PACKING HEAT

FEMDOM STRAP-ON STORIES

Edited by N.T. Morley

First Date with Strap-On

by Kelly Shaw

“So you like it, then? Anal sex?”

His face reddened as he asked the question over the remnants of dessert.

She looked at him over the rim of her glass, half of his face colored red with the wine, his eyes still blue through the glass.

“What kind of a question is that?” she said playfully, to cover the fact that she didn’t know the answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know whether she liked anal sex—quite opposite. Truth be told, though she rarely told the truth, she preferred it to the “usual” kind, if anything could be called usual in San Francisco. She loved everything about it—that it was dirty, that it was taboo, that it made her a slut and, not least, that men wanted it so bad they would do just about anything for you once you’d let them fuck you in the ass—or, if you played your cards right, to get you to let them fuck you in the ass. She’d heard numerous female acquaintances talk about how men always loved it and women always hated it. She felt some obligation to educate those women, but it was an obligation she never, ever fulfilled. Her preference was a secret she kept between herself… and, well, every man she’d fucked since college, actually.

She rarely came from vaginal intercourse unless there was a vibrator involved. She always came from getting fucked in the ass, no vibrator needed or wanted. She occasionally mused that buried somewhere in her slutty little back door was a prostate no one knew about except her and her lovers. She didn’t seem to have a G-spot, or if she had one it wouldn’t come out to play, so she figured God had accidentally given her a man’s asshole, which was fine with her since he’d kindly remembered to give the rest of her ass a feminine shape.

But the thing she liked best about anal sex was something that meant there was no way—not nohow, not nowhere—that she was going to tell Bill the truth. Not for a little while yet, at least.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching across the destroyed tableau of white chocolate petit fours to take her hand. “Maybe I’m being too forward. I mean, we’ve only been together once.”

Simone took a sip of her wine and smiled.

“It’s not that,” she said. “I just mean, it’s not a real question. Do I like anal sex? Sure. I would love to fuck you in the ass, Bill.”

Bill stiffened, probably in more ways than one. Simone could feel the tension in his hand that came from such a response. She could see his eyes all but spinning, cartoon style, in their sockets. Little cartoon birds might have been cavorting around his head.

Surely she would have told him the truth—that she loved being fucked in the ass, that the one time they’d been together she had been wishing the whole time he would go there, but had been too blessed out on the feel of him inside her to really care where he put it. Surely she would have told him, except that wasn’t the kind of relationship they had.

Simone was a switch, sure, but she’d had a lot more experience as a submissive. It was only recently, upon a recent breakup, that she’d decided she wanted to try focusing on the other side of the mountain. She wasn’t going to blow it all now with this new conquest, who liked to call her “Mistress,” who wanted to be spanked and have his balls tied, who liked to be called nasty things in bed and kiss her high-heeled shoes, who liked to be cuffed and forced to his knees and compelled with the threat of corporal punishment to go down on her until his salivary glands were swollen and red and he had to eat oatmeal for three days. She wasn’t going to just let him flip her over and beg him to plow her back door, because said plowing always put Simone into the most deeply submissive space she ever experienced, turned her into a woman so insanely compliant and accommodating that she would do anything—anything—for the man whose cock she had in her ass.

Bill was a switch, too, that much was clear both from their conversations and from the long night together—well, actually, a night and morning, and most of an afternoon. But he’d answered her online ad headlined “30something professional woman wants to be your dominant bitch,” not the online ad headlined “30something professional woman wants to be your submissive slut.” Given that the dominant bitch had gotten thirty responses, fourteen of whom had turned out to be cross-dressers and eight of whom had been ex-boyfriends, whereas the submissive whore had gotten, at last count, one thousand, four hundred and eighty-seven responses, Simone wasn’t going to flip that easily, even if she wanted to.

“Did I stop the conversation?” smiled Simone, caressing Bill’s hand with hers. “Don’t worry,” she added, “I’m not going to force you. Well, all right, I am going to force you, but only because that turns me on. You’ll have to sign off on it first.”

“A notarized statement?” he said weakly, referencing an earlier conversation about the cops busting in while one of them was tied up.

“Consent to abuse, baby,” Simone purred, an evil look on her face. “This is California. We’ll get away with it.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Bill.

“I don’t think that’s what you meant, was it?”

“About written statements?” said Bill nervously.

Simone cocked her head.

“Nooooo,” she sighed. “About your earlier question. You’re avoiding giving me a straight answer. Bill, that makes me very angry.” She fixed his blue eyes with her brown ones, and licked her lips.

“You’d like me when I’m angry,” she said.

Bill cleared his throat nervously. “I’m game,” he said.

“But you haven’t done it.”

Bill shook his head quickly. She loved the way he got nervous when he admitted how inexperienced he was as a bottom.

“That is so sexy,” she cooed. “I have a little virgin asshole to rape.”

Bill’s muscles tightened all over, probably in his ass, too. He always got so turned on when she used that word—it wasn’t right for men to use it in that context, or at least polite men like Bill didn’t use it outside the bedroom—and certainly not in forty-dollar-a-plate restaurants when discussing what was about to be done to their assholes.

“I love popping cherries,” Simone sighed, as if rubbing it in. “Now I can’t wait to get home. You did give me permission—remember? No changing your mind now.”

It was part of their game, an amusement that had developed over the course of their last dinner together and the time they’d spent in bed. Both of them had the same kink: once permission was given, reluctance was assured. Simone liked it that way. She was already wet.

“I’m having second thoughts,” he said, and Simone could tell from the way he shifted in his seat that his cock was implacably, unyieldingly rigid, probably to the point where he couldn’t stand up if he wanted to do it without social embarrassment.

“Good,” said Simone. “You’re buying dinner.”

She finished off her wine and stood up, letting the waiter help her on with her coat. Technically it was her turn—the way such things usually went—but forcing Bill to break out her credit card gave her an extra little jolt of arousal, especially given that he was about to become her bitch.

Or was she going to be his bitch? She’d never understood the use of that term. But then, for tonight at least, she didn’t need to.

She left Bill there squirming with his hard-on while the waiter delivered the bill. Simone winked at Bill. “Don’t keep me waiting,” she said playfully, and walked toward the door.

The valet was cute, and Simone made a point of flirting with him as she handed him the ticket. If she could have, she would have brought the poor boy home with her to watch; that thought made her press her thighs together and try hard not to drip on the pavement.

Standing on the street smoking one of her rarely-indulged-in cigarettes, Simone felt the dizzy spin of arousal that made her a little bit worried she would pass out or maybe just fall down. Her cunt felt so swollen and tight that it hurt. Her clit throbbed with every thought that went through her mind. Her nipples were as hard as the pencil erasers everyone always mentions in those porn stories she wanked to from the internet, and it wasn’t because of the late-evening chill.

Did she dare tell him that, at least as far as this particular activity went, she was a virgin, too? I mean, sure, a finger or two during a particularly enthusiastic blowjob, the occasional rim job that she always felt guilty about afterwards and worried about parasites for six fucking months—but she’d never given a man a whole fucking dildo. She’d never even worn the fucking thing. She could only hope she hadn’t thrown it away in her last flurry of spring cleaning.

No, she couldn’t tell him. She was the top, she knew everything, right? Her job was to run the fuck like she knew what she was doing. Bill’s job was to bend over and take it.

At least, she hoped that was the way it worked.

When Bill came out, she saw that he still had a lump in his pants, and his face was red with humiliation. That didn’t do anything to make her feel more steady; on the contrary, she thought she might shove him to his knees right there.

The valet pulled up in Simone’s Jetta. “You’re driving,” she said to Bill. His eyebrows went up, but he opened the passenger side door for her. Really, Simone just wasn’t sure she should drive, not because of the three glasses of wine she’d had to Bill’s two, but because she could barely focus her eyes, she was so fucking turned on. It felt deliciously dominant of her to make Bill be her chauffeur, anyway.

He drove slowly, respecting the fact that this was Simone’s car. That annoyed the living shit out of her, because all she wanted to do was fucking get the fuck home and fuck Bill’s fucking brains out. She opened her mouth several times to say exactly that, more or less in those words, but she couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding totally out of control.

And control is what it was all about.

“Where to?” he asked as he pulled onto the main road. Right went to Simone’s place on West 51st, left to Bill’s in Tribeca.

“Right,” she said.

“My bed is bigger,” he said.

“But mine has all the strap-ons,” she said.

Bill swallowed nervously.

“You’re not really going to fuck me, are you?”

Simone sighed, laughed a little, and reached out to caress his face. Then she dropped her hand to his crotch and grabbed it, squeezing his cock as hard as she could.

Just then the light turned green, or Simone probably wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from bending down and sucking Bill’s cock—which would have spoiled everything.

“What do you think?” she asked him, and took her hand away. The car behind them honked.

It was a two-block walk from the parking space that Simone rented to her one-bedroom apartment. She walked with her hand in Bill’s back pocket, the way a particularly possessive metal-listening mullet-head might walk with his girlfriend.

Except that Simone’s cock was bigger than any mullethead’s.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” asked Bill as Simone handed him her house keys. On a “regular” date, it would have meant “Are you sure you want to sleep together? Really, it’s okay if you don’t. I like you as a person. We can just stay up all night and talk about the rainforest and French cinema. After all, it’s only our second date.”

But in this instance, it meant—and both of them knew it—“are you sure you want to shove your cock into my ass?”

To which Simone responded with one hand grabbing Bill’s cock and the other grabbing his ass—not one of his well-toned cheeks, but right in the middle, so her finger pushed firmly against his ass, right there under the klieg-light glare of West 51st Street.

“You’d better fucking believe I do,” she said. “And I’m going to, no matter what you say, so shut the fuck up and get upstairs.”

Bill’s cock gave a spasm as she said that—she suspected more because of the words than because of her hand on his cock.

Simone was a potty mouth—she never ceased to amaze her lovers with the rank filth that could pour from her mouth in moments of passion. Except that usually it was “fuck me in my fucking ass like I’m your fucking whore, Daddy,” rather than “I fucking said get the fucking fuck upstairs you fucking little bitch, so I can fucking fuck your fucking tight virgin fucking ass, bitch,” which is what she said, her body pressed up behind him and her lips against his ear, as Bill fumbled with the keys. In fact, she was rather impressed with herself, rarely being able to squeeze so many of her favorite word into one sentence. Maybe being a top was for her.

She punctuated her verbal filth with another firm grab of Bill’s ass, which helped camouflage the fact that she needed to hold on to him to keep from falling down.

Bill finally found the right key and unlocked the three locks of Simone’s apartment building. He stepped aside to let her enter first, which gave her a thrill—for an inexperienced bottom, he certainly knew how to be deferent. She gripped the railing and tried to make it look casual. She didn’t feel drunk at all, but if she didn’t get Bill into bed soon, she was going to fall down on the threadbare carpet and start twitching. She had never, ever been this turned on, certainly not after a second date.

She stepped aside and let Bill open her apartment door. He stepped aside and let her enter first.

As soon as the door was closed, she grabbed him and shoved him against it, planting her mouth on his. If she hadn’t been wearing three-inch heels, she wouldn’t have even be able to reach him. His cock, however, would have been right at mouth height—if she dropped to her knees. But fuck that, those were her old habits. Tonight, Bill was going to be the one sucking.

“Get your clothes off,” she said, pointing at the tiny bathroom. Bill scampered in there and closed the door behind him.

“And no stalling!” she said as she raced for the bedroom.

In fact, Simone hoped that Bill would stall, because not only did she have to get undressed, but she had no fucking idea how the strap-on worked. She had never worn it herself; it was a remnant of a bi fling she’d had five years ago, one of those things an ex forgets at your place when she or he leaves for the last time, like his Harry Connick, Jr. albums or her ancient, faded I Got A Blowjob On Bourbon Street T-shirt.

Simone stripped off her clothes in record time, kicking off her shoes, stuffing the coat, the blouse, the skirt and the bra into the black of the closet—she’d cleaned for six hours on the off chance that they’d come here instead of going to Bill’s place, and she wasn’t going to start throwing clothes around now.

She muttered one of her potty-words when she realized that she’d put her panties on over her garters. Should I wear my garter belt with a strap-on? she thought. No time to worry about it. She unhitched the garters, stripped off the belt and left the black seamed stockings. Thank God they were stay-ups.

Between digging under her old blankets and looking under the bed, she decided she should put the shoes back on. They gave her kind of a femme-fatale look, and besides, if she found herself standing up the last thing she wanted was to be a whole foot taller than her little ass-bitch, as she’d begun to affectionately think of him.

She finally found the strap-on and its accompanying dildo on the third shelf of her closet, stuffed into a hat box full of dime-store porn. She was pretty sure she’d washed it last time she’d used it, but giving it a quick rinse was out of the question—Bill was still in the bathroom.

Luckily, her little ass-bitch was, in fact, stalling. That gave her the five minutes or so she needed to figure out the leather straps of the harness and get the frustratingly large dildo forced through the too-tight ring. When she looked at herself in the full-length mirror next to her bed, she made a confused face—was it supposed to fucking hang like that?

She heard the door of the bathroom opening and went to hop onto the bed, at the last moment remembering to dim the lights. The soft feel of faux leopard fur caressed her bare ass as she sank into the cheap mattress. She tried hard to affect a casual-looking posture, like she’d been relaxing there for hours waiting for some fine stud, preferably a lawyer, to come by and polish her knob.

She was out of breath, though, and couldn’t have looked casual if her life depended on it. Luckily, Bill didn’t barge in but knocked tentatively at the door. Simone had closed it when she was ransacking her room for the harness.

“Wait,” she said, taking a perverse pleasure at making him relax while she took deep breaths and tried to relax.

“Yes, Mistress,” came Bill’s small voice from the other side of the door.

“All right,” she said when she felt as properly situated as she was likely to get. “Come in, ass-bitch.”

Bill opened the door. All the frenzied searching and strap-buckling of the last few minutes vanished as Simone looked him up and down. He was naked, his cock still hard as a rock, pointing toward the ceiling much more than her dildo would have been if it hadn’t been laying against her belly.

What’s more, Bill’s eyes went wide as he saw the dildo, the size of it plainly troubling to him.

“What?” smiled Simone, her voice suddenly playful. “You beg me to fuck you and now you’re going to complain about how big my cock is? Come now, Bill, if a girl tried to pull that, do you know what her boyfriend would do?”

She didn’t even have to say the world—it was so politically incorrect for him to even think it, for her to imply it, that it gave an immediate boost to his cock. She could see it spasming slightly all the way across the room.

“Come over here,” she said. “And show me what a little bitch like you does to a nice big cock like this.”

Bill closed the bedroom door behind him—a good thing, because the walls here were paper thin and Simone fully intended to make a whole fucking lot of noise. Bill took tentative steps to the bed, his cock rising and falling slightly with the beat of his heart.

“Come on,” Simone said, teasingly cocking her finger. “Come hither, bitch. Show me what you do with a big fat cock.”

Bill clearly did not know what one did with a big fat cock. As he climbed onto the bed, Simone took him in her arms, and he gingerly wrapped his hand around it, like he was handling a dead rat.

“No,” she said patiently. “That’s not what a little fucking slut whore like you wants to do with a big fat fucking cock, is it, bitch?” She smiled sweetly, seeing the effect that the words had on Bill’s eyes. Something hungry pulsed in them, but it was when she took hold of his head and pushed him down to her crotch that she knew she’d found the right button.

Bill took the head of Simone’s cock into his mouth and began sucking it. Simone uttered a long, satisfied moan as she watched his mouth go gliding up and down on it. He could only take a third of it into his mouth, but the sight of him struggling to take more excited Simone enough to make her grab his hands and plant them on her breasts. He obediently pinched and rubbed her nipples as his head bobbed up and down in her lap.

