So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie)

My best friend Amy’s divorce was bitter, protracted, acrimonious, and complicated by the fact that she and her girlfriend weren’t actually married or anything of the sort. They had, however, been together ten years; and they owned a car, and a house, and a houseful of stuff together, and Alice fought her every inch of the way.

My own divorce was a sedate, banal, relatively amicable affair. John and I simply threw in the towel, calling it quits after eight years of marriage, six of them really quite pleasant. We let the lease on our apartment expire; divided up our junk; gave away or threw away the stuff neither of us wanted; split the security deposit, and went our separate ways.

John promptly got a new girlfriend, and I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. As a matter of fact, I would have done a threesome with them, if John had asked, just for old times’ sake. But he didn’t ask.

Amy rented herself a Ryder truck headed east, packed full of books, furniture, and garbage bags full of clothing. I took an Amtrak train west, carrying a backpack stuffed full of my laptop, a couple changes of clothes, extra underwear, and my running shoes. We met up in Chicago.

We got ourselves apartment, a medium-small two bedroom place in Lakeside East, not too cheap, not too sketchy. We unpacked and moved in. We got jobs, we drank too much, we cried a lot. We’d been best friends since college, but we’d never lived together. It actually worked out surprisingly well.

I belatedly discovered internet porn, and re-learned how to masturbate. I hadn’t had sex in over a year, and I craved it, in mind and in body.

I hooked up with some guy off the internet. There was never any pretense that it was about anything more or less than sex. It was a one-night-stand; my first attempt at such a thing, and I wasn’t sure how I’d react.

He wasn’t particularly attractive, but he was attractive enough. Conversation was awkward, adolescent. I had the impression, though I didn’t bother asking, that he hadn’t done this before either. I brought him back to my place. Amy, thank God, wasn’t home.

In my bedroom, we got down to business. He didn’t want to kiss me, which made me feel weird. I hadn’t seen another penis (in person) since John and I had first gotten together, over a decade ago. I discovered that, while I’m not especially picky about penis size; apparently I am quite particular about penis aesthetics. This guy did not have an attractive dick: it was reasonably long, but the shaft was pale and skinny, and the crown was an unpleasant shade of pink and shaped like an English bobby’s helmet. He shaved his pubes, which I found oddly disturbing, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

He did, however, eat pussy; and I had no complaints about that! He was nearly bald on top, and his head looked really sexy down between my thighs, and the things he was doing with his tongue were simply amazing. It wasn’t like John had never gone down on me; he used to before our sex life had dried up completley; but this guy’s style was completely different. Not better, definitely not worse. Just different.

He ended up sucking my clit between his lips like a strand of spaghetti, humming an AC/DC tune, and finger banging me to the loudest, most intense orgasm I’d had in ages.

I sucked his dick a little bit, an activity that I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed; and then he pulled away, wet dick bobbing merrily and pointing up at the ceiling. We were ready for the main event.

He didn’t want to wear a condom. He didn’t exactly fight me on it, but he was obviously reluctant, and disappointed when I insisted.

I wasn’t going to get another orgasm out of the deal, but it did feel really nice to have a real, honest-to-God penis inside of me. He fucked me hard, deep, and selfishly, which was just fine. It didn’t take that long, which was OK too. I thought it was really sexy when he came, and I could feel his cock twitching all the way through the condom. I grabbed his balls and held him deep inside me until he finally stopped moving.

The after-sex conversation was painfully stilted, awkward, and mercifully brief. As he got dressed, I lay naked on my bed, feeling kind of horny, kind of dirty and gross, and deeply discombobulated.

He thanked me for my time–whatever that meant—and went to shake my hand, then thought better of it. He said goodbye and left. I got up and took a shower.

I started whacking off under the hot spray of water, and about halfway through I realized I was crying. I couldn’t stop masturbating, and I couldn’t stop crying. I was in the shower for a long time.

When I finally did get out, out of tears and unsatisfied, Amy was home. She asked me how my date went. I shrugged. She asked me if I was OK and I said ‘I guess so’.

*

I woke up to the sound of screaming. There was a clatter and clunk of furniture being violently knocked over, and then the cry again. It was Amy. “No! No! Please no! Don’t! No!”

“Shut up, cunt!” That was another voice, low and deep and guttural, and it seemed to resonate up and down the walls of the apartment. I heard a WHUMP that sounded an awful lot like a body being thrown across a room.

I grabbed an umbrella—I don’t know why, it was the closest thing to a weapon that came to mind—and burst into Amy’s bedroom, my adrenal glands cranking away on afterburner.

Amy was sprawled out, completely naked, half-on and half-off her bed. A little trickle of red was leaking from her nose, and a small vise-grip dangling from one breast, clamped onto a nipple. Her legs were splayed apart and I could see everything. Her pussy was almost bald. There was a single puff of soft hair down there, crowning her vulva like a cowlick. She had prominent, pink labia that peeked and curled out.

A woman I didn’t recognize, the size and shape of a dump truck, was towering threateningly over her. She was wearing black granny panties, a black sports bra, and she had an impressive-looking black dildo strapped to one of her thick, meaty thighs.

They both stopped what they were doing, frozen like bunny rabbits, and looked at me.

I felt small and ridiculous in my baby-blue pajamas, wielding a short green umbrella.

“It’s OK,” Amy said, “We’re just playing.”

I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

*

Amy told me later that the woman’s name was Phoebe; that they’d met in a bar; that it had just been a one-night stand; and the sex wasn’t really all that great. Apparently Phoebe had a reputation for picking up new girls on the scene, chewing them up, and spitting them back out again. We had a pretty good laugh about it, but I just couldn’t get that image out of my head: Amy, naked, eyes glazed and legs spread, and pussy ready and wet.

*

A number of people (many of them horny girls on the make) have told me that everybody is bisexual to one degree or another. I’m not sure I agree. I like guys, I always have. I like their bodies. I like their dicks. I’ve never been attracted to women in general, or to Amy in particular.

So I still have no idea what I was doing when I traversed our apartment in the middle of the night, quietly opened her bedroom door, and slipped into bed with her. I think I was just horny.

I was wearing my pajamas; Amy always slept naked except for panties. I don’t know whether she was asleep or not when I climbed into her bed; but when I snuggled tightly up against her backside, like two spoons in a drawer, she slithered her underwear right on down, kicking her panties off and pressing her naked butt against me.

We kissed for a long time like that. She was looking back over her shoulder at me, craning her neck, her long hair falling all over her face and getting in our mouths. It felt weird to kiss a girl. Her lips were really soft.

I cupped her breasts in my hands. They were smaller than mine, but beautiful, soft and warm, like half-melted butter. The nipples were achingly hard. I squeezed one and she very softly moaned, and squirmed her ass against my pajama-covered crotch.

My cunt was on fire, my clitoris bulging and straining.

We kicked the blankets aside. It was very dark in the room; I could only barely see her naked body. I slid down between her legs, which parted for me like an automatic door.

She was incredibly, shockingly wet, a floodplain of hot and slippery joy juice. I started licking. The taste was powerful, almost overwhelming, but not necessarily bad. I was immediately lost, bewildered, overwhelmed in her folds. I felt a sudden rush of sympathy for every guy who’d ever gone down on me and fumbled it: these pussy things are complicated—they should come with a road map! I settled on slurping, dragging the flat of my tongue up and down her pussy, and occasionally swirling it around what I was pretty sure was her clit.

I must have been doing something right because she kept getting wetter and wetter, and she wrapped her legs around the back of my head, and grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my face deeper into her, until I thought I might drown in her pussy.

Finally, her whole body went rigid, tight as a drawn bow, and she made an ‘ah-ah-ah’ sound like someone who has just jumped into a freezing cold swimming pool, and I knew she was coming, and I felt a rush of pride and pleasure all my own, and kept my tongue jammed up against the squirming little knob of her clit.

Then she sighed and relaxed and unclenched, and she was done, and I disengaged myself from her damp pussy and kissed her one more time on the lips, and slipped back into my own room and my own bed, where I whacked off to the memory of eating her out, her juices still fresh on my own lips.

*

The next morning, over coffee, Amy asked me if we were OK. “Yeah,” I said, not meeting her eyes. “We’re OK.”

*

Amy came to my bed that night. I was halfway expecting her, lying on top of my sheets with one hand down my pajama bottoms, idly masturbating.

She wasn’t wearing anything. That is to say, she was naked except for a black nylon harness. A formidable neon-yellow dildo jutted out from her crotch, with spiraling ridges like a unicorn’s ivory horn, and a fat, mushroom-shaped crown at the end.

“I want to fuck you,” she said, standing at the foot of my bed.

“Alright,” I whispered.

“I want to fuck your sweet little ass.”

My entire body shivered with a secret thrill. “Yes,” I said softly, “do it.”

John and I had tried anal sex once, mostly I guess because we felt like we should try it at least once. It had been OK. I think it had kind of weirded John out; he had never tried or asked for it again. It hadn’t exactly rocked my world either, but I remember thinking, ‘This has potential…’

Amy climbed up onto my bed, took my pajama bottoms by the ankles, and yanked them right off. She looked powerfully sexy like that, sexy in a way I never would have imagined, with her petite boobs hanging down, and that big day-glo phallus projecting out from her crotch. She clambered on top of me, kissing me hard and biting my lips and neck, and I strained to rub my pussy against her dick.

She flipped me over onto my hands and knees. My tits hung down, feeling heavy and vulnerable inside my cotton pajama top. Amy caressed me through the soft fabric, pinching and tweaking my nipples. I shivered.

I wanted her. I wanted it viscerally, in a way I could taste, in a way that made my molars ache. I wanted her to take me, pound me, skewer me, sodomize me. I wanted her to fuck my ass until I couldn’t take any more. And then some.

