I can look just slightly to one side and in a reflection of a reflection of a reflection I can see his fingers deeply imbedded in my behind, ready to pull me to him. There is no bashfulness at the sight because it is like looking at another person, longing for them to be pulled in on that waiting, greedy mouth. Then he is up from his knees looking like he will devour me. As he kisses me I grasp his cock, all my reticence gone now. I don’t think I have ever felt this liberated. He draws me towards the seat in the middle of the floor. The possibilities swarm as vivid, lewd images flashing through my mind. Who knew when I was decking this place out in mirrors and fabulous chaises and soft lighting that I was creating the perfect love nest?
He places me so that my back is against the upright part of the chaise, my hips towards one edge. He has his hands on my inner thighs, forcing them apart. This was one of the images I saw – perhaps the one I hoped for most. He is on his knees, practically salivating as he closes in ready to eat me. The tease is excruciating as he bides his time, taking me all in. I’ve never seen eyes so hungry for me but still he refuses to rush. I should be glad to be so adored but I’m dying for the touch now. In reflection I see clear spit string down from his lips to land at the very top of my slit, where the ache is greatest. The contact has me sighing but it’s nothing to the torture of the ensuing slow, cooling trickle down between my lips. His kisses are soft upon me again, just the slightest prickle from the hairs already growing back after his morning shave. It has the whole of me tingling.
His lips and tongue slide in the slickness all over my hairless mound. Teeth graze it. He sucks in a whole mouthful, my clit in there too but the pressure on her not quite enough to have me wailing. His hunger is growing still. I know it’s just as much a tease for him as it is for me but his patience will yield greater satisfaction if only it can be borne. Little flicks drive me mad. Rushes of cooling breath punctuate this teasing. The pleasure gathers, impatient to break. Then, at last, the heat of his mouth is right at my centre, forcing the cry from me as his tongue penetrates and goes deep. The teasing is forgotten. He feasts with abandon, wanting greater depth and spread, not caring how much of my slickness is smeared upon him. In one mirror I see a filthy whore with legs up and wide open being gorged upon by a bare-arsed wild man.
He tempers his gluttony just for a moment to suck and lap more gently. His fingernails very lightly graze the skin of my inner thighs, causing the hairs to stand up everywhere, except on my totally bald puss. The cool of his breath here remains fabulous, the slippery wetness of the saliva too, mixed with my own bliss. I feel so totally naked and wanton, so relaxed and secure. I feel irresistible, and I have never felt that before. He rises, knowing I am close to coming. His face is covered in my juices. I pull him in, dying for this next rude kiss. As his tongue seeks mine he plunges his cock inside me.
I soak his balls as he thrusts in and out. All around us are dirty couples fucking each other. We are at the very centre of a hot, urgent orgy. All the couples watch us as I watch them. I look into the eyes of some dirty bitch grasping her lover’s hair. I see another panting hussy give her lover a few smacks on the arse to urge him on. It can’t be my reflection as never in a million years could I be so rude. I watch and I perform, each angle showing new aspects. I realise we could be seen by someone standing at the counter. It strikes me that I don’t even know if there is a way, some sneaky angle somewhere, that a passer-by could view it all from the street. I don’t even care. That’s how lost I am.
He is now lying on his back where I was, stretched out along the length of the chaise. He manoeuvres me atop him, mirroring his position so both of us are looking up at the ceiling. He guides his cock back into me from underneath, and I open up to let him deeper. His fingers pinch my nipples to make me squirm upon him. Then they travel down my belly, making for my smooth mound. Rather than look down upon my body, some instinct makes me look up. The skinny modern light above us has as a base a large chrome square. In it I see my puss reflected perfectly. I see his cock disappearing inside her. I see his fingers there, stroking at my thighs, tracing lines across the bare skin to make me tingle. I feel the pressure at my throb, two fingertips working in little circles to bring the rapture cascading through me.