“Deeper,” she said, and felt a wave of excitement building as he struggled with the head pushing against the back of his throat.

“Deeper,” she moaned softly, feeling the shudder of Bill’s body as he gagged. She loved that feeling herself, of being compelled to take cock as deep as it would go in her throat—so deep she gagged, so deep she choked. The last thing she wanted to do was choke Bill, though. But making him cry a little bit was still on the menu.

And as Bill struggled with his gag reflex, she achieved just that. Simone’s clit throbbed against the base of the dildo when she saw Bill’s eyes grow moist with gag-induced tears. She breathed hard and pushed his hands more firmly against her tits, encouraging him to pinch harder. But when the first tear leaked out of his mouth and ran down his cheek, dribbling warm and succulent onto Simone’s belly, she couldn’t wait any more.

She grabbed Bill’s hair and pulled him off her cock. Smiling, she kissed him.

“Ready to become my little whore?” she purred.

“No,” said Bill nervously, but the flash in his eyes told Simone everything she needed to know—that, and the fact that he had not yet said “rutabaga,” or even “marching band.”

She grabbed his arm and threw him bodily onto the bed, face down—something that would have been damn well impossible if Bill hadn’t been under her spell.

Simone knelt behind Bill on the full-size bed, running her hands up the backs of his thighs. “Lift your ass,” she growled. “Up on your knees, bitch. Face on the pillow.”

She realized after she said them that she had heard those exact same words, spoken by more than one lover with her in Bill’s position. What the hell? They worked.

Parting Bill’s cheeks with her thumbs, she saw the tight pink hole she was about to ravage. The sight of it made her hungry.

“Get me the lube,” she told him. “It’s in the nightstand.”

The “nightstand” was actually a plastic office caddy, but Bill got the idea. He found the tube of thick lubricant, his hands shaking as he nervously handed it down to Simone.

A thick dollop of lube made him gasp with the coldness as she caressed his asshole with her thumb. She stroked him in small circles as she felt him relaxing, the tension going out of his ass as he gave himself up to what was to happen.

She slipped first one finger—her middle—then two—middle and index—into Bill’s ass. He grunted and pushed back against her. She added more lube and fucked him some more. Bill shivered and ground his hips against the bed. “Up!” she snapped. “Up on your knees. Face in the pillow. Hands at your sides.”

Bill obeyed; Simone adored this position. It made one look so small and vulnerable. Of course, it was usually her in this position, but that only turned her on more. She growled “Higher!” and Bill obediently raised his ass as far as he could while Simone’s lubed fingers slid deeper into his ass, taking their time, opening him up. She added a third finger, with just a tad more lube, and Bill began to gasp obscenities.

She spanked him again, never taking her other hand out of his ass. “I’ll tell you when to curse, bitch!” she barked. “I’ll tell you when to fucking curse, and right now all you do is fucking moan and fucking whimper, you got that?”

Bill nodded, complying with both instructions as he wriggled and pushed against Simone’s hand, his hips working rhythmically. She got all three fingers in deeper, adding lube. The feel of his ass, tight and virgin around her fingers, had her so wet she could feel the moisture dripping down her thighs.

As she fingered his ass, Simone reached between his legs and felt his cock. Still hard—if anything, harder than ever. He moaned as she stroked his cock.

“You like that, bitch?” she purred. “You like having your fucking ass plowed while I fuckin’ jerk your cock, bitch?”

“No,” he moaned softly. “Please… please don’t.”

She spanked him on the ass, hard.

“I’ll tell you when to beg!” she snapped. “Just for that you’re not getting any more lube! You’re going to take my cock dry!”

“Yes, Mistress,” whimpered Bill pathetically.

Of course, Simone had already added a healthy dollop to the head of her cock, smearing it around so the implement glistened in the dimmed lights. But the threat was worth it; Bill squirmed and whimpered with arousal as Simone gripped his cock harder.

She withdrew her three fingers from his asshole and wiped them on his back. Her cunt pulsing with arousal, Simone nestled up behind Bill and snapped at him to spread his legs wider. He did, straining to lift his ass as high as he could

“Now, this is going to hurt you more than it does me,” she said breathlessly, fitting the thick head of her cock into the notch of Bill’s ass.

But in fact, when she pushed it in, it didn’t seem to hurt—which was the whole point. She could tell—the moans he gave were not the real-pain moans when she’d tweaked his nipples or spanked him hard last weekend, but the faked-pain moans when she’d suckled on his nipples or spanked him softly.

That only made her shove her cock into his asshole harder, burying the thick member deep inside Bill.

“Oh, fuck,” gasped Bill, his back straightening as he was forcibly filled up.

Simone slapped his ass hard. “What did I tell you?” she snarled. “Did I tell you to curse?”

Bill shook his head emphatically, and went back to moaning and whimpering—exactly what she’d told him to do.

But he also pushed himself back onto her cock, his cheeks spreading around the thick shaft as he ground against her.

Simone began fucking him. It was a difficult matter at first, requiring her to get on one knee and one foot, driving into him at a cockeyed angle. But she got the hang of it within a dozen thrusts. Bill groaned as she started fucking him harder.

She reached under him and found his cock hard. “You want to touch it? You want to fucking jerk off while I fuck you? Answer me, bitch! I asked you a direct question!”

“Yes, Mistress,” he grunted. “Please let me jerk off.”

“No!” she shrieked. “Not until I’m good and ready!” She was so turned on that she had to hold his hips to steady herself. That gave her the perfect handhold to slam him back onto her cock, making him groan each time the thick head reached its deepest point inside him.

Simone’s head spun. God, she wanted her little ass-bitch to come. She wanted to let him jerk off while she fucked him, but she should really come first, shouldn’t she? After all, she was in charge… wasn’t she?

“What are you?” she snapped, finally deciding she couldn’t wait another minute to see Bill twisting and writhing in orgasm.

“What?” he moaned softly.

She spanked his ass rapidly as she fucked him, matching the rhythm of her cock going into him with hard blows to his ass. “I—said—what—the fuck—are—you?”

She wasn’t going to just hand it to him—not now, not when he was so ready to come.

“I— I—”

“Say it! Tell me what you are!”

She almost uttered the words: “Are you my little ass bitch?” But she managed to stop herself at the last moment, because Bill blurted it out.

“I’m your little fucking ass bitch,” he groaned.

Simone liked the idea of saying it so much that she couldn’t stop herself. She growled: “Say it with me.”

“Mistress, I,” she began.

“Mistress, I,” Bill matched her.

“I am,” she said, louder.

“I am your—” he began.

“I am your little fucking—”

They both said the whole sentence together. “I am your little fucking ass bitch,” and Simone leaned as far forward as she could, grabbing Bill’s wrist and shoving his hand down between his legs.

Then she started to fuck him again, harder than ever, as she said “Show me how much it fucking turns you on to be my little ass bitch!”

“Yes, Mistress,” he groaned, wrapping his hand around his cock. Simone’s head spun as she felt his body bucking against her—it was ten seconds, maybe, no more, before he lifted his head, threw it back, spasmed all over like nothing Simone had ever seen.

He shot his load all over Simone’s faux leopard bedspread. She plowed him as deep as her cock would go, shoving the toy to its deepest point inside him while Bill’s orgasm tore through him.

She had never experienced it before—the way his asshole tightened and jerked around her cock as he came, sending unbelievable sensations into her body. God, she fucking had to come.

She managed to wait until he finished coming before she drew her cock out of him—slowly, forcing herself to go slowly, with overwhelming, intense difficulty—and shoved him forward with a firm hand on his lube-smeared ass.

The harness came off easier than it had gone on. Maybe it was because she just got one leg undone and then yanked the thing down her leg, throwing it vaguely toward the closet as she crawled up the bed and spread her legs.

“Fucking do me, you little fucking bitch,” she said. She thought Bill would be dull and listless after his orgasm, but his face went right between her spread legs—right where it belonged—with a swiftness that excited her. His tongue worked its way between her lips, molding to her clit. He began to service her as she twisted her fingers in his hair—it was a little too short to properly pull, but she had to do something with her hands.

Bill did something with his hands, too, without being told—he reached up to Simone’s breasts and firmly pinched her nipples, the way she liked.

“Fuck yeah, eat me out, you fucking ass bitch,” Simone was about to say, but it just blurred together into one long weird expletive that, had an outsider heard it, would have seemed like a mix of Russian, Turkish and caveman-speak. Her ass came up off the bed and Bill’s mouth rode her cunt flawlessly, his tongue working her clit as she cursed and thrashed in orgasm. Her thighs worked back and forth violently, so much so that halfway through, she was afraid she had boxed his ears.

But when she finally finished and relaxed into the bed, Bill heard her perfectly when she moaned: “get up here.”

She might have been afraid that the way she put her arms around his big chest, the way she snuggled into his flesh and drew a deep breath to smell him, the way she curled into a ball in his arms—it was all so fucking submissive. In that white-hot instant of her orgasm, she had gone from a 30something professional woman who wanted to be his dominant bitch to… well, to whatever. She didn’t care, about that or about the leopard-print bedspread that Bill had soiled with his come and now with his lube-smeared ass. She didn’t care about much, except the smell of his body and the feel of it against her.

Bill held her as she shuddered all over, her cunt still spasming from her orgasm.

“I’m your little ass bitch,” he said softly, with a weird kind of smile in his voice.

She didn’t even look up to see if Bill was smiling for real.

“Yeah,” Simone breathed. “You’re telling me.”

Old Friends

by Dexter Cunningham

“Are you excited to finally meet Gina?” asked Brooke.

“Yeah,” I said, not sounding very convincing.

“I’m sure you two will hit it off,” said my wife, beaming broadly. There was the faintest hint of mischief in her look, and I wondered what was going on in her head. Then Gina walked off the plane, and my eyes went wide.

Of course, I’d seen pictures of my wife’s best friend from college. Early in our relationship, Brooke had subjected me to every last snapshot, leading me through her big books of photos in that way new girlfriends sometimes do. I’d seen pictures of Brooke and Gina frolicking on the beach, bikini-clad; grinning together at Disneyland, wearing mouse ears; and drinking fruit drinks together at frat parties. Through it all, I’d acknowledged in my own mind that Gina was attractive. But of course I’d been much too politic to say that to my new girlfriend, who had later become my wife.

Now, however, I couldn’t disguise the shock and admiration that flooded me. It was all I could do to keep my tongue in my mouth.

Gina was gorgeous. Some girls blossom after college, I guess. Her fine, Italian features were framed by a magnificent mane of jet-black hair and punctuated with small horn-rimmed glasses that gave her the bookish look I find so sexy. With her, though, she was more female executive than librarian. That fit with what I knew about Gina: She was an advertising analyst with an MBA, successful at her job and dedicated enough that even at twenty-eight she remained single.

But what floored me wasn’t just her beautiful face, full kissable lips or the rich glow of her olive-tan skin. It was the way her body looked under that tight, flattering business suit, all executive chic. Gina was built, the curves of her large breasts and full hips looking so much a contrast to Brooke’s wispy, slender form and angular bone structure. Both were incredibly sexy, but I guess I was so surprised to see Gina looking like such a sexpot that I couldn’t hide my sudden, unexpected attraction.

“See?” said Brooke with a wicked smile. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

“Bubby!” shrieked Gina like a schoolgirl, using Brooke’s college nickname. The two girls squealed as they rushed together, hugging excitedly. I couldn’t help but notice the familiar way my wife let her hands rest on Gina’s hip, nor the fact that they kissed on the lips—more than once.

“You must be Bob,” said Gina, extending her hand.

“Gina,” I said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Just the good stuff, I hope,” said Gina.

Brooke hugged her close and kissed Gina on the side of the face. “With Gina,” she cooed, “there’s only good stuff to tell.”

“Stop!” giggled Gina, and I reached for her bags.

#

For the next three days, I was all but forgotten as Gina and Brooke shared recollections of their wild and crazy college days. They stayed up late drinking wine and giggling, and I found myself sleeping alone. Brooke had taken the week off work, and while I was gone during the day the two of them cruised the city, which Gina had never visited before. Brooke showed Gina all of our favorite haunts, and by mid-week I was feeling vaguely neglected.

Worse, though, Gina had proven to be pretty casual about making the house her own. She was sleeping on the couch, which created a few embarrassing moments. As I left for work early one morning I saw that the blanket on the couch had come down below Gina’s magnificent D-cup breasts, so different than Brooke’s firm B-cups. I could see the outline of them clearly under the damp cotton, her nipples firm and evident underneath. Her breasts moved up and down as she breathed softly in her sleep. I stopped dead in my tracks and stood there, staring, my cock stirring in my pants.

After a minute of that, Gina opened her eyes. “Hi,” she said, her voice sexy and flirtatious. She didn’t move to cover her breasts.

I looked away nervously and said “Good morning” rather crisply. Then I hurried out the apartment door. As I stole a glance back at Gina, I saw that she was watching me, a smile on those full, lush Italian lips.

#

But nothing prepared me for what happened when I came home early from work that Friday. As I walked in the front door of our apartment, leafing through a stack of bills from the mailbox, I stopped and listened.

There was moaning coming from the bedroom. I recognized Brooke’s moans right away—after all, I’d made her utter them often enough. And it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the second set of whimpers, moans and grunts belonged to Gina.

I dropped the bills on the floor and walked softly to the door of the bedroom, which they’d left open.

There, sprawled on the bed, were my wife and her old friend, stark naked and locked passionately in a sixty-nine.

Gina was on top, her lower body pointed toward me, her gorgeous ass looking inviting and delicious. Her legs were spread wide around my wife’s face, and Brooke was eagerly eating her old friend’s pussy while Gina humped eagerly up and down. Brooke’s legs, too, were spread wide around Gina’s face, and the old friend seemed to be giving as good as she got. Their hands roved all over each other’s naked bodies, caressing as they ate each other out.

The room reeked of sex, telling me that they’d probably been at this all day. Their clothes lay scattered across the floor, as if they’d doffed them urgently, unable to wait to get each other into bed. Our bed. My wife was making love with a woman in that bed, right in front of my eyes.

I felt my cock begin to stir, growing quickly hard until it throbbed painfully as I watched. My cock swelled as quickly as my anger.

I don’t know if I shifted or moved my feet, or if Brooke just sensed I was there. But she turned her head and looked back at me, her eyes wide in shock.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “Bob…”

I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut. I turned to leave the apartment.

Brooke caught up with me on the landing outside, still stark naked. She grabbed me and said “I’m so sorry,” embracing me.

“You’re standing here naked like a whore,” I growled, my anger rising as I saw my wife’s body glistening with the sweat Gina had coaxed out of her. “Like a fucking whore.”

“I… I’m sorry,” said Brooke, reddening deeper. “She… she came onto me. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

I felt my anger flaring, exploding into flames. “You bring a fucking slut into our house and then act surprised when she tumbles you into bed. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Brooke.”

“There’s no need to be a bastard about it,” snapped Gina. She looked around, realizing that the neighbors could probably see her, standing there, naked. “When you’re ready to talk about this, come back in the house.”

She went back into the apartment. I chased after her and grabbed her shoulders from behind, pushing her onto the couch. She stumbled and fell, shrieking.

“Bob, you’re being such a prick about this. It’s really not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal, is it?”

I could see Brooke’s anger rising to match mine. “Gina and I used to fool around in college,” she said defensively. “When she came on to me, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem if I did it for old times.”