She kissed the back of my neck, and her dildo brushed against the backs of my thighs. I shivered again, savoring the anticipation, wanting her.

Amy took her time about it, kissing her way down my spine, agonizingly stretching my anticipation out to the breaking point. I could feel my cunt drooling away between my legs. God, I wanted this.

Her kissing lips finally made it down past my tailbone, down between my cheeks. It was like a floodgate had been opened up. I could feel my own wetness, hot and slick on my thighs; my clit was swollen and super-sensitive. I squirmed, mashing my labia together, as she kissed and licked her way up and down the cleft of my ass.

Then her tongue found its way inside my anus, and I moaned aloud, arching my back like a horny cat and pressing back toward her. She gurgled something and pressed her tongue even further inside me. I couldn’t believe how good it felt, how raunchy and nasty and deliciously exquisite. My clit felt like a dong, fat and thick, jutting out from my pussy like my very own cock. Amy shifted position, removing her tongue from my asshole, and nudged her dildo against the sphincter.

“I’ll be gentle,” she said.

“Fuck me!” I said, pushing back hard against her.

The bulbous head of Amy’s neon dildo nudged its way through my sphincter muscle, making me gasp involuntarily. The invasion felt weird. Weird but good. Really good.

True to her word, she fucked me gently. Too gently even. Long before she had the whole shaft buried in my asshole, I was begging with her, pleading with her to fuck me, fuck my ass harder.

Finally she obliged. Her hands on my hips, she started fucking me in earnest, sliding her silicone cock in and out of my asshole, making a sweet little grunting noise with each thrust.

I was totally out of control, howling like a monkey, grinding my ass back against her humps. Amy slapped my ass hard, alternating cheeks, making it sting; once, twice, three, four times: Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! She slipped a finger into my already distended asshole, alongside the dildo, and that was just enough to set me off.

I came, and I came hard, like a motherfucking avalanche rolling down the mountain. It was the first and so far only time I’ve orgasmed without any vaginal or clitoral stimulation, and it was one of the most intense ones I’ve ever experienced.

I think Amy came too, at the same time, but I was kind of wrapped up in my own spasms of pleasure, so I’m not sure.

She gently disengaged from me, which if anything felt stranger than the insertion, and kissed me: the top of my head, the back of my neck, the small of my back, each tingling ass cheek, the backs of my knees, my toes. Then she padded off out of my room, back to her own bed.

*

Things were a little weird between us after that. Not exactly bad weird, but our relationship was definitely a little bit tangibly off. Our friendship felt strained. We never did fuck again, though I certainly contemplated it. I still don’t think I’m bisexual; maybe I’m an amphibian.

We ended up getting separate apartments, which suited us both better anyway.

I talked with John on the phone sometimes. We danced around the topic, without ever actually mentioning the idea, of getting back together. One time we had webcam sex, which was strange and kind of one-sidedly intense. It wasn’t bad exactly; I got an orgasm out of the deal, for sure, and it was kind of cool and a little sexy to watch him jerk off. In all the years we’d been married I’d never gotten to see him masturbate. With someone else, I might have been interested in making a habit out of it; it’s just that John was so intensely into it that it was a little off-putting. After that, I kept him at more than an arm’s length.

Me and Amy went back to being best friends. We’d meet up periodically for coffee or drinks, and bitch about our sex lives, and the lack thereof. I got a tattoo, a small blue salamander crawling up my ankle. Getting it done hurt a lot, but it was a good kind of hurt.

I downgraded my job situation, and went back to school to get a degree that would be actually useful. I loved it: I loved the challenge and the engagement, and the fact that I was surrounded by young guys who were smart, attractive, and more-or-less single.

I shocked myself, and this string-bean of a twenty-year old math savant named Mitch, by asking him out. He shocked me even more by saying “Yes”, and then by kissing me, right then and there in the math lab.

When I got home, there were two new emails in my inbox, both from Amy. The subject line of the first one read ‘Thinking of you…’ The subject of the second was ‘OPEN THIS FIRST’.

It said she had clicked the ‘send’ button without really thinking through the consequences, and asked me to please delete the previous email without reading the contents.

I deleted them both, and then emptied out the ‘trash’ folder, just to be sure I didn’t succumb to temptation later on.

And speaking of temptation, I had a date to get ready for.

END

It’s been well over ten years now, a fourth of my life gone by, and I think I can finally talk about it.

The car crash that took Jeremy and little Misha by all rights should have killed me too. I wasn’t even wearing my seatbelt. I was thrown clear, straight through the windshield, while they burned.

The surgeons did a commendable job stitching me back together. You can still see the scars, but you really have to look. The broken bones knit up, the lacerations healed, but my insides were a mess. My therapist tried hard, but I just stared right through her. I moved back in with my parents in Chicago. I don’t think I even cried very much. I was completely devastated.

Over the course of a long grey winter, I pulled myself back together, a little bit, just enough. I moved to New York City. This was back in ’98. I didn’t really have to worry about money; there was enough of that from the insurance settlement. More or less at random, I got an apartment and a roommate, in nosebleed country, upstate Manhattan, on 207^th street. I decided to go back to school to be a nurse. The idea of helping others appealed to me.

Slowly, I got better. I graduated, and got a job working in the burn unit at Columbia-Presbyterian. I liked it there. I rode my bicycle to work, and shopped for groceries at Dominican bodegas, cooked my meals at home, and slowly found myself starting over. Some days I even felt whole again.

I met Sam when he helped me fix a flat tire, which is kind of ironic because before the accident I had done a stint as a bike messenger, and I still prided myself in my ability to change my own damn flat, thank you very much. But that required carrying a pump and a patch kit, and I’d stopped carrying those because my commute was so short, and because they kept getting stolen.

It was a beautiful summer morning, and I was riding down the West Side bike path when my steering went all mushy and didn’t sound right, and sure enough I looked down and had a motherfucking flat tire.

So I was pushing my bike along the path, wondering where the nearest bike shop was, and what I was going to tell my boss (I was still the most junior nurse on the ward, and Amanda, the charge nurse, did not countenance tardiness), when Sam rode up like some kind of latter-day knight in shining armor, and asked if I needed a hand.

He changed my flat for me, slower and clumsier than I would have, but I knew better than to step in and bruise his male ego, and when he was done he flashed me a smile that pretty much melted my heart. And certain other regions of my anatomy. Sam was good looking, in a thirty-something, slightly chunky, understated sort of way. He was an EMT; he usually worked the night shift, seven at night to seven in the morning, which I couldn’t help but notice complimented my own work schedule quite nicely. He was soft-spoken, he was sweet, he was funny, he had a bit of a belly and thinning sandy hair, and before he pedaled wobbly away, I managed to wrangle his phone number out of him.

I surprised myself by actually dialing that number after my shift was through. I surprised myself even further by asking him out on a date. An actual date. I hadn’t been on one of those in years and years, not since I had first gotten together with Jeremy.

It was fun. We went to the Natural History museum. We ate pizza together, and then went for a stroll in Central Park. Where I was pleased to discover that my guy Sam was an awfully good kisser. I hadn’t been kissed – or anything else – in over three years, not since before Chicago and the accident.

I don’t know if it was my accumulated horniness bursting through the crack that he had made in my defenses, or if we just had great chemistry, but I was shocked to hear myself inviting him over to my apartment. We pedaled uptown together, the seat of my bike stimulating my already erect clitoris through my jeans all the way.

My panties were more than a little moist. Clara, my roommate was home, so we went directly up to the roof of our building (where someone had long-ago installed a couple Adirondack chairs and potted plants and called it a ‘roof garden’) which, thank God, was unoccupied. You could see the whole city from up there, all the way down to the skyscrapers of midtown and the financial district away to the south. At the time we only had eyes for each other.

He was good. Damn, he was good! And I felt really comfortable with him. So comfortable, in fact, that my jeans and panties slipped right off onto the asphalt rooftop.

Before Jeremy, nobody had ever really gone down on me. Not for real. A few guys I’d dated had given my pussy a symbolic, perfunctory lick or two before moving on to the main event, but Jeremy was the first guy who actually ate me out and meant it. He was also the first guy to actually give me an orgasm. Not that I hadn’t gotten off during sex before; but I’d always had do some self-stimulating in order to get there.

Sam had no qualms whatsoever. He dove straight in, relishing the task at hand. He grabbed a thigh in each hand, and lifted me up to his face, devouring me like a starving man at a buffet table. And he was fucking amazing! I was already sopping wet, and he quickly got me even wetter. I kicked my legs, I squirmed and writhed, I shook my head like an epileptic and screamed up at the clear blue urban sky, and still he kept on licking until I orgasmed all over his face. It was a startlingly intense climax, one that seemed to go on for hours and left me weak and shaky. Still he kept on licking, until I pushed him away. My parts get super-sensitive for a while after I come. And anyway, now I wanted it to be my turn. I wanted to eat him alive!

“Thank you!” I gasped, kissing his slippery, wet mouth, tangy with my juices, “Thank you! Thank you!” I kept on kissing him, aggressively attacking him with my tongue, while I stuck my hand straight down his pants. I found exactly what I was looking for. His cock was hard as titanium, hot, thick, and juicy.

Never removing my mouth from his lips, I managed to tug his slacks and undies down. I started jerking him off fast and furiously. I wanted him to come in my mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of his dick. It felt so good to have him in my hand while we kissed.

“Stop! Please stop! You’re going to make me come.”

Well yes, that was certainly my intention. I had planned on pushing him past the point of no return before finally breaking that delicious kiss and dropping down on my knees and swallowing him whole. But he pushed me firmly away, his cock bobbing and straining, bright red and swollen and frustrated. “I can’t.”

“For real? Why not?”

“Bad things happen when I come.” He was already buttoning his pants. “I should go.”

