by Alison Tyler
“You seem nervous, Cara,” Hunter said, when he finished my blowout.
“Just in a weird mood.” My name’s not Cara, I wanted to tell him. It’s Bridget, and you may know me as the girl who was living with Ben when you guys met.
“I hear you. My boyfriend dumped me three weeks ago, and I’ve been in a bad mood myself.”
My heart began to hammer. Hunter put down the blow-dryer and turned the chair so I faced him. “Which means,” he said, “that you and I have something in common.”
Now my body went ice cold. He knew. I unwillingly lifted my eyes to his and he said, “I recognized you when you came in, Bridget.”
A scarlet flush of embarrassment burned in my cheeks. He lifted my chin. “Hey,” he said. “It’s no big deal. I’d probably do the same thing. Listen, you were my last appointment. Let’s go get a drink.”
The evening had gone dark when we went to the bar across the street, snow falling past the neon sign. We took a booth in the back and ordered a pitcher of Guinness, talking about Ben. How quiet he was and how hard it was to tell what he was thinking. His hooded eyes that could look seductive and merciless at the same time. How he drove too fast, how he wasn’t as good a guitar player as he thought. And finally, the way he grunted when he was thrusting really hard and fast.
Talking to Hunter, our thighs pressed together in the malty bar-dark, was like being next to a piece of Ben. We couldn’t stop laughing. Images of them in bed together still flashed through my mind, two beautiful naked boys kissing and stroking each other’s cock, and it was turning my panties into a swamp. My stomach jumped every time I met Hunter’s dark eyes but thanks to the beer, I could relax into my desire and let it fill me. I wanted to fuck my ex-boyfriend’s ex-boyfriend. So what.
“I can’t believe you recognized me,” I said. The whole ruse seemed so embarrassing now.
Hunter paused. “I used to catch Ben late at night on his laptop, jerking off. I thought it was just porn—but it was a picture of you. In the park.”
Oh, god. That picture where I was topless and pulling my underwear down, back when we were in our public-sex phase. So Ben still looked at it, still got off to it. I swallowed, remembering how far apart my legs were spread. “You—saw that picture?” I managed.
“Yeah.” He glanced at me and then away. “And after he left, I started jerking off to it too.”
Heat flooded my body. “I, uh, assumed you weren’t into girls,” I said thickly.
He shrugged. “I used to be, in college. It’s just that guys are easier. You girls make us work for it,” he grinned.
I knocked my bottle against his. “Not all of us.”
Our eyes met. And then we were kissing, his mouth hard and hot on mine, his tongue thrillingly aggressive. His hands were on my thighs, then sliding between them. Breathlessly, I pushed him away. Everyone was staring.
Hunter kissed me again. “My car,” he muttered into my mouth.
Back across the street, through the falling snow and evening traffic, we went. The salon was closed now and only our two cars were in the back parking lot, both covered with snow. He unlocked his Civic and pulled me into the backseat. The darkness and cold closed around us, a contrast to the heat of his skin and mouth covering mine. Those agile fingers were hunting for my breasts, pushing up my sweater.
“So hot,” he muttered. I felt my bra go up, my tits exposed in the car’s frozen air, and then his teeth around my nipple. Oh, god. He was mauling and biting my breasts, groaning with appreciation as he sucked them.
Hunter moved on top of me, his hard-on pressing through his jeans. I slid my hands over his firm asscheeks, still slightly incredulous that this was happening. Ben’s boyfriend and I were going to fuck: it was the last thing I’d envisioned. I pulled off his sweater and our jeans came off next. Finally we were naked, warm skin on warm skin.
His fingers found my pussy. I arched my back, delirium spreading through my blood as he expertly tickled my clit, rubbing his other fingers just inside my pussy. For someone who didn’t normally date women, Hunter seemed to know his way around a vagina. He slid down and opened my thighs wide, and then I felt his tongue on my folds, hot, agile and eager. His fingers moved farther into my body, slowly rubbing me in sensitive, mind-blowing strokes.
