by Violet Blue
To facilitate her command, she hiked the negligee up over her thighs and spread her legs wide.
Someone whistled.
“Aw, man, I love wet pussy,” sighed another.
“Yeah, nice pink twat. You’re a lucky man, even if you have to wear a raincoat.”
“I thought the winner was the one who held out.” That was the youngster.
“We all win,” Sam assured him. “You’ll see.”
Mr. Early Bird was now scooting up between her legs. He had a broad frame and Miranda had to stretch her legs wider to accommodate him. The high slits of the negligee tore farther up toward her waist. She moaned, exhilarated by the sound of heedless destruction, the proof of her descent into pure wantonness.
The man grabbed her heels and placed them on his shoulders. The heat of his body oozed through the soles of her feet, melting her calf and thigh muscles. He began to lick. The latex grew warm. Miranda had come to enjoy this slightly muffled sensation, as if he were pleasuring her through thick cotton panties.
She whimpered and clutched at the sheet.
“What does she want the rest of us to do?” the young man fretted.
“Figuring that out is part of the fun.” Sam laughed.
“She wants us to get her very, very messy,” explained the jocular guy.
“I’ve never seen a real woman who enjoys a money shot like she does,” agreed the smooth voice.
“Yeah, this one’s really into it,” said Brooklyn. “Sometimes she shoots her own puddle on the bed as if she’s taking notes from us.”
Miranda let out a soft “Oh,” half in shame—the man was right that she left quite a mess herself—and half in delirium from the overwhelming bounty of attention. So many men were gazing at her, wanting her. Even through the blindfold, she could feel their glowing eyes stroke her skin. Their rude, nasty comments aroused her like perfectly calibrated spankings on her most secret flesh. Nor could she find fault with the agile tongue working her clit through the latex. If she let herself go, she could easily come soon, but she was still too blank, too clean.
“Hey, Early Bird. Stop.” The warmth between her thighs receded with a disappointed smack of lips. “Now, whoever jerks off on me before I count to ten takes his place.”
Someone snorted a protest, but soon enough the air was alive with new sounds: determined panting, soft moans and the clicking cricketlike song of hands yanking swollen dicks.
Miranda counted out the numbers, her voice unsteady. One…Two….
At eight, her left hip was pelted with hot rain. This was immediately followed by a copious eruption that sprayed across the hollow of her rib cage and another shower on her arm and shoulder.
Her body jerked, as if enduring a series of rapid blows.
Fingers plucked another dental dam from her side. “My turn, sweetheart.”
“Can I come on her again?” asked the young man.
“Oh, to be twenty-one again,” Brooklyn teased.
“Go ahead,” Sam said. “She likes it. The more jizz, the better.”
The second man was crawling up on the bed now. He tilted her thighs up so that her feet dangled in the air. Stretching the dam tight over her vulva, he went right to work, nipping her clit gently through the thin barrier.
Her belly began to throb, a pulsing nova in her groin. She couldn’t hold back much longer. This next part was tricky, but they hadn’t let her down yet.
“Come on me,” she barked, “Shoot your wad in the next two minutes or you have to take your aching balls back home with you.”
“Bossy bitch, isn’t she?”
“Better get to work,” Sam said cheerfully. “I’ve got my stop-watch on.”
A new voice to Miranda’s right gave a grunt, as if he’d been punched. With a growling “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he glazed her right side with spurts of hot cream.
“Watch out, you got me.”
“Sorry, man, sorry.”
Brooklyn, at her left shoulder, let out a high-pitched yelp and ejaculated over her chest, knocking against the bed rhythmically with each spasm.
“Excuse me, if I may, I’ve got a present for the lady.” The smooth, moneyed voice spoke with uncharacteristic urgency. Within moments new arcs of jism joined the growing deposit on her chest.
“That’s seven,” Miranda said. “Who’s left?”
“I am.”
She should have known it would be Sam. Naturally a good host would make sure his guests’ needs were satisfied before he claimed his own.