I turned toward the bedroom door, seeing Gina standing there in the door, her hands up on the jamb, her face twisted in a cruel smile. She was stark naked, and her gorgeous body made my cock stir in my pants. I let my eyes rove over her gorgeous body, admiring her full breasts with their firm nipples, now so erect from the passion of lovemaking. Her pussy was shaved smooth, her lips showing full and sex-swollen between her legs. There was a tattoo of a rose where her pubic hair had been shaved. Her face glistened with the juices of my wife’s cunt.

I could smell sex, rich and ripe, the scent suffusing the apartment.

“It’s true, Bob. I came onto her. I’m just a whore.”

“You shut up,” I said, pointing my finger at her. “If it’s not a big deal, Brooke, then I’m going to fuck Gina, too.”

Brooke’s eyes went wide. “Wait—wait, don’t be hasty, Bob, I—”

“I’m not being hasty,” I said, turning to Gina. “What do you say, Gina? You want to save your best friend’s marriage and spread those legs of yours?”

Gina smiled. “In an instant,” she said. “Brooke tells me you’ve got a nice big cock.”

“Come find out,” I said, unbuckling my belt.

“Wait, wait,” said Brooke. “Gina, don’t do this.”

Gina started came toward me. When she put her arms around me, her naked body smelled moist and ripe with sweat. Brooke sat on the couch, stunned, staring at us as Gina pressed her lips to mine and started kissing me, wrapping her fingers around the bulge in my pants.

She turned to the horrified Brooke. It wasn’t until later that I realized that if I’d been watching closely, I would have recognized the look that passed between them—and probably seen Gina wink.

But at that moment, all I saw was Gina’s naked body, her tits pressed to me, her hand curving around my cock.

“Don’t worry, Brooke,” said Gina. “I have to do it. To save your marriage.”

Brooke’s expression changed, going from horror to anger to pleasure. She smiled.

“All right, Bob,” she said. “Go ahead and fuck Gina. I’ll watch.”

Gina massaged and kneaded the bulge in my pants, then unbuttoned my pants and worked my zipper down over my hard cock.

Brooke tucked her feet under her, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and watching us.

Gina dropped to her knees, pulling my cock out. The scent of the two women’s naked bodies filled my nostrils. I was going to fuck Gina good, so good she screamed. I was going to punish Brooke by making her watch me do Gina. It was a hateful thing to do, I knew, but my jealousy was driving me.

Brooke got off the couch, put her arms around me and kissed me fully on the lips. When her tongue slipped into my mouth, I could taste Gina’s pussy, rich and tangy on my wife’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” said Brooke when our lips separated. “I tried to be good. I was kind of hoping you’d make a move on her so I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it. Please tell me you’re not mad.”

“I am,” I said.

At that moment Gina’s lips closed around the head of my cock and began to slide up and down on my erect shaft. I gasped and moaned softly as Brooke took my hand in hers and placed it on top of Gina’s bobbing head. The two women guided me to the couch and sat me down; as Gina repositioned herself between my legs, I reached down and took hold of those magnificent tits I’d been spending the whole week fantasizing about touching. Brooke put her hand on mine and guided one of my thumbs to Gina’s nipple. As I pinched gently her breathtaking face twisted in an expression of ecstasy, her nipples already sensitized from her long lovemaking session with my wife.

Brooke began to kiss me hungrily, our tongues mingling as she reached down to wrap her fingers around the base of my cock as Gina sucked the head. Brooke unbuttoned my shirt and began to suckle my nipples; I laid back on the couch.

“I’m still mad,” I said. “Make it up to me.”

“Oh, we will,” said my wife, mischievously, sliding down my body and joining Gina between my legs.

Both of them started hungrily sucking on my cock; Gina licked her way to the top of my cockhead, swirling her tongue around the glans while Brooke took my balls into her mouth and lavished affection on them with her tongue. Gina’s skilled fingers moved their way up to my nipples and played with them as she sucked me. Ever since I’d seen Gina at the airport, I’d longed to see her magnificent, full lips wrapped around my hard shaft. Her big, beautiful eyes looked up at me as she sucked my cock, telling me with their sparkle that she was enjoying this even more than I was.

Brooke came up for air from between my legs, leaving my balls sticky with her spittle as she massaged them with her hand. “Come to bed with us, Bob,” she cooed. “We’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Gina took one hand and Brooke took the other, and the two of them led me into our bedroom.

There’s nothing like old friends, I decided, for keeping a marriage interesting.

#

Gina and Brooke kissed and fondled me as they slipped off my clothes. They pushed me naked onto the bed, which was still damp with their lovemaking. Gina got between my legs and started running her full lips up and down my cock again while Brooke settled down onto my face. I hungrily started eating my wife’s cunt while she leaned forward so she could enjoy my cock alongside her best friend. Gina and Brooke traded off pleasuring my cock and sucking my balls while Brooke’s moans mounted in volume with each stroke of my tongue on her pussy. She was gushing with arousal; I lapped up her juices as the two of them worked my cock. Soon Brooke’s hips were grinding in time with my thrusts, and I knew she was going to come soon.

“Roll over,” sighed Brooke, lifting herself off my face.

“Why?” I asked.

Brooke looked down at me and giggled. “Just do it,” she said. Gina’s mouth came off my cock and pushed my legs over. I let them roll me onto my stomach, and Brooke straddled my back. I felt her seizing my wrists and pushing them into the black fabric straps I’d installed for when Brooke was in the mood for something kinky. I’d used them on her many times, strapping her spread-eagled to the bed before fucking her silly—but she’d never used them on me.

Gina was giving my ankles the same treatment, and before I knew it I was fastened, spread, to the bed. Face down.

“Hey,” I said weakly. “You can’t get at the good stuff if you tie me this way!”

Gina disappeared as Brooke slid down my body and began to kiss and nuzzle my neck, her legs spread around my ass.

“Oh, yes we can,” she said, seizing my hair.

I could feel my cock throbbing against the sex-damp sheets, and it had just begun to dawn on me that I shouldn’t have let these two women tie me up. “Hey,” I growled. “I liked what we were doing before. Let me up.”

Gina was beside the bed, handing my wife a ball gag. I opened my mouth to protest, and Brooke used that moment to stuff the ball gag into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but she got the strap around the back of my head and pulled the buckle tight.

As I struggled against the bonds, I realized for the first time that Gina had gotten more than just the ball gag. I looked at her in horror as I saw that she’d taken her moment away to get something else from her suitcase.

Gina was wearing a harness, into which was fitted a huge black dildo.

I tried to scream a protest, but the ball gag prevented it. I’d done a good job of installing the straps; I was bound and helpless. I heard the big, heavy bed frame creaking as I pulled against it in protest. I watched as Brooke leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of Gina’s strapped-on cock. Her mouth glided up and down the shaft, eagerly, the way she’d sucked my cock just a moment ago—the way she’d sucked my cock so many nights in the past.

Her lips came away from Gina’s cock and strings of spit glistened from her mouth to the head.

“I bought this especially so Gina could fuck me with it,” said Brooke. “But now I see she’s got another task ahead of her. I’m never going to have the marriage I want unless we teach you a lesson, Bob. Don’t you agree?”

I screamed a desperate protest behind the gag, but it only came out as a pathetic, muffled groan. Gina looked down at me and smiled, pretty as a peach, her beautiful lips still glistening from my cock and my wife’s pussy. Then Brooke seized my hair and roughly pulled back my head. Gina slapped my face, hard, shocking me.

“Oooh,” I said. “I like that.” Her hand went to her cock and stroked it firmly. “It makes my dick hard.”

Gina slapped me again, and I felt the shame and humiliation wash over me. If they’d just take the gag out, I’d apologize for getting so angry—I’d beg Brooke to forgive me. Of course she could fool around with her old friend—I knew it didn’t mean anything. I knew it was just for fun.

But they didn’t take the gag out, and Brooke made it quite clear she had no intention of forgiving me.

Her hand tangled in my hair, she kept my head forced up, my face turned to Gina. Gina slapped me again, harder this time. And again. And again, harder, with the back of her hand, hitting me so hard my head spun. I felt sobs surging up in the back of my throat; Gina hit me again and again and again until I couldn’t hold them down. My eyes filled with tears and sobs wracked my naked body.

“The little bitch starts to cry,” Gina said mockingly. “He wasn’t crying a minute ago when he told me I had to fuck him. Still want me to fuck you, Bob? Still want to make your wife’s girlfriend put out for you?”

I couldn’t answer; my eyes were blinded with tears and my whole body shook from the sobs that assaulted me. Brooke held my hair while Gina slapped me again, again, again, a dozen more times, harder each time as she wrenched my sobs out of me. I cried even harder when she pinched my cheeks between her thumb and forefinger and Brooke yanked my head back again. Gina hovered over me, pursed her lips, and let a great string of spit slip out from between them. The spit hit me, warm and wet, right on my cheek. Then she hawked, pursed her lips again, and spat, harder this time, a thick glob striking the bridge of my nose and oozing down.

Brooke held me while Gina administered another round of slaps, hitting my face harder each time. I could feel my face, red and already bruising, each sting of pain sending waves of shame through me.

Then Gina paused, bent over, and spat on my face again. I heard Brooke hawking, too, bending over me. I shut my eyes tight and felt a glob of my wife’s spit strike my face. Then another, and another. Soon my face was covered with their spit, and I was sobbing harder than ever.

“Oh, maybe he thinks if he cries enough, I’ll go back to sucking his dick. Do you think I should go back to sucking his dick again, Brooke?”

Brooke laughed, pulling my head back even more roughly. She hawked and spat one more time, a big glob covering my face. I sobbed hysterically, my crying reduced to pathetic whimpers by the big gag in my mouth.

“I think he’s the one who needs to suck dick,” she said. “You shouldn’t ever suck him again. I say we turn him into a cocksucker.”

“Agreed,” said Gina. “He obviously needs it.”

With that, Brooke pulled the buckle of my ball gag and yanked it out of my mouth. I opened my mouth to scream, but before I could, the gag was replaced by Gina’s cock. She shoved it into me so hard I couldn’t help but swallow it; when the head spread open the tight entrance to my throat, I gagged, my stomach seizing. Brooke held my head tight so I couldn’t move. Gina forced her cock into my throat, not even caring that I was gagging and choking around it, my throat spasming around her shaft as she fucked my face.

“Not much of a deep-throater, is he?”

“He’ll learn,” said Brooke.

Gina mounted the bed, leaning against the headboard and spreading her legs so she could hunker down and pump her hips, properly fucking my throat open wide. Once I was in position, Brooke let go of my hair and Gina seized it, keeping my head in the right position, throat stretched out and straightened, for her to rape it. Brooke climbed off of me and I heard a drawer opening; somehow, I knew what was coming. I heard the snap of a latex glove, the gurgling sound of lube being poured on it—the lube I used when I managed to talk Brooke into letting me fuck her in the ass.

“He’s always been real big on anal sex,” growled Brooke as she roughly pried open my cheeks, exposing my sensitive asshole. “I let him put it in me there, now and then, just to shut him up.”

“Let’s show him what it’s like,” said Gina, fucking my face more roughly than ever. She pinched my nose so I couldn’t breathe, and I felt my lungs burning and my head pounding as she controlled my breath, only letting me gasp for air in the moments when her cock slid out of my throat.

Brooke slicked up her hand and I felt her fingers forcing their way into my ass. I squealed deep in my throat behind Gina’s cock, but my wife wasn’t interested in my protests.

“Look, the little piggy’s still hard,” she said, her free hand caressing my balls and stroking my shaft. “He’s always wanted me to make him my bitch. Isn’t that right, Bob?”

“Of course he did,” Gina answered for me. “Why do you think he’s such an asshole all the time? He knew if he was enough of a dick you’d finally snap. If he pushed hard enough you’d eventually flip him. He’s been waiting for it all these years, baby.”

“Oh, yeah, darling,” sighed Brooke, stroking my cock. “This is what you’ve always needed, isn’t it? To be ass-fucked and raped in your throat?”

There was no answer possible—and Brooke didn’t care.

She was pumping her fingers deep into my ass, moving them in circles so my ass stretched wider with each stroke. “That’s two fingers,” she said. “Now let’s try three. Think you can take it, Bob?”

Gina was still pinching my nose, still fucking my throat; there was no chance of my giving an answer. All I could do was lay there as my wife forced three fingers into my tight ass, stretching me painfully. She added more lube and chuckled.

“I think this little pig is going to take more. He’s lucky I’ve got small hands. Here’s four, darling. Open wide!”

With that, Brooke roughly shoved all four of her fingers into my ass. I felt my sphincter stretching, my ass opened wide by her hand. I struggled against the bonds, but with all four limbs tied and Gina deep in my throat, there was little I could do. I felt more lube poured between my cheeks, and my ass stretched more as my wife began to fuck my ass roughly with her hand.

“Think I can get my fist in here?” asked Brooke playfully. “I don’t know, he’s pretty tight-assed…”

“Oh, you can get it in there,” laughed Gina. “If you shove hard enough.”

I uttered a helpless groan of protest as I felt my ass stretching still more. Brooke forced her thumb into me, pointing her fingers just so, pumping in and out as she added still more lube, twisting her hand in rapidly widening circular motions as she forced my ass open.

“Get ready, darling,” she cooed. “You’re about to become my fucking bitch. They say a man’s never the same after he’s been fucked in the ass. I bet it’s even more true once he takes a fist in there.”

I squealed, and Gina pinched my nose harder, ramming her cock deep into my throat to shut me up. Brooke shoved, and I felt my asshole stretching, protesting—and then giving way. Her hand sank into me and my whole body shuddered as I took her fist. I heard Brooke giggling, and Gina leaned over me so she could high-five Brooke’s free hand. I felt lube splattering over my ass. Brooke pushed deeper into me, her fist filling me, sliding in almost to the elbow.

“Sweet Jesus,” said Brooke, stroking my cock. “He’s still hard.”

“Think he deserves a hand-job?” asked Gina.

“Absolutely not. Untie his hands.”

Gina’s cock was still deep in my throat as she leaned over and pulled the buckles open. My hands hung limp, arms stretched out to the side. I didn’t move, afraid Brooke’s hand in my ass would hurt me if I tried.

And afraid the pleasure flowing through me would stop.

I’d never been fucked in the ass before. I’d certainly never been fisted. And I’d never dreamed it could make my cock so fucking hard.

I felt Brooke’s hand against the head of my cock. She used her fingers to guide the tight stretch of a condom down my shaft.

“Beat off, darling,” she said. “Beat off with my fist in your ass.”

I didn’t move, just laid there, not believing what was happening as Gina slowly eased her cock out until the head rested between my lips. I couldn’t move. I was frozen. It was one thing to be raped by my wife, forced to take her fist in my ass. It was the worst thing I could ever have dreamed of. But for her to know how much I was loving it, to know that I could stroke myself to orgasm while I was being so brutally violated—that was even worse than I could have imagined.

“Come on, Bob,” Gina cooed. “I know how much you love to stroke off. You think I don’t know that you’ve been jerking off all week thinking about my tits? Come on. Stroke it.”

“Don’t play hard to get,” said Brooke. “I know how much you love to jerk off. You think I don’t know when you’re doing it in the bathroom? When you sneak off to the garage and look at your Hustlers? Come on, Bob. Give up. Don’t bother to play hard to get. I know you want to come. Do it.”

My hand traveled slowly down my body, wrapped around my latex-sheathed cock. I moaned as I began to stroke it, and Brooke and Gina both laughed. Then they started fucking me, harder than before, more brutally than ever. Gina’s hips forced her cock down my throat again, making me gag and choke just as Brooke began to pound my ass, violently fucking her hand in and out within my asshole.

