by Rose Caraway
Appetizer
Sommer Marsden
I told Jamie the fantasy a million years ago. I had confessed one night after too much wine and too much laughter and that game you play where you spill your top-secret fantasies to each other. In a new relationship, that game can make you or break you. I knew we were meant to be together when he listened patiently to my most secret thoughts and then proceeded to bend me over and fuck me as if the world were ending and it might be our last time.
Then I’d promptly forgotten my confession.
It’d been five years since then and on the anniversary of our first date he’d decided to take me to dinner. To the big seafood restaurant by the harbor. The one we never could have afforded when we first hooked up. I had no money and he had no money and dates consisted of cheap wine and cheese platters in front of bad B movies or sitcoms.
I was nervous, and I had no idea why. Something in the air. An ozone smell that signified something big, maybe. Or a crowded thick feeling that made me think of anticipation.
Either way, I could feel something as I shimmied into my little black dress. Underneath I had on a simple black bra. I’ve never been much for fancy lingerie and neither has he, given his most famous bedroom line is: “That’s nice. Take it off.”
I rummaged for panties but ceased searching with a gasp as his big hand came down over my much smaller ones. Jamie said, “Why not leave it to chance under that there black dress?” He winked at me and it went right to the center of me. I was already wet, just thinking really, about what would be the inevitable outcome of our night. But I went from wet to soaked when he grabbed me that way.
“What if my dress blows up?”
“What if it does?”
“What if people see?”
He grinned at me and another fine tremor of excitement shook me. “What if they do?”
I bit my lower lip. Torn. Wanting to protect myself but please him too. Turn him on. Fuck, turn us both on. In the end, the temptation of going bare was too great and I shut my underwear drawer.
“Stockings?”
“Nope. It’s warm.”
It was warm. Warmer than most Mays are. The heat had gotten into my system. Giving me a sultry feel all day long and into the night. I always felt as if the drumbeat of my heart was audible. We’d had sex every day this week and I doubted this night—given the celebratory nature of it—would be any different.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, walking into the bathroom to give his teeth a quick brushing.
“You do? Is it diamonds?”
He laughed.
“Rubies? Pearls? A beach house in the Bahamas?”
“Nothing quite that dramatic, Blair. Or expensive,” he added. “But I think you’ll like it.”
He reached out to tweak my nipple through my dress and it brought me down to a sigh. His touch usually did that.
“I have something for you, too,” I said, thinking of the framed concert ticket I had for him. It was the concert we attended the night we first fucked. I’d dug it out of his memento drawer and had it matted and framed. Silly, really, but something about it made me happy. “Do you want it now or later?”
He was on me in two big steps, his hands slipping beneath the hem of my dress and shoving the fabric high on my thighs. Since I was sans panties per his instruction, cooler air kissed my clitoris and brushed over my slit.
“Later,” he growled. And then he started singing “Anticipation…”
I laughed. “Let’s go before we just fall into bed and rut like animals instead of going for that nice dinner we could never afford until now.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Damn. And here I was considering the rutting portion of our evening first.”
“Later,” I said and kissed him.
“The restaurant’s the other way,” I said as the car slithered down a typical one-way city street. “If we turn around—”
“Reservations for seven, not six like I said. This is the surprise.” Jamie pulled into the private parking structure for the Charles Hotel.
“A hotel?”
“For the night. By the harbor. Water view from up where we are.”
I smiled, floored by the nice surprise. “Wow. Swanky,” I laughed.
“That’s not all. Let’s get checked in and I’ll explain. We have a while before we have to leave for dinner.”
“What will we do?” I asked.
“Oh, we’ll figure it out.”
My scalp prickled with excitement. I was sure we would figure it out. I was sure I’d like whatever we ended up doing. And the fact that he was toying with me—which was clearly evident now—only made the absence of panties more noticeable.
My pulse beat heavy between my legs, my pussy wet for him before we even entered the lobby. Blush swept over my cheeks because I felt like everyone could see and smell and sense my arousal.
