by Violet Blue
“Very interesting indeed,” she murmured when she watched him rubbing his hand over the bulge in his jeans, while speaking to his buddy and laughing. They’d obviously been getting off on the view of her rear end while she’d been bent over doing her gardening.
After a good fifteen minutes’ observation—during which time she came to the realization that Diana’s son must be home from university and he’d obviously brought a friend—she began to formulate her plan to take the upper hand with these two lads, because Lucinda wasn’t about to let them get away with it, oh no. She hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Diana’s son before, but he was about to find out that his target wasn’t shy or easily embarrassed. Star of several explicit art-house movies in the late eighties, and currently director of a South London alternative theater, Lucinda was the type of woman who could envisage the full entertainment potential of a situation like this and had no trouble going after it.
Before she left the upstairs room she hauled her video camera out of the wardrobe and set it up on a tripod, making sure it would catch any activity on the lads’ side of the fence, and then she headed back down to the garden, grabbing her sunhat, lotion, and shades on the way out.
The August afternoon heat was simmering; the faint hum of insects in the flowerbeds accompanied her own humming as she strode down the garden. She hauled a sun lounger across the lawn and positioned it just about level with the area of the spy hole. Sitting down, she squirmed into her seat deliberately and began rubbing sun lotion into her arms, alert for signs of attention from beyond the fence. By the time she had covered her arms and shoulders in lotion, she picked up a scuffling sound in the bushes beyond the fence. Smiling to herself, she moved to her legs, kicking off her sandals with panache, being sure to apply the lotion in a seductive and suggestive manner. She thought about having the two lads doing this job instead—one on each thigh. Oh yes, she could just picture it, she could almost feel it. Her hand slid up the length of her inner thigh, massaging as it went.
A suppressed comment emitted from the other side of the fence and a muffled conversation followed. She ignored it, because she didn’t want contact yet, she was making this an investment for later. The camera upstairs was whirring and so were the visuals in her mind—they’d be clamoring for a view, she’d be willing to bet on it. Would they both be able to see, she wondered, or would they have to fight over one spy hole, like two young bucks infected with midsummer madness?
She set her bottle down and reached for the ties on her halter neck. When she dropped it she heard another sound. She avoided looking directly at the area of their peephole, but a cursory pass-by under cover of her sunglasses definitely showed movement, and a moment later she caught sight of the crown of the shaved head moving at the top of the fence. They were getting sloppy in their eagerness to see what her breasts looked like. That amused her greatly and knowing she had their full attention, she made a big display of squeezing another puddle of lotion into her palm from a height, dribbling it out slowly. Dropping the bottle, she spread the fluid between her hands and then moved to her breasts. Her nipples were already peaked and she sighed loudly as she spread the creamy liquid over the surface of her breasts, massaging it deep.
They’d be aroused and hard now, cocks pounding, had to be.
Her breasts ached with pleasure and an answering thrum in her groin drew her hand lower, across her abdomen and down, into her shorts.
A stifled groan reached her.
They were watching all right. She wasn’t about to stop now.
She decided to watch the video just after sundown, savoring the idea of it while she showered and slipped into a sarong. A large glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in one hand and the remote in the other, she settled down on the sofa and flicked the video on.
The camera angle was just right, with just a clip of her in one corner as a reference point. She could see her legs from mid-thigh down and she chuckled to herself as she watched the action begin. The shaved head was clued in to her reappearance by the time she was creaming her thighs and gestured for his buddy to join him. The long-haired one clambered out of his deck chair and over to the fence.
They stood still at first, as if disbelief had them in its grip. Then they were jostling for the best view. As time passed their expressions grew serious, tense. Shaved head turned to say something to his buddy as he pulled his cock free of his fly. They whispered and nodded agreement, then began to hunt around. A moment later it seemed as if they located another peephole and they were both stationed close to the fence, eyes trained on the view, cocks out, occasionally turning to each other to pass comment. They were both masturbating vigorously in the bushes, unabashed by each other’s presence.
