I don’t think I could have bolted, even if I’d been sure I wanted to.
One fantasy I’ve never had is the whole master/slave thing, from either end of the equation. A little spanky goodness, sure, but all in fun, and with tonight’s span-kee just as likely to be the spanker next time – not the deep stuff where it’s about giving over your will to another person on a more serious level.
Yet as I paced naked through our house, quivering with arousal and excitement, I felt oddly submissive and oddly happy about it. My fate had passed utterly out of my hands and into those of Gary and Matt, and I was pretty much fine with that. I imagined it was how a BDSM slave might feel, waiting to fulfil some scary-yet-hot whim of her master’s, knowing the decision was all out of her hands, that her only choice was to trust in her lover.
No, the analogy didn’t really hold. For one thing, I could back out – no shame, no harm, no foul, not even a safe word needed. (They show up and find me dressed, we pretend it was never discussed and go get dinner, end of story.) For another, although Gary and Matt had worked out the scenario, they were spinning out my desire, my fantasy. I was the one who had the real power here, even though I’d given over control of the details to the guys.
And that was hot all by itself, without any BDSM component – that Gary loved me that much and, hell, that Matt was that turned on by the idea of playing with me.
The phone jangled, startling me out of my thoughts.
The guys had just turned onto our street. They’d be at the house in just a few minutes. ‘Matt says to say he’s as hard as rock,’ Gary said. Before he hung up, he added softly, ‘I love you.’
I went upstairs, into the bedroom. As we’d agreed, I slipped on the blindfold.
Soft leather lined with padded silk, it smelt warm and alive, caressed my skin as it settled into place. My faceless stranger really would be faceless until it was all over – or at least until my curiosity got the better of me. The darkness settling over me was warm and somehow comforting, as if this wouldn’t really count (unless, of course, I wanted it to) if I couldn’t see Matt’s face, Matt’s body, Matt’s hands on my skin.
We’d experimented with blindfolds enough that I wasn’t surprised my other senses felt instantly sharpened by the deprivation. The air shivered against my skin. I could smell the smoky musk of my arousal, and under it the soft fresh scent of the rose soap I’d used in my morning shower.
And, of course, sound was heightened. I swore I could hear the cat purring downstairs in the den, children playing in the neighbour’s yard. My own breathing sounded crazily loud and harsh, like my grandma on a day when her asthma was bad.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. Let my fingers stray between my legs, not so much trying to make myself come as marvelling over how wet I was, how eagerly my pussy sucked in first one finger, then two.
The smell of my juices grew stronger, drowned out the soap, drowned out just about everything.
Would Matt finger me like this, pumping in and out as I was doing to myself? Or would he just throw me back and dive in cock first, not bothering with preliminaries because I was already soaked, hot, ready for a stranger’s hard cock to stretch me, fill me, fuck me?
I clenched around my own fingers – not quite an orgasm, but close – at the thought, and the sensation took me so strongly that, even with my hearing heightened, I almost missed the sound of the front door opening, of two men pouring in the door.
I froze, fingers still in my cunt, straining to listen.
‘Karen’s upstairs,’ Gary’s familiar, comfortable voice said. ‘Second door on the left. First one’s the bathroom.’
‘Thanks, man.’ A deep voice, both rumbly and silky, sort of James Earl Jones without the Darth Vader effects. The kind of voice that could turn a woman inside out by reading the phone book.
‘I’ll be in here.’ I imagined Gary gesture towards the den. It would be just like him to play World of Warcraft while Matt was fucking me – he wouldn’t want to leave the house in case of Unspecified Horrible Weirdness, but he’d want some distraction. Also a nice twisted bit of symbolism, since one way the guys had kept in touch while Matt was in Japan was by playing that damn online game together at strange hours.
Then Gary raised his voice to a pitch I would have heard even if I’d dozed off waiting for them. ‘Have a great time with Matt, Karen. I love you.’
