Between the Cheeks

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  She scanned the room and realized as the slow trickle of juice between her legs continued that she could fuck any of them, maybe all of them, even the nearly bald old man with deep lines of experience and excess etched into his face. Power and vitality buzzed in her blood. She had never in her life felt so alive.

  “That one,” she said as she discreetly pointed to a coffee-colored man with a slick mane of ebony hair flecked with gray. His cheekbones reminded Jessie of an Aztec god, and his charismatic smile and shining eyes excited her.

  “All right,” Derrick said, his voice unreadable. Did he approve of her choice? He stood up from the table and crossed the room to talk quietly to the stranger at the bar. The two men looked at her and then spoke more urgently for only a moment before Derrick clapped the man on the shoulder and returned to her.

  “Come on. Esteban’s having his car brought up.” He took her by the hand and led her to the man. Esteban touched her cheek with his hand, cool and soft as the glass he had been holding. His eyes burned with intensity and lust.

  Esteban drove the Saleen and Jessie rode in the front seat next to him, his hand resting on her thigh. In minutes, they slowed as they drove through an outcropping of townhouses on the lake shore. The men didn’t talk and Jessie watched the city, feeling detached and a little dazzled by the lights. The excitement she had felt in the bar began to turn toward apprehension. She chided herself as her fingers stroked the door release. She was a big girl! Fucking strangers was nothing, dammit.

  Esteban’s flat looked like a place where no one really lived, every surface shiny and clean. The furnishings were sparse and modern; the walls breathed some ambient afro-beat. One wall of the living room, all glass, showed a view of the light-speckled lake, black and endless as the sky.

  “You want a drink?” Esteban asked her, his voice tinged with an exotic accent, low and warm. He mixed her a perfect gimlet when she told him what she wanted. Derrick had a straight scotch and watched her with a little smile.

  How did this start? Jessie wondered. Should she say something? She had the distinct idea that Derrick was enjoying her nervousness, and she thought it might even be turning Esteban on a little. They let her stand there, looking out at the dark majesty of the view, for almost five endless minutes, before Esteban politely cleared his throat and spoke. “Derrick says you’ve never had two men before.” He stood very near her. She smelled musk and a hint of something sweet, like lime. “Is this true?”

  She smiled at him, her voice calm even as her belly jumped. “I’m a fast learner.”

  He laughed and touched her breast, his fingers now warm even through her blouse and the thin satin of her bra. She wondered if her tight nipple might tear the fabric as he circled it with his finger. Esteban nodded to Derrick and Derrick began to unbutton his shirt. He wore a pale blue T-shirt underneath it that clung tightly to his pecs as he breathed. He tossed his shirt aside and peeled off the tee. Jessie’s breath quickened as Esteban’s right hand became more insistent on her breast, almost roughly fondling and tweaking as his left hand cupped her bottom, gathering her skirt.

  Esteban smashed her lips in a feral kiss and forced his tongue between her lips, rapacious, even though she opened to him, and his hard grip on her butt clearly informed her she had left consent back in the bar. She was his now to take however he wanted her. Derrick dropped his slacks, bare beneath them, his cock already an impressive plank that stood at nearly a perfect forty-five-degree angle from his body.

  Jessie remembered the first cock she had ever seen, and the second, and the third, each of them a little magical as they lengthened and thickened in appreciation and anticipation of her. This was different. Obligation and a sense of surrender colored her perception. She felt no trace of selfishness, only a desire to make this the best fuck either of the men had ever had, and, to her utter amazement and arousal, to earn her pay.

  Esteban turned her to face Derrick, his hands continuing to explore her. He kept kneading her breasts as he unzipped her skirt and played at the edge of her thong. He licked her under her ear and bit her lightly on the throat, then he pushed her to Derrick. “Strip her.”

  She wondered if she was supposed to help him, but Derrick didn’t seem to need any help. He attacked the buttons on her blouse, his hard cock bobbing between them. She couldn’t help herself—she reached down and stroked him. Soft as warm silk, hard as old oak, he jerked under her touch. She wanted to make him come, eager to taste him. She wrapped her hand around the thickening shaft and began to pump.

