by Violet Blue
He had spent a lot of time with me since his wife, my sister Mary the media star, had been killed in a car accident six months before. To the general public, she was a byline in the newspaper, always a source of information. She was never satisfied until the whole truth was out. After her death, I never stopped wishing that she could come back to tell us what it’s really like to pass on to the Other Side. The great magician Houdini had promised to send a ghostly message back to the living, if possible. As far as I knew, he hadn’t done it either.
I had been soaking in the bathtub while I waited for Allie, my girlfriend, to come home from the hospital. I had thrown my old blue bathrobe around my wet, pink body and felt my tits bouncing as I ran down the stairs to see who was at the door. Even though I was alone in the house, I couldn’t stand not knowing.
Now I felt plump and sleazy, like the owner of a rundown boarding house who sweats into a housecoat all day long while surrounded by boarders. I hoped that David wouldn’t notice what I was wearing or would make allowances for me because I was almost his sister. As a writer who worked mostly at home, I rarely had to dress for an audience anyway.
I could probably have opened the door stark naked, I thought, and his eyes would never slip below my collarbone. If I must have a straight man in my life, I told myself, I should be grateful that he’s such a gentleman.
“You’re always so strong,” he told me, following me into the kitchen. I had planned to offer him coffee, but on second thought, wine seemed like a better idea. The bottle of Chablis in the fridge was calling to me.
I held a delicate wineglass in each hand, smiling as I offered him one. I hoped this gesture would compensate for the bathrobe and my damp wheat-colored hair, now drying into its usual messy waves.
“I love your strength, honey,” he gushed. Ignoring the gift of wine and taking advantage of my position, he threw his arms around me. His hot, bony chest mashed my nipples flat as his crotch pressed against mine. He felt like pure energy, barely contained by skin and bone. I wondered how he could be so reckless or so naïve; how he could believe that I was made of stone instead of hungry flesh.
I snaked one arm over to the counter and set the wineglass down without spilling a drop. The other glass splashed the back of his shirt as I tried to ease him away from me. “I love you too, David,” I babbled, trying to sound sincere but appropriate.
“I want you,” he breathed into my hair. “I had to say it. I don’t care if—I know you think I’m freaking insane. I know you’re a lesbian, Brenna, I’m not ignoring that. You’re more than a woman and I’m not a stupid prick.”
“David!” I yelped, baptizing him with the rest of the wine. The cold liquid soaking his shirt didn’t seem to cool him down. I could hardly believe how contagious his mood was, how it seeped into my skin and all my openings. I felt as if we were both victims of a fateful collision.
“You’re not thinking,” I explained. “We have to sit down. Take your wet shirt off.”
“Okay, okay,” he conceded, but tightened his grip. “You’re excited, girl, you know it. You smell good. I could do whatever you want. I’m not a selfish guy. Mary wouldn’t blame us.”
“You’re my brother…,” I complained, “…in-law.” I pushed forward and he stepped back, still hanging on to me. His hands clutched at my robe, pulling it up. We tangoed toward the front room as my robe inched up the backs of my legs, exposing my thighs. Soon my bare ass would stick out under bunched-up chenille, exposed to his clammy hands. I could smell my own juice.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” he sighed against my hot face. His full, smooth lips moved onto mine, and he pressed an urgent kiss on them. His mouth opened.
“David,” I said into it, “we have to talk.”
“Umm,” he answered, pressing his mouth against my open lips and sliding his tongue past my teeth. His long fingers clutched one of my naked buttcheeks, squeezing a message into my flesh. I felt something melt inside me. I moaned, pressing my legs together.
The sash of my bathrobe came undone and he pulled it open. Before I could stop him, he lowered his head to my heaving breasts and pulled a swollen nipple into his mouth. He flicked at it with his tongue, sending waves of electricity into my awakened clit.
I definitely felt like a slutty landlady, and I knew it was too late to redeem myself. He daringly pulled my nipple with his teeth, stopping just short of hurting me, then let go and looked me in the eyes. “I don’t want to mess up your life with Alicia, Brenna,” he promised. “I’ll never marry another woman. I’ll probably go back to men.”