Something in the tone of his voice, a combination of lust and tenderness and a curious kind of pride in me – like he was a kid showing off a neat new toy, I thought – just about melted me. (Yeah, maybe I had more sub in me than I thought, because I’m sure my rational, non-horny self wouldn’t have liked the favourite toy comparison one bit, but under the circumstances it just made me melt like butter in the hot sun.)
Footsteps on the stairs.
I realised my fingers were still inside me and pulled them out in a frenzy of embarrassment. Gary had seen me playing with myself plenty of times and that was always fun, but having a stranger see me was different. Humiliating. Living proof that I was a bit of a slut.
Then again, it wasn’t like he could have any illusions that I was shy and uptight, and it was a compliment to him, and to the fantasy, that I couldn’t wait. I left my fingers circling my clit, not really with intent, just keeping warm for him.
I thought I had a little more time, but he bypassed the bathroom. I heard him walk a few steps into the room, heard an appreciative whistle. I looked up instinctively, even though I couldn’t see anything. My hand froze, hovering a fraction of an inch off my throbbing clit.
Suddenly my heart was pounding fit to shatter my ribs, and I was choking on panic. What had I gotten myself into?
‘Damn,’ he said in that voice of silk and gravel, ‘you’re even hotter than your pictures. Gary is a lucky bastard. Nothing like a pretty girl playing with herself. No, please don’t stop.’
Matt’s sexy voice ran over my skin, caressing me from a distance, soothing me. Between that and the momentary distraction of wondering if Gary had sent him those pictures, I let the panic go, went on stroking myself as if in a dream.
Despite nerves, despite distraction, I could feel an orgasm coming on.
I’d never fantasised about this, about the idea of beating off under a stranger’s gaze, but my pussy was twitching, and I was squirming under my own touch, and I was embarrassed to realise I was moaning and mewling.
A soft shush of cloth hitting the floor.
‘I’ve been looking in your window,’ he said, moving towards me. ‘A burglar, maybe, planning to break in, steal your stuff and leave, but instead I’ve been watching you playing with yourself, getting so hot and bothered you didn’t even notice me. But now you have. You see me opening the window, coming towards the bed, my cock out just like it is. I don’t want to hurt you, don’t even want to rob you any more. Just want to fuck you senseless.’
Gary had obviously told him one version of my fantasy in detail – The Well-Hung and Welcome Intruder, an oldie but a goodie.
‘Yes,’ I whispered. And then, ‘I’m gonna –’
‘Not without me you don’t,’ Matt growled, and it was simultaneously so sexy and so menacing that it almost finished bringing me off, even though I had moved my hands out of the way.
The sound of movement.
Hands on my thighs, hands squarer and, I thought, a little smaller than Gary’s, but hard and strong.
A warm tongue, flicking where my fingers had been.
Hands flailing, I grabbed him, one hand brushing the top of his head in passing.
Shaved head. Hot silky skin. Shoulders like a god’s, or at least they seemed that way to me.
And a tongue that definitely knew its way to a woman’s hot spots. He licked me like I was ice cream and he’d spent the past year on a diet.
My world exploded.
I arched, clawed at his shoulders. I screamed like a wounded panther (not that I know what a wounded panther sounds like, but it seems like it wo
uld be loud and ragged and startling even to the panther, and that about describes the noise I made).
And he didn’t stop. Just kept licking, kept making me come, while he somehow scooted me further back onto the bed.
Eventually, I pushed him away, spent, making ‘gkk-gkk-gkk’ sounds, needing a breather – but not a long one.
I heard the welcome sound of a condom packet being torn open.
A few more glorious licks, lighter. Definitely pleasurable, but not trying to wring another orgasm out of me immediately.
Then he kissed his way up my body. And by ‘kissed’ I don’t mean a few light brushes with his lips on the way to a place where he could get his cock into me. He licked, kissed and nibbled, covering every inch, getting his teeth involved sometimes as if he wanted to take away a chunk as a souvenir, and it felt good enough that I’d have let him. One leg was between my thighs, rubbing, grinding, keeping me wet and open even if I wasn’t coming right at the moment. The leg was hairy – with my eyes useless, I noticed that kind of detail more – and hard and strong feeling.