But by now my lady parts were sufficiently recovered, and Sam didn’t seem to be in any real hurry to leave, so I managed to persuade him to stay for a little while. My tank top joined my panties and jeans, strewn across the rooftop, and I sat on his lap, feeling his erection straining through his slacks like an erotic speed bump.

Like a true gentleman, he fingered me to one more very nice orgasm, while he traced the spider’s web of scars all over my chest, and fondled my breasts, and kissed up and down my neck and ears, while I slid my naked ass up and down his frustratingly fabric-covered crotch.

And then he really did go, leaving me in a dazed and confused state. I had just had the best sex in…well, possibly ever. Sam was a sweetheart, a nice guy, and an amazingly skilled and generous lover. But could I really date a guy who I couldn’t reciprocate on?

I got dressed and went back down to the apartment, still reeling. Clara smirked at me. I flopped down onto our couch, a big goofy grin plastered to my face. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Yes, apparently I could.

*

We were up on the rooftop again. It had quickly become our favorite place; no-one else ever seemed to go up there. We were intertwined on one of the wooden lounge chairs, my skirt was piled up around my waist, and I wasn’t wearing any panties. Sam was letting his fingers do the walking, and I was looking longingly at the prominent bulge in the front of his khaki pants.

Sam had this incredible/infuriating way of bringing right to the edge with his fingertips, and then keeping me there indefinitely, for what seemed like hours on end, until I quite literally couldn’t stand it anymore. And then, responding to my verbal or not-so-verbal clues, he would shift his technique ever so slightly and bring me to a ginormous orgasm. It was delicious and excruciating, and I could not get enough.

“Tell me again why you can’t come?” I asked.

“I just can’t. When I do, bad things happen.” My clit felt like it had swollen to the size of the planet Jupiter.

“What kind of bad things?”

He sighed, his fingers never pausing in their eternal complex weaving pattern up, down, in, out, and all around my squishy, soaking, swollen wet vulva. “Terrible things. It started when I was just a kid.”

“Don’t stop,” I told him.

“I still remember the first time. I was fourteen years old, home sick from school, and I was in the bathtub.” His fingers hovered just nanometers from my aching clitoris. “I guess I was kind of a late bloomer. I knew about masturbation, and I know I had experimented with playing with myself before, but this was the first time it had all come together.

“So I was lying there in the sudsy warm water, my dick pointing up at the ceiling, and I had finally hit on it. I was stroking myself and just loving it. The sensations kept getting better and better!” I knew exactly what he meant. I remembered my own discovery of masturbation; at a slightly earlier age, but also in the bathtub.

“I was making splish-splashing noises with my fist. I was incredibly turned-on, and I knew that I’d somehow slipped past the point of no return. The closer I got to the edge, the smaller the movements of my hand became, until I just had my thumb and forefinger wrapped around my cock, just below the head, and my hand was quivering like I had Parkinson’s.

“I remember almost passing out from the intensity of the moment. My back arched, my toes curled, I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, and I shot off. Big gobs of come shot out the end of my dick, spewing up like a geyser and splashing down into the warm tub water. More and more kept on oozing out, like it was never going to stop. It felt great. I was high with the sensation, playing with my semen, spreading it all over my dick, which was still erect, and I was just wondering whether I could do it all over again, when my mother tapped on the bathroom door.

“She told me that the space shuttle Challenger had just exploded. That pretty much killed my hard-on. I got out of the tub, toweled off, got dressed, and watched the explosion over and over again on TV. I knew it was all my fault. I felt sick.

“I didn’t masturbate again for over a year. The next time I was over at my friend Shelly’s. We were just friends, nothing more. We were hanging out at her house, down in the game room, and we started talking about sex; about guys and girls and porn and who and what we were both attracted to, and then out of the blue she asked me if I’d ever seen a chick whack off.

“I hadn’t, and she asked if I wanted to, and of course I said yes. She produced a VHS tape from a hiding place under the couch and stuck it, blushing mottled pink, into the VCR, with the sound turned way down.

“In retrospect, it was probably embarrassingly bad, but at the time it was the hottest thing I had ever seen, hands down. It was one of those low-budget ‘amateur’ pornos, shot in some aseptic L.A. apartment with a consumer-grade video camera. There were two girls, probably only a few years older than me and Shelly, with really bad hairsprayed hair, and they were getting it on. One was blonde, one was brunette, they both had big tits, and they were both naked, except that the blonde one was wearing a double strand of huge fake pearls, and the brunette had on these fingerless black lace gloves that went all the way up to her elbows. They proceeded to have sex, fairly enthusiastically, all over a big, brown leather couch.

“I’d never seen real porn before, just furtive glimpses of my dad’s old Playboys; and this was pretty thrilling; but that was nothing to what happened next. Shelly shimmied off her jeans and her underwear, and spread her legs, turning to give me a good view of what she was doing, and started fingering her pussy right in front of me.

“I was so turned on I almost couldn’t breath. Her pussy was furry, and I could see the wetness on her labia and even her clitoris. She would slide one finger all the way inside, and then pull it out and rub it all over the outside, spreading her lips apart and making her little pink clit stand up. “Go on,” she said, “I want to see you do it too.”

‘Well, I could hardly say no to that! My dick was about to burst through my zipper anyway. I pulled off my pants and started jerking off for her. We were sitting on opposite ends of her ratty old sofa, and our eyes were glued to each other’s crotches, the porno on the TV totally forgotten. We tried to match each other’s pace, tried to draw it out and delay the inevitable, but I don’t think we really lasted very long. We were both too excited. Shelly started to come first, throwing back her head and scrubbing at her clit furiously and breathing in sharp little gasps, her boobs shaking like Jell-O under her t-shirt. I had just the tip of my forefinger petting just below the head of my cock, and I was squeezing my balls hard with my other hand. When I saw her coming, it set me off. I ground my teeth so hard I was afraid I would break them, and shot off all over the beige fabric of the couch.

“We were both panting hard, and the girls on the TV were still going at it. Shelly laughed, and then I laughed, and she said “That was awesome!” and turned off the video, and then we both got dressed and cleaned up and played some Nintendo.

“That night, on the news, I heard that a house had burned down, and a bunch of kids had died. They were the children of migrant workers, and the place had illegal apartments in the attic, and they couldn’t get out. One girl, an eleven-year, had burns over eighty percent of her body. She lingered for a week. That was the first and only time in my life I’ve actually prayed.

“That was when I swore off sex and orgasms for good. I’ve had girlfriends since then, but I’ve put all my energy into the giving of pleasure.” No kidding. Sam’s fingers were playing a concerto on my nether regions, and it felt so damn good I could barely stand it. “I guess now I just get off on getting other people off.

“There was one more time. It was my senior year in college – my dad wanted me to be an engineer – and it was about eight thirty in the morning. I had been working all night down in the drafting studio.

“At the time there was this girl who was really into me, and aside from all the practical aspects, I just wasn’t that into her. But anyway, she came wandering into the studio where I was finishing up my final project. She had brought me a big fat cup of coffee, and as I drank it, she stepped behind me, and started rubbing my shoulders. It felt really nice.

“Well, you know how it goes… she kept massaging me, and kind of pressed herself up against me, and it did feel really good… and then she reached around and started playing with my dick through my pants, which was, of course, hard as boron steel, and I didn’t do anything to stop her.

“She got my zipper down and fished my dick out, and by this time the train had totally left the station. I put down my drafting pencil and spun around on the stool, and she opened her mouth and swallowed me whole.

“She was one of those girls who could suppress her gag reflex or something; it was pretty impressive. She just opened wide, and started bobbing her head up and down on me. She’d lift up so that only the head was captured between her lips, and then she’d drop down until her face was pressed into my pubes and my cock was halfway down her throat. It felt amazing, and all the while she was softly tickling the area behind my balls, making little beckoning motions with her forefinger.

“I don’t think I lasted five minutes. I exploded into her mouth with a shout, and she took it all, sucking me dry, and coming up with a big fat feline smile on her face.

“Before we could even say anything to each other, the radio, which had been playing classical music, cut in with a news flash. There had been a big explosion in Oklahoma City. There were casualties. Nobody knew what had happened, but it kept getting worse and worse. At first they said it was Islamists, and then it turned out to be some asshole redneck with a Ryder truck full of fertilizer.

“I dropped out of college, a month before graduation, and moved here, and became an EMT. And that’s the story.”

It was a really messed-up story, and I really didn’t know what to make of it, and my brain wasn’t functioning very logically because I was right on the edge of a massive explosion of my own. Sam obliged me, his timing as perfect as ever, slipping two fingers up my ravenous cunt, and touching my clit in his patented way with his thumb, and bringing me off to an enormous, incredibly satisfying, window-rattling orgasm. Damn, he was good!

Afterward, we talked a little more. His dick was so obviously agonizingly hard inside his pants I had to physically restrain myself from tearing his clothes off and jumping him. More than anything in the world, right about then, I wanted to feel his hardness inside me, feel him shoot off inside my pussy.

“How do you do it?” I asked, “How can you stand to get excited like this and not get off?” Me, if I go more than two or three days without an orgasm, I get the girly equivalent of blue balls.

Sam looked bashful, which was awful darn fetching. “From time to time I do a prostate massage,” he said, “To relieve the pressure. It feels kind of nice, and it doesn’t seem to have the same… effect as an orgasm.”

“I’d do that for you!” I said. My mouth was literally salivating at the prospect.

“Really?”

“Oh, hell yes!” I had never touched a guy’s anus before. I’d had a couple dudes stick a finger in my butt; and Jeremy used to do this thing where he rubbed the outside of my asshole with his thumb while he was going down on me, which felt amazing; and I’d had anal sex twice; the first time sucked, the second time was OK. I’d never thought of that zone as being particularly erogenous for guys, but all of a sudden I was on fire to get my fingers up inside Sam’s butthole.