I’ve never even watched myself do this, let alone someone else, let alone whilst I’ve had a cock filling me. It is as rude as anything I’ve seen yet it seems only erotic. I can watch without bashfulness because it’s like watching it being done to someone else, yet with the sensations remotely being transferred into my own body. I can wish for that person to raise her knees to give the cock greater purchase and magically she will. I can watch the tempo of the fingers and feel it perfectly match my own rise of pleasure, so that I am letting myself go in an effort to reach my own climax exactly as this other person does.
It is huge, as I knew it would be. I writhe and cry out and soak him some more. My eyes are shut now. He barely lets the quakes within me die down before he slips clear and lifts me off, standing me on legs that can barely hold my weight. He has to move me because my muscles won’t work properly. He takes me behind the chaise and bends me forward over the raised end. He sinks into me once more; such a joy to have him there again when my puss wasn’t ready for him to leave. It forces another great gasp from me when all the times in the past I barely made any noise at all.
His thrusts are deep and remorseless, the sensation inside electric. The loud slaps of flesh against flesh are vulgar and delicious. His heavy balls swing through and smack me where I am shaved bare. Through half-closed eyes I see the ripples going through the meat of the hussy’s backside as the gorgeous cock pummels her. She has the flushed, swollen-lipped face of a dirty bitch who loves to be fucked. I know just how she feels. Another huge quake is threatening to hit me but I manage to keep my eyes from shutting and I get to see him slip from me and use his clenched fist to send his hot spurts all up my back.
I haven’t even been able to move, such is the weakness and rapture. I can picture my reflection all around the room. Vaguely I hear him dress. I don’t know what to say and I haven’t the breath anyway. He kisses my hair. I hear the door open and shut so I know I have to pull myself together and get dressed immediately as anyone could walk in now. I go through to the shop front on legs that don’t want to move. The mirror he liked has gone. On the counter is an envelope containing the cash, along with a note that he must have written beforehand, envisaging this very eventuality. It reads:
Who is the fairest of them all?
You are.
P.S. I might need a few more mirrors.
I know next time I see my reflection it will be a very different me I find looking back.
Five Card Stud
Heather Towne
‘Are you serious? Las Vegas?’
Tracy nodded her head, real enthusiastic-like. ‘Why not, honey?’ She smiled, real sultry. ‘To celebrate all that money you’re going to inherit from your uncle.’
I grinned kind of grimly. ‘I don’t have it … yet.’
Tracy sidled up to me at the kitchen counter, pressing her big fake tits into my arm. I’d paid for those, too; at one time had liked them. ‘It won’t be long now,’ the redhead purred. ‘The estate will be fully probated in less than three months.’
She kissed me on the cheek with collagen lips, working a wet spot into my stubble with her wheedling tongue. ‘And we’ll have all that money … all to ourselves. Why not start enjoying it now?’
I could think of maybe a hundred reasons she shouldn’t enjoy a plug nickel of my uncle’s dough. I’d married Tracy five years earlier, a humble, respectable carpenter looking to settle down with a wife and family. But, like most of the decisions I’d made in life, this was a bad one. Tracy was strictly interested in good times – with my money – not in a white picket fence and raising kids out in the suburbs. She’d been riding me like a nag ever since she’d said, ‘I do’; when I’d propositioned her when she’d stepped down off that stripper stage. An
d now, with a rich uncle dead in the ground with no other relations, it looked like her flogged horse had finally come in.
‘I can think of one reason,’ I said to the woman, narrowing the field. ‘I was a compulsive gambler ten years ago. Remember, I told you?’
She remembered, all right, but her pretty face with the perfect make-up feigned surprise, her lush lips framing an ‘O’. ‘Oh, you’re all over that now, Don. Besides, I’ll keep you honest.’
That was a laugh. And I almost hee-hawed right in her face. Instead, I said, ‘OK. Why not?’ What did I have to lose, after all, except maybe one wife? I was playing with house money, wasn’t I?