He felt solid overall, not as tall as Gary but broader – not fat, but built differently from Gary’s lean, rangy runner’s body. His ass, when I grabbed for it, was rock hard under my hands. Not a small peach of a butt, but big and solid like the rest of him. Big and solid and glorious, like the cock brushing against me, making me crazy with need. I wanted it inside me, fucking me hard, splitting me open, but I didn’t beg for it because at the same time I didn’t want him to stop what he was doing.
Especially when he reached my nipples.
Licking, suckling, biting down so red spirals of pleasure edging on pain gyred through me. I arched against him, ground my mound – my throbbing, oversensitive, almost sore mound – against his leg, getting pleasure but not the release I’d hoped for. Matt cupped his hands around my breasts, pushed them together, worked his tongue-and-tooth magic on the valley between them.
Damn. Gary didn’t do that. No one I’d been with had done that, at least not with such dedication, such focus. I’d always thought most of the nerves in my breasts were centred in my nipples. Not so, apparently.
Finally he had had enough of that and moved up, taking a good bite at my shoulder on the way.
He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against my slit. ‘Don’t need to ask if you’re ready for me,’ he purred. ‘You’re soaked.’ He rubbed himself against me. He felt huge to my overheated senses, as if the head of his sheathed cock was the size of an orange.
I mewled, squirmed, tried to push him in. He chuckled, the laugh rumbling through his whole body and mine. It vibrated my nipples, my clit.
‘Please,’ I managed to say. ‘Hard.’
And then Matt was pushing into me, hard like I’d begged, and while he wasn’t really as big as an orange – probably around Gary’s size, maybe a hair bigger, meaning nice sized but not a stallion cock – he filled me well, filled me fast, filled me deep.
He rose onto his knees, grabbed my hips and pulled me towards him in a frenzy of motion.
In a choked, lust-filled voice, I heard him say, ‘Gary. Now.’
A familiar weight settled onto the bed next to me, the weight of a body I knew as well as I knew my own. A familiar warm man’s scent filled my nostrils. Familiar hands, gentle but eager, eased the blindfold off me. Light pressed against my closed eyelids. I wanted to see, wanted to see Gary above me, Matt in me, but the light seemed almost too intense after the long darkness and instead I kept my eyes closed, breathed in Gary’s kiss, arched my back to press my breasts into the beloved hands that were running down my body.
A stranger was pounding into me, the man I loved was caressing me and my entire body was alive with pleasure. For once in my life I didn’t want to start coming around a cock right away. I wanted to keep feeling all these distinct amazing sensations, not the glorious confusion of orgasm. Not just yet.
‘Open your eyes, love,’ Gary said. ‘Look at the man who’s fucking you.’ It was a request, not a command, but I don’t think there was any way I could have disobeyed.
I blinked in the light, found I was looking, by some instinct, at Gary rather than Matt. It was hard to tear my gaze away from Gary – his wide eyes, his hard cock, his expression of lust and amazement – but I did.
The few brain cells that could still think about anything other than fucking and getting fucked were astonished that Gary had never thought to mention that Matt was black.
Well, not so much black as a yummy reddish brown. He was bald, as I’d thought, and muscular in a squared-off way, and had one of those faces that was attractive without being handsome in any of the easily definable ways, features that individually didn’t seem that gorgeous, but added up to something more than the sum of their parts. His eyes were screwed shut, his features distorted with effort and lust, his dark skin glazed with a thin film of sweat, and if I hadn’t already been turned on more than any three women had a right to be, that image would have done it.
I looked from him to Gary, all long lines and a blond’s peach-tinged pallor, and then back again.
‘So lucky.’ I wanted to say more than that, but I couldn’t.
Not so much because I couldn’t articulate, although I really couldn’t, as because Gary shifted position at that second and teased at my lips with his cock.