We didn’t waste a lot of time. He stripped out of his pants – I rarely got to see him naked, and it was a treat – and his dick was hugely erect and drooling precome. He crawled up on the wooden deck chair, facing backward with his cute little rump thrust out and his balls hanging down, his dick pointing straight out like a spear, and I proceeded to get my index finger nice and wet and slippery.

It was hot to do that to him. I felt like I should be gentle, but he made a cute little mewing noise when I pressed my finger against his puckered anus, and it slid right in. He was tight, and it was really sexy the way his asshole gripped my finger like a little fist. I found his prostate right away – it was practically the size of a walnut, and I started gently rubbing it, following his directions. I wished that I could grab his big fat hard cock at the same time, and jerk him off with my finger up his ass, but as the Rolling Stones once said, you can’t always get what you want.

It didn’t take very long at all. I felt his body tense up and then relax, and he made a strange guttural noise deep in his throat, and his balls tightened up and his cock twitched, and started leaking come, thick white pearlescent come, as if someone had turned on a spigot. A ton oozed out, before he was all done. His cock stayed hard as hard could be. And my pussy was all wet and ready for action all over again.

I removed my finger from his butt, and he kissed me all over, grinning like a maniac, and proceeded to eat me for lunch.

Our sex life sort of hit a plateau after that, a glorious, fabulous, sexy plateau. Sam and I got together all the time, whenever we weren’t working, which was a lot, and we’d go up to our little rooftop Eden and fool around.

I convinced Sam to let me touch him, to let me take him in my mouth, even to fuck me a little bit, as long as I made sure to let him pull away long before he felt the first tinglings of an orgasm. Then he’d pull out and roll over, or lift his legs up to the clear blue sky, and I’d finger his asshole until the come drooled out of his gorgeous cock. Which I’d usually lap right up like a cat with spilled milk, not so much because it tasted so great, as because it was just plain sexy. And then he’d flip me right over, and eat out my pussy and lick my clit until I came all over his face. It was a pretty awesome arrangement we had going on.

One time I mustered the nerve to ask him what he’d think about me fucking him in the ass with a strap-on, and he blushingly told me he thought that’d be pretty hot. I got as far as going shopping for dildos and harnesses before I chickened out.

It was a Tuesday morning, one of those glorious late summer/early fall days when the whole world seems just OK. Sam had just gotten off his night shift; I had the day off. We waved at Clara, my roommate, who rolled her eyes at us and blew me a kiss, and we headed up to the roof. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect morning for being naked.

We wasted no time losing our clothes. His dick was already nice and fat and hard; my pussy was hot and slick. We laid out the blanket that we’d started stashing up there for our own personal use, and got busy in a sort of 69 where Sam lavished oral affection on me, licking all over my pussy and clit and darting experimentally up to my asshole; and I carefully played with him, lazily tracing my fingertip up and down his hard cock, ticking his balls, drawing spirals on his tummy and inner thighs, and poking gently into his anus.

We did that for a little while, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up and turned around, and lowered myself carefully onto his waiting cock. It felt so good to have him inside me! We never bothered with condoms; I knew I was clean, and he sure wasn’t fooling around with anyone else. I loved the feeling of togetherness when his naked dick was nestled up inside my horny pussy.

I rocked back and forth, impaled atop him, savoring the sensations. I felt like I was oozing pussy juice all over him. His eyes were half-shut, his face a serene mask of bliss.

I felt something slip inside me, the beginnings of my own orgasm. I started to buck on top of him, grinding myself onto his dick, harder and harder. Sam halfheartedly tried to push me away, but I pinned his arms down. I rode him like a cowgirl, my tits bouncing wildly, my hair flying all over the place. He began to hump back at me, matching my rhythm. Our hands clasped, fingers intertwined, squeezing hard. I bent down and kissed his lips, and he kissed me back, hard, desperately. I started to come, wailing out loud into his open mouth, my cunt devouring his cock, and he fucked me back, fucking me straight to orgasm. Through the sound and the fury of my own climax, I felt him come, his cock twitching and trembling inside me, his hot semen flooding into my cunt, overflowing, and drooling out all over us both.

When it was all done, he stayed inside me, diminished. We were both panting, out of breath.

“I knew that would happen, sooner or later,” he said, “It was bound to happen. It’s not your fault.”

“Is it ok?” I asked him.

It seemed like every siren in the city had gone off at once. I could already see one huge column of black smoke away to the south, and even as I looked, I saw the fireball as the second plane hit.

Traffic had stopped in the streets. People were wandering around, bewildered. Radios chattered.

“I’ve got to get down there.” Sam said, pulling on his clothes. I got dressed too, and pedaled my ass down to the burn ward at Columbia-Presbyterian, where we were expecting massive casualties. The thing is, we didn’t actually see that many bad burn patients. It seems like people mostly either got out more or less OK, or they didn’t get out at all.

I never saw Sam again.

I called his phone obsessively. At first I called him hourly, then every day, then every week. I stopped leaving messages early on; I used to just listen to his voice on the outgoing message. Eventually the number stopped working.

END

The place used to be a knife factory, back before the recession and the new normal, back before the bottom fell out and all the jobs slunk away, first to Hong Kong and Taiwan, and then to poorer and more desperate places.

When they closed the factory, they erected a fence around the entire site; a twelve-foot tall hurricane fence topped with concertina wire. A fence, I reflected nervously, designed to keep out trespassers, delinquents, people like me.

They hadn’t kept up with it. Big holes were rent in the fence, and in places it had been knocked down entirely by fallen trees. The tall towers of security lights had long ago gone dark. The place was derelict.

I made my way through the darkness and litter, slipping through a hole under the fence tunneled out by a generation of trespassing teens. The night was full of mostly invisible, nearly silent figures making their way into the compound. Like a shadowy migration, the place was swarming with kids.

I found the entrance to the building without much problem. Behind a ragged sheet of plastic, dim battery-powered lanterns lit the way. A couple of burly guys were taking money. It cost twenty dollars to get in. There was a homemade poster taped to the wall with a list of rules written in black magic marker: respect for the performers; what happens here stays here; if your name is called you must abide by the luck of the draw; condoms mandatory for all penetrative sex. There were a pair of plastic buckets just inside the door, a red one labeled ‘Actions’, and a green one labeled ‘Actors’. For another twenty bucks a pop, you got to drop a slip of paper into a bucket.

Inside the building, I followed the trail of spotty lights and the growing crowd as we wound our way through a labyrinth, deeper and deeper into the abandoned factory.

The room we ended up in was fairly small, and it was already pretty packed. The seating was eclectic: plastic Adirondack chairs and cast-off choir risers as well as folding chairs and a few scattered lazy-boys lined the perimeter. In the center of the room was a large square of ratty blue shag carpet and in the center of the carpet was an ornate red velvet Victorian couch. Next to the couch was a little side table with a salad bowl full of condoms, a couple vibrators, and a big bottle of lube. Someone had rigged up a cluster of spotlights, strung together with orange extension cord, and the place was lit up like a stage.

I was surprised by the crowd: I hadn’t imagined that there would be so many people, and I guess I had expected it to be almost all male. The room was full to overflowing. I was lucky to get a seat. There were at least as many girls in there as there were guys. This thing was better attended than the freaking prep rallies at school.

Kim T, our thoroughly straight-laced and chronically over-achieving class president and presumptive valedictorian, strode confidently out into the arena. She was wearing a top hat, black slacks, and one of those novelty t-shirts with a tuxedo printed on the front. She carried a wireless microphone.

“Welcome back Friends and Lovers,” she said into the mic, and she was rewarded with an enthusiastic round of applause. With practiced patter, she quickly introduced herself, explained the rules of the game, and admonished us all to be quiet during the show. She had all the suave showmanship of a practiced emcee; I never imagined she had it in her. The crowd, unusual for a room packed full of teenagers, was dead silent.

The two buckets were brought out, and ceremoniously placed on a low table in front of the carpeted area. Kim made a big show of reaching into the green ‘Actors’ bucket and mixing up the pieces of paper inside. Then she drew out a folded slip and read it aloud:

“Donna S.”

A mousey, curly-haired, slightly overweight girl in a big purple t-shirt stood up and nervously made her way up onto the stage. She sat down on the scarlet couch, looking very nervous and self-conscious.

Kim drew a slip of paper from the other bucket, and held it up over her head.

“Goes down on”

On the couch, Donna smiled widely, caught herself, and then blushed furiously.

“Ricky O.”

A skinny kid in black jeans and a black t-shirt with a bad haircut and braces got up and came forward. There was an awkward pause as they sat next to each other on the couch for a moment, a couple geeky kids on their first date. The audience held its collective breath.

Then Donna leaned over and kissed Ricky on the mouth, and ran her hand clumsily up and down the front of his black jeans. That seemed to break the ice. Ricky stood up and unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall around his ankles. His penis jutted out from the front of his boxer shorts. He scooted the underwear down, and his naked cock protruded straight out from his crotch.

Donna seemed to take a deep breath, got on her hands and knees on the couch cushions, opened her mouth wide, and started doing her level best to swallow him whole, as if she were at some sort of perverted hotdog eating contest.

They fumbled around a little, and then they seemed to find a comfortable rhythm. There was a brief smattering of applause when she stopped in the middle of what she was doing, sat briefly up, and pulled her purple t-shirt and beige bra off over her head in one smooth motion. She had a beautiful set of tits. You never would have guessed.

When she went back to work, they both seemed more relaxed and focused on the task at hand. He felt up her boobs a little bit. She played with his balls. Then she sucked on the pink head of his long, skinny cock, while he guided her hand up and down the shaft. The room was quiet enough that I could hear the slurping sounds of her mouth on his dick.