We had only been in Las Vegas for a day or so, soaking up the sun around the pool and the food at the buffet, when we met Lance and Carole. Lance was a long, tall drink of milky water, with black hair and eyes, dark-framed, horn-rimmed glasses, an annoying Adam’s apple and sly way of speaking. His wife was a knockout, however. Carole was built along Tracy’s lines, plenty of augmentation along the way, but also plenty of real, natural beauty. She was blonde and tanned, with huge breasts on a lithe, slender body, bright-green eyes and a strong nose and chin. Slim and stacked and then some.
Lance and I, and our wives, had a lot in common: two couples coming together to enjoy all that Sin City had to offer. We went out to dinner at a decent restaurant, and then the dolls played slot machines while the guys tried blackjack (me watching Lance). Then we took in a show. A real raunchy show that got everybody nice and loose, at twenty dollars a drink. Halfway through, Lance had his arm coiled around Tracy and was feeling up one of her tits, while Carole was rubbing my cock through my pants. When in Vegas …
‘Hey, how ’bout we go back to our suite?’ Lance suggested, after the bare-chested, lip-synching extravaganza had ended. ‘We can have a few more drinks … see what develops.’ He leered at my wife. ‘The night is young, after all. And so are we.’
Carole and Tracy loved the idea. Carole wrapped her arm around my waist and whispered dirty in my ear, then laughed. ‘Maybe we can play a little stud poker, huh, Lance?’ she suggested.
Lance kissed my wife on the lips, his arm still around her shoulders. ‘I don’t know about that. Tracy tells me Don is quite the stud with the cards.’
‘Oh, cards …’ Carole murmured, smiling seductively.
‘At one time I was,’ I muttered, not liking at all the direction this evening was taking. ‘But not any more.’
Tracy giggled, giving Lance’s cock a friendly squeeze and winking at Carole. ‘He’s quite the stud in other ways, too, Carole.’
Lance and Carole laughed, all three looking eagerly at me. ‘Looks like I might be the big loser tonight,’ Lance said, faking a pout.
My wife kissed him. ‘Nobody’s going to be a loser tonight. Carole and I will see to that. Right, Carole?’
Carole tightened her grip on my cock. ‘Right.’
My ego and dick both swelled, blood pounding in my body and groin, excitement at cards and arousal at Carole competing equally for my interest. I was just like they like them in Vegas – not thinking straight.
Lance and Carole had a room conveniently on the twelfth floor of the same casino-hotel we were staying at. It was just like ours, nice and spacious, furnished in white. Only it wasn’t ours, so I was leery of the set-up, despite Carole doing everything she could to distract me.
She kept my glass filled and snuggled up tight against me on the white leather couch across from her husband and my wife sharing a white leather chair. Tracy was stretched out in Lance’s lap, her long, smooth, bare legs loosely crossed, her bare arm around the guy’s narrow shoulders, her breasts thrust up even higher in her tight purple dress, braless nipples straining the thin fabric. I knew she didn’t have any panties on under the dress, either, because I’d banged her from behind before we’d gone down to the casino floor.
And Lance knew it, too. He had his left hand clasping the side of her left breast, squeezing, and his right hand deep in between my wife’s legs, rubbing. Carole and I watched as Lance and Tracy passionately kissed, swirled their glistening tongues together. Tracy squeezed the guy’s face with both hands, then clutched the back of his head with one hand and roamed the other inside his shirt and all over his bare chest. I couldn’t see my wife’s cheating eyes; she still had her designer sunglasses on.
Carole giggled and squirmed even closer to me on the couch, just about right into my lap. She fingered my hair in back, my cock in front through my pants. It was plenty of stimulation, even without the drinks. I took ahold of one of Carole’s big tits bulging her bright orange dress. She instantly thrust it hard into my hand, pumping my cock and cooing, as I pinched and rolled her thick nipple through the thin satin.
‘Before things go too far, how ’bout a little five card stud?’
That was Lance, propositioning me.
I was too high to object, too happy to have second thoughts. But I was still self-sucker-aware enough to say, ‘Sure. Up in our suite, though.’
Lance and Carole exchanged glances. But they agreed.