“You’ll WHAT?” I squealed. “Is that your pickup line?”
“Ssh, honey,” he soothed me. “Sshh. She knows—knew— about me. We have an open relationship. We did. I’m just drawn to some guys and some dykes. Wimpy women don’t do it for me.”
I was standing stark naked in my own front room, my bathrobe in a pool at my feet, while David knelt before me like a knave before his queen. I felt his breath on the bush between my legs before he carefully parted my lower lips, looking for my swelling clit. I wanted him.
The door opened and Allie’s vibes rushed into the room like a strong wind. “Where’s my—David. Brenna,” she remarked, showing the self-control she had developed in her youth as a means of survival. “Madre de Dios,” she muttered to herself. No one spoke for a heartbeat. “Is this how you comfort each other?” Allie could resist food more easily than she could resist sarcasm.
David looked at her with an eagerness that I hadn’t seen in him for a long time. “Alicia, I don’t want to leave you out. I love you women, both of you.” He stayed on his knees, looking up.
Allie hesitated, and then I could see the situation pulling her in like a magnet. Tugging her shirttails out of her pants, she strutted slowly to our suitor and tousled his hair. “Are you our hag fag?” she asked him. She swayed her slim hips in his face. “You want to keep up with two dykes, honey, don’t expect an easy ride.”
I could swear I heard David answer, “Use me.”
I didn’t want anyone to feel more shocked, degraded, fatally injured or murderously enraged than they might feel already. “Allie, babe,” I asked her, “are you sure?”
My sweetie curled her small, determined fist in David’s thick hair and shook his head like a terrier playing with a juicy bone. “Oh yes,” she told us both, grinning slyly. “We all need it, even if we all have different reasons.” She stroked David’s face. “She’s mine, my man, so I get her first.”
Allie grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to the sofa. My breathing speeded up as I realized that David was going to watch her getting me off in her usual ways, and letting me explore all the sensitive parts of her luscious body.
“On your back or doggy-style?” she asked, embarrassing me further. I hadn’t expected her to give me a choice.
“This way,” I answered, lying on my back. I wanted to see both of them, but I couldn’t look at either one for a moment. I held up my breasts, offering them to her and to him.
“Little tease,” laughed my girlfriend, pinching one of my hard nipples and rolling it between her fingers. “Help me spread her legs apart,” she told David, and he rushed to push my thighs in opposite directions, looking at my glistening cunt lips. Leaning across me, Allie slid an experimental finger in, testing my wetness. Finding me wet and open, she stood up, walked three steps to the corner stand, and pulled a tall white candle from a fancy iron candlestick that was one of our attempts to include art in our lives. Her waxy tool was just thick enough for a first fuck, and she twirled it gently into me, searching for the right angle to push it down into my depths. I moaned, thrusting my hips to show her how much I wanted to be filled. I felt her reclaiming me.
David’s strong, bony fingers held my left foot, then he began kneading the sole and running his knuckles across the soft instep. I felt as if I could come from that alone, as tingles chased each other from my foot to my opened cunt. “Oh!” I groaned, feeling as if I coul
d burst out of my skin.
“Brenna,” Allie caressed my name as she wielded her candle in me. “Let go, honey. Give it to us. We want it.” I hoped that the hot life exploding in my clit could feed Mary, wherever she was. And my fellow survivors.
Allie gave me a long, deep kiss before helping me up. I noticed that David had shed his clothes, showing the line of dark hair that grew down the middle of his chest to his hard, red cock. His rod was thicker than I expected, and it didn’t seem to go with his boyish body. But then, I hadn’t seen a cock for so long that anything he showed me would have been a novelty.
Allie swatted him smartly on each buttcheek. She reached around his waist from behind and cradled his balls in both hands as he squirmed and his cock jumped like a puppy. “So you want us both, do you?” she demanded, barely suppressing a guffaw. “What else do you have to confess, bad boy? You might as well tell us. We’ll probably find out anyway.”
