It wasn’t that she had a thing for musicians. There was just an element of fantasy and anonymity to it all. At night she was just some smoky-eyed hostess who, some would discover, wore black stockings under her long skirt. She ceased to be Ruby Monroe, who worked in an office for eight hours a day before coming to her night job.
She had no story and neither did they. There was just the now: the intake of breath, the pinch of teeth, the hard and the wet coming together.
Ruby didn’t know Flynn’s story and she didn’t care. He could have been a bus driver or one of the suited men who worked in the glass towers on the waterfront. None of it mattered. All that mattered was that the kitchen staff had cleared out and they were alone.
“That was interesting. I’ve never heard that song done so mournfully before,” she said as she lifted the last chair and placed it seat-down on the table’s surface.
“It doesn’t matter. No matter how it’s played, people always picture Freddie Mercury in fishnets.”
He was seated at the piano, sipping ice water through a straw. He’d been coiffed when he’d performed, but his brown hair was now mussed beyond repair from running his hands through it.
His pretense was waiting for a cab. She knew he hadn’t called one, but she played along anyway.
She returned to the bar. “Cabs are getting scarcer on weekends. A lot of them are getting up early for the airport calls now. It’s safer than driving out into the boonies in the dead of night. You live far out?”
“About a twenty-minute ride.”
She mentally counted to ten before she turned off the satellite radio and extinguished the lights over the bar. “You could come home with me.”
There was no surprise come to life on his face. No sheepish stammering. Nor did Ruby avert her gaze and blush as she came around the bar.
The moment she was in arm’s reach, he grasped her by the waist and dragged her between him and the piano. Chaotic notes yelped all around her as her ass bumped the keys.
He scrunched two fistfuls of her skirt and lifted it, then slid her panties down.
“I like these basement bars,” he murmured. “No one can see in, especially not with the stained glass on the windows.”
Ruby braced both hands on his shoulders, eager to drive, but Flynn planted his legs between hers and pinned her in. It was a simple movement, but a definite shift in power.
Her juices ran along her crack as she raised her eyes to the ceiling, following the topography of the beams above while Flynn assembled her skirt around her waist. He bunched the fabric at the small of her back, where it stayed, and she was completely uncovered from the waist down.
Throughout, music jangled as he brushed the keys.
“What’s your name?”
Her tongue stuck at the roof of her mouth, that single word ready to topple over, but what escaped was a groan when he brushed his thumb around her clit.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Ruby.”
“Ruby.” The way he said it was different, fluid and meaningful and full of promise. I’m going to fuck you, Ruby, it said, and you’re going to be this wet all night.
Flynn slipped his hands beneath her ass and lifted her until she was balanced on her toes. She stretched her arms out, flattening her palms on the polished surface of the piano lid, and rested her feet on the piano bench.
His pink tongue struck out at the corner of his mouth, maddening with intent as he circled his middle finger around her clit. He wet his lips slowly, and Ruby experienced a violent contraction pass through her cunt.
She hung her head back and fought for a breath. “Fuck me with your fingers.”
Two fingers eased into her, deeper and deeper, to the knuckle. With his withdrawal, he twisted his wrist so that Ruby whimpered with the pressure on her G-spot.
She arched her back with the hot current that zipped through her abdomen, then spread her legs farther for him. Pressing the balls of her feet to each end of the piano bench, she began to roll her hips as he rubbed her clit.
The backs of her thighs brushed the keys beneath them, their crescendo mounting as her momentum grew.
Then came a moment of disappointment as he withdrew his fingers, but this vanished as he pressed his face between her legs and thrust his tongue into her, taut and pointed.
A sweat had broken out between her shoulder blades and at her hairline, but the heat was everywhere. His fingers worked the slippery, swollen flesh above her clit while he tongued the underside. It should have been criminal the way he ate her pussy, the way he made her whole body sing inside and out.
She clung to the piano lid with one hand and slid the other over her breasts, tweaking where her nipples strained against the fabric, then skimmed her fingers lower to twine through his thick hair.
With hunger in his eyes, Flynn’s attention was hers. Her gaze flicked from the determined crease on his brow to where his thumb warred with his tongue around her clit.
Beneath the curve of her ass, the instrument sang and so did Ruby.
Just as the muscles of her pussy squeezed around his fingers, he pulled the tender skin back and sucked her.
She came apart. That glorious onslaught of her orgasm filled the bar. Desperation crashed against euphoria. In one breath she felt heavy; in the next there was weightlessness. She closed her legs, trapping his fingers within her slick and throbbing inner walls as the sound of the piano keys ceased, overcome by the rush of blood in her ears.
Ruby remained sated, panting and sprawled before him. His tongue mercifully ceased but his fingers continued to work her.
When the pounding in her head came to an end, she looked down at him with a sleepy grin.
Flynn stood and wiped his own grin with his sleeve before taking her around the waist. His hand was warm at the small of her back, supporting her wobbly frame.
“Come on,” he muttered, his mouth close to hers. “I’m parked around the corner. I’ll drive you home.”