It lasted a few second, that’s all. Then I heard myself grunting rhythmically, my groans rendered staccato by the thick cock violating my throat. My cock pulsed and my entire naked body exploded with pleasure as I succumbed to the most intense orgasm of my life. My asshole clenched tight around my wife’s fist as I came and came and came, filling the condom with what felt like gallons of come.

“That’s a good boy,” said Brooke, easing her hand back. She gently worked her hand around until she could slide it out of my ass. I heard the snap of her glove, and Brooke tossed the discarded latex across the room.

Gina pulled her cock out of my throat, and I gasped desperately for air, sobs attacking me again. Gina seized my hair and slapped my face again, harder—three times, four, half a dozen.

“It’s no good crying, bitch,” said Gina. “We know you loved it.”

Gina came around the side of the bed as Brooke reached under me and gingerly unrolled the condom. I thought my ordeal was over, but when Brooke climbed onto the bed in front of me, leaning against the headboard, I realized that it had just begun. Gina knelt behind me and guided the thick head of her cock to my fucked-open asshole. She drove into me so quickly that even my spread hole seized and clamped around it. But there was no resisting—Gina began to violently fuck my ass just as my wife spread her legs around my face.

My arms still hung limp, untied, at my sides. My legs, however, were bound to the bed, forcing me open wide. There was nothing I could do to respond to Gina’s violent, hateful invasion of my asshole.

Nothing, that is, except lift my hips and raise myself up to my knees, pushing myself onto her cock.

“Look, he’s learned his lesson well,” said Gina. “He’s a little ass-bitch now. You can give it to him every night, and he’ll fucking beg for it.”

“It always happens,” sighed Brooke as she grabbed my hair and forced my head back. “Once you ream them out, they’re good little sluts for the rest of their lives. Now eat, darling.”

I hadn’t realized that she still had the condom—I’d thought she just didn’t want me to make a mess when I came. But she had other things in mind, I realized as she forced the rubber ring of the condom’s end between my lips and behind my teeth. She let go of my hair, roughly forced my mouth closed and, deftly using one hand, rolled the condom like a tube of toothpaste. I tasted my own come, felt it oozing into me, lukewarm goo from a rubber tube. I choked at first, not expecting the strong taste. But Brooke wouldn’t let me open my mouth until after she’d poured my own come into my mouth.

“Swallow, dear,” she said.

I swallowed, the unexpectedly strong taste overwhelming me and making even my cock-opened throat close tight. I managed to gulp it down with some difficulty, but as I finished, Gina slapped my ass hard, making me surge against her as she grabbed my hips and shoved me back onto her cock.

“He’s fucking me,” she laughed. “Come on, bitch, fuck yourself onto my cock.”

She had my hips firmly between her hands, pulling me back to meet each thrust. I could have struggled; I could have resisted. But I didn’t; I let Gina’s firm hands guide me up and down on her shaft.

As I felt my cock stirring, getting hard again.

“Ready for another go?” said Gina. “I think he’s more virile than you let on.” With that, she slapped my balls, and I gasped as my wife grabbed my hair. “I thought you said he didn’t fuck you so good,” said Gina.

“His cock’s all right,” she said. “But men are so obsessed with their pricks. It’s their tongues that they should learn to use better.”

Brooke shoved my face into her pussy, and growled: “Show me how much you love me, bitch.”

I began to tongue her cunt as Gina fucked my ass harder. She spanked my balls with every few thrusts, but even the seizing pain that rocketed through me with every rough blow on my nuts didn’t stop my cock from pulsing to full erection. My tongue worked up and down as I suckled on my wife’s clit, and she twisted her hand up tighter in my hair as she forced my face more roughly against her cunt. Her hips worked in time with my rhythm, and she began to moan as she neared her orgasm.

“I’m sorry,” gasped Gina suddenly. “I’ve got to fucking come.”

She got my ankles unstrapped in a moment, pushing me onto my side and twisting my lower body so she could get at my cock as I continue to eat Brooke’s pussy. Gina wedged her thigh under my hip and straddled me, guiding my cock to her entrance. She slid onto my cock, her pussy wet and open as she leaned back, hanging partway off the bed. Her hand pressed tight against her clit and she rubbed fervently as my hips began to grind.

Brooke came loudly, moaning as she gripped my hair. I kept licking faster, just barely managing to coordinate my thrusts into Gina’s pussy with my tongue against my wife’s clit. When Brooke shuddered all over and finished coming, she slipped out from under me and pushed me hard onto Gina. Gina squirmed underneath me until she was spread, missionary-style, under my thrusting body, her hand still thrust between us working her clit faster with every thrust.

Still quivering from her orgasm, Brooke curled up beside me and nuzzled the back of my neck as I pumped into Brooke. “Fuck her good, baby.”

I was so close to coming that I knew I didn’t have long. But Gina was even closer, and her hand came away from her clit just as she came, wrapping me in her arms and grabbing my ass to pull me roughly into her. I pounded faster and faster, feeling Gina’s cunt tightening around my shaft as I thrust into it—and then she moaned, loud, the moan turning into a scream as her intense arousal drove her over the top.

I went rigid, all of a sudden, feeling my second orgasm rip through me. I came in Gina’s pussy, clutching her tight as Brooke stroked her hand down my sweat-sticky back. When I’d finished coming, Brooke put her arms around both of us and kissed Gina hard on the lips. Gina was so ruined from her orgasm that she could barely respond. As my soft cock slipped out of her she gasped.

“How’s that for an anniversary celebration?” asked Gina.

“More like a family reunion,” I said. “And everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Brooke’s hand found my ass and gingerly stroked the tender, moist hole, still oozing lube.

“It’s true,” she said. “There’s nothing like old friends to keep a marriage interesting.”

“You’re lucky it’s only five years,” said Gina. “Just wait till your silver.”

“I’m quivering in anticipation already.”

Brooke playfully slapped my lube-slick ass.

“Just ’cause the scene’s over, don’t start getting smart,” she said. “You’re still my bitch.”

I rolled off of Gina and took my wife in my arms.

“Of course I am, darling,” I said.

“Don’t get cute.”

“Never,” I said, snuggling close to her. “Never, ever.”

What Makes a Slut a Slut

by Erica K.

“You’re quite a little cocksucker,” she said. “But you know what makes a slut a real slut?”

The first was a reasonable comment, since I had her cock down my throat at the time. My answer was, therefore, slow in coming. I eased myself back, opening up wide, letting my ravaged throat give up the feel of the cock it so loved. The slim, arrow shaped head popped out of the back of my throat and I gave a little shudder as I came up, gasping for air. A string of saliva popped and glistened between my lips, painted bright red with a thick coating of lipstick.

I slurped.

“No, Mistress,” I told her, even though I already knew.

“A real slut takes it in the ass,” she told me, caressing my moist lips, smearing my lipstick further. “You know that, don’t you Kerry?”

I should tell you one thing before this goes any further: I love my ass. I love my tight little ass. It’s the most feminine thing about me; it always was, even before I started tucking it into panties and zipping it into skintight latex. All my old girlfriends used to comment on it: masculine chest, feminine ass and legs. Except, of course, for the cock between those legs—but, then, a good enough tuck job can hide even that. Until, of course, I get hard.

I was very hard now, my panties distended with the thick bulge of my erection. Sucking cock always makes me hard, especially when it’s a cock strapped to Juliette. I know from experience that nothing gets my Mistress wetter than having me suck her cock like it’s a real one, a flesh-and-blood cock, and more than once I’ve made her cum with the proper movements of my mouth and throat, pressing the base of her dildo against her clit and, if she’s wearing the right kind of rig, thrusting the plug deep inside her, a place I would never, without permission, even think of going myself.

But she knows that nothing makes me hotter than having my ass looked at, admired, lusted after. Men or women—it doesn’t matter. A pair of eyes lingering on my ass, whether it’s in skimpy white panties under a lifted schoolgirl’s skirt or crammed into skintight PVC hip-huggers, will ruin even the best tuck job.

Now, my tuck job was hopeless, given that my ass was exposed in a black pair of French-cut lace panties, underneath a tight spandex skirt that, as I’d begun to suck her, Mistress had instructed me to lift. And a small crowd had formed around us while I serviced her cock; a dozen, perhaps two dozen people, men and women and others, looked on hungrily, no doubt some admiring the way I took Mistress’s large cock down my throat—but many of them, I knew—or imagined, which was just as good—lusting after my ass.

Mistress didn’t have to lust—she could take what she wanted, and she hadn’t taken me yet.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, looking up at her through eyelashes painted heavy and black. “A real slut takes it in the ass.”

“Would you like to be a slut for me, Kerry? Would you like to be my real slut?”

I was so hard and hungry and blissed-out in sub space that I would have said yes to anything she wanted—anything. But the thought of having my ass taken, the very first time, by Mistress Juliette while all these people watched, caused a turbulent swirl of emotion deep in my belly.

“Here, Mistress?”

“Of course here,” she said, petulantly, the hint of irritation making my cock ache even more than it already did. “Bent over that table. Spread wide, and impaled on my fucking cock, Kerry. Isn’t that what you want? You said you wanted to be a real slut.”

She indicated the nearby table with just the motion of her eyes. The big platform, sturdy and padded in black leather, had just been cleared of its writhing, nude female submissive; it still glistened from the wipe-down. Mistress Juliette knew full well that I wanted nothing more than to be a real slut—but she also knew I’d never been fucked there, never used by a cock or a woman’s dildo. I had fucked myself, of course—of course!—but only in private, legs spread, ass pointed at the mirror near my bed, watching my tender ass stretched open by a dildo in my hand.

So I knew I could take her—physically. But on an emotional, sexual level, it really wasn’t quite the same thing.

But Mistress Juliette had made promises, you might even call them guarantees—“Stick with me, Kerry, and you’ll be a slut. I’ll make you a real slut whether you like it or not.”

And I liked it, I liked it very much—so I quelled my fear and nodded.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “If it pleases you, nothing would make me happier. Please fuck my ass.”

Mistress Juliette gave a musical laugh, almost a giggle—if that girlish word can be applied to her statuesque, imposing figure, five-ten in her stockinged feet, six-two in heels (on which she moved as gracefully as a sleazy ballerina, an expert in the use of fuck-me-pumps if ever there was one).

“Can someone volunteer to get this slut tied to that table?” she called to the crowd. “Ass up, of course.”

This was our agreement, it almost goes without saying—anyone could play with me, given Mistress Juliette’s permission. Of course, she was a possessive bitch—meaning no disrespect—and the pleasure of tying me to a table was, doubtless, the most she would allow any of the revelers to do to me.

But for the two men in leather pants and vests who stepped forward, that was plenty.

“Would you like her tied tight or loose?” one of them asked.

“Oh, as tight as you possibly can,” said Mistress Juliette with a wink. “Let’s make sure the slut can’t get away. Not that she’d dream of such a thing.”

“As you wish, Mistress.”

Though these two hunky leathermen were plainly tops themselves, they offered the scene’s top the customary deference. It gave me a thrill of fear and arousal to feel them seize my arms and all but lift me in the air. With barely a squirm, just the hint of a struggle, I was thrust across the padded table. One of the men went to work on my wrists, while the other stood behind me and forcibly kicked my legs apart.

It was an expert move, one that Mistress Juliette no doubt appreciated. In a few moments I had secure rope cuffs circling my wrists, and the cuffs were bound to the D-rings at the far corners of the wide, padded table. My ankles, similarly, were bound to the legs of the table, high six-inch fuck-me-pumps and all, spread so wide that I felt suspended in space, my ass raised high, exposed and vulnerable.

“Anyone have a knife?” I heard Mistress Juliette ask behind me, and my flesh goosebumped head to toe in an instant. I moaned softly.

Behind me was the telltale click of a switchblade, and I shut my eyes very tight. I’ve always had a ghastly fear of knives.

“You may remove the slut’s panties if you like,” said Mistress Juliette, her voice as rich as chocolate.

I have no idea which of the hunks did the slicing; my eyes were shut tight, and all I could feel was his hand on my stretchy skirt, pulling it up further, the cold steel of the blade as he slid it gently under the straps, the minimal pull of the fabric in my ass as he slit first one side and then the other. It was a very sharp knife.

He swept my panties away and must have presented them to Mistress Juliette.

“Stuff them in the slut’s mouth,” she said.

I opened my mouth obediently and one of the hunks—I was only able to see their bulging crotches, now, without raising my eyes in what would have been a far-from-deferent gesture—inserted my panties, which smelled and tasted like me. I felt a curious mix of humiliation and arousal, made more intense with the snap of a latex glove just behind me.

Though she’s quite femme, Mistress Juliette always keeps the fingernails of her right hand trimmed short—as if that strange variation between right and left hands flags to anyone smart enough to pick up on it. I’m sure more than a few girls—and boys, as well—had felt a quiver in their loins when they noticed the difference between Mistress Juliette’s fingernails.

I had felt those fingers inside me, two of them at a time. That’s how she started me off—two fingers, thickly coated with lube. I moaned and surged forward, rattling even this heavy table, a table built for the debauchment of sluts just like me. I felt my cock pressing against the cold vinyl. Mistress Juliette sank her two fingers into me and gently caressed my balls with her other hand.

“This will be a stretch for her,” said Mistress Juliette in a sensual stage voice. “She’s never been fucked before.” She was basking in the attention of the crowd, which would have made me admire fondly how much of an exhibitionist slut my Mistress was—which, most certainly, I would do later. But at the time I was occupied with the feeling of her third finger joining the first two, opening me up. It made my eyes go wide, and a muffled moan came out of my panty-stuffed mouth.

“Have you ever seen such a hungry little slut?” said the Mistress, and her fingers, having done their duty, slid out of me. She was eager to see me take her cock, to feel me stretched and savaged around her. She stood graceful and delicate against me, her high heels giving her just the right altitude to guide her cock into my upthrust ass.

The first pressure of her cockhead made me gasp; what had felt small and arrow shaped in my mouth and down my throat now felt enormous and powerful. She worked the head in a circle, letting my ass get used to the idea… and then she thrust, gently at first, more firmly as I opened up for her.

I squealed, which made her thrust deeper, lean forward, and purr into my ear: “Like a pig, Kerry. Squeal like a little slut pig.”

Her hips completed the thrust, driving her cock deep into me. Though the first stroke of her dildo had made me tense, I now relaxed—from tingling toe to wide-apart lips. Pleasure pulsed through me as her cock filled me up. I was stretched, opened around her shaft, fucked. My eyes rolled back in my head. My panties fell, dank and spit-soaked, out of my mouth to glisten on the dungeon floor.

She began to fuck me, long even strokes going as deep into me as had ever been gone. I pulled against my ropes—not trying to get away, but endeavoring to shove myself back onto her cock. Mistress Juliette approved, and she pinned my shoulders to the table so I would have to use my hips. That is one thing a slut knows how to do, she’d told me. Use her fucking hips.

Then I was moaning, my thrusts a shuddering arrhythmic dance as my cock rubbed against the table. When I came I screamed louder than I believe I have ever screamed in my life. Mistress Juliette met my orgasm with a shove of her dildo as deep as it would go, and a gentle caress on the back of my neck—with the long-nailed hand. I think she would have grabbed my hair, but of course that would have made it come off.

I was lost in the pleasure, hungry for her cock. I barely even felt the hunks returning alongside me, quickly opening my bonds, setting me free from the table. But I definitely felt Mistress Juliette’s cock, sliding out of me, leaving me dripping and gasping in pleasure.

