After Midnight

by Chelsea James

  I planted my feet and gritted my teeth and held her there, her cheeks bulging, her eyes watering and nose running. When I finally pushed her head back, she gulped and choked, the dildo popping out of her mouth all drippy and slimy with spit.

  She sucked me some more as I watched the women on TV, how the blonde gripped her girlfriend’s waist and pumped her hips, pumped the brunette. My cunny got all tingly with the sight of those sexy women and the friction of the strap-on rubbing me the right way as Talia sucked.

  I pulled the girl’s head up. “I’m gonna fuck you!” I growled, sounding all tough and experienced. I hadn’t even had full-on sex with a guy yet, for God’s sake, let alone with a girl.

  Talia jumped to her feet and kissed me, stuck her tongue in my mouth and swirled it around. I got all warm and fuzzy, and I tried to grab her and lick her back, but she wriggled out of my hands and dove onto the bed. She got up on all fours and shook her skinny butt at me, daring me to do her.

  I followed her onto the bed, my prick bouncing up and down like it had a life of its own. I kneed in behind her, put my hands on her bum, then stopped and tried to catch my breath. It was totally nuts—sweet little Daddy’s girl Daisy getting ready to screw another girl with a strap-on dildo while hard-core lesbian porno played in the background. It was wild and crazy and absolutely wicked, and I went for it.

  I gripped Big Red and shoved the tip of it into Talia’s glistening cunt lips. I had to kind of feel around for her hole for a second, but I found it. When I did, Talia impatiently shoved back, burying the plastic prick to the hilt inside her.

  The impact of her slamming ass-backward against me sort of stunned me, rocked my pussy and my brain. Her smooth skin was hot against mine, and I could smell her dripping pussy. The strap-on moved against my own pussy as Talia wiggled her ass, and I got all damp and dizzy like before. Was I seriously going to have full-on sex with another girl? You bet I was! I moved my hips, sliding my cock back and forth in Talia’s stretched-out slit.

  “Yeah! Fuck me, bitch!” Talia yelled, twisting her head around and glaring at me.

  I grabbed onto her waist like the woman in the movie and really pumped my hips. I got a smooth, fast rhythm going, slamming the plastic cock into Talia’s pussy, her lips gripping the pistoning dildo, my thighs smacking loudly against her rippling buttcheeks.

  “Harder! Faster!” she screamed.

  I went as fast as I could, digging my fingernails into her flesh. The dildo flew back and forth in her hole, the bed creaking and banging the wall. Talia clawed at the bedspread, moaning, matching the ecstatic moans of the brunette on TV. Then she suddenly tensed up, muscles locking in her back and arms. I pounded her even harder, and she was jolted by orgasm.

  “Fuck almighty!” she wailed, shuddering with ecstasy.

  I kept right on fucking her—fucking her and fucking myself—the friction on my clit sending me sailing all over again. We came together, both of us blown away by the wet and wild ride.

  It was when we were cleaning things up a bit that bad-girl Talia ’fessed up to the fact that she actually lived with her father, not her “lesbian” mother. The porno magazines and DVDs were his, the many sex toys hers.

  THE SAILOR

  Diana Cage

  From the back she really looks like a sailor: Tight white pants. Broad shoulders. Short-cropped hair. The nape of her neck is bare and sexy. The uniform fits her very well, and I pretend for just a moment that she isn’t dressed up in some very obvious costume at a party that feels like the fetish prom. From the front, she’s very much a girl. Freckles, thin nose, high cheekbones defining a decidedly feminine face that I’d bet is the bane of her existence.

  The room reeks of propane from the fire show. Earlier, two women danced around each other in a way that was supposed to be sexy. They swallowed huge, silicone cocks with flaming ends, made a big show of their tattooed bodies and pretended to fuck each other. They had everything going for them—beauty, style, even enthusiasm—but it was all too staged. They were too black and shiny and clean to be having real sex. They looked like a movie. Like some teenage witchcraft rip-off, straight-to-video bullshit. “Stop trying,” I said out loud. “Put your rubbery clothes back on and go back to your co-ops.” Even the girls on the dance floor, in their PVC outfits and bondage gear, looked bored. They need rape scenes or foot-fucking—murder and mayhem. Something spectacular to get them off. A little half-assed flaming-sword-swallowing doesn’t get anything going for this crowd.

