by Cara Bruce
In the back of the limo, you kiss me, hard, your tongue driving into me with an attitude of utter possession. I feel your hands on my breasts, pinching my hard nipples through the silk dress; I feel them sliding up my thighs and stroking my juicing pussy, at first through the thong and then underneath. I moan, about to come, but you know better than to give me that sort of relief before an adventure like this. Instead, you tell me to take off my underwear, and I do, and you tuck it into the pocket of your tux.
“You’re ready, now,” you tell me.
“Ready for anything,” I say, and I am.
When the driver lets us out at the curb, you tip him twenty dollars and tell him we’ll be here for several hours. “It may take all night,” you tell him, and my knees go weak. “We’ll call you.”
In the lobby, you take my hand and press a plastic key card into it.
“Room 1519,” you tell me. “Put the blindfold on before you enter the room, and take off your dress, shoes, and stockings as soon as you’re inside. You take two-foot, ten-inch steps, so the bed is four steps straight ahead and two steps to the left. Get into it.”
“Aren’t you…?”
You shake your head. “This is anonymous, remember? It’s all yours. The person in the hotel room will not speak under any circumstances, but if you wish to stop the scene, just say my name and it will stop immediately.”
I kiss you on the cheek, afraid, abandoned, but somehow intensely aroused. Who will be waiting for me? A demanding dyke with a strap-on, like you? A dedicated sadist with nipple clamps for my tits and a big paddle for my ass? A perfumed femme in a slinky dress like mine? A young stripper with a shaved pussy, a student who whores on the side?
I take the elevator up with an obviously wealthy older couple; I fantasize that they know exactly what I’m doing, heading to an illicit, anonymous lesbian tryst on the top floor. It makes my pussy even wetter. Thank God they get off on the fourteenth floor; I wasn’t looking forward to putting on the blindfold in the hall with them watching.
I step off the elevator, find the room. I still have the gift box with me. I open it up and take out the leather blindfold.
For an instant, I listen at the door. I can’t hear anything; the soundproofing is flawless.
I glance up and down the hall and see no one. Quickly, I put on the blindfold and insert the key card into the lock.
The door beeps softly on the first try, and I push the door open and go in.
It’s the smell that hits me first, unfamiliar yet comforting. I don’t know what’s unfamiliar about it, but it’s human, rich, and thick—like you when you’re sweaty after a long night of fucking me.
I close the door and remember your instructions. I shrug off the long dress, not even caring that I let it crumple to the floor. I’ll get it dry cleaned later. I kick off my shoes, then take off my stockings, breathing that familiar yet unfamiliar smell.
Now naked, I move into the room.
Four steps forward, two steps left. I feel the edge of the bed. I hear classical music, playing softly from a good stereo. It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, and I’m sure you’d know which one from two or three notes. Underneath it, I hear rhythmic breathing, but no words.
I feel my way along the edge of the bed. There’s a starched corner pulled back, open for me. Obeying your final command, I climb into bed to meet my lover.
When flesh hits flesh, I feel it, instinctively, but I don’t put it together for an instant. The strong, thick arms curving around me. The muscular legs entwining with mine. The great weight on top of me, the unfamiliar scent becoming suddenly familiar, then unfamiliar again. The scratch of whiskers against my face as he kisses me, the pressure around my wrists as he takes them and holds them against the bed, the hard cock pressing insistently against my thigh. The surge of terror in my belly as I realize what you’ve done, the sudden feeling of being at risk of being violated, at risk of being hurt.
