by Kerri Sharpe
Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he slowly slid the shorts down her legs. The cool air against her crotch did nothing to quench the burning need, and when he tucked his hands beneath her ass and lowered his face to her, his hot breath fanned the flames higher.
‘David …’
He drew his tongue along her wet, aching flesh, dipping briefly between her lips and then whispering over her clit. She dangled on the edge of the precipice, as sure as if she leaned over the edge of the fire tower.
Her world centred, focused, shrank down to nothing but the sensation of his tongue against her, flicking harder and faster against her clit.
Flashpoint.
Fire flicked up her spine, connecting her brain and her sex. When she screamed, she knew the sound echoed around the tower before bursting free, resounding into the night air.
When she came down from her orgasm, he had such a self-satisfied grin on his face that she had to laugh.
His lips and chin glistened in the lamp light, and she rose up to lick, catlike, at her own juices.
He was bigger than she was, but she had a sleek line of muscles under her skin. When she pushed him down, he went – not that he put up a fight. She tossed his boxers away, straddled him, and sank down on the hard length of him.
They let out simultaneous sighs.
She leaned down to kiss him again, feeling shock waves resonate as their tongues played and she smelled herself again on his face. Then slowly, so slowly, she raised herself up, feeling every inch of him pull and drag at her nether lips.
When she got to the tip, she knew he expected her to sink down again. But she surprised him. She pulled away, and before he could complain (and, indeed, before she could miss being filled by him) she was between his legs, lapping at his cock to catch even more of the slick wetness she’d left behind.
Sweet and sour, with a hint of spice. If she wasn’t so horny, she might have given more than a fleeting thought to the Chinese food she hadn’t eaten in six months. Instead, she focused only on him, and herself. Sucking him made her even hotter. She felt herself clench, empty, anticipating when he would be inside her again.
She slid her mouth down the length of him, gently sucking. His reddened cock was burning hot, lit from within.
She could masturbate, she could make herself come when she was alone, but there was nothing like the sensation of a hard cock in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip, flicking against the spot she knew drove him wild. Then she encircled him with her mouth again, her lips tight, and moved up and down, up and down, her hand following the same path.
His hands fisted in the sheets and she knew he was close.
As tempting as it was to make him come in her mouth, she wanted his first orgasm to be inside of her. She gave his cock one final, hard suck, and climbed on top of his stretched naked form, admiring the play of muscles in his chest as he reached up to help guide her down onto him.
Filled again. She paused, her lips against the base of his cock, savouring the moment. But his hands urged her on, as did the bucking of his hips. She leaned back, and he reached up to fondle her nipples. The combined sensation brought her close, so close to the edge.
His breathing quickened, and she knew he was close, too. She urged him on, half demanding and half begging. He thrust up, hard, and behind her eyes the world exploded into fire. She cried out again, grinding herself against him to prolong both her orgasm and his.
At last she fell forwards, sweaty and spent. He stroked her hair as she nuzzled her head into the hollow of his shoulder.
‘Welcome back,’ she said.
They roused themselves long enough to have a simple, hearty meal: thick pea soup with chunks of ham heated over the hotplate, accompanied by fresh, crusty French bread he’d brought with him. To finish, they had the final two pieces in a box of Godiva chocolates she’d brought with her six months ago, letting the fine chocolate melt on their tongues and, ultimately, each other.
Karen awoke with the sense that something was wrong. At first she thought it was the unusualness of having a warm body beside her, of someone’s deep, regular breathing filling the cabin.
But even after she accepted that, she still felt the unease.
Every time she started a six-month shift at the tower, it took her about a week to get acclimatised, and she had to set an alarm. Now she automatically woke every four hours.
They were spooned together, and she felt his cock twitch and begin to harden against her tailbone. But he didn’t protest when she slid away; his sense of responsibility was as strong as hers, and he knew she had a job to do.
He even crawled off the futon and, naked, joined her on the watch with an extra pair of binoculars.