Fascinating, reflected Lucinda, as she toyed with her nipples through the thin sheath of her sarong.
Shaved head was soon gone on it, rubbing at his cock vigorously, face taut with concentration, eyes narrowed as he squinted through the fence. She took a long draft of her wine and sighed. What an absorbing sight that was and how hot it was making her. She slid off the sofa and onto the floor, closer to the screen, legs akimbo on the rug. She flicked her sarong open, her fingers stroking over her tummy and down, remembering how it had been in the garden, when she’d known she had an audience. She’d always been a bit of an exhibitionist but this was different: they didn’t know she knew they’d been watching. Now this was her voyeuristic journey into their arena, their secret wanking, and their laddish camaraderie over the slut next door.
She’d been brewing for another wank and she fingered her slit, imagining it was their eager young male hands on her, as driven as they were over their cocks right now on the screen. Shaved head was stroking himself fast, concentration honed, and then his head went back as a jet stream of come ribboned into the air and splattered on the fence. The toes of her left foot stroked down the side of the screen while she watched wolf-lean one trying to watch through the gap in the fence and wank himself off. What a sight it was when he finally came.
“Oh, boy,” she murmured, and thrust harder, her clit bound in pleasure under the pressure of the palm of her hand, two fingers inside, slick and moving frantically. Her sex was on fire, her hips bucking up from the floor. The whirring of the video and the sounds of her pleasure-fuelled sex filled the silent room. And she had the remote; she could fast-forward and rewind just as much as she wanted. Knowing they were so hot for her and being able to watch it over and again was a heady intoxicant and she eked out her pleasure that evening for just as long as she could bear another self-inflicted orgasm.
Diana enjoyed cut flowers. Lucinda preferred to see them growing in the beds, but for the sake of her project she cut an armful and took them round to Diana’s the next day. She’d waited until late afternoon, when the lads had taken up residence in the garden and had already downed a few cans of their favored brew.
“They’re beautiful, thank you, dear,” Diana said as she took the bouquet and ushered Lucinda inside after her while she put them in water.
In the oak and marble kitchen Lucinda gravitated toward the window that overlooked the garden. “It’s another glorious day,” she commented. Out in the garden the two lads were stretching like waking tomcats, reclaiming their territory, sprawling in the summer warmth. “Oh, is that your son home from uni?”
“Yes, that’s Jamie. And the one with the hair,” she rolled her eyes, “he calls himself Man, although I don’t think that’s his real name.”
“Man, ay.” Lucinda smiled as she watched Jamie cavorting in the sun. He was definitely the showman. And Man was the quieter, long-haired, wolflike one. She was determined to find out what they would be like in closer proximity.
She turned back to her neighbor. “It must be great having two strapping lads around, to help you out with chores and such.”
Diana gave a derisive laugh. “Well, I daresay they’d help out in an emergency but they aren’t ones to put themselves forward for any task that doesn’t instantly appeal to the
m.” She smiled over the flowers, now stashed in a vase. “The garden and the beer seem to have held their attention pretty solidly these past few days. I was out yesterday and when I got home Man had somehow picked up a rash from the bushes and both of them were in danger of getting burnt from overexposure.”
Lucinda enjoyed her secret thoughts for a moment. “Are they going to be around for long?”
“Until next week, then they’re off to some rock festival in Wales.”
“Hmm, in that case would you mind if I borrowed them for an hour or two? I’ve got one of those self-assembly shelf units that I need a hand with.”
“Feel free, I’m sure the offer of a beer or two might sway them.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Lucinda replied, and smiled. “I’ll take your advice and offer plenty of tempting bait.”
And she knew just what sort of bait they liked best.
Up close they were just as attractive, if not more so. “Hello, boys,” she said, trying to suppress her grin as she noticed Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up at the sight of her on this side of the fence. Man shielded his eyes against the sun for a better look. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to drag you away from your afternoon sun-worship.”