“Come on the pearls. Shoot all over them,” she ordered.
The bed lurched. Sam was kneeling over her, his knees pressed against her side. She smelled cock, a hint of soap, the vaguely medicinal scent of lube. Her eyes began to tear with something close to gratitude. The sound of fist pumping cock filled her ears, and she felt her own heartbeat quicken to keep pace with his quick jerks.
Just then Sam cupped her cheek, tenderly, as if he were about to make love to her. “Take this, you greedy, come-covered slut.”
His voice was so perversely gentle that what came next actually took her by surprise: one, two, three, four pulsing jets of ejaculate oozing over her collarbone and neck, coating the white beads with warm, sticky glaze.
“Rub it on me, all of you,” Miranda cried. She grabbed the sperm-soaked lace and ripped the negligee open over her breasts. “Paint it the fuck all over me.”
Dozens of fingers obediently scooped up the viscous cream and began to massage her, anointing her nipples with it, icing her belly. Wherever they rubbed, her nerves sprang to life. One hand soothed the spunk from her neck over her shoulders, which were suddenly as exquisitely sensitive as a clit. Others spread gobs of it over her breasts, massaging her, healing her with the smooth, silky ointment.
“God, oh, god, yes,” she cooed, wanting them all to see how much she loved this. So many men were disgusted by their own come, but for her, at this moment, it was an intimate gift, the most honest exchange possible between a man and a woman. It wasn’t pretty, but she was done with pretty—pearls and satin, vows of eternal love and all those other lies that only made her feel dirtier in the end.
Desperately, she pressed her cunt up against the tireless tongue still brushing and stroking her swollen clit. It was her turn to give them a gift, to let them see a come-covered slut abandon herself to the ultimate animal release. Her mouth twisted into a grimace.
I’m going to come, oh, god…
Damn if she wasn’t doing it, too, coming, thrashing, screaming, gushing all over the sheet as eight faceless men urged her on with their slippery caresses.
She collapsed back onto the bed, limp, drenched, released.
“Nice show.”
“Yeah, that was wild.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to come again next week.”
Only then did she grace them with a smile.
“Well, it’s time to retire for our port and cigars, gentlemen,” Sam announced.
“The bathroom’s the second door on the left if you’d like to wash up.”
Miranda lay still until the men filed out and the door closed firmly behind them. Then she sat up and pulled off the blindfold to survey the damage. The negligee was a mess—stained, torn, stinking of locker room and spunk. Grinning, she peeled it from her body and stuffed it in the plastic-lined trash can beside the bed. Next she unclasped the goo-covered pearls and dropped them onto the crumpled gown.
“Goodbye, Tom,” she whispered.
Stepping into the guest bathroom, she washed her hands under hot water and dried them with one of the soft towels stacked neatly on the counter. Her chest still tingled, and she touched it with her heat-flushed fingertips. The skin was tender yet stronger, like a scar. Spunk really did seem to nourish her. She would sleep well tonight.
As for Sam’s standing invitation, Miranda felt no desire for him now. She would slip out the back, as usual, and be on her way. One day, when the lingerie drawer was empty and her jewelry box bare
, she might stay. Until then she was far too greedy for one man to satisfy.
Before her shower, she paused for one last look at herself. The woman in the mirror over the sink made quite a painting, the dried semen decorating her chest and neck like fine lace. But this was no hesitant nymph, no wistful modernist muse. She was a Titian duchess, patron of the arts, a woman who could commission her own portrait that glowed with radiance beyond any commonplace beauty or understanding.
Miranda straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin high. After these Thursday night treatments, this formidable lady with her sly, satisfied expression was no stranger.
The woman smiling back at her seemed to agree.
TWO COCKS, ONE GIRL
Cecilia Tan
When my boyfriend became obsessed with other men’s cocks, I knew my life was going to change. The names have been changed in this story to reflect how absurd it is, so let’s call my boyfriend “Peter.” See, thing is, it was high time for a change, anyway. Peter was working a kind of crap job doing phone support for low pay, and I hadn’t had a job in two years, but that’s the recessionary economy. We were still pretty happy, not living large, but being good to each other and still having regular sex even after ten years together.