Then, as I feel his tongue against mine, I flash on the million times I’ve had this fantasy—an anonymous man in a hotel room—and my whole body surges with sudden excitement, my flesh electric everywhere he touches me. It’s been a long, long time with only my fantasies, and somehow you knew that this fantasy of the hotel that I confessed to you had been edited slightly to change the gender of the other participant. How could you have known that? But you did, and that’s why I love you, and that’s one of the two reasons I relax into the anonymous man’s body and let him kiss me. I let his tongue ravish me, let his cock strain against my belly as he climbs on top of me and holds me against the bed. The other reason is that I want this, and I’ve wanted this forever. Not to have sex with a man, but to be utterly, completely overwhelmed by my desires, more importantly overwhelmed by you. To have you push me beyond my resistance, beyond my fears, beyond my restrictions, to give in to my uncomfortable desires, to feel this cock against my belly and know that it’s going inside me. To feel my pussy juicing as the weight of a naked, unknown body holds me to the bed.
He kisses my neck, then my ear, eliciting soft moans from my lips. His breath is hot against my flesh. He gently turns my head so that he can bite the back of my neck, making me squirm underneath him. Then he releases my wrists and moves down, his tongue tracing a path from my neck to shoulders to upturned armpits, then down to my breasts. I feel his hot mouth around my nipple, feel it growing even harder between his teeth. He lingers just long enough to make me squirm and shiver and moan, and then his tongue draws a figure eight over my belly, and I realize with a rush where he’s headed. He gently parts my legs as his face settles between my thighs, as his tongue finds its place in my cleft, pressing against my swollen, throbbing clit and licking down to taste the juices of my flooding cunt. God, he’s good—not as good as you, perhaps, but incredible enough to make me think I’m going to come right away, then to sense it and back off so that I can suffer in divine torment while he teases me. He holds me there on the edge, teasing my clit with his tongue-tip, his hands parting my lips and exposing my entrance. Two fingers inside me, smoothly, gently penetrating, then pressing firmly up against my G-spot, make me do it—make me come, hard, harder than I expected, and my ass rises high off the bed as the surges go through my naked body.
Even I’m surprised at what happens next. I say, “Turn around. Get on top of me. I want to suck your dick.”
He doesn’t speak, just like you said. I haven’t sucked cock in so many years, I’m sure I’m not very good at it, but I’m so hungry for him I don’t care. This is about my pleasure, and when he settles his hard body down on top of me, top to tail, I realize he is just a little shorter than average, which puts his cock in exactly the right position as his mouth descends on my sex again. I take it in my hand, for a split second not sure what to do with it, and then my hunger overtakes me and I start sucking, gulping it desperately, rubbing it all over my face and feeling the smooth hardness as I smell him up close. I tongue his balls while his tongue wriggles its way between my lips again and he begins licking my clit—upside down this time, which is all that saves me from screaming that I’m too sensitive. You must have told him everything about me, because one spit-lubed thumb gently works its way between my ass cheeks, stroking my tight hole, and I only have to coax him a little before he slips it in and goes back to licking my clit. God, I want to make him come, in my mouth or all over my tits, but if I have to wait another instant to feel him inside me I’m going to go mad. I whisper, “Fuck me, fuck me from behind,” and he obediently relinquishes his grip on my pussy and rolls me over onto my hands and knees. He’s so well trained—where did you get this guy?—that he tucks not two but three pillows under my belly to hold me up while he moves behind me. He positions himself, his cock finding my pussy. I moan as he slowly pushes in, and his hand reaches under me and finds my clit before I even have time to reach for it.
He seems to know right away that he can make me come in that position, but he holds off, teasing me, reading my body as if he’s had a college co
urse in it, which he probably has. He toys with me, his cock sliding into me rhythmically while I get closer and closer, hovering on the edge until he forces me to cool off so that he can fuck me some more.
I feel his thumb on my ass again, and I am barely coherent enough to gasp, “There too, there too,” so when I feel his thumb pressing against my asshole all I can do is shake my head and say, “No, no, no,” until he gets the idea. I feel the cold drop of lube between my cheeks, massaged in by his thumb. He pulls out of my pussy and slides his cock between my ass-cheeks—the first cock I’ve ever felt there, except yours.
He enters me slowly, hearing me gasp and moaning, “Wait… wait… wait… OK, now, now,” before pushing in smoothly and penetrating my anus. I’m moaning louder than ever, and as he fucks my ass he doesn’t forget about my clit; his rhythm is perfect, his fingers matching the long strokes as he brings me to the edge of orgasm.