Four a.m. Not as silent as most people supposed. Already the first birds sleepily trilled a greeting to the coming dawn.
The Forestry Commission was already employing satellites to scan the area, ramping up the use of those while they scaled down the searches from various towers. David might be checking only every six hours on his last watch.
She slipped on the night-vision goggles, designed to catch heat sources. She’d do a naked visual scan, too.
Because of her unease, she scanned even more carefully than usual, checking near campsites where she knew people were staying.
So many towers were being decommissioned, all over the country. It was the end of an era. The loss tugged at her, and she wondered if that accounted for her disquiet. It was her last night here. Her last shift ever. Her last time with David, as far as she knew.
She’d never been good with change.
They both spotted it at once. She wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, but Karen had the strangest sensation, like a flash of vertigo, that it had taken both of them together to be aware of it.
She recognised the area. There had been campers there recently, but they’d left early yesterday. They obviously hadn’t made sure their campfire was completely out.
There was no smoke, not yet. The fire was in an area of deep underbrush, which meant it smouldered and crept along the ground below the sightline before it broke free above.
A slow burn.
The next hours were a flurry of activity.
Pulling down the alidade, a ceiling-mounted survey instrument, so she could peer through the scope and take a reading to determine where exactly the fire was.
Urgent calls on the radio.
Too-fast drives down bumpy, pitted dirt logging roads to roust out any campers who might be in danger. Further confirmations of the location of the fire.
The whop-whop-whop of chopper blades as the fire helicopter scooped up water from Blue Heron Lake and dropped it on the flames.
Then, just as suddenly, it was over. The natural sounds of the forest took over, although in hushed tones, as if the wildlife were counting their blessings. Karen was exhausted, sweaty, and stinking of smoke. David suggested she stay – shower, maybe catch a catnap. The offer of sex was unspoken.
It was oh, so tempting, all of it. To spend more time in her beloved tower, to spend more time with David.
But in the end, she knew it was best to leave on the high note. They’d done their job, the one they came here for. It was a fitting farewell. The climax was over; a denouement would only drag out the inevitable.
She didn’t even let him walk her to her Jeep.
She looked back, once, when she got to the vehicle. The tall tower was dark against the bright sky. David’s form was silhouetted along the rail.
She took a mental snapshot, and drove away.
Karen’s face split into a grin at the expression on David’s face when he saw her. He wouldn’t have been watching for her arrival, but even so, she’d parked her Jeep half a mile down the road and hiked to sit on the hood of his.
‘What – what are you doing here?’ he managed.
She laughed and jumped off the hood. ‘What, not even a “hello, nice to see you”?’
She barely had time to finish the qu
estion before he dropped his pack, gathered her up, and kissed her, swinging her around and around.
When she could catch her breath again, she said, ‘Now, that’s a better greeting.’
‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ he said.
She jerked her thumb at the tower in the distance. ‘I’ve got a job to do.’ She took pity on his befuddlement and continued. ‘After we spotted the slow burn six months ago – which neither satellite nor air survey had seen, and wouldn’t have until it was much worse – they decided to keep the tower in commission. They reviewed the letters we both had on file arguing against the decommissioning. I even had to speak at the hearing.
‘We’ve been granted our reprieve, David. The tower is still ours.’
They didn’t bother unloading the supplies. They each grabbed a backpack and headed for the tower. The narrow trail seemed endless, and when it finally opened out onto the meadow beneath the tower, David took her arm and spun her around, claiming her mouth again.
They never even made it inside.
Fevered hands stripped off clothes, eager to caress the warm flesh beneath. Hot mouths meeting. Flames igniting. He thrust into her, and she gave an exultant cry.
Later, they lay on the prickly browned grass, sweat drying on their skin. A curious bee buzzed close, and she lazily swatted it away.
‘I missed you,’ David said simply.
And it was enough.