Jamie took my hand and squeezed. He led me to the counter and went through all the motions of getting us checked in and up to our rooms. The ride in the elevator seemed to take forever. We had one overnight bag that he’d had stowed in the back of the car. So we were all alone, no porter to help us.
Right before our floor he moved me to the wall of the elevator, pressing one big forearm across my breasts to pin me. My breath hitched, and I squeezed my insides tight to trigger a blip of pleasure. When he kissed me, the little bit of air in my lungs evaporated. I was suffocating on his kiss and it was the best way I could imagine dying.
“I can’t wait for this,” he said.
“Me too.” But I didn’t really know what this was, did I?
Which became utterly clear when we entered the room to find a tall, handsome man with a shock of chocolate-colored hair and bright-green eyes. He was sitting on our bed and smiling.
“I…um—do we have the wrong room?” I stammered, backtracking to read the number on the door.
Jamie laughed softly and stopped me with his body. He put his hands on my shoulders, turned me to face the man and said in my ear, “Blair, this is Oliver. Oliver is your appetizer.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I felt a little light-headed. This. This was my fantasy. An appetizer before sex is what I’d told him. A man to go down on me. Get me wet. Get me juicy. And then the man I loved could swoop in and fuck me. It was a fantasy I’d had for as long as I could remember.
“You hired me a hooker?” I whispered.
Jamie laughed and even Oliver joined him.
“Actually, no. I work with Oliver. We hang out at lunch. We both play basketball on the work league. We…share over beers sometimes. And he is a—”
“Oral slut,” Oliver jumped in. He stood halfway and stuck out his hand. I shook it with a hand that was mostly numb. “I like to go down on women. It gets me off. A lot.”
I felt my eyebrows go up of their own volition and a tiny squeak escaped me.
Behind me, Jamie was working my dress up slowly. He’d only raised it an inch or two but every millimeter was evident to me because cooler air caressed my legs. The tops of my thighs were wet with my own juices and I found myself fixated on Oliver’s mouth. A pretty mouth. A pouty mouth. A mouth that almost—but not quite—belonged on a girl.
“So you want to…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Eat you out,” Oliver said with a nod.
“Go down on you,” Jamie said, pressing his mouth against my neck and kissing me there. “While I watch. And then poof! He’s gone. And I’m fucking you and then as promised…dinner.” My dress rose up a little more. I felt as if he were drawing up a curtain to show off my recently waxed mound. That thought alone made me moan.
Once I did that, he planted soft kisses along the nape of my neck just below my hairline. Jamie kissed along my shoulders and lifted my dress at the same time. Filtered hotel air licked at my pubis. I pressed my thighs together, both shy and eager.
“Where would you like to be?” Oliver asked.
At the sight of me bare, his eyes
had glazed over a little. As I watched, his wet tongue took a fast swipe over his lips. He stared at me and with every second that ticked by I felt my pussy grow slicker.
“Where do you want me?” I asked Jamie.
“This is your fantasy,” he said. He stroked my asscheeks softly, moved his hand around to tweak my clit. Then a finger slipped inside me as easy as you please.
“That’s part of my fantasy. You telling me where to be,” I gasped.
“In that fancy chair, then. Legs spread wide so I can see. I’ll sit on the bed. Oh and Blair…”
“Yeah?”
He added a second finger to the first, pumping them roughly inside my slickened cunt.
“You’re dripping wet, baby.”
He led me to the chair, and I stumbled a little on my heels. I dropped into the seat and my husband placed his hands on my knees and forced my thighs wide.
“There,” he said. But he was addressing Oliver, now, not me.
I licked my lips and tried to sit still. My stomach was a knot of nervous energy; a lump of anxiety was lodged firmly in my throat.
Jamie took his finger and dragged it over the plump knot of my clit. I hummed low in my throat, my body moving softly under his ministrations.
“Come on then. You have to taste this pussy. Sweetest thing since Georgia peaches,” he whispered. He was addressing Oliver.