But before I come, I pause, because absorbed as I am, as full of the smell of him that I am, I can’t ignore the new scent, one so familiar I almost don’t notice it. Then I hear the breathing, off to the side, as if you’re sitting in a chair near the bed, watching us—and I know, all of a sudden, that this moment wasn’t just for me; it was for both of us.
Then I come, harder than I’ve ever come without you fisting me, and my muscles clench and spasm around my phantom lover as I reach out for you, grab your hand, and come again.
Walking unsteadily into the bright morning, my expensive dress rumpled, I see you drinking your coffee in the lobby and I head for you. I take the seat next to yours, because I can’t bend down to kiss you without losing control of my knees. I curl up in the easy chair and you kiss me.
“The limousine driver’s long gone, so we’ll have to take a cab home, I’m afraid. Pricey.”
“We could take the bus.”
You chuckle. “Did you have a nice night in your hotel room?”
“It was the best birthday ever,” I tell you. “Mostly because of who was watching me.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Never mind,” I say. “I’ll be remembering this birthday for a long, long time.”
“As will I,” you tell me, and offer me a drink of your coffee. I savor it: cream, no sugar, just like you.
What She’s Worth
Michelle Scalise
I study her eyes, sapphire blue and clear as the sea. Unlike her husband, she’s more angry than scared, and I like that. She surveys the room, searching for a way out or a weapon. The stack of woman’s magazines I dug out of the trash at Penn Station rest in my lap. I like to mix up the fonts, so that they’ll resemble the ransom notes in movies. The red light overhead hemorrhages on every image, staining the model’s phony smiles.
With a pair of scissors in my hand, I wave them in her direction and say, “I’ll bet you read shit like this.” Flipping through the pages of perfumed ads, I find the table of contents: “How to Flirt Like a Pro,” “Sexual Techniques to Keep Him Satisfied.” Ripping the glossy cover from the spine, I fling it at the woman tied and gagged in my living room. “All Dean needs is some head, Karen. And hell, it’s not like he takes very long to come.”
She’s glaring now. Her voice fights beneath the silver duct tape stretched across her lips.
Two floors below, sirens scream through crowded streets as night slinks between the buildings. I grab the stereo remote and turn up the music. Kurt Cobain is begging to be raped. Karen struggles to turn a bit, gazing down at the traffic. Short dark curls, framing her heart-shaped face, flick across her cheekbones like a slash. Crimson bleeds on her skin, running down her long legs like snakes. She is a mix of designer labels, from the small gold chain at her throat to the tennis shoes on her feet.
“But you gotta swallow,” I continue. “None of that spitting-in-a-tissue when he’s finished.”
I’m doing a half-assed job of pasting individual letters onto a piece of notebook paper and laughing because she looks as if, given the chance, she’d gladly put a bullet in my head.
I grab her wallet from the small purse she carried. “Fiftythree dollars?” I say, tossing the cash onto the sofa. “Christ, I could get more mugging a Girl Scout!” She’s trying to speak again, but I ignore her and pull out a black-and-white photo, the kind you pose for in a closet-size booth. Karen is smiling bright as sunshine in the picture, both her arms wrapped around a pinched-faced woman. I flip the photograph over and read aloud, “ ‘Me and Brandi.’ Are you fucking her? Because, nothing personal, but you could do better.”
Karen shakes her head, her muffled voice grumbling.
I pull the switchblade from my black Doc Martens, nearing her side as I flick it through the air like a swashbuckler. She gives a gratifying yelp when I yank a corner of the tape from her mouth. “I’m sorry, Karen, I didn’t get that. Was there something you wanted to share?”
“She’s just a friend, you lunatic!” she yells.
I thrust the blade at her pale throat, then gently scrape a trickle of sweat. Her breasts, small and hard, cling to the white T-shirt she wears. “You’re really going to have to lower your voice, sweetheart,” I say, brushing the hair from her face. “Sorry, about the heat. My air conditioner went on the fritz yesterday.”