She guided me to my knees, and I obediently licked the vinyl table, cleaning it of my own come. The taste, tart and pungent, filled my mouth and opened my throat. I swallowed myself eagerly, and begged for more with my eyes when I turned my head to see Mistress Juliette watching me, pleased by my lapping.

“What do you think?” she asked a few of the revelers watching us, some of them engaging in their own grope sessions, plainly aroused by our display. “Is Kerry a real slut?”

They answered with applause, and I felt my face growing hot as I basked in their approval. Like Mistress Juliette, I was an exhibitionist slut—or, rather, I was becoming one.

And, like her, I knew that this was far from what makes a slut a real slut. What makes her a real slut is—well, it’s whatever makes her one in the moment. And I was quite sure that by the time the evening was over, Mistress Juliette would find a few more ways for me to become one.

Tahoe Tease

by Thomas S. Roche

She wore them on purpose: those goddamn shorts. They make her ass look amazing. They drive me crazy. They would at the best of times, even if I hadn’t been spending my every waking hour for three weeks contemplating that perfect ass with its perfect curves and its perfect shape and its perfect texture and that perfect little hole, tight as can be—never entered, barely even touched. Trina’s shorts would make me go nuts with desire even if she was just my garden-variety girlfriend this week. If these seven days in Lake Tahoe were exactly like any others, she would just be my saucy tart of a lover, nothing more. She’d be the girl who cuddled up against me in the mornings and purred, “I want you to fuck me every way a girl can be fucked” (except that way) or sprawled out in bed and murmured softly, “Yes Sir, Master, this slave lives to do whatever you want, Sir” (except that), or grabbed me and threw me down on the bed fresh from a night out and still smelling of smoke and scotch and dug her fingernails into my chest and growled, “Tonight I wanna do everything” (except that).

Even then, Trina’s ass in those shorts would make me drool. If this week was just a week like all the others, just a wiggle and a stretch, and I’d be crossing my legs and tucking my business out of the way—or trying to, before somebody noticed.

But this week isn’t like any other, because it’s the week… the week she’s giving me her ass.

Trina knows this; she’s been tormenting me the whole week in Lake Tahoe. It’s a game for her, and I’m always the loser, and the winner, and something in between. This game is the Tahoe Tease—making me wait until exactly halfway through the week-long vacation… halfway to the minute. Exactly.

Which is exactly tonight at midnight, and then the Tahoe Tease can finally end… and I can have my sweet baby’s ass.

For her it’s a game, the Tahoe Tease. How many boners can I give him, and not have him disintegrate into a puddle of goo? The answer is “lots,” but I come pretty close. The answer is “plenty,” with plenty more to come. The answer is that eight weeks into the Tahoe Tease, Trina owns me. She knows how to work that Tease like a stripper craving green stuff, and my tongue is a hundred-dollar bill.

All it takes is a wiggle of Trina’s perfect ass and I’m putty in her hands.

Just a sashay of that derrière… and I’m on my knees.

#

I run up behind her while she’s mounting the path toward the cabin. I can’t resist. I reach for her from behind and she just melts into me, knowing I’m there without looking. It’s not just that she can hear my footsteps; she senses me. Witchy little Trina knows exactly where my hands are going—her ass—and exactly where my lips will end up: that perfect slope of her neck, right by her ear, the place where a softly-growled “I wanna fuck” can make her as wet as I am hard.

But she’s already wet. She’s wet from teasing me all up and down the mountain paths surrounding Lake Tahoe. She’s wet from showing me the ass I want so very badly to fuck, then keeping it locked away in camel-toe shorts for another twelve hours. In those tight shorts, she’s simply dripping—at least, I think so. I’m guessing, I’ll admit, from the posture of her body and the way she rubs her ass against my hands.

I’m not as sexually gifted as her; she can smell a hard-on from San Francisco when I’m away on business in New York. Three words on the phone and she’ll sigh, “Quit stalling, you’re calling for phone sex. In fact, you’re already hard, aren’t you?” Eerie.

Me, I’m not a psychic like that. I have to work out that she’s extremely turned on by the way she pushes her tight buns into the fervent caress of my trembling hands. I have to guess at how juicy her perfect, tight pussy is from the way she arches her spine, tips her head back, and opens her mouth for a kiss. I give it to her and she takes it. Trina is gifted at so many things, and one of them is getting from me exactly the kiss she wants, even when I’m the one starting things. Right now, on the path, with Susan, and Jen having jogged up ahead and Matt, Ben, Carrie and Liz having lagged well behind, I get not just a kiss but a kiss. It’s not the chaste kind, which is all she allows me when we’re around her family. It’s also not the simple, suggestive kind, like I get when we’re with her friends, as we are this week. Trina’s not afraid to let her friends know we have a good sex life, but she draws the line at slurping and drooling and grunting.

What I get right now, today, twelve hours before I possess that perfect ass at long last, is a kiss of the open-mouth, tongue-y, juicy biting horny ravenous variety. I go rock-hard in an instant feeling her tongue work its way against mine. It only lasts a moment. Then she bites at my lower lip and her tongue withdraws; her lips leave mine. She grabs my wrists and pulls my hands around her body, planting my palms on her tits.

Such a move would not supply hard-on help under any circumstances. At the moment, I’m obsessed with Trina’s ass, and such has proven a lasting obsession (as it surely will into the future). But Trina’s tits? Well, shit. That’s another four thousand words at least, or maybe forty thousand, or even four hundred, more likely. They’re pert and firm and just the right size and not big enough to inhibit her vigorously athletic nature, and she pours them into these ultra-tight sports halters and her nipples get hard like they are right now against my hands and she clutches my fingers tight and rubs her ass against my shorts and I swear I can almost feel her butthole. My brain goes all fizzy. If I was a cad, I’d push her down to the rock-strewn path and pull her shorts to her knees and take my cock out and—no. We had a deal. And, sure, maybe Trina’s a bit of a bitch for teasing me, but there’s no claiming I haven’t asked for it.

Even when she mewls, “Right here in public, baby? Right here, on the path, in broad daylight where everyone can see? And no lube? My poor little butthole, darling, my poor little virgin—”

I try to tell her to stop, but all that comes out is a pathetic bleat. She wriggles out of my grasp at the moment that Ben, Matt, Carrie and Liz—or some combination thereof, and who gives a fuck?—come around the bend with joy in their voices. Trina laughs merrily and jogs on ahead; she glances behind me to see my discomfort, taking pleasure in it.

I jog after her. She knows this annoys me, but she can’t resist shooting pleasured glances at me—mostly down at my boner, but also at my face. I’m breathing hard in a minute, and barely keeping up with her. But she paces me, and gives me a teasing little pout.

“It was the ‘virgin butthole’ that did it,” I panted.

“Isn’t it always?” she said back, seemingly effortlessly. She’s barely breathing hard at all. She looks sadly at the dwindling front of my shorts and says with studied, overwrought innocence:

“Just twelve more hours.”

“You’re really going to make me stick to that?”

She shrugs.

“Or you could cave, and we’ll have to start all over again the next time you have something I want.” As she says it, she glances at my cock. It’s a really nasty way to put it, but I don’t take offense; on the contrary, in about three seconds I get the very same problem I had a minute ago—bonerus publicus.

“Damn it!” I say.

She sees it, giggles merrily and races up ahead of me.

I pace myself and think desperately about nuclear engineering, German grammar, organic chemistry, opera. I get it down to maybe twenty percent, my pre-come drizzling into my jockeys.

Trina’s on the deck doing her post-run stretch when I get back to the cabin; her legs are spread wide and her ass is in the air and her hands grabbing her ankles… more of a caress than a grab, and that position is not a coincidence.

I race past her and sprint for the bathroom; a good long piss never failed to ruin a hard-on, but this one’s a long time coming. Half of me wants to take care of my “problem” instead of fighting it. Two strokes, I swear, that’s all it would take with the way she’s been teasing me. I’d squirt my load all over the cabin’s downstairs bathroom, and if I didn’t get there first with the tissue, they’d probably need to call up the crime scene cleaners.

Of course, with a girlfriend like Tina and an unforgiving travel schedule, I’m an expert with the tissue, so… no chance of that. I could wank right here in the bathroom, and none of her friends would be the wiser.

But like I told you, Trina’s boner-psychic. She’s got as uncanny a sense for when I’ve jerked it as she’s got for when I want to jerk it. And she’s got the best sense of all of exactly how bad I want her.

The slightest relief will tip her off… and we have a deal.

It took me ten minutes to piss—painful at first, then hugely relieving. It felt good to have a soft-on even if I had to defeat the laws of physics to get it.

I exit the bathroom. Jill, Steve and Rory cooked lunch. They’ve got it ready, and we all sit down for chow.

Trina looks innocent and tells everyone, “I’m on a fast.”

She glances down at my cock, gets up for water, leans in close, puts her arms around my shoulders and whispers warm and sexy in my ear: “Wanna take our daily nap?”

I groan; I whimper. I look at the clock. Two in the afternoon. Ten more hours. How can I say no? How can I say yes?

I growl, “Hell yeah I do,” and gobble lunch like a starving man… which I am, in every respect except the food part.

Of Trina’s friends, only Emily gets it. Em’s a dirty little tomboy with short hair and small tits and a storied history of female lovers; she’s supposed to have piercings, somewhere, but always plays coy when you ask her. She’s the perv of the bunch (other than Trina and me), and she and Trina are pretty good friends. I see Emily shoot Trina a dirty look, like she knows we’re going off to fuck. If she only knew the truth.

“Have a nice nap,” she singsongs as Trina leads me down the hallway toward the eight-bed room we share with half the group.

With the hand that’s not casually holding the front of my waistband and leading me, Trina makes a bunch of gestures and mouths some words. It seems pretty obvious what she’s indicating. Emily makes an “OK” sign with her thumb and forefinger, indicating she’ll spot for us. The doors in the cabin don’t lock, so that’s extra-special important. Emily’s been the one spotting for us every time we’ve done this, in return for Trina’s jokey promise to do the same if Em hooks up with some ultra-sexy Truckee guy. I’ve you’ve ever been to Truckee, you might find that vaguely amusing, as Trina and Em did.

Her Praetorian guard placed on duty, Trina leads me into the bedroom and throws me at the bed like a pitcher hurling a fast-ball.

She’s a ravenous little minx before my ass hits the mattress.

All that teasing really gets her worked up, you see.

It’s kinda her thing, like asses are mine.

#

Please let me explain. My darling Trina is not quite the bitch that she seems. Or perhaps it’s that she’s a bitch because I let her.

Trina and I found out more or less on our first date that our sex drives are matched. This was a thing heretofore unheard of in both our relationship lives.

Unfortunately, I have to travel fairly often for work, with the result that we spend a lot of weeks apart. Being on opposite coasts so often, believe it or not, tends to spice things up. Webcams and phone-cams and VOIP and chat rooms are the business traveler’s friend. What’s more, they can illuminate lovers in entirely new ways.

Some of these ways are expected, predictable, comfortable.

Other ways? Not so much.

The exposure of my complete ass-obsession was unplanned, but Trina swears she achieved it with virtually no pre-planning; I gave her the “opening,” if you’ll forgive me, and she filled it up with extreme and juicy prejudice.

Two months ago, I was on assignment on the East Coast. I hit upon the idea of trading porn clips on a tube site and watching them “together,” wearing headsets and talking about what we saw.

Trina, however, is not the pornhound I am. Since the things she likes best—more about that in a moment—are not effectively communicated through video, she prefers to watch only porn that I select. She says it turns her on to know that what she’s seeing is my thing.

As it turns out, this was also a deeply clever way to expose my perversions. We were about nine clips into the evening when Trina said with a hint of the Domme in her voice:

“You’re really an ass-loving butthole slut, aren’t you?”

Sitting in a New Jersey motel room, I turned seventeen shades of red and practically choked.

“What the fuck?” I said.

“I’m sorry, was that rude? I mean you’re a horny butt-craving pervert, is that a better way to put it? You’re completely obsessed.”

I squealed out something pathetic by way of an excuse, about how “Most porn nowadays has anal in it” and “Sure, it’s a turn-on, but I mean not like an obsession,” and “Lots of guys are into that…”

It was a pathetic attempt to deflect my embarrassment. We both knew it, but Trina—to her credit—knew it better than I did. She listened politely to my stammering, then sighed and said:

“That’s garbage. You want to fuck me in the ass.”

I said, “Okay, all right. Of course, if you’re into that.”

“No,” she said. “Not if I’m into it. You want to fuck my butt. Do you think about it often?”

I did, in fact. I thought about it very often. I struggled of a politic way to tell her, but none presented herself. Besides, Trina was purring along with her motor in fifth. She said:

“I bet you think about it all the time, don’t you? Sliding your hard cock up into my tight little butthole… taking my virgin back door—”

I stopped her then, as I would later stop her on the path to the cabin. “Virgin butthole.” I just couldn’t handle it. I made a squealing noise and gulped.

“Okay. Sure, that’d be hot,” I admitted. “That’d be fucking hot. Are you into that?”

“Not at all,” she said happily. “That’s what makes it such a turn-on. You know, you brought it up on our first date. Remember that? I should have known then…”

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay, I remember. You said you’re not into that.”

“What I said,” she laughed lightly, “is that I’ve never done it, and I don’t particularly feel the need. But if some horny butt-fucker with something I really wanted were to, say, make it worth my while… if he had something I really, really, really wanted…”

She had her nasty voice on, now, her in-charge voice. It was as different than the sex kitten voice I heard whimpering in my ear when she laid back and begged me to do dirty things to her ’cause she was bad… she was very, very bad. But trying to “flip” Trina was utterly hopeless. She’d put her Domme boots on without warning.

“Like,” she said, “Lake Tahoe.”

I made a strangled sound.

“I already said I’d go,” I growled dejectedly.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “You have to go and be happy about it.”

Trina has a group of friends, ten or fifteen in number—the size of the group grows and/or shrinks from year to year—who always get a cabin in Lake Tahoe in August. This tradition had been going on for ten-plus years. Trina had skipped the last two.

I am not an event-friendly boyfriend. I don’t mind Trina’s friends in particular, but group vacations with friends or family are less fun for me than root canals. It was our third year together, and Trina was after me to finally attend. I’d grumpily agreed.

“You have to really, really enjoy yourself,” she said with sadistic pleasure. “And make it obvious to everyone what a good time you’re having.”

“All right,” I said cheerfully. “That sounds good. I’ll go to Lake Tahoe, I’ll enjoy myself, and…” I thought about Trina’s perfect ass.

Her tone of voice was nasty: “I don’t believe you.”

“How come?” I asked. Truthfully, I’d been thinking about how easy that was. I would have done far more to get Trina’s oh-so-perfect ass.

“Because it’s too easy,” she sighed. “You’ll paste a smile on your face, pretend to be happy… that won’t do it. You have to really be happy. And I only know one way to do that.”

Instinctively, I knew what was coming.

Dubiously, “What’s that?”

“You have to agree not to come.”

“You mean when I fuck you?” I said hopefully. “You mean when we… uh… do anal?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Between now and then.”

I just about choked on my tongue.

“The trip is two months away.”

“I know,” she chortled. “Isn’t it wicked?” She spoke with casual matter-of-factness. “I think that’s about what my virgin ass is worth, don’t you?” She said “virgin ass” with such pleasure that it would have been positively pathological if it hadn’t made my cock jump. She continued pleasantly: “You have to go without coming, then be a bright, shining little beacon of happy on the Tahoe trip, and… once you’ve done both of those things, I’ll give up my ass.” She dropped her voice half an octave and made it all breathy. “I’ll let you fuck me in my tight… little… untouched… virgin—”

“Stop,” I said. “You’re telling me you want to go two months without sex?”