I took a deep breath, drank in his scent of Camembert and spice, took him into my mouth, and that did it. I wanted to suck him like no man had ever been sucked, show him just how much I loved him, how much I appreciated this gift, this beautiful stranger/friend he’d given me.
But I was too busy coming to put any art into it. All my muscles rippled around Matt, and I shouted out, pounded one fist into the mattress and the other into Matt’s hard thigh. Gary was stroking himself, and I was licking and sucking as best I could around the shock waves passing through me.
As my body let up and I figured I could trust myself not to bite down, I shifted my hand, cupped Gary’s balls, started focusing on the hard shaft in my mouth as well as the one in my pussy. I pressed into the spot just below his balls that always made him insane and was rewarded with his cock jerking in my mouth, his voice catching as he said, or tried to say, ‘If you keep that up, I …’
‘Do it,’ Matt growled, and I wasn’t sure which one of us he was talking to, but it really didn’t matter. I suckled and swirled my tongue and played with that magic spot behind Gary’s balls. Gary pinched my nipples hard. Matt’s hips began to snap as he pounded into me in a way that made the earlier fierce fucking seem like he’d been holding back.
As come filled me at both ends, another wave of orgasm washed over me.
I think I may have actually blacked out for a few seconds. In any case, the next time I was coherent enough to notice much of anything other than aftershocks, I was snuggled up next to Gary, who was murmuring words of love into my hair.
Matt was sitting next to me, one dark hand on my hip. ‘Hi,’ I said, because it dawned on me that I never actually had. ‘I’m Karen Steele. Have we been introduced?’ I grinned as best I could with my melted muscles.
He laughed nervously. It was a very odd effect, hearing a nervous titter echoing inside that basso rumble. ‘Hi, pretty lady,’ he said. ‘Matt LeComte. And I look forward to actually talking to you … over the pizza I’m about to go pick up. Mind if I take your car, dude?’
I felt rather than saw Gary nod.
Matt pressed a kiss on my forehead, gathered up his clothes and walked away. At the door, he turned back briefly, smiling. ‘Don’t take this wrong, guys. It’s all good. It’s just that I could eat Italy right now, never mind a pizza, and I bet I’m not the only one. And besides, I think you two need a little alone time.’
I didn’t see Matt leave. I was too busy pressing myself against Gary, nuzzling him, kissing him as if he’d been away for six months.
Reacquainting myself, after the pleasures of the strange, with the pleasures of the familiar and much loved.
Barely Grasped Pictures
Olivia Knight
WHEN SHE’S ON holiday, she play-acts herself (unless, of course, she’s in Spain with other English people around, in which case she pretends to be French). Floating into seaside coffee shops in a long summer dress, dark glasses and a floppy hat, she can pretend to be the sort of person who floats into seaside coffee shops in a long summer dress, dark glasses and a floppy hat. She enacts being a character who buys long drinks with mint in them and condensation sparkling on the sides, and watches how the light from the water dances on the walls of the sort of arty sparse café that a person like her frequents. Because she is transient here, she can be what she seems. The moment is perfect because it is frozen.
Forget that there is another place where, choiceless as a child, she must arrive every day by nine o’clock, uniformed in what is appropriate, and stay there, humdrum and appropriate and known as ‘the one who …’, until half-five or six, and even then follow the deeply grooved rut of the office worker to commute home, sometimes via the supermarket, fix supper, eat, relax, wash, get to bed at a suitable time, sleep. Repeat whether or not desired. Forget the people who know her sources, habits, limits of her knowledge and workaday pigeonhole in life. Here, she is the tip of her iceberg – cool, remote, unfathomable. A disaster waiting to happen.
One slim foot has half-escaped its sandal, which dangles from her toes; the artless childishness belies her creamy composed smile. Her bag, hanging from the back of the chair, is a smudge of straw. Her hair, fluffed up by sea air, froths out beneath her hat in fuzzy curls. Can she feel the eyes watching her?
Sex with Strangers Page 6