“This is Lucinda, our neighbor,” Diana explained. “She needs a hand with some bookshelves; can you two make yourself useful and help her out?”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Lucinda interjected.
The two men glanced at each other for support. After a moment they got to their feet.
Once she’d led them round to her place and got them inside, she pointed out the Ikea flat pack in the sitting room and told them she’d get them some beers. Like two hungry hounds that had been thrown a scrap from a plate but sensed the real juicy meat was being kept somewhere nearby, they worked with the chore they’d been given while looking forlornly in her direction.
The floor was soon covered in packaging, but when she got back their eyes were trained on her. Not surprisingly, she was as provocatively dressed as yesterday, if not more so. She had a great figure for a woman knocking forty years and she knew how to show it off to its best advantage. And she was enjoying every moment of their lascivious eyes on her.
“It’s so hard for a single woman to manage a big erection,” she said, idly, as she handed them their drinks. Jamie nearly dropped his can; Man swore under his breath and two patches of color appeared on his gaunt cheekbones.
Nice to see we’re all on the same wavelength, even if they don’t know it yet.
“I really appreciate you two helping me out.”
“Any time, Lucinda,” Jamie offered, grinning widely, glancing over at his friend and winking conspiratorially.
That was enough of that, she was in control here. She walked over to the sofa and lifted the remote. “Carry on,” she said. “I want to see what you make of it.” She flicked the video player on.
Dutifully, they turned back to the job they had been assigned to. Lucinda smiled; they were pleasantly malleable and that suited her well. She fast-forwarded through a rather fine BBC production of The Merchant of Venice until she felt it was time, and then casually swapped over the videos.
The two of them floundered to a standstill when they caught sight of themselves on the TV screen.
“You were watching us,” Jamie murmured.
“I was, but then you were watching me. Fair exchange is no robbery.” Her eyes flicked back and forth from them to the TV. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” she added, raising her glass to them.
“Oh shit,” Man declared, flushing when he saw himself wanking on-screen.
“Oh, please, don’t be coy. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
Jamie was a little more in touch with what might be on offer, weighing up what he saw on the screen and what she was showing him: a knowing smile, an enticing glance, a hand nonchalantly linked over the belt of her low-slung shorts, fingers tapping over the zipper.
He set down the assembly instructions he had in his hand. “You knew all along. You went along with it, and filmed it?”
She nodded.
“So why have you brought us round here, really?”
She purred. “Oh, I liked what I saw and I think you owe me a closer look…in the flesh, as it were.” She couldn’t keep the dirty smile off her face. “You wouldn’t object to giving me a repeat performance, up close, would you?”
Jamie grinned. “I’m up for it.” He put his hand on the bulge in his jeans. He really did love that cock of his! He turned to his friend. “Manfred?”
Man flicked him a disapproving glance at the use of his full name, but nodded. His lean, hungry looks matched the expression in his eyes.
A bolt of sexual power hit her, pure and powerful. She moved, kneeling up on the sofa. “Right then, I’m sure you won’t mind me having a more active role, this time around…?”
They both shook their heads. Man had a wild look in his eyes.
God, this was good! The power rush alone was getting her wet. And they were both sloping closer, hounds with their eyes on the main dish. She had a split second to decide, but she was a very naughty girl at heart and she couldn’t resist. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the condom she had stashed there. Flipping it toward the strewn packaging and abandoned shelves she said: “Whoever finds that gets to fuck me; the other has to give me a show.”
They stared at her, open mouthed, for a whole five seconds and then reacted, the pair of them scrabbling amongst the cardboard and bubble wrap to find the packet. Lucinda couldn’t help chuckling, wishing she had her camera.
Man jumped up triumphantly with the prize in his hands.
Perfect!
“Oh, bloody hell,” Jamie muttered. “That’s not fair.”
“It is fair; besides, you have no right to complain about anything, since you smacked me on the arse yesterday!”
He pouted.
She pulled her top off, squeezing her breasts in her hands right at him. “Stay where you are. Man, come round here, I want you to fuck me from behind…while Jamie watches.” She wriggled her shorts down her thighs, leaning over the back of the sofa.