“Oh,” she said. “I never said that. Let’s keep having sex… you just don’t come.”

“I told you,” I said. “I’m not into tease-and-denial.”

Trina was; in fact, it was her very favorite thing. I’d told her right off I wasn’t into it… the very same conversation, in fact, where she’d told me she didn’t do anal. Right before we had sex. Neither of us suffered then (or would suffer, now) from an excess of first-date propriety.

On the tease and denial, Trina had slowly “brought me around.” There was the eight-week “lap dance class,” ostensibly for fitness, which she said she absolutely had to practice with me following every rule, like sitting on my hands. There were the progressively skimpier outfits when we were places we couldn’t possibly get alone and have sex; you have never seen a girl dress as slutty for her boyfriend’s great-uncle’s funeral as I saw Trina do.

“I know you’re not into it,” she said. “That’s what switching’s about, right? I mean, it’s not exactly whips and chains.”

“I think it’s worse.”

“I know,” she said happily. “Aren’t I evil?”

“What’s to stop me from jerking off in the meantime?”

She made a disgusted noise; she took pride in her psychic powers that allowed her to detect recent male orgasms.

“I can’t do two months, and we have to do it before the trip.”

“Too bad, and no,” she said.

“My prostate will swell!”

“Fine, then. Let’s say monthly handjobs.”

“Monthly!”

She cackled. “You’ve already said yes, baby. Now we’re just arguing details…”

We argued details, all right… well into the night, and with great exactitude. Trina had me pussy-whipped in ways I’d never even dreamed. My body responded to her demands and my brain conjured up intricate, vivid images of her promises. By the end of the night I’d agreed to totally forgo masturbation entirely, and orgasm with two exceptions. Trina would give me a blowjob when I got home from my trip in three days. And she would give me a handjob four weeks after that, “To make sure your, whatever, prostate doesn’t swell or whatever.” Other than that, I said I’d go dry until the halfway point of the Tahoe trip.

“Once I’ve put up with your friends and enjoyed myself for half the trip—I want what I’m owed.”

“Ooooh, so forceful,” chortled Trina mockingly. “You mean, like, down to the hour?”

“Down to the minute,” I growled.

“Dirty,” she said. “You know everyone bunks together.”

“Tough,” I said. “We’ll lock the door.”

“All right,” she said. “But I’m not going celibate.”

“Fine,” I said.

“And I’m not taking matters into my own hand.”

“What, you’re going to go two months without masturbating?”

Trina’s voice had that Dominant quality as she said, “If you want my ass, darling, then for the next two months I shouldn’t have to masturbate.”

My cock was throbbing at this point. I could barely keep my eyes from crossing.

“You expect me to fuck you and not come?”

“Darling, of course not. That would be cruel. Besides, I wouldn’t trust you. After a week you’d blow your load on my thigh. You have to get me off another way.”

“What way?”

She said coyly: “One way.”

“How?” I growled.

“Every single day,” she said.

“How?” I growled.

“In this one particular way.”

“How?”

“Once a day, if I want it.”

“Okay.”

“And once a night. This one particular way.”

“Trina, how?”

She told me.

She could be a very dirty girl, my Trina.

#

“What if I come?” I asked her. This was the clincher.

“What, accidentally?”

“Sure,” I said. “Or if you make me.”

“Well,” she sighed. “If I’m teasing the hell out of you and I accidentally get you off, then… let’s just start the clock all over, shall we?”

“Ugh,” I said. “I should have known. Are you trying to trick me?”

“Darling, trust me. I’d never get you off intentionally. That would be evil. But of course, if you jerk off or something, or let yourself, you know… while you’re doing things to me…”

That’s when Trina’s imagination really got going. She showed what she’s made of. She showed that this tease and denial stuff is just the start of her pervy Domme-y games.

I still can’t believe I agreed to get my ass fucked if Trina’s not the one who makes me come.

But then, by the time she talked me into taking my hand off my cock and not coming that night… I was more than just pussy-whipped. She had me wrapped around her finger.

#

Hey, don’t get me wrong. I wanted that ass, almost as bad as Trina wanted to give it to me. She wanted a chaste little boyfriend who’d play at being wrapped around her finger. It looked like we could both get what we wanted.

But why did I finally let my velvet-voiced girlfriend talk me into taking my hand off my cock at the end of our conversation… and leave it off, rather than coming on that very last night before my “sentence” began?

I’ll admit it. I wanted to hear her sexy voice tell me, “Good boy.”

#

I got my homecoming blowjob. I got my “monthly” handjob, after a month of horny teasing, suffering, blue balls to end all blue balls. Getting off has never felt so good.

And Trina got my tongue in her ass, deep in her ass, me rimming her hard and hungry and horny while she rode her vibrator till she came. Progressively, she started moving my hand insistently onto the vibe, and then letting me “drive” so she could clutch at the sheets and push her face into the pillow to stifle her cries of pleasure, and push her ass high in the air while I obediently rode her.

For two months, she’s been offered daily and nightly rim jobs from me, with steadily growing enthusiasm as I got used to the task and started to like it… then to really like it. She almost always exercises her option. She’s been getting deep, eager lickings while I try very hard not to reach down and stroke my cock and come all over her feet.

Which would be a disaster, since that would put me in the position of… well, of having to be the one who gets fucked. If it sounds like a sick twist of an “indecent proposal,” well… that’s because it is.

I never thought I’d be such a subby little slave… and all because of Trina’s perfect ass.

How did I come to this? How did I find myself more turned on by trying not to come than I ever did from trying to come? How did I find myself with my tongue in my girlfriend’s ass, worshipping her perfect butt with my mouth, all so I could slide my dick inside it when after two months—a month, I guess, allowing for that solitary handjob—I was so addicted to the high of constant arousal that I almost didn’t want to come?

For two months, in return for her back door virginity, Trina got daily, nightly, sometimes thrice-daily rim jobs with vibe in hand, or in my hand, a state of affairs that became constant as my licking became more enthusiastic, deeper, and more of a turn-on… for me, as much as for her. In the last two months, Trina’s ass has become central not just to my fantasy of fucking her ass… but to the whole of my sexuality.

Afternoon, evening, and sometimes morning, I eat her ass with great enthusiasm and a vibrator in my hand.

Which is exactly what I’m doing when Emily walks in on us.

Maybe “accidentally,” on purpose.

#

How it happens is this:

Trina leads me into the bedroom.

One of her thumbs is hooked through the waistband of my shorts, very close to my dick.

She slams the door behind us and drops to her knees; she has my shorts on the floor before I know what’s hit me. My jockeys, all tangled up with L.L. Bean cotton, glisten with what looks like a pint of slimy, shiny pre-come.

Trina teases me. She loves to do this; she gets off on teasing me. She does it as often as she can. But this time she’s totally out of control; she’s got me wrapped around her finger. I’d drink her bathwater. She uses her mouth to torment me. Trina doesn’t really suck my cock, because she knows if she did I’d pop fast. She just breathes all over it, licks a little, drizzles, drools, flickers her tongue.

It’s torture.

A month since my last come—and that from a handjob—Trina’s breath and the tiny gentle flicker of her tongue is almost enough to get me off. It’s surely enough to make my eyes roll back and my mouth pop open and little pathetic squeaks of agonized pleasure come leaking from my tormented body. But in case that’s not enough to really make me suffer the delicious torment Trina so gets off on, she lets her tongue slide out and runs it gently up my shaft, over my head, lapping pre-come from my tip and looking up at me with big blue eyes and mewling, “Will you shoot it up my ass?” while she caresses my balls—and then grabs them, pulls them, kneads them. I just about lose it, hands flailing—I can’t decide whether to grab her shoulders and push her away, or grab her hair and shove her mouth onto my cock. Would that count as her making me come, or me making me come?

I don’t want to risk it, of course. I let Trina do her worst, licking my balls and my glans with alternating pressure, careful not to push me too far.

Then she stands up, looks me up and down, and goes to bed.

As to when she found time to shuck every last item of clothing while she was down on her knees… I admit to drawing a blank.

All I know is, she’s stark naked when she plants herself on the creaky single bed with her ass shoved up high in the air, waiting for her “daily nap.”

I step out of my shorts, strip off my T-shirt, and get the vibrator out of my backpack.

I join her on the bed.

#

It’s possible I haven’t described Trina’s perfect ass with sufficient detail. By “ass,” I do mean her gorgeous buttocks and upper thighs, which are tight and taut and toned from yoga, swimming, running, stair-climbing. It’s not that she wants a nice ass; she just can’t help it. The freak actually loves to fucking exercise. Whether she’d still put all that work in if she didn’t, just to get guys like me wrapped around her little finger, I can’t really surmise. What I know is that every time I look at it I hear a klaxon sounding in my head—always did, even when the most intimate act I performed with Trina’s ass was a little spanking. Since I’ve started worshipping it daily, well… it’s hard for me to gauge if her ass is actually perfection made flesh, or if I’m just so fucking horny I’ve started to lose it. Probably a combination of both.

But her buttocks, her thighs, the small of her back—that’s not really what I mean. What really makes me drool is her butthole. It always did, even when I’d see it as I entered her—you know, the “conventional” way—doggy-style from behind. There’s something so dirty about a woman’s butthole, when you’re deep inside her pussy—not that you’ll do anything to it, necessarily, but just that it’s there. Sometimes that’s plenty good enough. And Trina’s always had a sweet tight pretty pink asshole… all the more yummy because I knew it was off-limits. I’ve always liked anal sex—both the fetish and the activity. Once I started sliding my tongue up into that snug back door of the hottest girl I’d ever slept with, I was a goner.

It’s also more than a little smooth—in some ways arrestingly so. For all her tomboyish behavior, Trina has a remarkably girly little butthole. When I rimmed her the first time—which was, suspiciously, just a few weeks before she made her “offer"—she had barely responded; I would only find out later that she’d liked it a lot. but been embarrassed by liking it so much. Go figure—it looks like we both needed a little nudge to do what we craved.

#

There in the cabin bedroom, I do what I’ve been doing regularly for two months now—mouth at her ass, tongue working, two fingers of one hand in her pussy, another hand guiding the battery vibe back and forth on her clit. Trina rarely fails to climax using this combination of stimuli; it can take her anywhere from two minutes to twenty, and she often wants a second.

That part isn’t technically part of the agreement… but I never say no. Has she really whipped me that good?

She must have. She must have whipped me better.

Because I’ve been going at it five minutes or more—more aroused than ever, because I know my ordeal is close to its “end,” if you’ll forgive me—when I hear the door click-squeak open, and I pull back, instinctively moving to cover myself with my hands. The vibe comes away from Trina’s clit as my fingers leave her pussy and my tongue leaves her ass.

But Trina moves faster than I do, and faster than Emily—which is who it is, I see as she comes through the door with her mouth open wide, pretending (or maybe—just maybe—not pretending) to be shocked. Is she really surprised to discover Trina and me in flagrante delicto? Was there some sort of misunderstanding in the “Keep the others out” gesture Trina gave her? Or—far more likely—has Emily decided to invite herself to a threesome… and she’s just shocked to see how dirty we fuck?

“Sorry,” says Emily, but her voice has a quality that tells me she’s not sorry at all. “I thought—”

I never get to hear what she thought—or claims she thought. Trina gets her hand on my head and shoves it back down toward her ass—a move requiring a twist and a squirm possible only from a yoga fanatic.

“You,” hisses Trina, addressing me. “Don’t stop. You—” addressing Emily “—close the door. Drafts! Naked people!”

“I noticed,” says Emily filthily, and I hear the door close.

I think we’re alone again, so I let Trina hold me there with my mouth on her ass, and I figure I’ll deal with my humiliation later. After all, Emily’s hip, right? It’s not like I have to be embarrassed. I put my tongue and my fingers and the vibe right back where they all belong—asshole, pussy, clit. Trina never takes her hand off my head, holding me there.

Then Emily says, “You don’t mind?”

I instinctively pull back, though less firmly this time. It’s easy for Trina to hold me there, her hand on the back of my head, her hips grinding her body so I have no choice but to continue to lick her ass. My cock gives a throb. Emily’s here. She’s watching. My cock pulses. My tongue works. My balls swell. Trina laughs.

“Do I look like I mind?” Trina asks.

I can’t see much, being focused entirely on my task(s). But I do have peripheral vision, and Emily’s close enough now to engage it. I see the soft fluttering swirl of her limbs as she lifts her T-shirt and drops it on the bed next to me. Her shorts are next, and she’s not wearing underwear. But then, she wasn’t wearing a bra. She isn’t wearing shoes, either, so when she eases onto the bed and starts to make out with Trina, her foot feels gentle trailing up my bare back.

She lets it rest on the back of my head, and Em’s the one to hold me in place as I lick. That frees up Trina’s hand, which seems to have been Em’s whole idea. Trina starts to play with Emily’s teacup tits, while they kiss… at least, as far as I can tell, because Emily’s perfect bare foot is shoved against the back of my skull, now, forcing me to service Trina.

Trina’s moans are mounting rapidly; Emily’s arms go around her and she hooks her leg so she can hold me down with her calf instead of just her foot. It’s a surprisingly secure hold, as his her grip on my girlfriend. Trina moans louder and louder, and her hand has found its way into Emily’s crotch, I think. I hear a wet sound, and Emily moans and says something very filthy, squirming and writhing up against Trina.

My cock throbs close to release as I struggle to take this all in. I knew my girlfriend had female lovers in the past—two of them, plus a one-night stand—but that was years ago. It was all behind her, she’d told me. Threesomes? Not so much. Maybe someday, she said. With two guys, baby. I think I’d be up for that.

Or maybe today, apparently, with Emily—hot, brunette, skinny tomboy Emily, geeky-gawky and cute, and oh my God she fucking smells good. I can smell her leg, hooked over my head and holding me down with my face in Trina’s ass; Em smells like lotion and fruit and flesh and musk, and Trina’s trying not to orgasm. I can tell because I know it so well; she loves this fight, the struggle not to climax. She likes the very last moments before orgasm almost as much as I do. Maybe my weeks of denial are sort of like the seconds of Trina fending off her orgasm by clawing sheets and pounding mattresses and begging—or ordering—“Slowly, baby… slowly!”

But that’s not what she says this time. A whispered word goes quickly between them—Trina and Emily. Or maybe it’s not quite a whisper. Sort of a moan, nice and low, sort of sexy. Almost loud enough for me to catch, but not quite. Something about “Handjob.”

My eyes roll back in my head as Emily slides off the bed, the metal frame creaking, the springs going Bounce! as she makes her way behind me, and I try to pull back. She won’t let me; Emily has her hand on my head and is pushing my face into Trina’s asshole, holding me in place while she reaches down and slides her slim, perfect tomboy hand over my cock.

She gets a good grip and puts her lips to my ear; her breath is warm as she tells me:

“It’s all right, little ass-licker. Give it up. You were doomed from the—”

And that’s all I hear, because Trina is moaning at the top of her lungs, climaxing hard as Emily strokes me off. Em doesn’t even “jerk” me, exactly; she doesn’t even have to. It’s just a series of gentle caresses, up and down my shaft, barely even touching me.

I see stars as I jizz, my whole naked body shuddering as Emily seizes my balls and pulls; whether it makes me come harder or spoils my climax entirely, I don’t even know… because my mind is as blown as my load.

I just keep licking Trina’s asshole as my girlfriend howls at the top of her lungs—not even caring that all of her friends can probably hear us. Her asshole tightens and clenches against my tongue; her pussy, too, around my fingers. I hold on tight and keep the vibe on full and my fingers against that spot she likes. I get her off obediently, like I’ve done for two months… and then it hits me.