  She heard Esteban undressing behind her as Derrick peeled her blouse down her shoulders and began to work on her bra. Her unzipped skirt slipped down her stocking-clad thighs, and she shimmied to make it fall to her ankles. She still held Derrick’s cock, in love with the sensation of the pounding blood inside it. Her lips tingled at the thought of sucking him, but Derrick controlled her position. The best she could manage was the slow milking rhythm she had established with her hand.

  He bared her breasts and Esteban reached around her, his touch greedy, his warm hands returning to what they apparently loved: the slow, rough mauling of her stiffened nipples. For a moment, the men pressed her between them. She felt Esteban’s trousers against the bare globes of her bottom, his erection impressive and stiff, Derrick’s captured cock pressing at the satin triangle that covered her pussy, his hands on her garters, losing patience.

  Esteban’s hand covered hers, fingers interlacing so that they held Derrick’s prick together. Derrick moaned when Esteban squeezed. Someone’s hand was tangled in the waistband of Jessie’s thong, and she gasped as the elastic strained and a line of mild pain sliced her hip as the fabric pulled and then gave. Except for her garter and hose, she was naked between the men, entirely at their mercy.

  Life surged through her, unbound.

  Esteban guided the tip of Derrick’s cock so that it teased the shaven lips of Jessie’s slit and then he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “Go over there and get the rest of your clothes off,” motioning toward the leather sofa.

  She half staggered the few paces to the seat, feeling silly that she still wore shoes but determined to keep both men’s eyes on her even as Esteban busied himself with Derrick’s prick, continuing to pump it. She sat on the leather and crossed her legs, letting the silk of her stockings rub in smooth friction, unfastening one snap, then another, keeping the round perfection of her thigh between the men and her pussy, teasing them with a glimpse.

  Esteban watched her, grinning, his hands on Derrick’s shoulders now, pushing him down to his still-covered crotch. Derrick moved, quick and sure, on the other man’s belt and zipper, rolling the trousers down in a smooth movement. Esteban wore silk briefs and his cock looked enormous within them, impossibly, almost comically long.

  Derrick nuzzled Esteban’s erection, biting the hem of the shorts and pulling down. Jessie finished with her stockings and shoes, her gaze locked with Esteban’s and, as she removed the last scrap of silk from around her waist, she deliberately parted her legs and opened herself to his gaze, aware of the wet swollen button of her clit, wanting him to fuck her with his eyes, then his hands, his mouth, his cock.

  The dark man’s briefs clung for a moment, caught on the tip of his nearly exposed member, and then Derrick tugged and Jessie saw what Esteban had been hiding: the longest cock she had ever seen outside porn—thin, uncircumcised, arcing upward.

  Derrick licked him from base to head, bathing reverently, his hand reaching under to cup Esteban’s balls as he engulfed him and began to deep-throat his impressive dick. Jessie had to admire his technique. Esteban motioned for her to rejoin them and kneel beside Derrick.

  He stood over them, one hand on each of their shoulders, and she understood exactly what she was supposed to do from the hard press of his grip. They traded turns, Esteban’s splendid cock between them, licking and suckling, kissing each other, tasting musk and sweetness, the flesh their bond, their common purpose. While they sucked, she handled
Derrick’s cock and he touched her pussy with assured strokes, not entering her, but brushing the lips and circling her clit.

  Esteban’s cock pulsed but he seemed to have ruthless control. His breathing quickened and his grip tightened but he did not come.

  “On your back,” he said to Derrick and Derrick obeyed him, lying back on the thick carpet, his cock like a mast. He nodded to Jessie. “Mount him. Slow.”

  This was it. She was going to put a stranger’s cock inside her—for money. It seemed unreal but vital somehow, a culmination of desire and debasement, but she wasn’t the one being fucked here. Not yet anyway.

  She straddled Derrick, her hands exploring the muscles of his stomach and chest, her gaze meeting his, mirrors of lust and want, and she slid the open lips of her pussy along his length then settled on him, one glorious inch at a time.

  Pleasure flowed through her as he filled her, just as she’d known it would. His cock wasn’t the biggest she’d ever had but the thick, fine and responsive flesh enthralled her. She squeezed and he moved with her, thrusting slightly up so he went deeper than she had intended, making her gasp and scattering the edges of her control.