OUT OF CONTROL
Crystal Jordan
Touch yourself.”
She’d already come twice, but that would never satisfy him. He wanted her to climax four or five times before he was through with her. But not tonight. Tonight, she called the shots.
“Touch yourself,” he demanded again. “Play with your clit for me.”
Even tied to the bed, he tried to be in charge of their sexual experience. The man was a total control freak. Just this once, he’d agreed to do whatever she wanted. Including let her tie him up. Having a man like him at her mercy sent a thrill through her. Cupping her palms over her breasts, she twisted her nipples while he watched. Slipping her hand down her torso, she circled a finger around her navel, teasing him for just a moment before she gave him what he wanted. She dipped into her sex, flicking her clit. The look in his eyes was hot enough to burn. She was already slick with cream, primed. Arching into her hand, she shoved her fingers into her pussy, pumping hard and fast.
He licked his lips, staring at her stroking hand. “Come for me.”
Yes. Her inner muscles contracted hard in a swift orgasm. It thrummed through her in an incredible rush, and she moaned loudly.
“Come here.” It was an unmistakable order.
“You don’t have to always be in control.” She grinned and shook her head, but she couldn’t complain about the view. His tanned skin was a gorgeous contrast to the white sheets, and his muscles strained against the silk scarves she’d used to bind his arms and legs to the bed.
Normally, she didn’t mind letting him be in control. He always made it good for her. But tonight she’d wanted something different. She hoped he enjoyed it as much as she intended to.
Silence stretched on for a long moment. His throat worked. “I like being in control.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Every second of every day?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation, no doubt. That was him. She approached the bed, kneeling beside him. “I can change your mind.”
He
snorted. “I doubt that.”
Well, they’d see, wouldn’t they? She reached a hand down until she could encircle his rigid shaft with her fingers. She squeezed just hard enough to make him hiss in a breath. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she lifted her torso to brush her nipple against his lips. “You know what to do.”
Sucking her nipple, he batted the tight crest with his tongue. Sensation bolted through her, a lightning strike from breast to loin that made her pussy clench with need. She was so wet. He bit down on her nipple, and she jerked. Releasing her, he chuckled. Always wanting the power. Well, she was on top tonight. Time to prove it.
Reaching for the bedside table, she pulled out a bottle of lube and a long strand of anal beads that he often used on her. She popped the lube open and drizzled some on the beads.
His gaze turned wary. “Are those for you?”
“No. They’re not.”
His pupils dilated, his skin flushing with lust. “I…I don’t think—”
“Whatever I want tonight, remember?” She set the lube aside, trailing her fingernails up the inside of his thigh. His feet were tied to each corner of the bed, spreading him wide. “Ready?”
“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned, but didn’t protest further. When she pressed the first bead into his anus, he choked on a breath. She worked the whole strand into him, tugging on it to remind him how he’d been filled. He shuddered, twisting against the scarves.
She bent down to flick her tongue over his dick, catching a bead of precome that escaped. “Are you all right?”
The only answer was a sharp nod.
“You hate this, right?” She taunted softly, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock. “Not being in control?”
“I love you,” he rasped, closing his eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his body jerking under her touch.
She laughed, loving every moment of this. The power, the intensity, the sweetness of how nicely they fit together. They understood each other well enough to know just how to get a reaction. She blew a cool stream of breath over his hot cock. “I love you, too.”
Straddling his waist, she pressed her weight down on him, knowing from experience how that would emphasize the way the beads penetrated his ass. He’d done the same thing to her many times. She eased back until his cock probed for entrance within her. He jerked against his bonds, tried to push himself into her, but she lifted away just enough so that she controlled how and when he entered her pussy. With a growl, he subsided against the mattress. She slipped into place over him again and sank down on his dick in one swift motion.
They both cried out, and the feel of him stretching her made her heart pound. Damn, the chemistry between them was amazing, no matter who was in charge. She loved it, loved him for giving her what she desired tonight. Rolling her hips, she lifted and lowered herself on his cock. She picked up speed and force until their skin slapped together each time he filled her.
He moved with her, thrusting as deep as he could go. The sounds he made told her exactly how close he was to orgasm.
“Don’t come,” she gasped. “Not yet.”
He grimaced, but dipped his chin in a nod.
She ground her hips down on him, stimulating her clit and pushing on the beads in his ass. Her sex spasmed, and she could feel the climax building like a tidal wave inside of her. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Please…” His movements beneath her became frantic, and she knew she’d finally broken his vaunted control.
Pistoning herself up and down on his dick, she gave in to the need for her own orgasm. Her sex fisted around his, tingles exploding over her skin. “Now. Come now.”
The sound he made was like a human volcano erupting. His body bowed in a hard arc, and he spurted fluids inside of her. An aftershock of climax went through her, and her pussy clenched again and again. When it finally ended, she shivered, collapsing forward onto him. She could hear the thud of his heartbeat under her ear, and contentment rippled through her.
His chest bellowed as he sucked in air. “Okay, I changed my mind.”