I felt playful, maybe because I seemed to be a universal object of desire. “He likes men, honey,” I snitched. I stroked his hard sausage to watch his reaction, and he pulled me close to kiss me.
“Not yet, boy,” Allie warned, pulling him back by the hair. I noticed that she liked the feel of it. “So you like cock and pussy both?” She pinched his narrow butt a few times.
He made a noise in his throat, but she didn’t let him speak. “Are you confused, David? Or do you feel guilty about your past? I bet you were a tasty morsel for your boyfriends.” I remembered that Allie had spent a lot of time with dying patients and their families. She knew that guilt and grief have an obscenely close relationship.
Allie and I were like a sandwich with David as the filling. We pressed against him from the front and the back, swaying in rhythm. She tickled his anus, teasing him with possibilities. “I have a strap-on, dude,” she tempted him. “Do you think I’m butch enough for you?”
David groaned. “Alicia,” he muttered. “Mistress, please be gentle with me. I haven’t had it for years.” He moved his butt against her hand while I continued to stimulate him in front.
My sweetie laughed and reached around our toy-boy to hold my hand on his cock. She encouraged me to stroke it, but she held it near the base in a way that prevented him from coming. “You want something, baby?” she taunted.
“Please,” he muttered. “Your Ladyship.” She ignored his subtle sarcasm, or perhaps it amused her.
“Don’t let him come,” she instructed me, her assistant, before she walked across the room to rummage in a drawer in our sideboard. Allie returned with a square packet that she ripped open with her teeth to reveal a rolled-up condom in a loud shade of orange. I should have known she would keep medical supplies on hand for emergencies.
Working together, we smoothed the latex raincoat onto David’s straining cock. He looked very vulnerable, and I wanted to know if I could comfort him with my mouth. As I knelt to slide my lips over him, I smelled the sharp tang of his sweat, the heat of his private parts. I heard his breathing as I licked him through the tight, slick covering. “Brenna!” he groaned, bucking into my mouth. I held his hips, wanting him to feel my female strength.
Just as she had threatened, Allie strolled out of our bedroom wearing her smaller silicone cock in its light-brown nylon harness that almost matched her skin. By then, David seemed radiant and boneless, willing to surrender in any way we required.
She soon had him on his hands and knees on the carpet. He rested his head comfortably on his arms as we both pressed cooking grease into his tender asshole and on Allie’s other-worldly tool. I stroked his back as she slid it steadily into him. I could feel his heart beating under his pumping ribs and glistening skin.
If our versatile Mistress had any doubts about her ability to impersonate a gay male seducer, she hid them well. Somehow I felt as if I were fucking him too, and I couldn’t find any jealousy in my heart as she filled a part of him that had been empty for too long.
His grunts and groans seemed more heartfelt than before, and his eruption seemed to come from deeper inside him.
As a reward for offering his ass, Allie let him fuck me. Or maybe this was my reward for waiting patiently for what we had both wanted long before we dared to admit it, even to ourselves.
As he smoothed a new sheath over his amazingly resilient or greedy cock, David sighed, “I’ve never fathered a child. Ever.” This was as close as he could come to protesting our conditions, since he didn’t want us to think of him as the kind of gay male vampire who spreads disease among his dearest friends.
The idea of David as a father planted a whole new vision in my mind, my pussy and my guts. I had never had a child either, nor had Allie, but this didn’t mean it couldn’t happen in the future. We had fantasized about raising a perfect child, or maybe two, a girl and a boy, but our imaginary family had never seemed real to us. The thought drove me to a whole new level of excitement.
“Ohh, Brenna,” he gasped in my ear in time to his thrusts, “you love it, don’t you?”
I wasn’t sure which “it” he was referring to, but I loved what he was doing, so I answered “mm-hm.” I’m not much of a talker at such times.
However, I can be quite noisy. As though from a distance, I heard my voice rising to a scream. Allie stroked my hair, bringing me back down from my sweaty frenzy and reminding me that I was still hers.
