mercifully, just when I was afraid I would start pumping my ass into the hands that worked my butt muscles, the touch stopped.

  “Would you like it harder?”

  Oh, fuck, yes. Harder, faster, deeper. “Fine,” I choked. “Anything is fine.”

  I drew another shaky breath and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, determined not to disgrace myself in front of a stranger. But, oh God, I was on fire—my nipples were painfully erect, trapped against the cotton beneath me, and each time I shifted, a twinge of arousal beat a path straight into my clit. I was primed, had been all day—fuck, I was dying.

  Ankles. That should be safe enough. I slowly relaxed again, soothed by the symmetrical sensation of fingers tracing up and down the muscles and tendons of both calves at once. I felt nearly bereft when the hands left me for a moment, only to gasp in surprise at their sudden return, warm and slippery with oil, sliding up the inside of my thighs. Automatically, I opened my legs further. The sheet was now a thin ribbon of material, transecting my body where my buttocks and thighs joined. Underneath the flimsy material, I knew that I was open and wet and ready. I held my breath as the fingers circled higher, working my inner thighs, certain they would stop any second. And then—oh God, a brush of skin over the tiny hairs surrounding my anus. It was as if there was a direct connection to my clitoris, because just that feather-light caress caused it to twitch.

  I couldn’t stop the reaction. My buttocks clenched, my pelvis lifted off the table, and my thighs separated. What I wanted—oh Jesus, what I needed—was to slip one hand under my belly and get my fingers on my clitoris. I knew that the barest of strokes across the tip, the lightest squeeze to the shaft, and I would explode. Oh God, I wanted to come. I grabbed the sides of the table and gritted my teeth. Please, please, please—move away from there.

  I couldn’t be feeling what I thought I was feeling. Because it felt a lot like a thumb, slowly pressing against the tight ring of muscle between my cheeks. Mmm, so good. I meant to say stop, but the muscles of my throat were paralyzed. I could only whimper faintly. Oh, yes, yes, yes...

  Dimly, through the red haze of lust clouding my brain, I was aware of my pelvis pumping rapidly as I pushed back against the pressure slowly opening, then entering me.

  “Oh God.” This time I groaned aloud, didn’t I?

  As the digit penetrated the depths of my ass, the sensitive muscles slowly clenched around it. An answering spasm began in the base of my clitoris, extended into my pelvis, and twisted through my belly. This was going to make me come very soon. I tried to clear my mind, fight back the pleasure. The hand pumped my ass—once, twice—and my breath fled.

  I needed to come so badly now—my head swam with urgency. My harsh breathing seemed to fill the room. “Please.”

  My voice a weak cry.

  My ass rose and fell, pushing and pulling the thrusting digit in and out of the warm channel. Each time my hips descended, I pressed my pubis against the rough surface of the towels under my body, trying desperately to stimulate my clitoris enough to come. I wouldn’t come, couldn’t come, usually, without some contact at that most sensitive point. And I was so close already. OhGodohGod. Just let me come. Just this once.

  Two fingers slipped through the thick come between my swollen lips, one sliding on either side of my clitoris. I whimpered, rapidly rolling my hips from side to side, needing just a little more pressure on the shaft to go over the edge. I heard low, frantic moaning, punctuated by small cries, and realized it was me. That was how I sounded when I was about to come. A fingertip slipped under the hood of my clitoris and stroked back and forth.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God—please, please, please.” My head thrashed from side to side, my hips pounded, and the finger in my ass drove harder, faster. The orgasm built, unstoppable now. Nearly breathless, I teetered on the edge, every muscle painfully tense, mumbling desperately. “Gotta come now, please—gotta come, gotta come, oh—now, now, now.”

  Fingers circled my clit, fingers fucked my ass, and then fingers claimed the last available orifice—I registered them filling me an instant before everything—head, belly, clit—exploded. Someone screamed; it must have been me. All I knew was the gripping spasms that started in my clitoris, rapidly flooded my pelvis, and flashed through my body, bursting into white lightning behind my eyes. I was groaning, pumping, gushing onto—well, it didn’t really matter whose hand it was, did it? All that mattered was that finally, I was coming.

  Whoever would have figured, in a town like that, such a full-service place as this?

  RECONNECTING

  By the time I finally got home, it was well after dark, and my clit was so stiff it hurt to walk. I’d been wanting her all day. Hell, I’d been wanting her for days. I’d been working late almost every night, and she’d been overscheduled every day. No time, coming or going. But it wasn’t just the treadmill of day-to-day routine preventing us from connecting. Not just time, but something deeper, as if we both needed something from the other, but we couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say what. And when we couldn’t read the message in the other’s eyes, the silence left us both slightly forlorn.

  To make matters worse, we’d had a fight. Well, not exactly a fight, more of a colossal misunderstanding. I had been selfish, and she had been disappointed. I hated myself for that—for being less than she had dreamed I would be—and I ended up feeling helpless. I’m very bad at feeling helpless. So I got withdrawn and edgy, and then she felt abandoned. The chasm grew. In the end, we both hurt far more than the initial affront ever warranted. Even though we’d eventually agreed that we couldn’t get along without each other, we were still wary and uncertain. And even in bed, we were self-conscious about touching.