  Girls are coughing from the thick greasy air. And a few have passed out on the dance floor like little latex canaries—only to be escorted from the building by EMTs who assure us they will be fine and tell the rest of us we need to go outside and get some air.

  All the good beer is gone. The music is bad. I am feeling lightheaded and loose, and looking for trouble. For a moment, my sailor disappears from sight and I panic, thinking I won’t get a second chance. But she resurfaces among a group of tranny boys, all huddled together away from the girlie-girls, like little kids at recess. Her beautiful face looks a little bit mean even though she’s laughing. Looking at her makes me feel sexy, and I wonder what it will take to get a girl like that to fuck me. Then I remember that we all want to fuck someone.

  The club I’m in is normally a gay men’s porn theater. Live jack-off shows, the works. But tonight it’s been rented out for a lesbian fetish party and latex-clad enema nurses are chatting with Catholic schoolgirls. I came with my girlfriend Steph, who likes these parties more than I do. She’s having fun, chatting up the cute little boys and girls. All of our friends are here. Every once in a while she brings me a beer, pats my head, kisses me and then goes back to our circle of friends. Normally I’d join her, but tonight it’s boring to me. Same people, same outfits. The beer helps some but not enough. I’ve just been hanging around the bar staring at everyone. I don’t even feel like dancing.

  I head outside and bum a smoke from a group of shrieking, silly girls in marabou boas. A gorgeous redhead in a pink plastic skirt offers me a cigarette, which I accept, but I decline her offer of a light. Instead I go looking for some solo leather-jacketed type with a well-worn Zippo. Hey, we all have our fantasies. The truth is, I don’t even smoke. I just want something to wrap my lips around—something to keep my mouth and hands busy. When the sailor walks outside, my spirit lifts. She notices me standing there expectantly with unlit cigarette, and I feel a little obvious as I hold it up to be lit. We don’t say anything. Up close she’s even prettier. Blue eyes, black hair. I’m too tense to flirt with her so I just look down at my hands.

  “Are you having fun?” she finally says to me as she holds her silver Zippo to my cigarette.

  I grasp her hand to steady the flame and she winks at me in a gesture that’s both boldly flirtatious and totally cheesy. “Not really,” I answer.

  “Seen it all before, huh?”

  I can’t tell if she’s making fun of me, so I shrug and we stand there smoking in silence for a long moment. Then she stubs out her cigarette and walks back inside.

  I feel a foreign sensation as she leaves. I can’t place it. And then I recognize it as desire.

  Her smug face, her perfect stance—all of it both pisses me off and makes me wet between the legs. I don’t know what it is about attitude that can get my panties so in a knot. But give me a cool babe over a nice one any day. I crumble.

  As I’m finishing my smoke, Steph walks outside looking for me. She offers me another smoke, so I take it. Still feeling warm and riled up, I study her face closely. I can pick ’em, I think. She’s really gorgeous. Handsome is a better word, I guess. Her sandy-brown hair keeps falling into her eyes. She’s so relaxed and happy and sexy that I feel a twinge of guilt for taking her so for granted. Then she puts her arm around me and protectively walks me back through the door.

  There’s a stairwell to our right, and I have yet to explore it. Suddenly I’m curious. “What’s downstairs?” I ask her.

  She says, “Privat
e video booths where you can watch porn and jack off, and rooms with curtains for anonymous sex.”

  “You’re kidding,” I say. And then I blush at how naïve I must sound. Of course that’s what’s downstairs. I’m at a sex party, in a porn theater. What the fuck did I think was down there? Storytelling hour? She looks at me quizzically, trying to gauge my interest in getting fucked before she says, “Okay, babe. Let’s go.”

  It’s cooler downstairs. The air is fresher. And it’s much quieter. Steph is holding my hand, playing tour guide. She’s telling me about the glory holes in the video booths but I only half hear her. My thoughts are on the sailor. The way she lit my cigarette, the way she looks from the back. The way she walked away from me. I’m dimly aware that Steph is dragging me into one of the booths.