Donna looked up at Ricky imploringly. They were both enjoying themselves immensely. This beat the hell out of any porn I had ever seen. Ricky started pumping his own cock, biting down hard on his lower lip. She lapped at the pink swollen crown intermittently, and then offering up her large soft breasts as a sort of target for him. He came with a high pitched yelp, squirting copious amounts of pearly-white semen all over Donna’s breasts. The crowd applauded as they grinned, bowed, mopped up and got dressed, and returned to their seats.

Kim came back to center stage, smiling and golf-clapping. With a flourish, she drew three more slips of paper out of the two buckets.

“Sean A.”

“Butt-Fucks”

“Brian G.”

I knew Sean, he was one of those quiet, really smart kids who sat in the front row of all his classes, wore slacks and button down shirts every day, didn’t really socialize, and, without making a big fuss about it, got straight ‘A’s. It had never occurred to me that he might be in any way a remotely sexual being.

I also knew Brian. Everyone did. He was on the football team; I’m not sure what position, but it was one of the important ones. Big, goofy, popular, not overly bright. And he did not want to get up. There was a muted commotion around where he sat in the improvised bleachers, catcalls and a little pushing. “Come on Man,” someone yelled, “Don’t be a pussy. You know the rules!” Sean just stood there on the stage, grinning and fidgeting absently.

Brian sheepishly made his way up onto the stage. Kim winked broadly, mugging for the audience, and slapped him playfully on the backside. Sean was already undressing.

The kid had a big dick. I mean, holy shit. Who knew? I’m sure that more than one person made a mental note: there was more to quiet, studious Sean than anyone would have guessed. A lot more.

“Suck it” he said.

Brian gave him a murderous look, but he knew the rules, and he was committed to playing along. While skinny, naked Sean lounged on the couch, his oversized cock still flopping around half-hard, Brian shrugged eloquently as if he could really care less, got down on his knees, and started unenthusiastically licking the underside of Sean’s dick.

Sean wrapped one hand around the base of his cock – it was really obscenely big and uncircumcised – and smacked Brian across the face with it, the head peeking out from under its sheath, red and livid angry-looking. He pushed the bulging crown against Brian’s lips and fed it to him. Brian made a face like he was being forced to drink rancid milk. Poor thing. I don’t think I was the only person in that crowd who would have happily traded places with Brian at that moment. But that wasn’t an option.

Sean pulled his cock away from Brian’s half-hearted ministrations, and stood up. He was having his moment in the spotlight and loving it. On Monday morning, he’d be quietly back in class, head down, grinding away at his academics. His dick was fully hard now, jutting straight out from his crotch like a medieval battering ram, and it certainly was impressive. He whispered something in Brian’s ear, something none of us in the audience could hear, but we all saw Brian blush cherry red.

They traded places: Brian unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear and knelt down in front of the couch, burying his face in the pillow. His dick was small and soft, hidden in a curly matt of dark pubes. He had a cute little white butt.

Sean sat down on the small of Brian’s back, facing us. His enormous dick jutted out like a totem pole, standing up past his navel. He began massaging Brian’s backside, gently tracing spirals with his fingertips all over Brian’s butt cheeks; rubbing the backs of his thighs, brushing up against his dangling scrotum, occasionally darting fitfully into the dark crevice between his buttocks. He was masturbating intermittently with one hand, keeping that ridiculous cock nice and hard. The whole audience was on the edge of its seat.

The foreplay seemed to go on forever. The tension was unbearable. After what seemed like an eternity, Sean scooted back so he was sitting on Brian’s muscular shoulders, bent over and stuck his face in between Brian’s butt cheeks, and started to lick. We heard a quite audible sigh, and Brian raised his rump, trying to giving Sean better access. His dick was dangling straight down, meaty and engorged if not exactly erect.

Sean seductively licked his fingers, one, two, three of them, and when they were glistening wet with his saliva, he started tracing them up and down Brian’s backside, traversing lazily up and down, starting at the dimple at the base of his spine, down his crack, along his fat testicles, and finishing at the pink head of his penis, which was now quite definitely hard.

The silence in the room was intense. I could hear Brian’s raspy breathing, the little gasp when Sean found his butthole, the sigh when he moved his attentions away from that sensitive spot, the sharp intake of breath when he came back to it, more aggressively this time, probing and penetrating with his wet fingers.

Abruptly, Sean stood up, and snatched up a condom from the salad bowl on the little side table. He tore the package open, and slowly and meticulously rolled the condom down his over-sized cock. Wrapped in beige latex, his penis looked faintly ridiculous, all out of proportion with his skinny body, as if he were goofing around, holding a salami between his legs.

He slathered lube all over his dick; and then poured what seemed like half the bottle down Brian’s butt crack. He pried the cheeks apart, and we caught a glimpse of Brian’s crinkled asshole; tiny, pink, vulnerable. “Fuck,” I thought to myself, “that thing’s never going to fit.” Brian whimpered softly as Sean violated his ass again, smearing lubricant up inside his anus with two fingers.

It took a little while, but Sean was patient and determined. He stood behind Brian, who now had his rump thrust up in the air like a cat in heat. He rubbed his condom-covered cock up and down Sean’s crack, eliciting and involuntary moan, before pressing it hard against his target. The two boys rocked together like kids on a seesaw; it was intensely erotic for everyone in the room. They seemed lost in a world all their own. Sean pulled away, got down and licked some more; tried again. This time, it slipped right in. Brian grunted like he’d just been tackled by a big lineman, and Sean threw his head back and let out a long, drawn-out quavering groan. He was inside.

Sean didn’t get the whole length in; that would have been ambitious! He kept the bulbous head of his dick lodged just up inside Brian’s anus, and fucked him with tiny, rapid humping motions, almost as if he were some bizarre wind-up toy. It only took a few moments. Both boys were breathing hard and fast, like they were running the hundred meter dash. Then Sean let out with a tortured, quavering whine, and squeezed his own ass, and we knew he had come.

He pulled his cock out, threw away the condom, and flashed us a smile as he put his clothes back on and went back to his seat in the bleachers.

Brian seemed dazed and confused. His own dick (regular sized, and not bad-looking at that!) was achingly erect, curving skyward, balls drawn up tight. He stumbled over the couch, picking up his scattered clothes into a bundle, and wandered blushing off the stage, his bobbing erection leading the way.

Kim the emcee took center stage again, clapping politely. “Well, that was really special,” she said, “I know that made my panties moist! How about you? Let’s have a big hand for Brian G for being such a good sport!”

When the applause died down, she pulled a fresh slip of paper out of the green bucket.

“Susanne S.”

Susanne was a dancer, a tall, quiet, elfin girl with long red hair and pale, almost translucent skin, an easy smile, delicate features, and the shoulder blades of a quarterback. She shyly stood up and walked up onto the stage.

Kim pulled a slip of paper out of the red bucket. This time it made her pause. She held it up for everyone to see. Someone had used a black magic marker to scratch out the list of verbs, and had written above it, in large block letters, “FISTS”

Susanne made an eloquent little shrug and sort of half-smiled, giving nothing away.

Kim pulled out another slip from the first bucket. “Kelly W.”

I didn’t know Kelly by name, but I recognized her from school. She was sort of a plain girl, the kind who easily blends in with the crowd: brown hair, neat and tidy, plump but not fat, neither short nor tall. She had, I noticed in my current state of advanced sexual excitement, nice big boobs, and pretty, naughty-looking lips.

“It’s not really According to Hoyle,” Kim said as Kelly joined them up on the stage, “What do you think?”

“I’m up for it if she is,” Kelly said. Her speaking voice was so soft it was hard to hear her words, but she didn’t seem particularly nervous.

Kim surrendered the stage to the two girls. Kelly sat on the couch, and Susanne sat on her lap. They started out kissing, softly and tentatively at first, then more and more urgently.

Susanne pulled Kelly’s black t-shirt off up and over her head, and unsnapped her bra. I was right, she did have beautiful big breasts, with thick pink nipples that pointed eagerly up and out. Susanne wasted no time kissing and sucking on them.

Kelly kept slipping her own hands inside Susanne’s leotard, and Susanne finally smilingly indulged her, shrugging off the spaghetti straps and pulling the top down, exposing her own breasts; small, pale, and perfect. They kissed some more, sprawling across the couch with Susanne on top, their boobs mashed together, hungry lips playing tag, Susanne seductively rubbing the crotch of her tights up and down Kelly’s thick, blue-jean clad thigh.

Susanne wiggled out of the rest of her leotard, kicking her tights aside. Her body was beautiful, lithe and trim. She wore skimpy, sapphire-blue panties that exactly matched her eyes and kept crawling up her ass in the most fetching way imaginable.

She tugged and wrangled Kelly’s jeans off. Underneath was a rather chaste and plain pair of white panties. These went flying, and Susanne gently but firmly pushed Kelly’s legs wide, wide apart.

Kelly had a light brown, fluffy, unruly muff; and her pussy was a prim, pursed vertical seam. Susanne flung her long red hair over one shoulder with a toss of her head, and buried her face in between Kelly’s thighs.

She licked; long, lingering slurps; once, twice, three times. We couldn’t see much: Susanne’s head was in the way; but I think we all felt it almost as intensely as Kelly did. “Oooooh, ah…” she sighed as the third and final lick trailed off and left her hanging. When Susanne removed her head, Kelly’s pussy was transformed. It had bloomed: the petite inner labia were peeking out, eager and moist and pink. The nipples on her big boobs were standing straight up, fat and erect.

Focused like a surgeon on the task at hand, Susanne sensually licked her middle finger until it was thoroughly wet (if every dick in the house wasn’t hard yet, I’m sure that did the trick!), and carefully inserted it into Kelly’s hungry little pussy. Kelly threw her head back, closing her eyes and sighing audibly. The finger came out again, shiny and slick, and was quickly replaced with a second digit.