  The longer we were estranged, the more apparent it became to me that she was everything I had ever wanted, and more. No one had ever matched me for intensity, or passion, or sheer devotion. I was beginning to think that I had not only met my match, but had been surpassed. She’d awakened desires I had long forgotten and inspired me to venture down paths I had only dared dream of. Now, to be separated—severed—from the passion that had come to define my daily existence and shape my nightly dreams was more than unbearable. It was slow death.

  Not being able to touch her was killing me. It wasn’t just the sex I missed, but the connection that made me feel as if I had some purpose for being alive beyond mere existence. I was hers, and she was mine, and knowing that, life made sense. Without her, I was stumbling half-blind through a world of shadows.

  Of course, I wasn’t thinking of any of those things as I walked into the bedroom that night. She was already in bed, propped up against the pillows in an old, holey T-shirt, a faded, blue-striped sheet pulled up to her waist. I knew how she always slept, and she’d be naked under those thin cotton barriers.

  “Hey, babe,” I said.

  She was reading something impossibly technical, the kind of thing she found relaxing. She tossed me a half-smile by way of greeting and went back to what she was doing. We were better, but we weren’t quite there yet. We were moving around each other with that hesitant care that follows a fight. That small degree of separation is tolerable for most people, but not for those few of us who survive on the deeply intimate connection with one, and only one, woman. I was slowly dying of hunger.

 
; Of course, I wasn’t thinking of any of those things as I walked past her into the bathroom. What I was thinking was how damned hot she looked, all relaxed and warm and half naked. I was thinking that I hadn’t had my hands on her breasts in days, or tasted her in what seemed like forever. What I was thinking was that I wanted her, every part of her, for myself. I wanted every breath she drew, every thought she contemplated, every beat of her heart to belong to me. If I hadn’t almost lost her, I probably wouldn’t have been so desperate to reclaim her.

  Of course, I wasn’t thinking any of those things as I strapped on the Dancer. What I was thinking was that my clit had been throbbing for hours, and I needed her fingers, her mouth, to bring me off. What I was thinking was that I wanted her to feel me in every part of her, deep inside, where there could be no doubt about how much I loved her or how much she loved me. What I was thinking was if she reached down and tugged on my cock just a few times, I would come. I wanted her to remember that she’d once said she adored me, that she belonged to me, that she was mine.

  Of course, I wasn’t thinking any of those things as I turned down the lights, crossed the room, and drew back the covers. She looked at me in surprise as I eased into bed beside her, leaning on one arm to look into her face. Then her eyes widened as she felt the length of my cock brush against her thigh. Her lips parted, a small sigh escaped, and the blue of her eyes became very dark. I usually don’t come to her this way. I usually wait for her to let me know that she wants to be fucked. But that night I couldn’t wait; that night my need was so great I could only think of taking her. I knew she would know what that silent admission cost me, and I didn’t care.

  “Do you need something?” she asked, her eyes never leaving mine as she reached down to fist my cock.

  “Yes.” My throat was dry. My stomach ached with the arousal that weighed heavy as a stone in my pelvis. I looked down, watched her curled fingers slowly tighten around the shaft, and I got wetter, harder.

  “What?” she murmured, giving me a tug. “What do you need, huh, baby?”

  The base pulled away from my body a fraction of an inch, then snapped back in the harness, striking my stiff clit.

  I gasped.

  “Is that what you need? You need to come in my hand?”

  “In you,” I whispered. “I need to come in you.”

  She smiled slowly. “Is that all?”

  Then she tugged again...and again, faster and faster, beating me off until I choked out a cry and went rigid, ready to lose it right then, right there.

  Then she stopped.

  “What do you want?”

  I could smell her desire. Her breasts rose and fell ever faster, the nipples small hard stones beneath soft cotton. I wanted my teeth on them, closing down until she cried out.

  “I want to fuck you.” My voice shook, and my arm trembled as I held myself above her. Waiting. Waiting for her to take me back.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to feel alive.”

  She spread her legs and pulled me over her. I braced myself with a hand next to her shoulder, my knees between hers. Then she tilted her hips and let me settle my cock between her thighs. I wanted to weep.

  “Why else?”

  “I’m lonely.” I put a hand between us, held my cock, and glided the head up and down between her legs, just barely touching her. “I’m empty—deep inside.”

  Smiling, her hips rolling with each stroke of cock through slick folds, she reached up to twist her fingers in my hair. She tugged my head down and caught my lower lip in her teeth, chewed on it as she pushed against the fat head, trying to take me inside.