  “Let’s watch some porn,” she says. “Come on, baby.” She leads me in and shuts the door. “Don’t worry, the doors lock.”

  How handy, I think.

  She puts some quarters into the slot, and the TV lights up. The boys on the screen are really young. Barely eighteen, I’d guess. They’re pretty and hairless, so I pretend they’re cute butch girls pretending to be fags. One girl is bent over a chair getting fucked. She’s moaning. Her cock is rock hard and she’s stroking the hell out of it. Steph slips her hand under my T-shirt and pinches my nipple so hard I hiss. I feel the throb in my clit.

  My cunt becomes a liquidy place, like my head.

  Usually when Steph and I fuck, I think about her hand in my cunt. I concentrate on the sensations, the rhythmic circling or the pounding, the feeling of her skin on my skin. I think about how happy she makes me. But on this particular night I can’t concentrate. My mind is too cluttered. I imagine the young boys on the screen. Their asses, their hard cocks. I’m overstimulated. Steph’s hand is working me, playing me. She knows how. She’s so good. She knows just where to stroke and how hard. She’s doing it so right. Just like she did it to me earlier, just like she’ll do it to me later. But it’s no good. I can’t come. I’m not even close. “Come for me, baby,” she whispers in my ear. “Show me how much you love me.”

  Frustrated, I turn away from her and face the wall. She follows me and pushes me down toward the small stool in the corner. I start to protest, not wanting to be on my knees on the floor of this booth where random guys have sucked random cocks, but I catch a glimpse of something through the glory hole that makes me change my mind. My sailor is in the next booth. She’s leaning against the wall with her pants unzipped. She’s not doing anything really, just staring at the screen with a blank expression. I position myself for a better view and this makes Steph happy because she has better access to my cunt. I feel her hand run down the crack of my ass before she pulls it back and smacks me hard. She does it again and this time I lean into it because it’s something I can feel.

  I can see my sailor clearly. She’s staring intently at the screen. I wonder if she’s watching the same two young boys I was looking at a few moments ago. The video is still playing. I can still hear them groaning. Her blue eyes are half-closed and her hair is a little messy, like she’s run her fingers through it a few times and broken up her hair gel. She looks better this way. Hotter. Looser. Something.

  She slips down her pants and briefs and slides a hand between her legs. I watch her fingers disappear into the vertical folds of her cunt and reappear glistening over and over, making that slick tic tic sound. Her face is expressionless; she’s just staring at the screen, jerking off in the most perfunctory of ways.

  Steph is still fucking me, but suddenly I can feel her more than I did a few moments ago. A cloud has lifted, and now my swollen crotch demands attention. “Fuck me harder, baby, please,” I say to her and she does, taking the opportunity to slide another finger in. She leans over me, presses her body against mine. Fingers buried to the hilt in my pussy, she nuzzles my neck with her teeth. I adore her so much. She’s an amazing lover and a loving girlfriend, but right now I’m thinking about the stranger in the next booth and Steph’s hands on my body.

  Steph is really turned on. I can tell from the rough way she’s pushing into me. It must be the porn working its magic on her. I’m hot too, and very close to coming, but I hold on for sailor boy’s sake. When I feel Steph’s thumb at the opening of my cunt, I gasp, ready to take her whole hand. I love it when she fucks me like this, so raw and so forceful. And the sensation of her pushing into me brings me back to where we are, and who she is and why I love her so much. “What are you thinking about, baby?” she says. “Where are you? Come back to me. I want to feel your cunt on my hand.”

  I can see sailor boy’s hands moving faster over her clit, and I wish I could reach her with my tongue. I groan and push back against Steph shamelessly in a way I know she loves. My sailor’s mouth is open. She flicks her clit a few more times and tenses up, pressing her fingers down into a pussy I didn’t get to touch or taste. It’s enough though, and it pushes me over the edge and I gasp as the wave of orgasm hits me.

  Steph stops moving momentarily, her fingers still inside. The sweat that’s collected between our bodies has dried and our skin is stuck together. “Don’t move,” she says to me, and I obey. We stay like that for a few moments, and when I look again, my sailor is gone.