  Business and pleasure, Jessie thought as she purred and settled. Business and pleasure, and pleasure left business in the dust.

  She rode him, grinding slowly, and his arms went around her, pulling her to him, raising her ass in the air. Esteban knelt behind her. She spied a jar of lube and she knew what would happen next.

  She’d never been fucked in the ass before, though she once had a lover who liked to play with her anus with his fingers and tongue.

  The warm, slightly sticky lube creamed her ass as Esteban applied it. His hand wandered down to the slow piston of Derrick’s cock even while his slippery fingers parted the cheeks of her ass and stroked the rosebud of her anus. Derrick held her tightly and kept her from moving. The head of Esteban’s penis nestled between her cheeks and then probed.

  He entered her with a little popping sound and she hurt for a moment as she instinctually clenched, but then she relaxed and the sensation of being entirely filled overwhelmed her. She lost the ability to think.

  Esteban’s hands claimed her breasts again, rougher even than before, but his thrusts were tender and precise as he set the rhythm and Derrick followed.

  Pinned and helpless, wrapped in strong arms above and below, she sighed as the cocks inside her became instruments of pure sensation in and out in counter rhythm. Lights flashed behind her closed eyes and with the endless slide of flesh within, she cried out with her first orgasm as Derrick began to play with her clit, rising beneath her as Esteban pulled back.

  She lost count of how many times she came, her hands raking at Derrick’s hips, her mouth kissing wherever she could reach, and the climaxes built one upon the other to a peak, as first Derrick and then Esteban emptied into her.

  They went three rounds, the men together, and then they took turns with her, a slow fucking that seemed to last hours. The sky had pinked over the lake when they finally finished. Esteban donned a black robe and watched them dress, his smile sublime.

  Jessie’s pussy and ass burned with sweet pleasure, and her clothes seemed to weigh a ton against skin as thin as mist. She watched the two men talk together and Esteban handed Derrick something, but she could not see what passed between them. Esteban kissed both of them good night with genuine affection and they took a cab back to Waxy’s.

  In the back of the Checker, Derrick gave Jessie six one-hundred-dollar bills from a sheaf he put back in his pocket. She looked at the money, then at him.

  “You earned the bonus,” he said. “A good night’s work for both of us.”

  “Both of us?” she asked, beginning to understand. Derrick wasn’t her investor after all. He was her broker.

  “Leverage, sweetheart. Collateral assets. We can make a lot of money together.”

  “Partner.”

  WORTH IT

  Alison Tyler

  As the ring slid onto my finger, I knew it was all over. The sparkle of diamonds glinting in the dim candlelight. The pink tourmaline shining like a flame. Those jewels foretold our demise as clearly as any fortuneteller could have. I knew the end was inevitable, even if I didn’t know why. Well, that’s not altogether true. I knew, sort of. I knew in a half-assed, bitchy kind of way.

  A week before, Byron had taken me on a dream shopping spree to Tiffany & Co., had told me to choose the ring I desired the most. “Go for it, Gina. Pick out the one you love.” What girl wouldn’t melt at an opportunity like that?

  Flustered, flattered, I’d landed on this one after nearly an hour of breathless searching. Or, at least, one damn near like it. Dramatically dark pink stone in the center, two perfect diamonds on either side, a classic platinum band. Admittedly, the price was astronomical, but Byron had the money for the ring. And I was worth it, right?

  Apparently not.

  This ring did not come in the pretty pale blue box that makes all women’s hearts skip a beat, but in a knockoff lavender velvet container, from a knockoff jewelry store in West L.A. This ring cost five hundred dollars instead of twelve thousand dollars. And I should have been happy with whatever Byron gave me. I know that. But like a bossy five year old who throws a tantrum at her own birthday party, I was not happy at all. Because it was clear to me from the look in his watery green eyes as they carefully appraised my reaction that I wasn’t worth it.

  Like I wasn’t worth a lot of things.