  Carefully, I stretched out on top of her, my breasts against hers, my mouth searching for her tongue. With my free hand, I guided the tip of my cock firmly between her labia, feeling the easy way it slid, knowing she was already wet. As my tongue danced with hers, I worked the head up and down between her lips, lightly pressing her clit, stopping just short of entering her. I palmed the cock and used it to tease her, all the while the motion rubbing my own rigid clit, edging me dangerously close to blowing. My whole body was trembling. I’d wanted to fuck her the minute I’d touched her. I almost didn’t care if she was ready or not. I wanted her so badly, I had to force myself not to thrust into the places I needed to be. Her hands moved to my shoulders, digging into me so hard I could feel the imprint of her nails. She rocked herself up and down along the length of my cock and whispered in my ear, “Fuck me.”

  She always knows what I need. I felt like I might cry. I felt like I might raise my head and howl like a wolf calling for its mate, bathed in the silver light of the moon. I felt like an awestruck virgin, taking my first woman. I felt primitive, and powerful, and so goddamned grateful that she would have me.

  I wanted to be inside her so much I was sick with urgency. I clenched my thighs and pressed the cock down against her. The head slipped in and she moaned, her spine bowing beneath me. My head went light and my heart beat an uneven staccato in my chest. I wasn’t breathing. Shuddering, I sobbed for air.

  “Come on, baby,” she crooned, her fingers tugging my hair. “Come inside me.”

  I pushed again. The curve was perfect for us, and as she lifted her ass slightly off the bed, I slid it all the way in. She whimpered as I filled her, and I nearly came as the base rode up and down, rolling over the shaft of my clitoris. I braced myself with both arms then and started to stroke. My mind was a haze of red heat. I’d been so hard for her all day. She was all that was keeping me alive, and I wanted to feel every fiber of her. I wanted to touch every corner of her being. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted—

  “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come,” I groaned.

  “Not yet,” she gasped, neck arched, her unfocused eyes struggling to hold mine. “Please, baby, wait.”

  Gritting my teeth, I pumped into her with all the strength of my need. Her hips were pistoning up and down my cock, driving me closer with every thrust.

  “All the way,” she moaned against my neck. “Fill me all the way, everywhere, when you come.”

  She locked her arms around my shoulders and her legs onto my back. Opening, she took me deep, took me home.

  “I want you.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “I need you.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Fuck me.”

  I closed my eyes, and I took all she offered. Thrusting wildly, as deep as I could, I started to come. I was clutching her now, whimpering, as the orgasm stole my breath and blinded me. All I could hear was her chanting desperately in my ear, “fuck me fuck me fuck me”

  My hips kept working as my clitoris twitched and spasmed and my stomach contracted. I slipped one hand between us and, curling my fingers down into her wetness, felt her swollen clitoris squeezed against the shaft of the cock. I massaged it with my fingertips and she screamed. I compressed the base, got two fingers on either side of it, and stroked her. She convulsed and came all over the cock, came for me and no one else.

  “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t ever stop”

  “never, never, never”

  RUNAWAY BLUES

  I woke to the sound of the sea, the gentle swaying of the bed, and a soft moan.

  Swaying bed? Soft moan? What the hell?

  The night outside the adjacent window, which was cracked open an inch to allow a whiff of cool salt air to float in, was still dense with fog. I was lying on my back in an unfamiliar room in a bed I didn’t recognize. Even more disconcerting was the fact that a near stranger was lying next to me, and I was pretty certain she was masturbating.

  I should probably start at the beginning, which was approximately twelve hours ago. I arrived at the airport in Philadelphia the requisite two hours before my scheduled flight to Boston. I’ve never liked to fly, and ever since the new security regulations were instituted, I like it even less. I should’ve known that it was going to be one of those trips when I pulled into the economy parking lot, which is abo
ut the size of a small state, and saw the signs saying Lot Full. I prepared myself for even more inconvenience but was pleasantly surprised when I was given an economy-rate voucher to park in the short-term parking garage adjoining the terminal. Amazing. A savings of both time and money.

  I made the mistake of taking this as a good omen.

  It was Friday of the long Fourth of July weekend, and I hadn’t been able to leave the lab any earlier. I’d been waiting for a protein sample to make its way through the filtration column, and that’s a process that just can’t be rushed. Still, I’d arrive in Provincetown in the early evening and be able to enjoy a good start on the weekend. The line for the US Airways ticket counter wound its way through the path mapped out by steel poles and black nylon straps and overflowed into the main thoroughfare. I, however, had my Visa Preferred card, which even though I was traveling coach allowed me to check in at first class, where there were only two people waiting. I was checked in, had my boarding pass, and made it through security in forty-five minutes. Right on schedule for my 4:30 flight.

  Two minutes before boarding, the US Airways agent at the gate announced that all flights into Boston were being delayed because of severe weather—there’d been intermittent thunderstorms throughout the Northeast for the last two days. I settled back into my seat in the crowded waiting area, glad that I had scheduled over an hour between my arrival in Boston and the departure on Cape Air to Provincetown. Unfortunately, my flight was an hour late leaving Philadelphia, and by the time the airspace over Boston was cleared from the earlier delays, I had missed my connecting flight. The agent at the Cape Air counter couldn’t have been nicer.

  “Hi there,” he said with a smile.

  I tried not to snarl. “I just missed my flight to Provincetown.”