Still floating on the high of orgasm, she barely registered his words. “About what?”
“About being in control every minute of the day. There might be certain times I can give it up.”
A slow grin curled her lips and she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “So…you want to do this again some time, huh?”
Chuckling, he winked at her. “Every now and then, just for variety.”
Setting her hands on the mattress, she pushed herself upright. “Well, my time isn’t over yet. You promised me all night.”
“You’re the boss.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Have your way with me.”
TANTRIC HOME
Dominic Santi
Tantric sex was a cornerstone of my marriage. The bonding Karen and I shared when we were connected—physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually—was beyond anything I’d ever imagined. The ecstasy I felt when I was buried balls deep in her pussy, holding myself motionless, staring into her eyes and sharing her breath while she slowly, rhythmically milked my cock to the brink of orgasm was worth every bit of the sheer terror I sometimes felt when I lowered all my defenses and gave myself to her, knowing she was doing the same. It wasn’t just about sex. It was about trust and love and sharing energies. To us, it defined our marriage.
But tantric sex takes time, a commodity in short supply these days. Stereotypical hipsters, we’d bought our house in Los Angeles just before the bubble burst, and we were choking on school debt. When a friend’s recommendation led to the offer of a corporate directorship in New York, I jumped at the chance. It meant being separated from Karen during the week, but she had to take care of the totally unmarketable house we loved, and the nonprofits she ran—eco-friendly organizations to which we were both committed—didn’t have offices in New York. I had friends who’d commuted bicoastally for years. We figured maybe two years before the economy improved and I could transfer back to L.A. How hard could it be?
Pretty damn hard. The powers that be didn’t care where the hell I lived, so long as I was in my office by nine Monday morning and stayed as late as I was needed Friday night. That meant red-eyes home and late Sunday evening flights back to my lonely studio apartment. I was so fucking tired I could hardly see straight. Karen and I were snapping at each other over every petty annoyance. Sex? Hah! We were lucky to catch a quick fuck Saturday morning before we started all the crap that had to be crammed into too little time. Tantric sex wasn’t even on the horizon.
The fight about who was going to clean the gutters opened our eyes to how much trouble we were in. Karen clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with horrified tears, like she couldn’t believe she’d just screamed, “Are you saying you want a divorce?”
“No,” I said, hauling her into my arms and holding her close. “God, no. I want to be married to you, more than anything else in the world.” We spent every minute until my plane left talking and desperately making love. Karen and I needed to connect again. We had to find a way to get tantric sex back on the menu—now.
I should have known the community organizer half of our team would be better at that than I was. Her nightly Skype calls were bossy in ways I was stunned to admit turned me on. I lay naked on the bed, massaging sandalwood-scented oil into my chest, neck, arms, gut, thighs and genitals. Oh god, my genitals! The internal knob of a prostate massager filled my ass, the one outside pressing hard into my perineum with each involuntary clenching of my pelvic muscles. Slow streams of dick juice leaked down my shaft as I breathed in tandem with my wife, drawing air in deep and letting it resonate out as I obediently matched my strokes to hers, kneading my cock and balls as her fingers slid into her pussy and circled her clit.
“Don’t come,” she murmured. “Concentrate on your breathing. I know your hand feels good, but my pussy will feel better. Squeeze!”
The comma
nd was hard and sharp. I squeezed the base of my cock, keeping my eyes locked on hers as my thighs clenched and my hips raised, shudders rolling through me as my body begged to let what felt like oceans of semen erupt through my cocktube. The pressure on my prostate caused a slow stream of precome to leak down my shaft.
“It will be my pussy muscles squeezing you Friday night.” Her voice shook as her hand pressed hard and motionless against her vulva. “I want you so much. I don’t want to wait to feel your semen pulsing into me.” She smiled and rocked her hand just the tiniest bit. “At the same time, I do.”
I groaned and squeezed the base of my dick again, letting her watch me shake as I once more kept myself from coming.
I didn’t get a helluva lot of work done on Friday, but I put in the time. Thank god no one was next to me on the plane. I kept the reading light off, pretending to be asleep, obediently massaging everything I could hide under the blanket as I inhaled the scent of the massage oil I’d rubbed into my chest and listened to the recording Karen had sent of her breathing, just breathing, the way she did when we were having tantric sex.
She picked me up in a limo. We were kissing before the door was locked.
“Drive!” she ordered. The privacy screen rose, and her coat came off. She was wearing nothing but her wedding rings. I was naked before we were out of the airport loop. Karen tipped me to the side, stuffed a towel under me, and slid a lube-drenched prostate massager up my ass. I gasped, feeling my cock juice rise as she sat me up and the knobs pressed deep.
“Breathe.” She straddled me, her eyes never leaving mine as she guided my throbbing cock into her hot, wet pussy.
“Don’t move.” She tightened around me. I held myself perfectly still, letting the sensations take me as our breathing synched, the scent of her pussy and sandalwood oil and my precome filling my nostrils. She slowly rocked against me, milking me with her pussy.
The Big Book of Orgasms Page 15
