After Midnight

by Chelsea James

  From between creamy waitress thighs, I say, “Dana, that must be you.” But no one answers. Whoever it is makes a beeline for my ass and strokes my butthole with insistent fingertips.

  I feel the fingertips pull away as Dana gets pushed down on the bed next to me. Kerry spreads Dana’s legs and slips a couple of fingers into the woman’s audibly wet cunt. “Can you take more?” she says.

  Dana practically growls, “I can take whatever you can dish out.”

  “All right then.” Kerry reaches straight for her G-spot. Dana arches her back and groans as Kerry pushes harder.

  “Oh, yeah, fuck me,” she says. “Fuck that hole, hurt it, break it.”

  And Kerry does. She pumps her fingers in and out, and the energy that those two create momentarily stops the rest of us. Dana yells so loudly even the waitress looks up. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she says. “Oh fuck, oh God.”

  “Aw hell yeah,” says Susan as she takes Dana’s place behind me. The thing that drives me nuts is ass-fucking, and Susan can tell, so she goes at my ass like there is no tomorrow and I can feel the tension building.

  “Please,” I say. And then, it’s happening. Like something blossoming between my legs. Pure pleasure. I’m so happy at this moment. I’m always happy when I come.

  I roll over and press my sweaty forehead to Dana’s abdomen and laugh out loud at the bed full of naked dykes. “I never got this much action in San Francisco. Thank God for Damron.”

  Freckles sits up, pushes her sweaty hair away from her forehead, and says, “Do you think I’m waiting tables at Bob’s Big Boy for the tips?”

  FINALLY

  Nina Parker

  I spent most of my life wishing I could live down my good-girl image. I was always the one who looked like an angel, and no one suspected I wasn’t. Not that I was so bad, but I couldn’t seem to be bad enough to change anyone’s mind. My pranks in high school and college didn’t do it. I never got caught, and everyone thought I was a nice girl.

  Then I hit my forties and life took a decided turn. Call it a midlife crisis if you want, but I started to feel really wicked and wanton. Maybe it was the hormones surging through my system. Maybe it was the alcohol. Who knows? It all started with a drunken kiss, mainly to get rid of an obnoxious bartender, but it turned into something much bigger.

  It was girls’ night out at work, and while most of my coworkers were straight, we had a few lesbians in the group. I was one of the few not in a regular relationship or married. We were celebrating Karen’s approaching fortieth birthday. I was past that milestone already and knew it was both momentous and irrelevant. We ate dinner at a local restaurant, sitting at the bar rather than at a table and having a rowdy time. The bartender enjoyed the banter and kept us well supplied with drinks. As the evening progressed, the conversation grew more and more intimate—and profane.

  “Are you horny all the time?” someone asked. The group agreed that we thought about sex all the time.

  “I haven’t been this interested in sex since I was seventeen,” I admitted.

  “What about your husbands? Do they get with the program?” Julie was one of the straight, single ones.

  “Well, he says he likes it, but half the time he’s asleep in front of the TV when I want to fuck,” Eleanor replied with a sigh, drawing lots of knowing laughs. She had been married for a long time.

  “Have you had an affair yet?” A few shook their heads vigorously, but there were several looks.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Amy confessed. “I met someone on the Internet and we’ve been sending each other some pretty hot emails.”

  “Have you met in person yet? Isn’t that dangerous?” Dana asked. She was the most cautious member of the group. “Aren’t you worried about getting some terrible disease?”

  “You should forget the men and just fuck each other,” I suggested.

  Karen, who was married, laughed out loud. “No one would suspect a thing when we get together for coffee,” she said.

  I didn’t think any of the straight women were interested in other women, but it was an intriguing idea. I hadn’t been in a relationship for a while, and I was tired of picking up women in bars. It might be fun to play with someone I knew and felt relaxed with.

  Later, when most of the women had gone home, Karen and I sat together over our drinks. The bartender leaned toward us and asked if he could make us something special. We agreed, then went back to our conversation. A few minutes later he set an obnoxiously pink concoction in front of each of us.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A Bartender’s Kiss,” he told me, leering at both of us.