My legs were shaking. Half of me wanted to come right now but the other half wanted something more. “Condom,” I panted. “Please, Hunter…I really want to fuck you.”
He groped in his jeans. Moments later, the hardness of his sheathed cock pushed against my slit. I moaned as his dick slowly penetrated my tightness.
“Oh, god,” he breathed. “You feel so good.”
Hunter pushed all the way into me, pausing before he withdrew. Over and over he tortured me like that, with lingering thrusts that drove me out of my mind. Excitement was building inside me like a hot, wet storm and I needed to come soon or I would scream.
Without warning, he pulled out of my cunt and rolled me over onto all fours. Taking my hips in hand, he began fucking me hard and fast, spearing into me with long, vigorous strokes. A wet ache was pulsing between my legs and as I reached down to rub my clit, my orgasm erupted inside me just as Hunter’s body shuddered on top of mine.
He held me against him in the snowy darkness, stroking my hair. “So much for Ben,” he said, with a small laugh.
I kissed him, pulling his chest against mine. “Who’s Ben?”
MY ARMY BUDDY’S GIRLFRIEND
N. T. Morley
So what do you think?” asked Mitch, his arms around Haley.
I finished my latest beer. “About what?” I asked.
Mitch grinned, leaned down and whispered something in Haley’s ear.
She responded to Mitch’s words instantly by arching her back and thrusting her tits out through the tight white tube top.
Haley was seated at the edge of Mitch’s big, cushy armchair. Mitch had his knees apart, with her pert little ass fitted between them; she was basically sitting in his lap.
She wasn’t wearing very much.
Mitch brushed her cascade of chestnut-colored hair back over her narrow, bare shoulders, so it no longer obscured her firm, small tits. Her tan legs were clad only in too-short cutoffs.
With her back arched and her tits thrust out, she smiled at me. I tried not to stare.
“About her,” said Mitch.
“What do you mean, what do I think?”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “Go ahead, Walker. You can look. You been trying not to all night. Go ahead.”
So I did.
I stared at her. I looked her over close.
I looked at the way her slim, tight, tanned body fit so easily into her snug white tube top and half-destroyed Daisy Dukes. I appreciated the way her nipples had stiffened the second I started looking at her. My gaze oozed down her legs. My eyes took a soft, slow taste of her bare feet with their red-painted toenails, then went back up to her shorts, where in addition to the top button—which had started out the evening unbuttoned—the zipper had mysteriously migrated halfway down her fly.
I’d written off the undone button to the shorts being too tight; they sure were tight. Like she’d eaten too much and needed some extra room. But Haley hadn’t eaten much; she just sat there on Mitch’s side of the table, letting Mitch feed her from his plate. She opened her mouth each time he gave her a forkful. It couldn’t have been enough to make her feel so full she had to unbutton her pants.
She’d been drinking from Mitch’s beer, too; whenever he handed it to her, she took a deep gulp. She downed the two shots he poured for her, too. She was clearly a little high, but she hadn’t drunk enough beer to be bloated.
My dick was already stiffening.
“She’s submissive,” said Mitch. “You know what that means?”
“Basically,” I said.
“Well, then, go ahead and say it. Tell me what you think.”
“She’s hot,” I said.
“Hot?” Mitch scoffed. “Bullshit. Come on,
Walker. You can do better than that. Say something about her body.”
She stuck her tits out more. She inclined her chin slightly. Her full lips parted. She panted slightly and let out a gentle, mewling moan.
I was drunk; I was horny. Hours from home to interview for a job I didn’t really want, I didn’t have money for a hotel. Wiped, I was about to face the four-hour drive back to Memphis, but with no girl in bed waiting for me, I had little incentive. I had almost slept in the back of the Honda, but then I remembered my Army buddy Mitch lived around here. I dug through my shit for his cell number, called and asked if I could crash. “The couch ain’t that comfortable,” said Mitch. “But I’ll see what we can work out.”
I came over and met his new girlfriend—Haley. Twenty-three years old; didn’t look a day over nineteen. Gorgeous.