“How do you know my husband?” she asks, the disdain barely concealed. “Have you been following me?”
“I don’t stalk,” I say. “Where’s the surprise in that? I just scope the parking lots of private gyms and tennis courts where people like you hang out, looking for the right girl…or guy. When you showed up to work out, I jimmied the lock on your BMW and waited in the back seat. I love the smell of leather. I had a boyfriend once who could only fuck in cars. I’d climb right into his lap while he drove through rush hour traffic—never got in an accident, either.”
“Do you know Dean?” she asks. “Are you having an affair with him? Because, if you are, I don’t care. You’re welcome to him. Just let me go.”
“Thanks for the offer of your Ken doll, but I think I’ll pass.” I nudge her chin with the blade, retaping her into silence. “I’ve got to mail the ransom note. And then we’ll see how much you’re worth to him. Don’t make a sound while I’m gone.” Reaching down, I rub my thumb against her nipple till I can see its hard outline beneath the cotton. I want to suck it into my mouth until she moans, but I like to drag out the game as long as I can bear it. Anticipation is a wet dream. “Good girl,” I say. The red light can’t hide the blush of her cheeks.
I close the door behind me, humming as I head down to the trash chute at the end of the hall.
When I return, I find Karen tipping the chair back and forth, like a broken rocking horse, as she attempts to move across the floor. Laughing, I pull her back to the open window. “You’ve destroyed my faith in you, sweetie.” Slipping my knife tenderly under her shirt, I slice up through the material until it hangs from her shoulders.
Finally, she looks scared.
“You want to know how I’m acquainted with your husband?” I circle her, licking at her ear. Her perfume is a musk, but she wears it lightly. A breeze, accenting the heat, flutters through the room, waving the black curtains out like a parachute. “I gave him a blowjob he’ll never forget right here in this chair.” I’ve got her from behind, her breasts cupped in my hands. I hear her breath, harsh and fast, as I massage her nipples. “I had him between my lips.” She shakes her head.
“And if you’re good, Karen,” I whisper, “I may let you go.”
I get wet just saying the words.
From a bookshelf in the corner, nestled behind my collection of Victorian erotica, I pull out the dildo I’ve been envisioning up her cunt since I first saw her. The music, slow and achingly sad, wails as I spin and sway. I feel the red light searing into me like a brand. Lifting my arms, I remove the tiny black dress I’m wearing. I keep the boots on.
In her white exercise outfit, drenched in scarlet and shadows, she looks like an orchid in a hothouse.
I kneel at h
er side, cutting away at her shorts until I can pull them to her ankles.
Karen groans when I grab a nipple between my teeth, pulling and licking till I feel her arch into me. Coiling my fingers into her hair, I force her still. “I want you to see the way I sucked him off.” Sliding the dildo in and out between my lips, I mesmerize her. She’s forgotten about Dean, or else she enjoys picturing her husband in my mouth. I almost wish I’d brought him along so that I might take turns on them.
Drawing the cock out, I twine it down between my legs, stroking my clit. I’m inches from her face when I shove it into my cunt. “Do you like watching me ride him, Karen?” She doesn’t make a sound, but she doesn’t look away either. My heart’s pounding so fast that I almost lose track of where I’m at in the game. I pull out when I feel myself ready to come.
Leaning down, I rip at the tape, ready to tear through rock just to get to her mouth. “Open wide. I want you to taste how hard I fucked your husband.” She accepts half the dildo in one swallow. I start her off easy, grinding slow at first, until she’s used to the pressure at the back of her throat. The look of lust in her eyes is like a storm swirling. I push deeper and she takes it in. “You’re doing good, sweetie. Lick my juice off him.” Her tongue, slick and pink, runs along its shaft, circling the tip.
I get lightheaded watching her. She groans, and I want to grab the back of her neck and force her down on me until she drowns in my cunt, but I know I can’t take the chance of untying her yet.