  THE PAYOFF

  Lois Glenn

  My mouth had a bad habit of getting me in trouble. That’s why I found myself walking up the path to Shea’s house with an overnight bag. I usually spent my weekends hiking around the surrounding mountains, discovering rarely used trails and communing with nature. It helped me to release the stress of the workweek, recharge for the next, and return prepared to handle the major and minor crises that invariably cropped up. This weekend would be different. This weekend I had to pay off a bet that should have been a sure thing.

  It had started innocently enough. Shea and I were watching the Phoenix Mercury versus Houston Comets basketball game at Misty’s, a lesbian bar on Indian School Road. She had been harassing me since the start of the WNBA season about how the Comets were going to wipe the floor up with the Mercury. It had been Swoopes this, the Comets that for two weeks. She had even sent me an e-gram with a comet crashing into the planet Mercury. The planet had disintegrated, and in its place was Sheryl Swoopes moonwalking on top of Diana Taurasi’s prone body.

  I let her have her fun. Let’s face it, the Mercury weren’t what you’d call consistent. They were still a young team trying to find their legs. So when the Mercury were up by seventeen points at halftime, I thought I’d do a little razzing of my own. That’s where all the trouble started.

  “You think Van Chancellor is in the locker room reminding his players they’re not on a cooking show?” I kept my eyes focused on the television set to hide the smirk I knew was on my face.

  “Why do you say that?” Shea said. Out the corner of my eye, I saw her eyebrows furrow.

  “They have more turnovers than Betty Crocker.” I busted up laughing. I even slapped the bar to make sure she knew how funny my joke was.

  “Oh, shuddup.” Shea play-punched my arm. “It’s obvious the refs are blind. They’re calling the Comets for ticky-tack shit while the Mercury should be arrested for mugging.”

  “You’re right.” I nodded solemnly as if in agreement. “That’s the first time I’ve seen a foul called for just plain sucking.” I was laughing so hard I couldn’t drink my beer for fear of choking.

  “Just wait till the next half,” Shea said with underlying faith. “They’ll come back.”

  “Come back? First they got to show up.” I laughed some more. “I think they’re still at the mall shopping for shoes.” I knew I was pushing it, but I couldn’t help it. Since the inception of the WNBA, the Comets have been the bane of the Mercury’s existence.

  “You’ll see.” She took a sip from her beer. “Never count the Comets out.”

  “Diana Taurasi is going to get a hand cramp from writing all those thank-you notes to the Comets players,” I laughed, feeling pretty sure about the
outcome of the game. “Dear Comets players, thank you very much for gifting us with this win, allowing us to jump ahead of you in the standings.” I mimed writing in the air above the bar. I should have stopped while I was ahead, but the beer was flowing and Shea had it coming after all the ribbing I’d endured the past two weeks.

  “Care to make a wager?” She kept her eyes on the television set, which showed a commercial of a woman jumping on a mattress.

  “A bet?” I couldn’t understand why she’d want to make a bet when her team was down by almost twenty points at halftime.

  “Sure.” Shea glanced my way almost nonchalantly.

  I reminded her of the obvious. “The Mercury are up by seventeen points.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be worried.” She sat there with her shit-eating grin, drinking her beer like it was her team up by seventeen.

  “I don’t know,” I said, testing to see if she was serious. “It’s not inconceivable for a team to come back.”

  “Well, if you’re scared…” She drained her beer and waggled the empty bottle at the bartender to get her attention.

  “No, it’s just that seventeen points really isn’t that bad.” Although I was starting to question her sanity, I was also curious what the punch line was. “What are we betting?”

  “Loser is the winner’s slave for a weekend.” She paid for the two beers Danni placed in front of us.

  “Slave?” I glanced up at the TV again. The score was still thirty-seven to twenty, Mercury.

  “Yeah.” She grinned at me and winked.

  What the hell? Now I was feeling very confused. She did know the score, right?

  “Well, I don’t want to be washing dishes and stuff all weekend,” I told her. Even with her cockiness, I wasn’t feeling nervous. I just wanted to see what her game was.