The bed isn’t very big, but Em’s a petite chick, and Trina doesn’t mind me on top of her. Turns out neither does Em, especially when Trina takes me in her arms and purrs, “You came before the deadline, baby. Sorry. You know what that means…”

Yes, I know what that means. So does Trina. As to whether Emily does, or she needs to be told, or this was planned all along—maybe even before Trina made her “indecent proposal,” I’ll have to wait to find out. Emily’s giving nothing away, other than that whatever the fuck is happening, she likes it.

I look in her grey-hazel eyes and try to suss her out. Have I been set up or just played with?

Emily’s not telling. The little tomboy stares at me enigmatically, half a smirk on her pale pink thin tomboy lips, and a lazy sexy curve to her pierced tongue as the smirk breaks into a broad, evil smile.

There’s an argument ahead, if I choose to make it. Trina wasn’t the one who jacked me off, of course. That technically means, I suppose, that my ass is hers, but that really seems like sticking to the letter of the agreement, in strict contravention of its spirit.

Whether Trina concedes that point, I plan to find out later. After all, it’s impolite to argue in front of company.

And Emily looks as happy as Trina when, after Trina says again:

“You know what that means, baby?”

I don’t throw a fit. I just swallow and nod.

“I know what that means, Ma’am,” I say.

Em looks from Trina to me and then back again.

“Ma’am? This is even more fun than I thought.”

Trina’s eyes go from Emily’s face to Emily’s bunk—where she’s got her gym bag stashed. Em gets the picture immediately. How those two always communicate without words, I’ll never know. They’re sort of orgasm-psychics.

Inside Em’s gym bag there’s a thing with straps and buckles and…

…well, let’s just say I didn’t have to wait another two months for another orgasm.

Sometimes losing the Tahoe Tease is even better than winning.

Strap-On

by Jay Fredericks

I knelt on the bed, my ass in the air, my hard cock throbbing in my hand. I was on my knees and elbows, my freshly-shaved ass-cheeks presented for the woman who was about to deflower me. Who was about to take the last virginity I possessed. Who would enter my body, taking from me whatever little innocence remained. I was about to be fucked in the ass by a woman.

My wife Tricia entered the room, looking more beautiful than ever with the black leather harness strapped to her body and the enormous flesh-colored rubber cock jutting out and precisely the correct angle to penetrate my ass.

We had picked the harness out together not two hours ago at Stormy Leather, a sex-toy shop downtown. But the dildo was all Tricia’s doing, and it looked much bigger than I would have selected. Even so, I trusted my wife—despite the quivering fear which rose in my stomach when I looked at the dildo’s hard length sticking out of her body like a real dick.

It had all begun as part of a deal: I had wanted to try anal sex, and Tricia, though an accomplished sexual adventure, had never been fucked in the ass. It was not something that interested her, but the fantasy kept returning to me every time I looked at that tight, glorious ass of Tricia’s. I continued to bring it up, and she continued to decline the invitation to part her cheeks for my hard shaft. Until one day, she had made the proposition.

“If you agree to let me fuck you up the ass,” said Tricia, smiling, “then I’ll let you do it to me. But I get to fuck you in the ass first. Once you take it from me, then you can have me whatever way you want.”

“How do you mean, fuck me up the ass?”

“We’ll get one of those strap-on harnesses that holds a dildo,” she said mischievously. “The dildo will be the size of my choosing.”

The idea of having something in my ass was, frankly, disgusting to me. I had resisted, complained, argued. But the draw of Tricia’s tight, firm buns proved too intense, and finally I agreed to accept my wife’s cock into my ass.

But she had insisted I be shaved, first. She wanted to see my ass-cheeks shaved and parted around her cock.

Tricia approached behind me, leaning down to place her mouth between my cheeks. I moaned as she began to tongue my tight opening. The sensations were intense; at first I was frightened, but then it began to feel better and better. My cock seethed as I stroked it. Tricia licked deeper. The tip of her middle finger, well-lubricated, was teasing my opening. I gasped as I felt it penetrating me; she gave me her finger slowly and tenderly, and the first fears I had were beginning to melt away. My ass stung for a second as she gave me two fingers; then, almost without knowing I was doing it, I was pushing back onto her, eagerly inviting her in to my ass. She gave me three fingers, and I felt about ready to explode. Then, her fingers left my ass, and I felt empty—but never fear. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Tricia stroking her cock up and down until it was glistening with lubricant.

Slowly, tenderly, my wife began to penetrate my ass with her hard cock. My ass seemed resistant at first to accepting the thickness of the enormous cockhead. But I breathed slowly and Tricia followed the patterns of my body—finally working the head so that it popped in smoothly, accompanied by a surge of sensation and fear throughout my body—and then a delicious sensation as Tricia sank into me, her cock penetrating me until the rubber, sculpted balls were pressed against my own balls.

Slowly, Tricia began to fuck me in the ass, stroking her cock in and out as I pumped my own hard meat. The sensations were so new I didn’t sense my orgasm coming until it was upon me—groaning, I shot my load all over my hand and the bedspread. Tricia laughed, continuing to fuck me slowly as the sensations mounted and my cock dwindled.

“Delightful to be on the business end of one of these, isn’t it?” cooed Tricia hungrily.

I could only moan in agreement as my wife mercilessly plumbed the depths of my ass, thrusting again and again and again into me.

Roxanne’s Cock

by Kyle Kemp

Roxanne wore skintight stretch jeans that hung low on her curvy hips and fit snug around her slender thighs. Her jeans tucked into the knee-high black leather boots she wore. She was shirtless, and as she approached the bed where I lay naked, she ran her fingertips over her perfect C-cup breasts. Then, as she pinched her nipple lightly with one hand, her other hand slid slowly down her flat belly and rested on the bulge in her tight jeans.

Roxanne unzipped the fly of her low-slung pants and slipped out the long, thin shaft of her strap-on dildo.

She smiled as she knelt on the edge of the bed.

“Come on, Matt,” she purred in the sexiest voice I had ever heard from her. “Suck it. Suck my cock.”

I crawled down the length of the bed, ready to comply.

#

I had long been after my wife Roxanne to try anal sex. My last girlfriend had been extremely into it—she came more easily from getting fucked in the ass than she did from taking my cock in her pussy. Even my eating her out couldn’t make her cum so fast. With Naomi, I had developed a definite taste for back-door love, learning to prefer her asshole’s extreme tightness to the softer (though still wonderful) embrace of her puss. But Roxanne wasn’t even interested in trying it.

“No way,” she would state unequivocally when I brought up the subject. “That’s a one-way street!” Sometimes she would giggle when she said, it, but other times she would get a little angry when I brought it up.

In every other respect, though, Roxanne was—and is—an amazing fuck. Besides being drop-dead gorgeous, with long blonde hair, full C-cup breasts, a slender body and curvy hips, she’s an inventive and enthusiastic lover. Apart from anal stimulation, Roxanne was up to try almost anything. She never thought twice about bringing out her vibrator to help her cum a second or a third time, and the night when I brought home an armload of porn from the local video store, she got even more turned on than I did. When the scene we were watching was of a woman being fucked anally, she fucked back against me with louder and louder moans as I pumped into her doggy-style.

“You like that?” I asked her as she fixed her eyes on the image of the woman’s asshole stretched around a big hard cock.

“Yeah,” Roxanne moaned, fucking herself onto me.

“You want that?” My eyes lingered over the pretty curve of her smooth buttocks and the winking starfish between them, begging for my attentions.

The feeling of her pussy clenching my cock rhythmically as she moaned in orgasm felt incredible. I knew that no matter what it took, I was going to have anal sex with my wife. And she was going to love it.

But I never could have imagined what kind of anal sex I’d be having with Roxanne. It wasn’t her ass that would be getting fucked. In order to have the anal sex I craved, I’d have to surrender my own tender, virgin asshole.

#

The idea occurred to Roxanne on one of those nights when I’d brought home porn and we were having a great time watching it while we made love on the big rug in front of the TV.

Roxanne and I were both naked, our bodies covered with sweat, but we hadn’t begun to fuck yet. We were making out, rubbing our naked bodies together as we watched the video. The scene was of some hot blonde giving a black stud the blowjob to end all blowjobs. She was really going to town on his cock, taking it all the way down her throat and rubbing it all over her face. Then, without warning, the camera closed in as the blonde slipped her finger into her drooling mouth and nestled it between the guy’s ass cheeks.

Jerking his cock off with one hand, the blonde pushed her finger into the guy’s ass. His eyes went wide and he moaned crazily, looking like he loved it. Then he came, shooting out white-hot jizz all over the blonde’s hand.

“Fuck,” moaned Roxanne. “I’ve got to try that.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “You’re not going to—”

“Trust me,” she said, pushing me onto my back. I spread my legs as she knelt between them and took my cock in her mouth. Roxanne gives the best blowjobs I’ve ever had, and I sank into the sensations of her full lips sliding up and down on my pole as she teased my balls with her fingertips.

I forgot all about my nervousness as Roxanne licked me all over, slicking my cock up with her spit. We’d been making out for a long time, and I knew I was going to shoot soon.

“Don’t cum yet,” said Roxanne. “Let me try something.”

Before I knew what was happening, she had licked down behind my balls and pushed my ass up into the air. I felt her warm tongue wriggling between my ass-cheeks and teasing open my asshole. I was shocked by the pleasurable sensations flooding through my asshole—I had never even thought about having my ass played with. If she’d asked me, I would have been as reluctant as she was to take something in my ass. But the skilled tip of my wife’s tongue was making me rethink that opinion. I heard her spitting onto her finger, lubing it up.

And then I felt her finger teasing open my ass.

“Roxanne, what are you—”

“Trust me,” she said as she slipped her finger into my asshole. My muscles clenched tightly around her slender finger—and then relaxed, as waves of pleasure flooded through my body. I felt my wife’s mouth descending on my cock again, pumping it between her lips as her head bobbed up and down, her beautiful blonde hair tickling my thighs. She wriggled her finger around, evoking even stronger sensations that surged through my cock, balls and asshole.

“Fuck,” I moaned. “Oh, fuck—I’m going to cum!”

My cock spasmed as I spurted cum down my wife’s mouth, and I felt her finger pumping deeper into my ass as she sucked the cum right out of me. She moaned low in her throat as she drank my sperm, gulping it like she couldn’t get enough. I felt my asshole tightening around her finger as I came my last.

“Holy shit,” I moaned.

Roxanne’s mouth came off my cock, her lips slick with cum and spit.

“See?” she said. “Trust your wife.”

#

After that, Roxanne explored my asshole with greater frequency, punctuating most of her frequent blowjobs with a finger in my ass.          “Hey,” I said one time. “If it feels good for me to have a finger in there… don’t you think it would feel good for you to have a cock in there?”

My pretty wife thought about it for a minute.

“What a great point,” she said. “I guess that makes sense. If a finger feels good, a cock might feel better.” Her mischievous smile told me she had something nasty on her mind.

“You want to have anal sex, Matt?”

“Fuck, yes,” I told her.

“Good,” she said. “Then I’m going to fuck your ass.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked her, puzzled.

“You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about a strap-on dildo.”

I looked at her like she was crazy.

Roxanne winked at me and reached under the mattress. She took out a small full-color catalog with the name of a familiar porn retailer on it. She quickly turned to a page in the middle. She’d already bent the page down.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “Look at this one.”

I looked at the picture of a gorgeous redhead with a harness strapped to her crotch, a big plastic cock sticking out.

“All right,” I said. “I’m listening.”

“You want anal sex? I’ve got the perfect way to get it. And I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. You want anal sex so bad, Matt, it’s only fair that you should be the one to get your ass fucked.”

I could feel my cock stiffening as I imagined the way it would feel to have her behind me, thrusting into my ass.

I had to admit the idea intrigued me—it had even occurred to me. Once while Roxanne was giving me one of her incredible blowjobs with her finger up my ass, I’d fantasized that she had a cock and was ramming it in my back door. I pushed my wife onto her side and started kissing her behind, letting my tongue slip out as I moved toward her asshole.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “It’s your ass we’re talking about fucking.”

“All right,” I said, my cock throbbing. “I’m game if you are.”

Roxanne smiled. “I’ll get the credit card,” she said.

#

When the package arrived by express courier three days later, Roxanne was plainly more excited than me. In the three days since we made our deal, I had already begun to have second thoughts about giving up my anal virginity to my wife. Part of it was the wicked glee with which she talked about it; Roxanne and I had been fucking crazily in the last three days, three or four times a day. She was plainly in a state of heightened arousal just thinking about taking my butt. Whenever we made love she would whisper to me about how good her cock was going to feel going into my ass, and when she gave me blowjobs she always licked one finger and slid it into my anus, fingerfucking me until I came in her mouth.

I had started to really like it, in fact; the sensations were overwhelming, erotic and pleasurable. But I still wasn’t so sure about letting my wife strap on a cock to fuck me in the ass.

When she pulled the pale flesh-colored dildo out of the packaging, I felt my anus give a little involuntary clench. Roxanne had relented and agreed to order a much smaller dildo than she’d originally suggested—if there’s one thing I can say about my wife, it’s that she has a huge appetite for cock. Instead of the 9” cock she’d wanted to order, we’d agreed on the more moderate seven-incher. But it still looked huge, and thick, and I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to take it up my ass, even if it meant I would get to explore my wife’s back door.

But Roxanne wasn’t about to wait. The second she held the dildo in her hand, she smiled at me.

“Go get your clothes off and wait for me in the bedroom,” she told me. “I’m going to put it on.”

“Right now?”

Roxanne playfully slapped my arm. “Yes, right now! You promised!” She put her arms around me and cuddled up close, rubbing her firm tits against my chest. “Just pretend I’m a guy,” she whispered into my ear, her lips warm and wet against my neck. “If you don’t put out for me I’ll get blue balls.” She giggled.

“All right,” I said. “Promise you’ll be gentle?”

“Matt, I’d never be anything but gentle with that gorgeous ass of yours. Now get your clothes off.”

#

When she came into the bedroom, she’d put her skintight stretch jeans on with the dildo under them, creating a bulge like an impressive hard-on, ready to fuck me. She wasn’t wearing a shirt, and her perfect tits looked inviting with their firm pink nipples. But the sight of that cock bulging through her pants was making me a little nervous. The big boots she wore gave her an even more imposing look.

She slid her hand down to her cock and stroked it. I felt my cock getting hard. My wife was going to fuck me. She was going to fuck me in the ass.

Roxanne unzipped her pants and took out the seven-inch dildo, stroking it like it was a real cock.

She crawled onto the bed, kneeling on the edge, holding her cock out for me.

“Come on, Matt,” she purred. I could see her nipples standing out straight, see her face and chest flushed with arousal. “Suck it. Suck my cock. Suck my fucking cock, Matt.”

We hadn’t talked about this part—I had never wanted to suck cock in my life, but hearing my wife order me to do it excited me so much that I felt my cock give a sudden surge. When I took the head of her cock in my mouth she started to moan as if I were really sucking her. I began to pump my mouth up and down the shaft.

“All the way,” she ordered me. “Deep-throat it.”

“I don’t know how,” I said.

“Take a deep breath,” she said. “Put the head of my cock at the back of your throat and swallow while you push it down.”

She put her hand on the back of my head to encourage me.

The thick head of Roxanne’s cock filled my throat, and as I pushed it down I gagged. She cooed, “Come on, Matt. You know you can suck my cock. You know you can swallow it all.” She ran her fingers through my hair as I tried again—and on the third try, I felt her cock sliding down my throat.