The first time I noticed Peter getting interested in other guys’ junk was when we were watching porn. A typical Friday night for us, if we didn’t have our gaming group over, was we’d download whatever we could get and then lie in bed watching it on one of our laptops until we got so horny we couldn’t stand it anymore, and then he’d just fuck my soaked pussy until I came. When you’ve been together as long as we have, all the other foreplay stuff gets boring, you know? It’s as if the only reason we did all the smooching and cuddling and petting back when we were shy virgins was we were too shy to just get right to it. Basically, if I’m wet, I’m good to go. (Plus, there is always lube.)
But we were talking about porn. And my boyfriend. And other men’s cocks. Most straight porn is focused on the big-busted babe, but the scenes I like best are the ones where you can’t see the faces of the actors, just the penetration. We tried watching animated porn once, but it didn’t do much for either of us. We both wanted to see a real cock in action or it seemed sort of pointless. This is why “reality” porn worked just fine for us. Who cares about the bad acting and dumb dialogue in porn movies? What we get off on is watching two real live humans fucking.
Peter started to make comments while we were watching, like, “Do you think that guy’s arm gets tired when he jerks off?” and, “I hear they like to hire short actors with big cocks so that their cocks will look even bigger.” I would just murmur agreement, maybe stroking his own schlong while we watched. But I noticed a pattern in the films he was downloading. We were seeing more and more of the Long Dong Silver and Freakishly Big Dicks In Action type of films.
All I can say is there are some amazing specimens of humanity out there. You figure if a guy has a cock that hangs almost to his knees, in the back of his head he’s wondering if he might be able to make a good living from his asset, no? Other guys must notice it at the beach and in the gym, right? How hard is it to get an audition with a porn studio, I wonder? Do the actresses get paid more to do scenes with them? In my head I imagined a pay scale based on the inches, or maybe the volume, like stunt men getting paid more for the more dangerous stunts.
Yes, these are the things that went through my head while watching a woman who looked like a ballerina with beach balls on her chest take a schlong the size of a Genoa salami between the legs. And yes, it made me hot—and curious. The next day, while Peter was at work, I started researching pay scales in porn films. I wasn’t surprised to learn that the women get paid more than the men, and that a woman who will do anal sex gets more than a woman who won’t.
Then Peter started downloading gay porn. The first one was supposedly an “accident.” You know, he pulled it off a torrent site and didn’t know what it was, but once we started watching it we noticed two things. First off, the guys are actually good-looking, and secondly, there are double the number of cocks. Score! Neither of us missed the beach-ball-busted babes, and the ass was as good as the pussy for those close-up penetration shots.
But it got really serious the night we were watching one of these gay videos that had a kind of rapey theme; you know, where the one guy is reluctant and the other one isn’t? The whole thing was in Hungarian so it was hard to figure out exactly what was going on, but the one guy lay the other one down and then rubbed his cock all over the other guy’s cock, like giving him a hand job, only it was a cock job.
Peter was tugging on his own salami while we were watching this scene, and he came without warning. He sounded pretty surprised himself, a kind of wordless jumble coming out of his mouth like, “Whu-gub-bahhh-uhhh?” as he shot all over his stomach. I was kind of not pleased with that, since I had been getting close to putting the laptop down at that point, but it was so damn funny at the same time I just ended up laughing. And besides, it didn’t even take an hour for him to get it up again.
While we were fucking, I asked, “If I had a cock, would you want me to rub you off with it until you came?”
“Fuck, yeah,” he said, but while we’re fucking is a totally unfair time for me to ask him questions, because so often that tends to be the answer. You know, like, “Hey, will you rake the leaves in the back tomorrow?”
“Mm, fuck, yeah…”
So I had to ask him again a couple of days later, when we weren’t horny, to see what he’d say. We were making dinner at the time. “Do you want me to get a strap-on?” I asked.