Susanne finger fucked her gently at first, then less gently with two fingers. Then she added a third, which didn’t slip in as easily as the first two, but took a little work. Kelly was lolling her head from side to side, eyes shut tight, hands pulling her pussy open for Susanne’s invading fingers. Susanne took a moment to lap once or twice at Kelly’s over-excited clitoris, and then slathered lube onto her own fingers and all over Kelly’s horny little pussy. This time her three fingers slid easily up inside.

“More” Kelly grunted huskily. Susanne readily obliged, liberally pouring lube onto Kelly’s vulva. A fourth finger joined the first three. Now all that was left was the thumb.

The crowd held its breath, fascinated. I, for one, was wishing fervently that Susanne would shed her panties and let us all see what was hidden underneath, but she seemed completely focused on the task at hand. Oh so gently, she formed her hand into the shape of a duck’s beak, working it slowly, slowly into Kelly’s pretty little cunt.

Kelly was whining, a constant seesawing drone. It was hard to tell whether the noises she was making were an expression of pleasure or pain. Her eyes were scrunched tight, her lips curled in a grimace, her toes pointed skyward, her nipples were red and swollen.

Her cunt finally relented. Both the girls sighed as Susanne’s fist disappeared inside Kelly, swallowed whole up to the wrist. Susanne smiled wide. Kelly was visibly shaking. She whispered something inaudible to Susanne, which made her smile even wider. She started moving her hand inside of Kelly’s distended pussy.

Kelly’s moans and whines had become a wailing torrent. Her head lolled from side to side, and she kicked her feet. I don’t know if everyone saw this, but Susanne discretely slipped a hand down the front of her own panties for a moment.

At last Kelly gasped out “No… fuck… I can’t… no more!” And Susanne gently removed her fist, leaving poor Kelly’s pussy gaping and gasping. Susanne’s hand was totally covered in slick, glistening wetness. The girls kissed, long and sensuously, got dressed, took a bow, and sat back down.

Kim retook center stage. When the applause had died down, she spoke into the microphone, “Well, now THAT was different!”

She drew a slip of paper out of the green bucket.

“Darren McP”

“Fucks… Excellent, a good old fashioned fuck!”

“Julia McP… Oh dear.”

If you didn’t know, you would probably never guess the McP’s were twins; once you knew, it made perfect sense. It was like looking at two different architects’ conceptual renderings of the same building; two completely different expressions of the same set of specifications.

Julia was a skinny, triangular girl, with pale skin, long clever fingers, wide hips, no discernable breasts, a hooked nose, and the same thick, nearly black hair as her brother.

Darren was an ovoid, soft and rounded, with thoughtful, inset brown eyes, and neatly manicured fingernails at the ends of short, stubby-looking fingers. His skin was pale, like Julia’s, but he was prone to acne. She gave the impression of being the taller of the two, but when they stood next to each other up on the stage, it turned out that they were the exact same height.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kim said, holding her hand over the mic. Her words may not have been amplified, but every person in the audience heard them anyway. “I could draw two different names.”

“Meh. Why not?” Julia responded.

“Yeah, why not?” her brother echoed. Kim left them alone on the stage.

They stood facing the audience, straight-backed and expressionless, like soldiers on parade, about an arm’s length apart from each other, and stripped.

Julia had thick thighs; a curly triangle of shockingly black pubic hair; a flat belly, breasts that (while not non-existent) were little more than speed bumps on her torso; and a long graceful neck. She tossed her shoulder-length hair defiantly.

Darren had a big, bulging belly; a deep navel; thin, wispy black pubes; a fat set of testicles that reminded me of tennis balls; and a shy, flaccid, circumcised penis. He had large, dark pink nipples surrounded by sparse hair. He tugged nervously on one ear and rubbed his nose.

She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his portly expanse. Julia lightly ran her fingertips up and down Darren’s body, from his nipples down to his scrotum and back again, tracing little spirals and curlicues as she went. We watched Darren’s cock rise and swell like a toadstool, until it was proudly erect and stood out at a forty-five degree angle from his crotch. He wasn’t absurdly well-hung, but he was certainly sizeable enough!

While he stood at attention, Julia moved around to his side, rubbing her furry pussy up and down his leg and fondling his penis and playing with his balls and his butt. She rubbed her small boobs up against his, smiled, nibbled on his earlobe, and whispered something to him.

They separated again. Darren sat down facing us on the red couch, his cock standing proudly up. Julia clambered up on the couch cushions, and stood unsteadily facing us, straddling Darren’s lap, her ass right at a level with his face. He steadied her with a hand on each hip, and started licking. She bent over to give him better access, and her thick black hair cascaded down, obscuring our view.

This lasted for a few minutes. We could hear their breathing, the wet sloshing and slurping of Darren’s busy tongue. Then Julia straightened back up.

Still facing us, she sat carefully down on Darren’s erection. In flagrant violation of the rules, they didn’t bother with a condom. Her pussy engulfed him easily, swallowing him whole. When his cock was buried all the way up inside her cunt so that his thick ball sac was pressed up against his sister’s jungle of black pubic hair, they started rocking back and forth together. She had her hands on his hips to control their movements. One of his hands reached down to find her clitoris; the other hand pinched and played with one of her tiny nipples. There was no sound in the room except for the squelching and squishing noises of Darren’s cock in his sister’s extremely wet cunt.

It didn’t take long. He came silently inside her, hugging her tight, his face turning bright red, and I think she may have come at the same time. They stayed conjoined, unmoving, squinting at the stage lights for a long moment before she stood up, releasing his spent cock with an audible *plop*. As Julia lifted herself up, their co-mingled come and juices drooled out of her pussy onto his lap, an image that struck me as almost intolerably sexy.

The applause was thunderous as the twins awkwardly pulled their clothes on and returned to their seats. Kim stepped up to the microphone.

“Well, that was certainly different! It’s been an unusual and exciting Saturday night. But then, isn’t every Saturday night exciting and unusual here? I hope to see you all again next week!”

The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd of horny teens dispersed quickly and efficiently, like rats evacuating a sinking ship. I made my own lonely way out of the old knife factory, slipping under the hole in the fence and making my blind way through a patch of woods, peripherally aware of other unseen figures making their not-quite-silent way through the dark. It was long after midnight and I wished I wasn’t going home alone. When I finally got to bed, I would masturbate, that much was a guarantee.

I was hooked, like I’d caught religion. I’d be back the next Saturday and the Saturday after that. And maybe, just maybe, this next time I’d shell out an extra twenty bucks and drop my own name into the bucket.

END

I won’t go into the sordid details of how we met. It was pretty sordid, and in retrospect, it all seems inevitable, like the force of gravity acting upon two spheres in a void.

She told me she’d just moved to the city. She told me she’d left an abusive boyfriend in Seattle, driven across the country in a semi-stolen rental car, all her belongings crammed into a duffel bag in the back seat. She told me she’d ditched the car along the side of the turnpike in north Jersey, and taken a bus into Port Authority. She told me she needed a place to stay, just for one night.

I let her sleep on my couch.

I woke up early, with a boner. I remembered that she was there just in time, and fumbled a pair of boxers on, before parading across the tiny, cluttered apartment to the bathroom, my morning wood jutting obnoxiously in the front of my underwear, a testament to the non-subtlety of the male anatomy. She looked beautiful asleep; sweet and vulnerable and at peace as if an enchantment had been laid upon her. Or been lifted off. I pissed, a yellow, dehydrated stream; flushed, and went back to bed. When I woke up a second time, she was gone.

When I got home, she was there. I sure as shit don’t remember giving her my spare set of keys, but she had them. She told me she’d tried to look up a couple old friends who had moved here from Austin, but their address had changed or something, and they were nowhere to be found. She looked kind of haggard and fragile, like a wild flower dipped in liquid nitrogen.

She told me she’d had a baby when she was just a teenager, a little girl who was taken away from her as an infant, and who now lived with her ex-boyfriend’s grandparents in San Francisco.

She asked me if she could spend the night again, and I said ‘Sure’. My motives were not entirely pure. She wore a black long-sleeve leotard, and an intricate black dress down to her ankles that looked like it came from another century; and her breasts were large and round, endearingly oversized for her slight frame. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and a constellation of freckles was scattered across her cheeks. When she smiled, which was a rare event, the corners of her eyes crinkled, making her look older than she said she was.

I picked up a box of red wine, which isn’t nearly the travesty it sounds, and we methodically proceeded to get shit-faced drunk together.

She told me that when she was just a girl, her daddy had raped her. Well, it hadn’t been his fault exactly, she said, she had goaded and teased him into it. From the time she grew breasts, she was always flaunting them, tormenting him with them. She would walk around the house in just a bra, or in an oversized t-shirt with no bra on underneath. She would make her boobies jiggle while he pretended not to watch, and strutted around in front of him, showing off her brand-new cleavage. She would give him big, tight, excessively warm hugs, eating up his discomfort like a young siren. She used to sit on his lap and very deliberately rub her ass up and down and back and forth, feeling his erection grow inside his pants, while her mother watched disapprovingly.

He took her one summer afternoon in their back yard, while she was lying out topless next to the pool. She felt his shadow fall across her naked back, and then he was lying down on top of her, his full weight crushing her, making it hard to breathe. He reached underneath her and fondled her fresh, sensitive breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples, making her squirm and struggle. His hands pulled her bikini bottoms aside, rubbing up and down her young pussy, which was now excruciatingly wet. He slathered her wetness all over his cock. His penis, she said, was not especially long, but it was really thick. Later, he would make her suck it, whenever he felt like it; in the car, or after she’d gone to bed, and he’d always come in her mouth. Now, he pulled her swimsuit all the way off, tossing it into the pool. He pried her butt cheeks apart, exposing her most private parts, and spat right on her asshole. She knew what was coming, but she didn’t scream or even tell him to stop. He took a big fistful of her hair and proceeded to cram his fat cock up her ass. It hurt a lot, that first time, she said. Later, when she knew what to expect, when her body was more used to the invasion, she would enjoy it, even come to crave it.