I’d offered to pick up a pizza on the way over. Mitch insisted we let Haley cook up some grub. She grilled burgers. She made salad. She opened our beers. She poured whisky shots whenever Mitch decided he or I needed one. She took a couple of her own.
Every time I finished a beer or Mitch decided I needed another whisky shot, Haley got one for me quickly, taking a slow wiggle past me like she wanted me to look at her body. Or like Mitch did.
“Come on,” said Mitch. “Don’t be a gentleman. Say something about her body.”
“It’s a hell of a body,” I said.
“Not good enough. Say something rude.”
“I’m not saying something rude.”
“Please, Sir?” It was Haley’s turn to ask.
“Uh-uh,” I said.
“Then tell me this,” said Mitch, patting Haley on the thigh. She obediently spread her legs. “Tell me, Walker. Would you fuck this?”
“This?” I sneered. “I don’t think so,” I said.
“I like it, Sir,” said Haley, her face getting slightly pink.
“I can tell,” I said, eyeballing her nipples and the way they stretched her tube top.
“Well, then…how about a blow job?” said Mitch. “No strings attached.”
Haley added, “Yes, Sir, please? I love to suck cock.”
“She does,” Mitch confirmed. Then he shoved two fingers in her mouth. Haley started sucking on them obediently, her tongue swirling around with the obvious message that it was exactly what she’d do to a man’s cock.
Mitch said, “Are these the world’s most fuckable lips or what? Could you stick your dick in this face? Come on, Walker. Say those dirty things you been thinking about her.”
I shrugged.
Mitch’s fingers came out of Haley’s mouth, trailing a glisten of spit.
She told me brightly, “Please, Sir? I like it. I like hearing what men really think about my body.”
I finally said: “You’ve got one hell of a pair of tits,” I said. “Not big, but they don’t need to be. And it looks like your legs must spread real easy.”
Haley gave a shimmy, brightening, happy.
“They do,” she said, spreading them wider. “See?”
“And she gets real wet when I show her off,” said Mitch. He reached down and shoved his hands in her shorts. It was easy with the zipper half-open like that. Haley let out a tiny moan as he felt her up.
His fingers came out and he showed me how wet they were by rubbing them together.
Then he stuck them back in her mouth—this time coated with her juices. She licked them even more eagerly than she had before.
“Think you’d like it if she did that to your cock?” Mitch asked.
I thought about it for maybe half a second.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think I damn well would.”
Mitch tipped Haley out of his lap and smacked her on the ass. Haley’s hand went to her zipper; she wriggled out of her shorts. She pulled off her tube top.
She came to me, naked.
Her pussy was shaved and tattooed. Her clit had a bright silver ring through it; above it, in block letters, was the single word SLAVE.
She dropped to her knees before me.
I adjusted myself so she could get what she wanted.
She looked up at me as she kissed my crotch. Mitch was watching, too. Haley’s lipsticked mouth gave my cock wet kisses through my jeans; as she did that, her fingers took on a life of their own—unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping. She reached in and drew my cock out of my jockeys.
She was hungry for it. She opened wide and took it. I haven’t got the biggest cock in the world, but I’ll say I’m a helping and a half. She swallowed it all in one gulp, just a few bobbing slurps into the blow job. Her snug throat opened up and took my dick all the way down.
She stayed down awhile, playing with my balls.
When she came up for air, she was gasping. She panted. Drool was everywhere. Ruined lipstick.
Haley went back down on me, slurping eagerly. She drooled; she stroked with her hand. She worked me up into a frenzy fast, like she was hungry for my cum.
Mitch watched every second, proud.
I held back some moans of my own. I’d never felt a girl give head like that. Mitch never took his eyes off Haley, but he poured another shot and downed it.
She had me close.
She panted, “Please cum in my mouth, Sir?”
A gentleman couldn’t say no.
She brought me off with a series of strokes—nice and deep, almost into her throat but not quite. Her hand worked my base. I exploded inside her. I came so hard I clawed at the couch.
When I was still seeing stars, Mitch raised his beer to toast us.