“I want us to finish off in the bedroom,” announced our Mistress of Ceremonies. “I’ll bring the rest of the wine.” I pulled David by the hand to the stairs that led to our private sanctuary where our beautiful queen-size bed stood in a corner, covered by a handmade quilt, another of our artsy possessions. I realized that our quilt was meant to be a kind of lucky talisman representing Heritage or Roots or Long-Term Commitment, concepts not usually associated with same-sex relationships. I wondered if a straight marriage represented all those things for David.
He began tickling me even before I finished climbing onto the bed, and we rolled around on it like unsupervised kids. I was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down my face when Allie arrived with a tray that carried three glasses and the bottle that now held a pitifully small amount of wine. I wondered whether David could behave better now that he was going to be offered wine for the second time, and this thought set me off on another wave of laughter.
The sight of Allie in the nude sobered me up; the light from our bedside lamps on the planes and curves of her body made her look almost like a statue formed from some precious metal. “You’re still full of beans,” she told us both, setting the tray on the bureau. “Good. I don’t want you falling asleep yet. Who wants the first taste of my love-juice?”
“Me,” I volunteered, already tasting her on my tongue. I love the rich shellfish taste of clean pussy, and Allie’s has a distinct bouquet that I’ve become addicted to. David helped me to slide a pillow under her firm butt as she stretched out on the bed, preparing to receive service. She spread her legs, and I buried my head between them, inhaling her scent. While I plunged my tongue into her and tickled her clit with my fingers, David played with her nipples, keeping them hard. She growled in the way she usually does when my attention is getting to her.
I worked steadily on her wet folds while David massaged her shoulders, lightly scratched her arms, and even did some reflexology on her hands. He seemed to have a variety of useful skills that I wanted to learn. I also hoped he would try out all his tricks on me sometime.
We got our Mistress off in style, and I didn’t even mind the way she squeezed my head like a walnut between her strong thighs. Of course, she wanted to feel David’s tongue as an encore, and she warned him that she expected him to perform like a dyke. The challenge seemed to spur him on.
Allie was so pleased with David that she let him finish her off by trading places with her and letting her ride him to her own grand finale. As far as I could tell, she continued milking his well-worked cock until he came too.
None of us wanted to stop playing with each other, but eventually,
the exercise and lack of sleep took its toll on us. We all dozed off in a tangle of arms and legs, sprawled across each other in different positions. The bottle of wine stood untouched where Allie had left it.
I woke up with an urge to pee when daylight flooded the room. Needing relief and wanting answers felt remarkably similar.
I knew I had to shake my two playmates awake so that they could get ready for work, much as they would hate it. Coming back from the bathroom, I watched them sleeping peacefully, and dreaded the thought of disturbing them. They looked artfully arranged, like live models for David’s art class. I wondered if he would like to sketch Allie and me, or if we could all take turns taking photos of each other for our private gallery.
Feeling like a spy in the house of love, I poured the rest of the wine into a glass and sipped it slowly, letting it warm its way down my throat. Our three-way arrangement warmed me too, though I knew it would change over time. Nothing living can remain still for long. In this bright morning after, I looked forward to the future for the first time in months.
HEAT
Elizabeth Coldwell
When I think of Ian, I think of heat. The heat of the sticky days of summer and sweaty sheets. The heat of the flame that draws in the moth. The heat of passion, and shame. I think of that sultry August night, and the things he did to me, and I still hate him—and I still want him.
I took the job at the Red Mill because I needed the money. We’ve all done it—poxy jobs for poxy pay that kill your self-esteem but keep the nasty letters from the bank manager at bay. Trouble is, most of us do it when we leave school, or to help us get through a degree course, not when we’re knocking thirty, like I was. You don’t need to hear the sob story; all you need to know is my nice, safe marriage and my nice, safe job in retail management bit the dust at roughly the same time, and I found myself living in a rented bedsit with damp in the kitchen and a DIY-fetishist landlord who spoke a dozen words of English and whose idea of fun was drilling holes in the walls at eleven at night. Bar work at least got me out of earshot of Costas and his home improvements. I didn’t know it would bring me into the orbit of Ian.