My own cock throbbed as I started deep-throating my wife’s. It was easier than I thought it would be. I reached down and started pumping my cock, suddenly hard and horny for her. Roxanne’s slim hips moved back and forth, forcing her cock in and out of my throat. She moaned loudly, as if she were really getting a blowjob. That sound made me want her more than ever. I got into sucking her cock more and more, my heart pounding, my blood surging as I got the hang of it.

Roxanne practically had to force me off of her cock. “Get on your hands and knees,” she ordered me. “It’s time to get your ass fucked, Matt.”

By now I was so turned on I was ready for anything. All my reluctance had vanished when my wife had made me suck her cock. I was ready to become her ass-whore, ready to let my gorgeous wife slide her big cock into my back door.

I got on the bed and put my ass in the air, just as I’d seen girls do in porn videos. I could feel my cock throbbing against the bed.

Roxanne squeezed out some lubricant from the bottle that had come with the dildo. She smeared it over the head of her cock and then added some between my cheeks. She got behind me and guided the head of her cock to my asshole, ready to mount me.

Her cock felt huge as it pressed against my asshole. But when my wife told me to push back onto it, I complied. I could feel myself stretching, opening up to accommodate it. I stroked my own cock back and forth as I pushed myself onto my wife’s. I felt only the faintest hint of discomfort—and then the head of her cock popped into me, and Roxanne moaned as she slid it all the way in.

The sensations were incredible. It felt like her cock was fucking its way through my whole naked body. I gasped as Roxanne started to fuck me gently. Then I surprised myself at what I did.

“Harder,” I begged as I stroked my cock. “Fuck me harder.”

Roxanne pulled her cock out of my ass and said “Roll over. I want to look in your eyes as I fuck you.”

I rolled onto my back and put my legs over my wife’s shoulders, lifting my ass into the perfect position to be fucked missionary-style. This time my ass was wide open for her, and as Roxanne pushed her cock into me, she wrapped her lubricated hand around my hard cock and started stroking.

Her hips jerked forward and I felt her cock plunging all the way into me. She started fucking me hard, so hard I heard the bed slamming against the wall as she stroked me off. Her cock felt huge in my ass, but I wanted more. “Harder,” I begged. “Fuck my ass harder.”

Roxanne complied, pounding into me as she fucked her hand down over my cock. My orgasm was building inside me, and Roxanne looked into my eyes as she made it quite clear that she intended to feel my ass spasming around her cock as I came all over my belly. Which is exactly what I did, as opened my eyes wide and moaned, my cock shooting hot jizz over Roxanne’s hand and my stomach.

Roxanne pushed forward, leaning heavily on me so she could kiss me on the lips, her tongue sliding into my mouth. With my legs pushed back so hard, I felt like her little whore, taking it up the ass—just the way I’d wanted. Despite the fact that I’d just orgasmed, I wanted more. Her cock still felt incredible inside my ass.

“I love you,” Roxanne said, caressing my soft cock.

“Don’t stop,” I begged her. “Keep fucking my ass. Fuck me harder.”

My wife smiled. Leaning back, she pushed my legs up high and looked down at where her cock was thrust deep into my ass.

“Oh, I’ll fuck you harder,” she cooed. “Every single night.”

“Yes,” I moaned. “Please.”

“See, Matt?” she laughed. “You got your anal sex. Is it everything you dreamed of?”

I answered by pushing myself more fully onto my wife’s cock, as I knew I’d be doing from now on… as often as possible.

The Birthday Present

by N.T. Morley

Annie had always wanted to be submissive to another woman, preferably an older woman, to be tied or restrained and punished by her. She’d mentioned this a number of times to me as one of her most powerful recurring fantasies. She didn’t really consider herself bisexual, though, and had never slept with another woman, except for some youthful fumbling in sleeping bags, all of which was long since passed.

Annie and I had been sleeping together for about six months, playing around with SM and bondage and generally having great sex together. Her birthday was coming up, and I told her I wanted to buy her an hour with a dominatrix for her twenty-first birthday. Since Annie didn’t like to drink, and definitely never got drunk, it seemed like I should help her do something equally debauched on her this particular birthday.

Annie was a little nervous when I first suggested it, but was obviously very excited by the idea. “All right,” she finally said, “as long as you’ll be there to watch.”

I hadn’t really intended to be there while Annie experienced her first dominant woman. But the idea was too delicious to pass up. Annie was petite, with smallish breasts and a wonderful ass and great legs, and she looked fantastic in the ultra-short mini-skirts she liked to wear during our sex play. So I told her I would watch if she would wear the smallest miniskirt she had. She giggled and agreed to it.

We looked through the ads for professional dominants in the local sex paper, and Annie mused over what she wanted this dominant woman to do while we compared the advertised attributes of the dozens of dominants in the paper. Annie wanted a woman somewhat older than her, but not too much older—perhaps thirty would be about right. She definitely wanted to see a picture first, and not all the ads had photographs. She wanted someone who would talk dirty to her, in much the same way I talked dirty to her when we played with SM. But most importantly, she wanted me to do all the verbal negotiating with the dominant—Annie wanted to be left out until she was given over into the dominant woman’s hands. Nothing made her hotter than the idea of my telling someone what horrible things to do to her.

Together, we picked out a few likely candidates, and I started calling them.

Things only got more complicated when I started talking to the dominants. I was very up-front about the fact that I was buying my girlfriend a session for her birthday, and there were a million questions from the dominants. Did my girlfriend want to be penetrated with toys? Did she want to be fucked with a strap-on dildo? What level of pain did she like? What level of humiliation and dirty talk? Did she want to be kissed? The questions went on and on, and I could feel my cock growing hard as I pictured Annie submitting to these strong women. In the fantasy, of course, she was submitting against her will, but I knew that Annie wanted this as much as I did—probably much more, which is why it was an appropriate present for her.

Finally, we settled on “Mistress Aphrodite.” Annie’s comment on seeing Aphrodite’s picture was “God, she’s totally hot.” And she was, I had to agree, with long, cascading blonde hair, large breasts and pale skin. In the picture, she was wearing a low-cut patent-leather bustier, G-string, and thigh-high fishnets with high-heeled boots. Aphrodite and I negotiated on the phone out of Annie’s earshot, and the date was set—Annie’s twenty-first birthday, at 12:00 Noon.

#

We showed up ten minutes early to the Mistress Aphrodite’s dungeon. Annie had dressed to kill, wearing a tiny little miniskirt with a white garter belt and fishnet stockings, very virginal, and no panties. Her blouse was low-cut and showed the lacy top of her camisole. I couldn’t wait to see Mistress Aphrodite strip those clothes off my luscious young girlfriend. Annie and I made out in the car for a while waiting for the appointed time. I slipped my hand down Annie’s blouse to feel her nipples hardening, and up her skirt to feel how wet her pussy was getting in anticipation. She rubbed my cock through my jeans, telling me how she hoped the Mistress made her suck it. Still, she was trembling a little, obviously nervous despite her intense turn-on. I realized that we really shouldn’t be fooling around right outside this woman’s dungeon—it was likely to draw unwanted attention to her. We got out of the car, smoothing our clothes down.

One of Mistress Aphrodite’s assistants answered the door—a small young woman with reddish-brown hair wearing a tiny white sundress. She had a fantastic body and great legs, and a pretty face with full, kissable lips. She introduced herself as the Mistress’s apprentice, Miss Ginger, and asked us if it was all right if she assisted in the session—for no extra charge, of course. Annie looked a little nervous at first, but then she whispered in my ear that it’d be just fine, making it clear that the idea of having *two* women top her made her even hotter than one. But I realized that she wanted me to do all the negotiating.

“Of course that’d be fine,” I told Miss Ginger gruffly. “She’s such a little slut, she’ll love getting two for the price of one. She’s never done it with girls, you know!”

Miss Ginger played right along—this was just the kind of dirty-talk that never failed to turn Annie on when we were playing together.

“Oooooh, never played with girls?” cooed Miss Ginger. “A slut like this? But she’s so juicy. I know a million girls who would just love to get their hands on a darling like this!” Ginger playfully touched Annie’s light-brown hair—just a little, teasing and fluffing it. “Sure you’ve never played? Not even a little?”

Annie giggled as she blushed a deep red. “Just a little,” she whispered meekly, like a schoolgirl about to be punished.

I could see a physical response in Annie’s body—something about her posture told me without a doubt that we had started the scene already, and she was getting incredibly turned on right from the start.

“Well, Mistress Aphrodite is finishing up with another client—we’ll take our darling girl into the dungeon any minute. But first all that messy stuff about donation,” said Miss Ginger. “Let me make sure your girlfriend—Annie, was it?—Doesn’t try to get away. Have a seat, please, Miss.”

Annie obeyed, taking one of the waiting-room chairs. I saw that it had eyebolts drilled into the side, and Miss Ginger deftly produced a pair of handcuffs and quickly cuffed Annie’s wrists to the sides of the chair. Then she and I counted out the two hundred dollars I’d negotiated with Mistress Aphrodite for the one-hour session.

Then Ginger asked us to wait while she went in to the other room to see if Mistress Aphrodite was ready.

The door opened and Ginger led Annie into the Mistress’s dungeon.

The dungeon was packed with toys: an entire wall full of whips, canes, paddles, and straps, and another full wall of dildos, anal beads, butt-plugs, and other sorts of probes. There was a huge X-shaped cross and a tall, skinny cage, big enough for a person to stand in and still be at the mercy of anyone standing in front of the cage. There were also a number of padded tables and benches that were obviously made to tie someone to.

And Mistress Aphrodite was indeed as attractive in person as in her photograph. She had long, blonde hair and full breasts, and she was wearing a black patent-leather push-up bra that didn’t do much to hide those breasts. She had on a matching patent-leather mini-skirt, very short, and knee-high pointy-toed boots. She greeted us warmly and then turned to Annie.

“So this is the little slut who’s in need of punishment? The birthday girl who needs a spanking?”

Annie nodded. “Yes, Mistress,” she whispered meekly.

Mistress Aphrodite showed her pleasure with a smile. “She’s well-trained. Did you train this little slut?”

“I tried,” I said with a smirk. “But she needs a woman’s hand.”

“Of course,” laughed Mistress Aphrodite. “Ginger, help our naughty little slut into the restraints.” I saw with a little surprise that Miss Ginger had shed her sundress and was now clad only in a white patent-leather bra and panties, with high-heeled shoes. She made quite a pretty picture, especially as she led Annie over to a padded, leather-covered table with eyebolts in the sides and legs. Aphrodite looked over her wall of whips and paddles, and selected a light flogger to start with.

Ginger got Annie bent over the padded table, with her wrists cuffed to the sides and her legs fastened to the legs.

“Please,” said Mistress Aphrodite, addressing me, “If you’ll take a seat. Watch and learn.” She spoke with a haughty, even arrogant attitude.

I smiled—the attitude was part of the act, no doubt, and I was happy to give Annie over into the hands of this obviously competent woman. I sat down in the chair she indicated and watched as the two women got ready to work my girlfriend over.

“Oooh, look,” said Ginger as she lifted Annie’s skirt and stroked her bare pussy, “the little slut isn’t wearing any underwear!”

“Disgraceful,” sighed Mistress Aphrodite, following along with the script we had discussed on the phone. Annie moaned as Ginger slipped on a rubber glove and gently probed the tightness of her moistened cunt.

“And she’s wet!” said Ginger, as if scandalized. “Incredibly wet! Just dripping!”

Ginger pumped her fingers into Annie a few more times, bringing a gasp and moan from the writhing girl on the table. Then Mistress Aphrodite ordered Ginger to lift Annie’s skirt all the way so she could administer a proper whipping.

Ginger obeyed, and Annie’s punishment began.

Mistress Aphrodite started out slow, whipping Annie gently while her tolerance for pain rose. Every few strokes of the whip against Annie’s bare ass-cheeks, Aphrodite would lay one on her cunt—gently, but firmly enough to bring a yelp from Annie’s lips while Ginger cradled Annie’s head and ran her fingers through Annie’s hair. This was just the way Annie liked it when she and I played—a few strokes on her ass, then a few on her cunt, making her jump and moan. But Mistress Aphrodite was an expert, with years of experience to temper and guide her treatment of Annie’s dripping pussy.

The volume of Annie’s moans grew as the whipping continued. Mistress Aphrodite moved from flogger to strap and then to paddle, each time pausing to caress Annie’s pussy and slip a couple of gloved fingers into her so she could comment on how wet Annie was getting. My cock was hard on my pants, and I half wished that I could intrude on the scene and push my hard prick into Annie’s waiting pussy. But I didn’t want to spoil the scene between the three women, or cheat Annie out of her experience. So I sat there, my cock throbbing, as I watched Mistress Aphrodite, with Ginger’s help, strap on a huge dildo.

“Time to do something about that filthy wetness between your legs!” cooed Mistress Aphrodite as Ginger cinched the buckles on the strap-on harness.

Annie was a hopeless size queen, and loved big dildos inside her—I had told Mistress Aphrodite about this, and she was obviously working on the information I’d given her. The dildo she was about to put inside Annie was perhaps ten inches long and much thicker than any cock I’d seen in person—though Annie possessed a couple of that size or larger. Still, I didn’t doubt that it would test the capacity of Annie’s cunt.

Mistress Aphrodite moved up to press her hips against Annie’s wriggling butt. Ginger leaned down and put a condom over the dildo, then guided the thick head of the cock between Annie’s parted cunt-lips. Annie let out a gasp and then a moan of pleasure as Mistress Aphrodite penetrated her.

At first I thought it had been too much for Annie, and that her cry was one of pain. But it soon melded with a panting groan of unmistakable ecstasy, and as Mistress Aphrodite began to fuck her, Ginger up to the head of the table and began French-kissing Annie. Annie acceded hungrily, taking Ginger’s tongue into her mouth while Aphrodite plunged the dildo into her again and again. It wasn’t long before Annie was coming, moaning and squirming and pulling violently against the bonds as she shouted in orgasm.

The hour was just up as Aphrodite finished with Annie. But she let us go over a bit as she rubbed the dildo, slick with Annie’s cunt juices, all over Annie’s upper thighs. This only seemed to turn Annie on further. When our time was finally up, Ginger helped Annie straighten her clothes and Mistress Aphrodite thanked both of us. I led Annie to the car on unsteady legs. She seemed a little dazed, if not altogether stunned, and I was a little worried about her.

But that didn’t last long. As soon as we got to the car, before I could even get the ignition key in, Annie’s hand was reaching for me, rubbing my crotch, getting me hard again.

“Happy birthday,” I sighed as she unzipped my pants and lowered her face to my crotch. How surprising that I was the one who got the real present.

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Copyright

For more hot erotic fiction from Deception Press, go to www.deceptionpress.com or visit the N.T. Morley Kindle Store at Amazon.com.

This anthology is intended for an adult readership and concerns explicitly sexual themes including male and female bisexuality, threesomes, group sex, BDSM, Domination, submission, explicit descriptions of anal and oral sex, and other forms of sexual variation. Do not read it if you find such themes offensive.

Packing Heat © 2012 by N.T. Morley.

Cover and interior layout by Aisha Trance.

All Rights Reserved.

From the Same Editor

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Content

PACKING HEAT
FEMDOM STRAP-ON STORIES
Edited by N.T. Morley

First Date with Strap-On by Kelly Shaw

Old Friends by Dexter Cunningham

What Makes a Slut a Slut by Erica K.

Tahoe Tease by Thomas S. Roche

Strap-On by Jay Fredericks

Roxanne’s Cock by Kyle Kemp

The Birthday Present by N.T. Morley

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