He always fucked her ass. Or made her suck his cock. That way, she said, he didn’t have to worry about getting her pregnant. Her mom knew, she told me, as she gulped down another paper cup full of cheap wine; her mom knew all about it, but never said anything, but she was jealous and used to find any excuse to punish her.

One time, her mom caught her masturbating. She hauled her downstairs by the hair, struggling and crying, naked from the waist down, where her mom’s friends were all playing cards and drinking Long Island Ice Teas. Her mother forced her to spread her legs in front of all of them, and then spanked her pussy with a ruler until she was weeping uncontrollably. The ladies all laughed at her. She said when her mother was finally finished with her, she slunk shame-faced back up to her room, and finished masturbating her bruised and tender pussy. She said she’d never come so hard in her life.

Her eyelids were getting heavy and her words slished and sloshed together. She poured another paper cup full of wine and went on with her story: her mom threw her out of the house on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, calling her a slut and a whore, her daddy’s semen still bitter in her mouth. She moved to Coeur d’Alene, and moved in with her boyfriend, a guy she’d never actually met, but only knew from the internet. Her story trailed off there as her eyes finally closed and did not open again.

She was asleep, fully dressed and sloppy drunk, a dixie cup half full of Malbec still clutched in her spidery little hand, sprawled out on my ratty and disreputable sofa. I thought about taking advantage of her. I imagined that I was her daddy, and she was fourteen again, and it was me who was violating her virgin asshole.

I jerked off, mere inches from her relaxed, angelic, sleeping face. When I was done, I felt like a scumbag, a pervert who should register himself somewhere. I cleaned up the mess, and slunk off to bed, where I dreamed drunk, confusing dreams, and woke up with a stiff morning woody and a hangover. She was gone.

She was home when I got home. She told me she’d spent the day looking for a job, but her résumé had been on her laptop, which had been stolen in St. Louis. She asked if she could use my computer to look for work, and I said ‘Fine’. She was wearing all black, as usual, a voluminous turtleneck and tight black jeans that somehow made her look both skinnier and curvier than ever.

My place was tiny, even by New York standards. It had been illegally carved out of a dilapidated three-bedroom apartment that had been on the small side to start with. If it had been in Guantanamo, instead of Bed-Sty, I’m sure it would have been in violation of some U.N. convention or other. The place was never meant for two, especially not two people who weren’t actually fucking, and the claustrophobia was getting thick as dense fog. She had eaten the last of my microwave bean burritos, and run me out of milk. We sat on the couch and drank vodka that she had brought home that tasted like paint thinner.

When we were both good and lit, she went on with her story, picking up right where she’d left off.

She moved in with her Idaho boyfriend, who lived with his mom in a mobile home on the wrong side of town. She got pregnant the first time they had sex. She didn’t know how she knew, she told me, but she knew, as soon as he came inside her. It was her first time, she said, her first time with a cock in her pussy. He threw her out, she said, as soon as he found out: broke it off with her and told her to go get an abortion. She moved to Seattle and had the baby there.

She got into real estate, and ended up sleeping with her boss. He was wealthy, she said, and he paid her rent, but he had a mean streak, and he liked to play games.

Sometimes when she was giving him head, he’d grab her by the hair and fuck her face, as if her mouth were a cunt, not caring if she choked or gagged or even if she could breathe. After he’d come, he’d hold her head in place as his cock softened, and then sometimes he’d piss in her mouth.

Sometimes he’d tie her up and leave her there, go to a bar and pick some girl up and bring her home and fuck her, right in front of her.  Once, on a rainy Seattle night, he locked her out of the house, held on to her wallet and keys, and wouldn’t let her back in until she brought a girl home for him to fuck. She ended up slipping some poor baby dyke a couple roofies, and staggering home with this weepy underaged chick on her shoulders. She watched as he fucked the passed-out little waif right there on the carpet, no condom or anything. When he was done, she licked his cock clean, and they hustled the confused and bedraggled semi-conscious young girl out the door and into the dark and drizzling suburban night.

She said the last time they were together, he tied her to the bed, face-down and spread eagled. He told her that he had a jar full of pure sulfuric acid, and that he was going to pour it all over her back. She didn’t believe him, she thought it was just another one of his mind-games, even as he dribbled the liquid up and down her back, from her shoulders down to her buttocks. Then it started to burn. It sizzled and stunk. She could smell her flesh being eaten away. He told her that he had a box of baking soda in his other hand, and he would sprinkle it over her back and neutralize the acid, but not until he came. He slid his cock into her pussy, which was soaking wet, and told her to get fucking.

She fucked him as hard as she could, restrained by the tightly knotted ropes, bucking her pelvis up and down and squeezing him with her cunt, howling and crying as the acid ate away her flesh. He stood perfectly still, letting her milk his cock. She was desperate. The ropes cut into her ankles and wrists, but she didn’t care. She slammed herself up and down on his erection, desperate for him to come. Finally, he shot off into her pussy, and good as his word, he sprinkled the baking soda all over her back. She said the endorphin rush was so intense that she came right away, his wilting cock still inside her, his come leaking out onto the sheets. She said it was the most intense orgasm of her life. She went into shock right after that, and lost consciousness. He dropped her off at the emergency room; she never saw him again.

She was gone again the next morning, and she wasn’t around when I got home from work. I wondered if I’d seen the last of her, but I didn’t think much about it; I had other worries. My ATM card wasn’t working, and my landlord likes for me to pay the rent in cash. He’s not the most reasonable fellow: if he’s not actually a mobster, he sure likes to dress and act like one, which is arguably worse.

I ordered Thai food, and paid the delivery guy with quarters, dimes, and nickels from my change drawer. She showed up just in time to help me finish off the phad thai.

We slept together that night. There was no discussion, she just came to bed with me. We didn’t waste much time on preliminaries: I licked her pussy for a little while, but I did that because I wanted to, not because she wanted it. She tasted nice, a little salty and a little musky, like some sort of exotic fruit.

She told me to fuck her. She told me I didn’t need to wear a condom. I put one on anyway.

We fucked face-to-face, kissing like wildcats. Her big, soft breasts were pressed against my chest. Her pussy was incredibly wet and slippery and hot and hungry for my cock.

I fucked her hard, and I fucked her deep. I felt like Superman. I felt like I was never going to come. Her body was slender and lithe and strong like a weasel or a ferret. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, her legs were long and muscular, and she liked to wrap them around my back and pull me deeper inside. Her tits shook pleasantly while I fucked her pussy.

When she came, she let the whole block know about it. I swear, she set off car alarms. She threw her head back, arched her back, and really let go. I felt like King of the World.  It seemed to go on forever. She told me it was the best orgasm she had ever had.

I asked if I could fuck her in the ass, and she said ‘Sure’, and rolled over onto all fours. Her naked ass was at least as beautiful as it had been wrapped in tight black jeans. We didn’t need any additional lube; her wetness was plenty for both of us. I nudged my cock gently into her tiny little hole, easing the head of my cock past her crinkled anus. She was tight back there, but not impossibly tight. She sighed throatily, and pressed back against me, taking more of my cock up her ass. Finally, I was all the way in, balls deep, her asshole clenching around the base of my cock. Very slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster, I started to fuck her ass.

Her back was smooth and flawless, from her exquisite shoulder blades down to the cleft of her buttocks. The only mark to be seen was a small, slightly fuzzy, generic-looking Celtic knot tattooed at the base of her spine.

She was really into it, huffing and grunting and humping back against my thrusts, playing enthusiastically with her clit while I sodomized her; her tits swinging beneath us like a pair of wrecking balls.

What pushed me over the edge was when she slipped a finger, or maybe more than one, up her pussy. I could feel her fingers rubbing up against my dick from inside her body, and it drove me wild. I shoved her head hard down into the pillows, and crammed my cock all the way up her butt until my hips were pressed hard against her pale ass-cheeks. I came, howling like an orangutan and pumping the condom buried in her ass full of semen.

When I woke up in the morning, she was gone, just like I knew she would be. My bank account was empty, and I was already locked out of my email.

I should have gotten on the phone right away, and started cancelling credit cards, but I took a shower first. I masturbated there, under the tingling cascade of spraying water, savoring the memory of the night before, clutching my dick in one soapy hand and leaning against the cracked and mildewed tiles. After I came, I stood in the shower for a long time, my hand still wrapped around my softening cock, my come congealing in the drain like spilled egg whites, letting the hot cleansing water spill all over my body, letting it wash away her scent, her touch, her memory, every last lingering trace of her.

END

The place isn’t crowded, but it certainly isn’t abandoned either. We are sitting at a picnic table in a neglected corner of the park, underneath an enormous old tree that is more dead than alive. It is Oliver’s lunch hour, and we are eating sandwiches, and he is playing with my pussy under the table, and it is driving me insane.

I tell him that I want to mark him as mine, my own property. Just saying the words makes my pussy flood, my clit swell and twitch. I feel his fingers pause inside my panties, hesitate, and then resume their meandering journey even more eagerly than before. I tell him that I want to brand him. He nods, but his eyes get real wide. Boys are so funny about pain!

I ask him where he wants me to do it, someplace where only he and I will know about it, somewhere where his wife won’t see it. He smiles shyly, licks my joy juice off his finger, and points coyly down at his crotch.

I tell him to unbutton his jeans and lie down on the bench, and he starts to panic.

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

There are people around, but I don’t think anyone is probably looking at us. We’re just another unremarkable couple, having lunch outside together on a nice early summer day.