  It was awful: pink and frothy and too sweet. We each took a sip, thanked him, and proceeded to ignore the drinks and him. But he wasn’t put off that easily. He kept coming back and making suggestive remarks. That’s when I decided to do something.

  Leaning toward Karen during a lull in our conversation, I put my hand on the back of her head and drew her toward me. The kiss was deep and warm and soft, ending with a bit of tongue. I’d meant it almost as a joke, but by the end there was something hot lurking behind that kiss, waiting for a chance to come out.

  We broke off, laughing, and I glanced at the bartender. He beat a hasty retreat to the end of the bar and left us alone. The tension between Karen and me was great enough that we quickly settled the bill and headed for my car. I was giving her a ride home, being less drunk than she was. In fact, I was quite sober after our kiss. It had sucked all the fog from my head and left behind a single clear thought: I wanted to seduce her.

  During the drive to her house, I couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled over on a quiet, dark side street. Putting the car in park, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned toward her.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, nothing, except I need to do this again.”

  I leaned toward her and drew her into my arms, my lips finding hers. The kiss was more urgent this time, my tongue searching her mouth for its opposite. I wasn’t worried she’d push me away, but I hadn’t expected her response. Her tongue met mine in a sinuous embrace that lasted a long time. With my arm wrapped around her waist, I slid one hand up her rib cage to cup her breast. It was full and heavy in my palm. She moaned into my mouth and lay back against the seat as I continued to kiss and caress her. Finally we broke off, both a bit breathless, and I started the car again. The rest of the drive home was quiet. We made some small talk but didn’t discuss what had just happened.

  The following weekend, Karen and her husband came over to my house for dinner. After the meal, I suggested we go out and sit in my hot tub. Since it was unplanned, they hadn’t brought suits. Despite our small-town location, my deck was quite private and we all decided to go without.

  Karen sat facing me, with her husband between us, looking up at the stars. Well, they were both looking up; I was looking at Karen’s tits. They floated in front of me, glowing in the moonlight, and I wanted to reach out and touch them. Our legs were entwined in the dark water, and I stroked her calf with my foot but didn’t do anything else for fear of discovery in our close quarters. It was exciting thinking about her body as we sat naked together, with her husband nearby and oblivious to my interest.

  As they were leaving that night, I drew Karen aside into a long hug, my hand pressing against her lower back.

  “Can I have coffee with you tomorrow?” I whispered into her ear.

  “That would be great. Come over about ten o’clock,” she replied.

  She and her husband drove off, and I stood in the dark, my pussy throbbing.

  The next morning, I spent more time than usual in the shower, shaving and grooming. I stroked my wet pussy lips, thinking about Karen, but went no further. I wanted to save my passion for her.

  As I drove to her house, I thought about what was going to happen. From what she had told me, I knew she had been faithful to her husband but was feeling frustrated lately. I didn’t know if sh
e had ever been with another woman, though, and I was a little unsure how she would respond to my advances. Karen answered the door with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Walking past her into the hall, I reached out and took the cigarette away.

  “I don’t like the taste of cigarettes in the morning,” I said, kissing her quickly. I walked into the kitchen and put it out. She poured me a cup of coffee, and I stroked her arm as she handed me the mug. When she bent down to get the cream out of the fridge, I ran a hand over her round ass. I felt her jump under my fingers. As she stood up, I pulled her to me, hands sliding into her back pockets, and kissed her again.

  “I see you have more than coffee on your mind,” Karen said. She smiled as we separated.

  “Oh, yeah. Much more.” I followed her into the living room and sat next to her on the sofa. I took a sip of my coffee and set the mug aside. She was looking at me over the rim of her cup.

  “I’ve been wanting to touch these since you showed them off last night,” I said, caressing her breasts with both hands.

  “I didn’t know you were that interested,” she said casually.

  “I couldn’t very well make my interest known, could I?” I laughed.