“Way I figure it, Walker…you get this job, you’ll need a place to crash for a while. I think Haley would like having you around.”
Having swallowed the last of my cum, Haley looked up at me happily.
“Yes, Sir,” she told me. “I’d like that a lot.”
I got the job. And “a while” turned into more than a while. But that’s another story. I finally learned to say rude things about Haley’s body without any trouble—no trouble at all. And Haley loved every minute of it.
And the good news is, I never had to sleep on the couch.
TWO-MAN JOB
A. M. Hartnett
Seventy-six Windy Gate was a small triangular house that resembled a pointed hat, or that appeared as if perhaps there was a larger house under the ground that was beginning to sprout. A hedge of wild roses shielded the neat lawn from the road. At the end of the gravel driveway was a sign, painted purple and green on black, that read THISTLE STUDIO & TEAROOM and beckoned passersby to stop in for a visit.
Not today, though. A sandwich board on the opposite side of the driveway read CLOSED ON SUNDAY. No fresh scones or tea with sugar cubes for aging vacationers. No delightful view of the garden with butterflies for the little ones to chase. Tourists following road signage to the award-winning establishment could hammer on the front door all they liked, but Gracie Hammond wouldn’t be greeting them with a smile.
Sunday morning was for church, and Sunday afternoon was for getting a week’s worth of sin in the few short hours she had off.
On that particular Sunday she was still in the violet pumps that matched her crochet handbag, but gone was the modest yellow dress she had gotten so many compliments on at the tea social after the service. That particular garment had been lost in the kitchen. Ruined, no doubt, when it had been ripped off of her.
Two hours of church mingling had been enough torture for Jonathan. The twenty-year-old lacked patience, but the young divorcée had tempered his urge to fuck fast and hard by pinning him beneath her, her knees on either side of his face. His hot tongue glided in and out, the slow kind of tongue-fuck she’d tutored him in from the first day they’d met, when he’d shown up to install a birdhouse in the garden.
She moaned, the sound coming out as more of a gurgle as Jonathan’s cousin worked his hips in tune with the steady suction of her lips around his cock.
Gracie was still surprised Jonathan had agreed to bring Keith to the Thistle on Sunday.
After she’d quizzed him about the young man she saw him with in town he’d sulked about sharing, but in the end it was just another lesson for him. If he wanted a slice of her time on Sunday, he would have to learn to play nice.
After all, she could find another like him if she wanted. For now, she’d have them both, one at a time.
Her thighs quivered as his soft tongue worked a circle around the hard flesh. One hand splayed across her ass, the ring finger exploring. The other hand crooked under his chin, fingers gliding into her pussy to the knuckle.
With Keith’s calloused hand at the back of her neck, it was Gracie who was forced to rein in the need to fuck—and she wanted it bad. Moving her hand from his balls to the root of his cock, she grasped him and poured the pleasure Jonathan’s tongue was creating into sucking Keith off.
When she couldn’t stand the triple effect of Jonathan working from beneath her, when she became so wet from Jonathan’s adept tongue and fingers, she pulled away.
Gracie knelt on the carpet next to Jonathan and turned her full attention on Keith. Crooking a finger at him, she beckoned.
If Jonathan had any arguments about being second, he kept them to himself as his cousin slipped on a condom, instead creeping close to her and reaching between her legs as Keith entered her from behind.
Keith’s thrusts were steady, the perfect combination with a cock that was thick and curved. Her toes curled inside her pumps as each stroke brought the fat head over her G-spot.
She parted her lips as Jonathan claimed her mouth. Tongue twisted with tongue, as chaotic as his fingers rubbing her clitoris. She felt his movements as he jerked his cock one-handed.
The heat that flashed through her body was a powerful reminder of why she continued to reject any attempt to end her singlehood. She’d been married. Her husband had never made her come as hard as she was now accustomed to and expected.
Sweat spraying from his chest to her bare back, Keith came first, bruising the plumpness around her hips with digging fingertips, grunting, thrusting without breaking pace until his cock throbbed between her slick walls.