“A what?” It took him a minute to get what I’d said out of context. “Oh, you mean like a dildo?”
“Yeah. You know, so we can try the cock-to-cock thing.”
“Oh.” He stopped stirring the sauteing onions for a moment while he thought about it. “Eh, I’m not sure. It’s like the animation thing.”
“You want a Hundred-Percent-Real Cock™, is that it?” I teased.
“Er, well, um.” He blushed and the onions began to caramelize. “Don’t you think that’s kind of too gay for me?”
Peter and I have been together more than ten years. When we first met I’d thought he might be bi and in denial. Ten years later…I was sure of it. But you know how skittish guys can be. Now, I could have just said, “But it turns you on. What’s wrong with that?” Or, “There’s no such thing as too gay or too straight.” Or, “I think having lived with your girlfriend for a decade has kind of saved up your ‘nongay’ points.”
But I didn’t. What I said was, “Is it gay if it’s a threesome? You know, a girl sandwich?” I reached over and took gentle hold of his wrist at the same time, moving it in a circle so that he’d keep stirring.
“Hm, no, I guess not,” he said.
We didn’t wait for Friday. That night we downloaded a two-guys-one-girl video.
The following week, I charged a dildo on the one credit card I had that wasn’t maxed out, and started playing with it while Peter was at work. In particular I started using it on my ass. That almost derailed the whole experiment right there because, holy crap, why didn’t anyone tell me what an intense orgasm can be had from anal penetration? I guess I figured those porn girls were just faking it so they could get the higher pay. Wrong. But instead of telling Peter we should switch to anal sex, I stuck to the plan, and the next time we had sex, I put the dildo into my ass while Peter was fucking me….
It wasn’t an instant orgasm for both of us, but it was pretty damn close.
So this was how the following Friday we ended up canceling our gaming group to meet a guy we had found through Craigslist. Let’s call the guy “Dick.” The phone conversation went something like this:
Peter: Yeah, so, hi, I thought we should talk about getting together.
Dick: A threesome right? You and your girlfriend? How long you been together?
Peter: Ten years. Actually, this is kind of almost our annivers
ary.
Me (in the background, with my hand over the phone): Why are you telling him that?
Dick: No kidding? That’s cool. I’m like, not looking for a relationship myself right now.
Peter: That’s okay. We’re not like trying to form a group marriage or something. Just a fun fling, you know?
Dick: So long as we’re using condoms, I’m good with it.
Peter: Of course. I wouldn’t let you assfuck her without one.
Dick: Is she the only one getting assfucked?
Peter: Yeah.
Dick: That’s cool. You want to meet me at a hotel I know? No muss, no fuss.
So we went to this hotel, pretty nice place actually, since I was all for not having to wash the sheets, and if the guy didn’t actually come to our place I felt like we were less likely to get cased for a robbery or something. We went up to the room, and Dick had a case of beer and some snacks laid out on the dresser. He was a looker—crew cut, big biceps and a big bulge in his jeans.
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back in what I think was supposed to be an alluring pose and asked, “So what do you folks like to do to get in the mood?”
“Oh,” I said right away. “We watch porn.”
“Awesome.” The next thing I knew, we had an adult film playing on the TV, and I had a guy on either side of me sucking on my nipples. Okay, so maybe all foreplay isn’t pointless. Plus, it was a threesome flick, so it was very easy when it got to a position that looked doable for me to say, “That. I want to do that.”
Dick coaxed Peter to the edge of the bed so that his feet were on the floor and then invited me to hop on. I straddled Peter. I should mention at this point, because he’ll be cranky if I don’t, that Peter has a big one. And it always feels bigger to me when I’m on top.
Peter said, “Fuck, yeah.”
Dick came around the back then, telling Peter to spread his legs apart more, which made my ass nice and inviting. Dick lubed up my ass then and finger-fucked me for a while, and Peter groaned. Later he told me it was like the guy was running his finger up and down Peter’s cock…but inside me.