  “Bartenders are one thing, husbands another.”

  “Well, there’s no one here but us.”

  Karen leaned back and set her cup down. I took that as an invitation and pulled her T-shirt up. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples were large, a deep rose against the pale skin of her breasts. My fingertips circled them, making the skin crinkle and darken as her nipples hardened. I leaned down and took one in my mouth.

  She moaned and shifted in her seat as I sucked the entire areola into my mouth, my tongue teasing the tip. I moved to the other breast, sucking it between my teeth as my fingers twisted the first one. Karen reached down and pulled her shirt over her head as I continued to explore her delicate skin. Sliding off the sofa, I knelt between her legs, my thumbs finding her nipples again as I gazed up into her face. She smiled down at me dreamily.

  “Now for the rest,” I told her.

  My hands slid down her rib cage to her waist before slipping into the waistband of her jeans. She shifted her hips again as I unbuttoned the fly and drew her jeans down to her ankles. Her black thong peeked between her thighs as I pressed open her legs and kissed her from knee to groin. My fingers danced over the tiny triangle of the thong before slipping under the sides and drawing it down her.

  Now that she was naked, I wanted to feel her body under me, my breasts pressing against hers, my pussy grinding into hers. I pushed her sideways on the couch and climbed up to lie on top of her.

  “You have too many clothes on,” she said.

  Her hands ran up my back and under my shirt. She unfastened my bra as I kissed her throat, and then she drew shirt and bra over my head and off.

  Skin against skin. Hot and silky soft. Our hands roamed over each other’s flesh, my nipples hardening as they slipped against hers. I reached a hand between our bellies and found the hair curling over her mound.

  “God, that feels so good,” she whispered as my fingers found her wetness and slipped between the swollen folds of flesh.

  I pushed first one finger and then another into her before drawing them out to spread her juices across her skin. “You taste so great,” I whispered, bringing my fingers to my mouth and licking off her juices. I squirmed down between her legs, spreading them wide as I buried my face in the mass of curls. My tongue made a path down between folds of skin and back up. Pressing my fingers back into her pussy, I slowly searched for her clit with my tongue. It was a hard nub under my mouth. She squirmed and moaned, her hands in my hair now, directing me without words.

  I slid fingers in and out, faster and harder, pressing up into her soft flesh with each stroke, toward her G-spot. I sucked her clit into my mouth, tonguing it gently at first then more firmly as her encouragements grew more vocal.

  “Yes, omigod, there,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

  I wasn’t about to. Her juices flowed down my wrist and chin as I reveled in her ripeness, her soft melon-scented flesh. Her orgasm, when it came, was delightful, rippling down her stomach and over my hand and into my mouth. I felt like I was eating it, swallowing it whole. It felt so good to be doing this with her. When it was done, I slipped my wet hand out of her and reached up to trace her lips. She tasted herself on my fingers as I stretched out beside her on the couch.

  “That was amazing. I haven’t come like that in a long time.” She thanked me with a kiss.

  “I think we should meet for coffee again.” I laughed as I reached for my mug.

  Not long after that, Karen’s husband was transferred to Germany with his company, and she left me before we got another chance to meet. But I think about her from time to time and know that at least with her, I got to be the bad girl I always wanted to be.

  TAG TEAM

  Wendy Stevens

  My girlfriend, Sarah, doesn’t like people to know how much of a slut she is—even me. For a while when we were first dating, she put up a front like she simply wanted a little kissing, a little biting, some basic fucking, and that was it. She’d arch her back and come and grin and kiss me all over. She was passionate, using her whole body to seduce me, kissing me from the very top of my head down to my heels, but I felt something was missing. Finally, one day while I had three fingers deep inside her, I stopped. “Please, baby, keep going,” she moaned, rocking her hips back and forth to try to get me to continue.

  “Not just yet,” I said calmly, looking at my pale, freckled, redheaded goddess. I kept my fingers inside her but simply held them still, trying to figure out exactly what made her naughty little mind tick. “I want to know what else you want,” I told her. I didn’t like the idea that my own girlfriend, the love of my life, was holding back.