We set up the game at the round table in the middle of the suite. I broke out a deck of cards courtesy of the house and dealt the first hand. My own hands shook a little, and my mouth was as dry as the arid terrain outside that you’re not supposed to see. But it all came back to me – the quickening pulse, the outward calm, the scanning for ‘tells’, the marking the deck with subtle bends and scrapes. I’d been ten years out of the game, but I hadn’t lost a trick. Like riding a bicycle, or cutting yourself.
Only I was losing. Not at first; but as the game went along. And the wives dropped out, to watch, and participate in their own sexy way.
Tracy sat behind me and Carole behind her husband, Lance and I facing off across the table from each other. It was Carole who suggested that the wives remove a piece of clothing for each hand that their husbands lost. Tracy and Lance loved the idea.
I suddenly won a few hands again. And Carole’s fake gold earrings came off, her fake diamond necklace and wedding ring. You get an eye for these things, even if that eye has been closed for ten years or more. Carole’s spike heels came off next, and then the orange, body-hugging satin dress.
She sat naked across from me, her silky legs crossed and smooth arms folded. Her legs were open enough for me to see the teasing tuft of blonde fur at the top of her slit, and her crossed arms only pumped up her bronze tits even more, burnt-sugar nipples sniffing at the air. It was quite a distraction, and I lost a few hands. Until Tracy was as naked behind me as Carole was in front of me.
The stakes grew higher, everyone’s excitement mounting. My heart pounded in my chest and cock, sweat prickling my forehead despite the air-conditioning, penis tenting my pants despite my attempts to stay focused. I was getting overheated, out of control – and losing hand after hand.
Lance swept the last of my fifties over to his side of the table. ‘Nothing left, Don?’ the guy jeered. He’d been getting more obnoxiously cocky as his pile had grown – with my pile.
‘Maybe,’ I rasped.
He had ten thousand dollars of mine. And now Carole’s arms were folded right across her breasts, shielding her nipples from view, and her legs were crossed high and tight so that the tantalising blonde fur was gone. It looked like I was going to get the short end of the stick on both counts. No one likes a loser.
But before the game could close, I raised the stakes. ‘How about I put Tracy on the table?’ I said to Lance. ‘One hand. You win, you get her – to do with her what you want. I win, I get back a grand.’
The shocking thing was, no one objected. Not Carole, not Tracy. Especially not Tracy – at me staking her at only one thousand dollars. Though I knew she wasn’t worth even that much.
‘I’m game,’ my wife cooed behind me.
It was like a knife in the back, and I grimaced in spite of my mixed feelings. The end of our gone-sour marriage.
‘OK. Deal the cards,’ Lance enthused, glancing back
and grinning at his own wife.
I lost.
I had a full house. Lance produced four aces.
Tracy stood up, naked, strolled over to my enemy’s side of the table. Lance smirked and pushed back his chair, spread his long, bony legs wide. Tracy stepped in between them, and Lance swarmed his pale hands all over my wife’s tan-lined tits, coveting the hot, smooth skin, the hefty flesh, impudently tweaking my wife’s engorged nipples so that she moaned.
I clenched my hands into fists on the table and gritted my teeth. Watching Lance feel up Tracy’s tits, then slap his left hand against her shaved pussy and plunge three fingers into her cunt. Tracy shuddered and gasped with delight.
Carole watched, too, a less than becoming snarl twisting her lips and firing her eyes. My cock throbbed in my pants, seeing another man squeeze my wife’s tits, pet and finger-fuck her pussy, suck on her distended nipples. So help me, I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t lost fair and square, I was sure of that. But I could get a measure of revenge, if I played my cards right.
Tracy still had her sunglasses on, so I was saved the distasteful pleasure of seeing her violet eyes roll back in her head as Lance parted her pussy lips and tongue-swiped her shining pink. I did see her quiver with unmistakable lust, though, again and again, as Lance lapped my wife’s cunt.
When he’d had his fill, and she’d had some of her thrill, Lance reached up and grabbed Tracy’s arms and brought her down to her knees at his groin. She glanced over at me, then unzipped the guy, pulled out his cock.
The Pact Page 4