My face grew even hotter at his praise. I watched Oliver, Oliver who was so pretty he almost looked like an anime character, move toward me. My skin erupted in goose bumps, my nipples stiffening almost painfully inside my no-nonsense black satin bra.
Oliver dropped to the carpet. It was so thick he barely made a sound. He moved toward me on his knees and I watched Jamie, grinning slightly, sit on the edge of the bed to watch.
“Remember now, Ollie,” Jamie said. “Just tongue, lips, teeth. No fingers. No penetration. That’s for me. Not for you.”
“Got it,” Oliver said. He sounded as breathless as I felt.
He looked me over slowly at first. My cheeks burned with embarrassment tinted with need. What did he think of me? Of this? Of us? But then I saw the hump in his khakis and realized he had an erection. A quite sizable one if I wasn’t mistaken. I forgot all that when he bent forward, almost as if in prayer, and kissed my inner thighs. First one, then the other. He dragged his soft bee-stung lips up to the very top of my thigh where the skin was the most sensitive. He kissed a maddeningly soft line across my mound and then down the other side. When my hips lifted up to meet his mouth, to tempt him, he finally gave us both what we clearly wanted. His mouth clamped down on me, his lips soft and hot. His tongue parted me, slickening my already juicy pussy with his saliva. His tongue painted insistent swirls on my clitoris until I was gripping the arms of the chair and moving my body up to meet him.
Jamie sat and watched. His cock was hard, that much I could tell. His eyes were shiny, mouth set in a fine amused line. He was enjoying this almost as much as me, I realized with what bordered on shock.
It had never occurred to me that this fantasy of mine did anything for him. But clearly it did.
“Make her come,” he whispered.
Oliver sealed his mouth to me, using the rigid tip of his tongue to nudge my clit over and over and over until I was panting for breath. Then he stopped. His mouth hovered near my pussy but he’d pulled back. He didn’t touch me.
My head pounded with blood, and I shifted restlessly. I wanted to come. I needed to come. Desperately.
Oliver glanced up at me with his pretty gem-colored eyes and gave me a crooked grin. Then he blew warm breath across my damp sex. Before I could register this new tactic, his mouth was back on me, his tongue back at me. Working me.
I came with a rough cry and an eager thrust of my hips. Thrusting up with such a force I felt the bite of his upper teeth against the smooth skin of my mound.
I sank back and sighed. Then I began to laugh.
“Good?” Jamie asked. I could tell he was asking both of us.
“Good,” I echoed, trying to catch my breath.
“One more?” Oliver said.
Before I could answer, Jamie nodded once and said, “Yeah, but after that first one she’s really sensitive. So you’ll have to hold her legs.”
I blinked but had no time to react in any other way before Oliver had pinned my legs wide with his large hands. He had very long fingers I noticed, and I wondered wildly what it would be like if Jamie would let him stick one or two in me. What it would feel like if he fucked me with those fingers.
The sensation of his mouth back on me swept me under. As he lapped at me with a stranger’s tongue, holding me with a stranger’s hands, I felt like it was all too much. The pleasure bordered on pain, and it threatened to eat me alive. To crush me.
“Please, please…” I muttered.
Through my nearly shut eyes I saw Jamie nod with confidence. “Keep going. She always says that. And then you hit a point where—”
The next lick from Oliver sent a shiver through me. A steamy gush of pleasure filled my lower body.
Jamie laughed. “There it is. We always hit a point where the pleasure beats out the sensitivity.”
I wriggled in the seat, feeling how plump and ready I was. How slick and willing. In my mind, I let Oliver shove those long, thick fingers into me. I let him play me like his own personal instrument. I let him fuck me with thick digits while eating my pussy as if his life depended on it.
“And there it is…” Jamie chuckled as I came for the second time, my voice a rough ghost of its former self. I clutched at Oliver’s lush, dark hair as if I were sinking.
Oliver kissed the inside of my right thigh, then my left. He sat back on his heels and saluted Jamie. “Thanks, J. Mrs. J,” he said, giving me a friendly nod.