Sophie Mouette is the author of the Black Lace novel, Cat Scratcher Fever, and her short fiction has been published in numerous Wicked Words collections. Part of the writing team that is Sophie Mouette also writes as Sarah Dale, whose first novel, A Little Night Music, was published by Cheek in June 2007.
Sweet Charity
Monica Belle
‘WHAT AM I supposed to do, Mrs Townshend?’
‘Pick a costume and one of the blue buckets, Lizi, then get out there and get the money in!’
I couldn’t help but smile in return for her big cheesy grin, but mainly I felt silly. Charity is charity, but wandering around a shopping centre on a Saturday afternoon dressed in an animal costume? Still, like Neil said, it was for a good cause. I would just have preferred it if Neil had turned up on time.
‘Where do we change?’
‘In there where the costumes are, dear. Don’t be long, most of the team are already out there doing their thing!’
Another cheesy grin and another nervous smile in response. I went into the room she’d showed, which seemed to be some sort of janitor’s closet, only there was a pile of bright-blue buckets with the charity logo on the side and a rack of costumes. There were four costumes.
A gorilla. Not really me.
A tortoise. Definitely not me.
A hippo. No way!
A leopard.
That was more like it, slinky with spots, and just about my size. Also furry, and sure to be hot. I hesitated a moment because I had no way of locking the door and anybody might have walked in, before quickly stripping to my knickers. Only then did I discover how difficult it was to get into the leopard suit. There was a zip starting under the tail, so I more or less had to insert myself up the thing’s bum, only once I’d got my top half in my legs wouldn’t go, leaving me jumping around the room with my knickers on show, which was the exact moment a man I’d never seen before in my life walked into the room.
He smiled, to which I managed to return a sort of leopardy look. I was earnestly wishing I’d kept my bra on, but there was really no choice. I could either stand there looking a complete fool until he’d put his own costume on, and he’d already selected the tortoise, or I could strip off again and hope he was enough of a gentleman not to take a peek at my tits.
‘Would you mind turning your back for a second, please?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
He turned his back. I removed the leopard suit. He pretended to fiddle with the fittings on the tortoise costume while I climbed back into the leopard suit. I put one leg in, then the second, tugged the material gratefully up over my bum, and discovered that there was no way on Earth I could get the upper part of my body into it too. He continued to fiddle with his costume. I wriggled, I writhed, and every single movement seemed to accentuate my bare breasts.
Finally he spoke up.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a hand with that?’
‘No … really, I’m fine.’
‘I think you’re supposed to take the head off first.’
He’d half turned, catching himself an eyeful and a scowl, but he was right. I did have to take the head off. That way I could undo the zip all the way and get my arms in, then put the head back on. The relief as I closed the zip across my chest was huge, but it was nothing to covering my face, which must have been roughly the colour of blackberry juice.
I was dressed, and did my best to maintain a dignified efficiency as I picked up the bucket and left the little room. It wasn’t that easy, not when the leopard suit fitted like a second skin, while it was impossible to walk without the tail bouncing up and down on my bum. Mrs Townshend gave me her big cheesy grin.
‘Go get ’em, girl!’
All she got back was my leopardy look, now the full range of my expression. I set off with my tail bouncing behind me, smack into Neil coming the other way. He recognised me straight off, probably because he could see every contour I have through my fur. He kissed my leopardy nose and gave me a smack on my leopardy bum before moving on in with just one word.
‘Later.’
I knew what he meant, just what he meant, my favourite little treat for helping him out with his fundraiser, which you can bet put a spring in my step. Soon I’d reached the populated area, and began shaking my bucket, while wishing I’d had the sense to put some money in it so that it jingled. I was going to go for the door out to the car park, but there was this nasty big tiger there who growled at me, and that wasn’t the only animal in the centre.
A lion and a rhino had staked their pitch on either side of the main doors, while a pair of elephants were guarding the lift. A zebra and a warthog had the mezzanine floor, and there was a crocodile lurking outside Smith’s. I grabbed the upper mezzanine, shaking my bucket and shaking my tail around the café tables, until I’d got enough coins to make a decent jingle.