  I wasn’t worth kissing in public. (“PDAs are so revolting.”) I wasn’t worth risking potential shame or embarrassment in the back row of a movie theater. (“Stop that, Gina. People might see.”) I wasn’t worth trying something new in bed, even though Byron had dabbled in adventurous sex with girls before me. But no matter how I cajoled, he wouldn’t travel uncharted territory on our California King.

  Velvety handcuffs? No. A leopard-print blindfold? No f-ing way.

  He’d had anal sex before me, twice, with a girl he met in New York City. I knew this because early in our relationship, when we’d been in that cozy sharing place that happens prior to going long-term, he’d confessed. I’d told him that I’d lost my virginity to a frat boy whom I chose to do the honors because he put his arms around me on a balcony during a party to keep me warm. Chivalry had gotten him where no man had before. We retreated to my dorm room twin bed and he’d made me come twice while sixty-nining.

  Byron had countered with his tale of debauchery in New York City. He’d bragged about the act, as if it were something he did every day. But as the story continued, I deduced that playing this way had been entirely the girl’s idea. He’d simply gone along with the concept, taking down her jeans, bending her over the hotel bed, fucking her there. I don’t actually think he enjoyed the act—too dirty for Byron, who liked things antiseptically clean, from missionary-style sex in our king-sized bed to the grout between the white tiles in the bathroom. Still, he held the experience close to his heart, like a badge of courage. It was a medal of sexual adventurousness for a Boy Scout like him.

  Whenever we made love after that, I thought of the girl. She had blonde hair, cut short and spiky. She wore sunglasses even inside, and she liked to chew Double-Bubble gum. There were pictures of her in his scrapbook, black-and-white photos of her blowing bubbles, of her winking at him, of her with her hand in the belt loop of her jeans, looking oh so cocky.

  What did she have to look cocky about? Simply this: she’d had Byron in a way I couldn’t. In truth, I hadn’t had sex like that with anyone. I was only nineteen. My experiences were limited. Even frat boys who are willing to sixty-nine for hours don’t always broach the taboo topic of anal sex. I wished I’d done it, though. Knowing that Byron had ass-fucked someone else made me feel uneven with him, as if he were winning. As if he’d always be winning.

  So I asked him to do it to me. To take down my jeans. To bend me over.

  “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “You won’t like it.”

&n
bsp; Why? Why wouldn’t I like it?

  “It’ll hurt.”

  “We can use K-Y.”

  “It’s—it’s dirty, Gina.”

  He said the word in a way that made me know he thought dirty was bad. But to me, the thought of getting Byron to do something dirty couldn’t have been sexier. Mess him up. That’s what I wanted to do. Rumple him around the edges. Untuck the hospital corners on his highly starched personality.

  “Come on,” I urged him. “You’ve done it before. You know how.”

  “Kiddo,” he said in his most condescending voice. “Trust me. It’s not for you.”

  Byron was nearly thirty. You’d have thought he would enjoy introducing me to new things, but aside from training me in which brands he preferred for toothpaste (Crest), mouthwash (Scope), and soap (Dial)—the types his mommy always bought—he claimed that he wasn’t much of a teacher.

  Yet I desired knowledge. I craved experience. Now that Byron wouldn’t even consider having anal sex with me, it was all that I wanted. I started to think about my ass in a way that I never had before. To consider my behind as a sexual object in its own right.

  Although I’d always been in favor of hipster panties, or (at the skimpiest) bikinis, I now bought myself a rainbow of thongs, and I twitched my ass in them when I walked, feeling that ribbon of floss tickling me with every step. Opening me up.

  When I took a shower, I took great pleasure in using the pulsating massager between my rear cheeks rather than over my clit. The rush of water there had me breathless and shaking as I’d never been before. And when I touched myself solo, I’d finger my ass simultaneously, and my orgasms intensified in ways I’d never imagined. Nobody had told me. Nobody had explained.

  Maybe, I thought, Byron needed to see what it would feel like. Maybe nobody had told him, either. The next time we made love, I tried to touch him back there, but he swatted my hand away, and the lovemaking stopped abruptly. How could I consider that? How could I dream he’d be into that? When I went down on him soon after, something he did like, I tried accidentally-on-purpose to kiss him back there, slipping lower between his legs than normal, but he pulled me back up to his cock, horrified that I would even consider rimming him.