I was too stunned and flushed and pleasure-drunk to do much more than nod and say, “Nice to meet you.” As if that were in any way appropriate given the circumstances.
When he stood I noted the impressive hard line in his pants. I fought the urge to reach out and touch it just to feel the evidence of my appeal under my fingertips. Just for a fleeting moment. I wondered what he’d do with that cock. If he’d jerk off in the elevator or maybe his car. Or go home and fuck a wife or girlfriend with it.
Jamie caught me looking, and cocked an eyebrow. Before either of us could speak, Oliver was out the door.
Jamie held out his hand to me. “Come,” he said.
“Twice,” I teased. But I stood on wobbly legs and moved toward him where he sat.
Before he could say anything else, I dropped to my knees and worked his zipper with shivery fingers. I had his cock out and in my mouth before he could say anything. I was celebrating the fulfillment of my fantasy with one of my favorite things. Sucking his cock.
His fingers played through my short hair and then he tucked it behind my ears so he could watch me. He stroked the sides of my face gently as I drove my lips down to the very root of him. My eyes drifted shut from the sensation of his fingers on my skin.
“I can’t wait anymore, baby,” he said.
When I refused to stop, he tugged a hank of my hair just hard enough to get my attention and send a fresh rush of wetness to my pussy.
I moved up where he wanted me, his spit-slick cock standing straight up. He held it for me and I straddled him, sank down on him slowly. Moving as gracefully as I could for a woman shaking so hard.
“That was the hottest fucking thing,” he laughed.
“No, this is the hottest fucking thing,” I said, moving like I had all the time in the world. I knew what I was doing to him. I felt how hard he was, how fast his heart was beating in his chest. I kept my hand over it as I moved my body languidly. He groaned.
“Blair—”
“I was just kissed down there by lips that have never ever touched me before.”
Jamie groaned again.
“His tongue was on my clit,” I whispered. “Inside me at times.”
Jamie t
hrust up under me once, hard, but I forced myself to continue a slow, lazy rhythm.
“He held my thighs open with his hands,” I said. “His fingerprints were on me.”
With a growl, Jamie clamped his arms around me and turned fast. He trapped me under him, pinning me to the bed with his forearm the way he had in the elevator.
My head felt light and my insides turned to liquid. I laughed softly and simply said, “Fuck me, baby.”
He did, his body moving in a wild rhythm. When he was close, so close his jaw was tight, his eyes were hooded, he rocked his hips from side to side and I came, his cock pressing deep inside me as I shuddered.
His forearms came down a bit harder, trapping the breath in my lungs, only long enough for him to drive into me once, twice more before the ending. He came with a bellow and dropped his head to my shoulder.
“Wow. Wow.” I said it stupidly. It was the only thing I could think to say.
Jamie raised his head, looking very pleased with himself and our anniversary celebration.
“You hungry? Who’s hungry?” He grinned. “I am.”
“I’m starving.” I whispered, touching his face. I couldn’t help but laugh again. “After all that, yes, god, I could eat.” I kissed him hungrily.
“That’s what appetizers do. They provoke your appetite.”
“Consider me provoked.”
“I think we might need to get in touch with Ollie again in the future.” He watched me think.
My face was hot with blush, but I nodded. “I think you might be right.”
Mikhael
Angela Caperton
In the last moments of darkness, before the rising sun painted the window golden, Marcia dreamed she prayed. She had not actually prayed in many years, so the dream seemed silly, but she remembered the earnest craving when she woke, the hunger for forgiveness and God’s favor.
How fucked up was that?
Marcia had taken the room at Elysium House because the rent was low. She knew two other grad students who rented apartments there, but after only a week, she regretted her six-month lease. The co-op dorm dripped quaint Victorian charm, but the old mansion also gave her bad dreams.
“Maybe some Sleepytime tea?” Amber suggested, just after midnight, as she settled in her bentwood chair at the little table in the kitchen of Elysium House.