Time for a drink. Off with my leopard head and I bagged a caramel macchiato to sip while I looked down on the floor below. Now we had the whole menagerie out, and the last three animals had taken the main aisle on the first floor. My peeping tortoise had the lift station, right underneath me. I could have poured coffee right down the back of his shell, only it wouldn’t have been fair. He had tried to be a gentleman.
Some goofball had gone for the hippo suit, and he was making a serious fool of himself, dancing about with his monstrous backside wobbling behind, and I say ‘his’ because it had to be a man. No woman could ever bring herself to behave like such a complete idiot. I had to laugh.
Then there was the gorilla, my gorilla. It had to be Neil, as there was no way he was the hippo. I rather liked him as a gorilla. No, I fancied him as a gorilla. Maybe it was my accidental bit of exposure, maybe it was his naughty promise, maybe I was just in a horny mood, but it was kind of fun and kind of kinky. Maybe when I’d got a bit more money I’d start to stalk him, and pounce on him. Then we’d see what happened.
I went back to work, or rather, hunting, stalking the tables, pouncing on lone individuals who stopped for a drink, picking off the stragglers in the café queue. When a female stopped to get her brood chocolates I was right there behind her, helping them keep their weight down and saving them from the dentist. When a huge old bull paused to count his change I was lingering hopefully beside him. When I spotted a fine young male coming up in the lift I was ready to get him.
Before too long my bucket was getting heavy. I was beginning to feel I’d done my share and maybe it was time to think about my main prey. A glance from the balcony showed he was still about, as big and black and hairy as ever, scra
tching his armpits in the hope of extracting change from a herd of little old ladies. He hadn’t seen me and I moved back from the edge, now stalking in earnest.
The lift was glass, too open. I sneaked down a flight of stairs and on out onto the first floor, keeping to the cover of a stand of umbrellas. He was as before, unsuspecting as he fed a pastrami on ciabatta into his gaping maw. Now was my moment, to take him while he was eating. I crept closer, from stand to stand, stall to stall, answering the cheeky comment of a cockney costermonger with a hiss and a swish of my tail, my attention fully on my prey.
Still eating, the hapless gorilla had begun to walk away from me, towards the tinkling fountain at the centre of the first-floor plaza – a fatal mistake. I crept closer on velvet paws, any sound I might have made muffled by the water, my every sense alert, one leg in front of the other, slowly, softly, and a final rush, to allow my hand to close on one firm masculine buttock within the hairy confines of his gorilla suit.
He nearly left the planet, dropping the piece of sandwich he had in his hand and choking on the piece he hadn’t. Two pats on the back, a little purr and a little rub and I’d fled, treating him to an insolent wiggle of my tail as he stood gaping, more like a goldfish than a gorilla. I’d thought he would chase me, and planned a careful line of retreat so that if he did catch me there would be nobody to see what I got for my cheek.
I didn’t get anything, not even a little run to get me breathless and wanting it. He just stayed where he was. It was typical Neil, all horny for me in the bedroom but too shy to be a little daring. I knew what to do about that. First things first though, my social responsibilities as a leopard in aid of famine, and then I could deal with my own rather different hunger.
Mrs Townshend oohed and aahed over my contribution and said several things with exclamation marks. I gave her my best leopardy look, emptied my bucket and went back to the fray. She was right. I’d done well, and now it was time for a little fun. I was going gorilla hunting, in earnest.
First, I needed a lair. Mrs Townshend had one, so maybe there was one above it? A brief foray confirmed that there was, and better still, unused. Next, there was that special little something, my naughty secret. A brief attack on a pair of penguins escorting some young and I’d collected enough in my bucket to fulfil my needs. Now I really was a naughty girl, using charity money for improper purposes, highly improper purposes. I would give it back, of course, but it was still naughty, and I like that.