Jamie’s eyes were black with lust. He had his zipper open. He grunted his disapproval when Man took up his position behind her, but started wanking almost immediately. What a sight! A dribble of moisture followed her shorts down her thighs.
“Oh, yes,” she moaned. Man had dipped his fingers tentatively into her slit and was stroking his way back and forth from her clit into her wet hole. “Keep going, you’re right on target!” He did as requested for a few moments before he cursed under his breath and she heard the sound of the condom being ripped open. She pushed her bottom back, inviting him in, her eyes on the incredible tightness of the muscles on Jamie’s arms and torso while he rode his cock with his fist, his hips arched up, his mouth tight as he watched.
Man plowed into her, his cock filling her then rolling in and out, bashing her breasts against the back of the sofa with his urgency. Moments later his fingers groped and hit her clit; she arched again, and his balls hit home. She contracted on him, her body on fire. She groaned and pressed her nipples hard on the sofa, moaning loudly as she hit the jackpot.
“Come closer,” she urged Jamie, as she surfaced. He shuffled forward. She stuck her tongue out, and licked the drop of come from the end of his prick. She was starting to come again. He moaned, his eyes frantic. “Come on my tits, baby,” she said. He did, a split second later, just as Man exploded inside her.
“You are one hot lady,” Man said when he collapsed on the sofa beside her.
“Yeah,” Jamie agreed. “I hope you have plenty more bookshelves for us to erect,” he added, with more than a hint of suggestive sarcasm.
“Loads,” she confirmed, winking at him approvingly. “But next time I really must film you getting it up.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but it’s a deal,” he replied, and Man nodded, laughing.
Not bad f
or a day’s work, Lucinda reflected, and made a note to buy more videotape for her new personal video collection: the upper hand in action.
SPIKE
Rachel Kramer Bussel
The minute I see the shoes, I know I want them. Scratch that—I need them. They are practically talking to me, curving their lips into a gleaming, gooey grin that makes my feet itch to try them on. Their siren song lures me across the store until they are all I see. I pick them up, fondle them, tracing my fingertips along the smooth, supple leather, imagining them on my feet, my feet caressing Jack’s cheek, Jack’s tongue licking the edges. Their black surface is sleek, shiny, and perfect, crafted to look like a gorgeous piece of art, the kind you might hang on your wall and draw stares for miles, but it’s the spiked heels that really do it for me. They are sharp and pointed, like a knife; they could do real damage, both to the wearer and to anyone standing in her way. They are also high; when I try them on, I feel like I’ve been gifted with those extra inches I’ve always considered my birthright. I stare down at my feet, not in the mirror, but live, right before my eyes, and know they are right. I march over to the counter, take one off and hold it up to be scanned, then slide it back on, feeling the power wash over me, slowly but quite surely. They hurt when I slip them on, I won’t deny it, but it seems a fair trade-off: I’ll suffer some pain, he’ll suffer more.
Jack was my new lover. We’d only been together once but he’d immediately dazzled me with his ability not only to submit, but to make me want him to do more, to go further into our role-playing until it became less playing and more simply being. Dominance is something I innately warm to, but only under the proper circumstances. I don’t walk into a room and instantly want to see every guy there down on his hands and knees. No, it doesn’t have mass appeal for me. But when the right guy comes along, watch out. Jack had started the typical macho bullshit with me at some overly hip bar; I wasn’t even sure why I’d wandered into the place. He’d teased me about my hair, acted like he’d never seen someone who looked like me: almost goth with my pale skin, jet black hair, tattoos, and piercing gaze. I don’t look like the kind of girl you mess with, and when I grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the hallway he started to get the picture. I pushed him up against the wall, my face inches from his. “You don’t talk to me like that; nobody does. I think you’ve just been waiting for a woman to put you in your place. Well, consider me that woman,” meaning every single word. He cowered before me, seeming to grow smaller as he saw just how serious I was.