  “I want you,” she cooed plaintively, ever the good girl.

  “I know,” I said, my fingers lightly trailing along her cheek, then her neck, before going in for the kill. I entwined them in her curly red hair and pulled, watching as her neck arched upward. I did that a few more times and wiggled my fingers inside her cunt, then pressed my short nails against the back of her neck. “But what else do you want? You’d better tell me if you want me to keep fucking you,” I warned her.

  Keeping my fingers safely inside her, I rolled her over, hoping maybe by not facing me she’d be better able to tell me what she wanted. My fingers played along her sweaty neck then dove again along her face, and her tongue reached out to lick me. I let her wet each finger, and then I stuck two in her mouth. She suckled them, holding on for dear life as I once again moved my fingers in and out, feeling her clamp around me. I started to match the rhythm of both hands, pushing into her mouth and cunt at once then easing out. Then I stopped again. “Really, Sar, what do you want? In your wildest fantasies. And I know you’ve got some.”

  A strangled cry escaped her mouth, her lips clamping down against my fingers as I spread my fingers inside her wetness. I pulled both hands out and waited. “What was that?”

  Her words were quiet, and I had to strain to hear. “I want two cocks at once—yours and someone else’s. I want you both to be mostly dressed, and me between you, one of you fucking me and one of you making me suck you off. I want you to use me like a toy,” she said quietly, and I felt a few tears drip down her cheek onto my hand. I brushed them away then rubbed her clit in a slow, hard circle with my thumb.

  “You mean you want one of us to invade that pretty little mouth, and one of us to fuck you right here?” I asked as I again shoved my fingers inside both of her holes.

  “Yes,” she cried out, her voice loud, and her body’s reaction told me this was precisely the key to her hidden treasure. My mind immediately presented me with the perfect person to complete our rendezvous. My friend Terry is black, butch, and totally kinky. In real life, she’s as mellow as they come, though she likes to fool people by rarely smiling, wearing camouflage,
and raking her eyes over you in a way that makes you think she’d be a great cop, getting criminals to confess to crimes they haven’t even committed. But Terry’s charm is that once you break the ice and get past her stony exterior, she’s sweet as pie. I think she likes being the tough badass on the street and a pushover in private. But there’s another place where her badass streak comes out, and that’s in bed. I only knew what she’d told me, but she’d told me a lot, and from what I knew, she’d love nothing more than to pound my girl’s sweet pussy over and over while Sarah begged for mercy—and for more.

  I didn’t want to move too quickly. It was the middle of July, and Sarah’s birthday was coming up in September. When I broached the subject with Terry, her eyes took on a sadistic gleam. “Your Sarah? You and me? As long as you’re cool with it, Wendy, I’d be more than willing to fulfill her little fantasy.”

  With that arranged, my only other job was keeping my plans a secret from Sarah. The weeks seemed to fly by, and then finally it was the evening of her birthday. I’d told her she could go shopping during the day but to be back by eight, giving Terry and me time to get ready.

  In our room, I proudly stepped into the harness, holding on to the fat purple cock, my own mouth watering with anticipation. I knew my sweet Sarah was about to go absolutely wild, to buck and moan and drool and maybe even cry when she got precisely what she’d been dreaming about for so long. When I’d adjusted my new cock exactly into place, I went about finishing my preparations; pulling on tight black jeans, a sturdy black bra, and a black T-shirt with the arms cut out.

  I was making a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Terry came in and even I was amazed. She looked incredible, her hair shorn to perfection, wearing her favorite camouflage pants, loose white tank top that still managed to show her nipple piercings, and black combat boots. She cupped her crotch and gave me a knowing wink, and we switched from coffee to Bloody Marys, the warmth of the drink filling our veins. The scene about to unfold was perfect because although I thought Terry was hot, I didn’t really want to have sex with her myself. This way I’d get to, but by proxy.