He does as I say. Of course. He is wearing boxers, and his dick makes an impressive tent in the soft tartan material. My pussy is squelchy wet, juicy and hot and horny, missing the attention of his strong, talented fingers.

From my purse, I take a small piece of rigid steel wire, twisted and bent into a stylized LC, my initials. I clamp a little set of vice-grips to the wire, and turn on a tiny butane torch, holding the wire inside the flame until it glows white hot and emits sparks. I can hear his breathing coming fast and shallow.

“Will it hurt?” he asks, trying to sound brave.

“Oh yes,” I say, “This should hurt quite a bit.”

I pull his boxers down, letting his dick spring free like a jack-in-the-box. It is tall and thick and proud and kind of beautiful. His pubes are shaved bald, balls and all, which was not the case when we first me. I idly wonder what his wife thinks of this new look. I wonder if she will notice the mark I am about to make, but I don’t really care.

He whimpers a little. He is afraid. I am enjoying the anticipation immensely. I bend his dick to one side, out of the way, and press the hot metal against his bare flesh, just above the base of his cock. It makes a tiny hiss as it makes contact, and he flinches hard and grunts through clenched teeth. It really hurts, I can tell. He is breathing hard and fast, making noises like a woman in labor. I hold it there, on his smooth skin, for a count of three, then lift it off. My initials stared back at me, livid red on his pale, untanned flesh.

I apply a towelette soaked in alcohol to the wound, and am rewarded with another flinch and a stifled, choked-down scream. My pussy is positively drooling into my panties, my clit is twitching with lust.

I long to sit down on his dick, and fuck him like this, in pain, outside, and in public; but that is the one thing he has absolutely forbidden me. So instead, I do a quick check to see if anyone is obviously staring at us, wet one finger, and stick it straight up his asshole. I wrap my other hand around his dick and pump, hard and fast, like I’m playing Nintendo and winning. His cock is harder than ever.

With my long finger clamped securely inside his tight anus, I stick out my tongue and flick at the swollen red crown of his dick. He comes almost instantaneously, arching his back, and crying out in a throaty rasp that definitely makes people nearby turn their heads and look at us. Pearly-white semen splashes up his chest, in a long, beautiful arc, staining his white button-down shirt. I feed him a fat drop off my finger, mop up the rest with a handi-wipe. I hope he has something to change into back at his office.

Lunch hour is almost over, and it is time for Oliver to be getting back to his office. Self-consciously, we straighten out our clothes and try to look presentable. My own pussy is squishy hot and slippery, clamoring for release, but that will have to wait. Looking sheepish, Oliver rubs a little burn ointment onto his brand new scar, favors me with a half-smile, and buttons his jeans one last time. His dick still makes a noticeable lump in the front of his pants. I could eat that thing all day, every day, if I had the chance.

I am left to pick up the pieces: half eaten sandwiches and wrappers, branding paraphernalia scattered all around the picnic table, my own moistened panties, which I shove into my purse.

The first time I meet him, flesh-and-blood meet him, it is very early in the morning, at a park-and-ride off Route 9. For some reason I am taken aback: he really is that cute in person!

We’ve played on the internet before: I’ve made him put clothespins on his tiny nipples and snap his own sensitive parts with rubber bands, and had him cram his wife’s pearl necklace up his cute little butt. I’ve watched him jerk off plenty of times, but this is very different. The traffic is a constant low-level roar: the morning commute in full swing. My heart feels like it wants to rip out of my chest.

His hair is mussed up, and he still has bed-face. I told him to go commando, and I can clearly see the outline of his cock through his pants.

He steps out of the car, and we kiss. He tastes like coffee. He slips a hand up inside my t-shirt and cups my breast, covering it entirely with the palm of his large, strong hand. My pussy melts.

I tell him he how bad I want this, how hard it has been to wait, how I’m really nervous, and it is mostly true. He kisses me harder and squeezes my nipple. I bite his lip, bearing down hard, until I taste blood. He pulls away. The gold band on the fourth finger of his left hand taunts me.

I position him behind his car, facing away from me, and I tell him to pull down his pants. His ass is bare underneath, in all its taut, muscular, pale glory. His dick is fully erect, straining up and out, swollen and leaking and slightly curved. It would fit inside me deliciously. The traffic on Route 9 is heavy. Anyone could see us now, from inside their car, if they were looking. But they probably aren’t. I tell him to bend over and touch his toes.

I spank his ass hard, alternating cheeks, one and then the other. I spank him until my hand stings, my arm aches. His white ass is covered in raised red finger-shaped welts. I want his wife to see my hand-prints later on, to ask him where they came from.

I want it to hurt. I take off my belt and use that. It makes a satisfying *whack* as it contacts his flesh. He flinches away, but does not ask me to stop. He knows better than that. By the time I am done, tears are running down his cheeks, splashing onto the asphalt pavement like salty rain. His cock is harder than ever.

I tell him to stand up and reach for the sky, and he does so slowly, almost reluctantly. When he is finally standing up straight, with his hands laced together on top of his head, I start going down on him.

His pants are in a pile, crumpled on top of his shoes, his dick juts eagerly out. I don’t swallow him whole, the way I might with someone else. Instead, I stick out my tongue, softly trace my way up and down his length, and back again, stopping to swirl around the ridges of the crown, as if he were an exotic hard candy. He is quivering under my tongue. His dick twitches and shudders, and he moans out loud. With one hand, I softly pet the underside of his ball sac, trace tiny little hidden paths up the crevice between his cheeks, tormenting and avoiding his asshole, tracing intricate spirals on that soft, secret flesh, while my tongue still travels its lazy traverse, up, down, and back up again. I am going to make him late for work, and I don’t care.

He goes off without warning. He gasps, he cock suddenly jumps and goes harder than hard, and he spurts off, directly into my open mouth, squirting his hot, thick, salty semen straight onto my outstretched tongue. He will pay for this later on. Meanwhile, I swallow every drop, even as he milks himself into my mouth.

I sit on the tail gate of his car, with my skirt hiked up and my legs pornographically spread, and he earnestly goes down on me, flicking my clit with his tongue and fingering my cunt until I come, but it isn’t what I want. It is good, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t fulfilling. It doesn’t fill that void.

With my wetness still sticky on his face, he buttons up, kisses me one last time, and gets back in his car. He is definitely going to be late for work. I hope his ass pains him all day long. I hope he thinks of me every time he sits down or shifts his weight in his chair during a long, stifling meeting. I will send him filthy texts, just to make sure.

At home I masturbate furiously. I use my vibrator, but I keep the switch turned off. I want to come just from this. It takes a while, but I can do it. I am certainly wet enough.

I imagine crucifying him spread-eagled to my hardwood floor with sixteen-penny duplex nails and a framing hammer. There would be a butt-plug the size of a Volkswagen up his ass, and his dick would be harder than steel. With every blow of the hammer, as I drive cold iron through the flesh of his hands and his feet, I ask him over and over again, “Do you like it now?” and he’d moan back “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

I squat over him, hovering just above his straining erection. “Do you want it? Do you want it now? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“No,” he says, “Please no.” I do it anyway.

I lower myself onto his dick and ride him, savoring every centimeter of his cock filling me up, bouncing up and down like a wild woman, lifting off and letting his penis flop helplessly, straining up toward my slick and drooling cunt like a drowning thing, coated in my juices. Again and again, I plunge back down on him, relishing the sensation of penetration, fullness, feeling his cock inside me. I grind down and back and forth, my scarlet initials peering back up at me past my swollen clitoris, where my pussy lips have swallowed his penis whole.

He is arching his back, fucking up at me, fucking my cunt. I know he is close, and I draw it out of him, balanced on the tip of his cock, the livid head of his dick captured just inside my pussy lips, rocking back and forth, stimulating my clit while my juice runs down his cock like syrup. He comes, with an anguished scream, arching his back up to me, fingers and toes clenching spasmodically, tearing at the spikes I have driven through his flesh, filling me with his seed, and I come too, lowering myself onto him one last time until he is completely inside me, his balls mashed against my skin, pounding on his chest and twisting and pulling on his nipples all the way through my orgasm.

I have pissed on him; he has drank my urine straight from the source as if I were a human water fountain; I have smeared my menstrual blood all over his face; I have beat him and bitten him and branded his skin; I have jerked him off and sucked his cock; I have even sodomized him, but I will never possess him.

The vibrator finally slips regretfully out from between my tired and buzzing labia. I feel empty inside. My breasts are pink and flushed from my orgasm; my hands are still trembling. It is another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody.

END

1.

The devil is in the details. You like the general idea, but we spend a lot of time negotiating the nitty-gritty. Just talking about it over the phone, and back and forth in emails and texts makes us both squirmy, restless, and hot. The anticipation builds and builds.

You come over to the house early in the morning, pink and eager and freshly showered. You ring the doorbell right on time, and my dick twitches and swells inside my pants. Out of sheer perversity, I let you wait a while on the doorstep. Five minutes, ten minutes click by with excruciating deliberateness. Time has slowed down to dentist office speed. When I do let you in, you smother me in a big, warm hug. Your body feels nice pressed up against mine. My cock is already hard. I have made you a big, hot breakfast. We eat, and then we make out for a while, lolling together on the couch like a pair of spoons, my erection pressed up against the cleft of your ass while I squeeze and fondle your breasts and we kiss. Then you get undressed, and I lead you downstairs.

It is dark and cool in the basement. The cement floor is gritty and a little moist. I fasten a leather dog collar around your throat, secure it with a padlock to a length of chain attached to the plumbing. There is a bowl of water for you to drink from, and a few granola bars. I kiss you once more, hard this time, biting your lip until I draw blood, and pinching and twisting your nipple, making you cry out. Then I switch off the light and leave you down there.

There is work for me to do, calls to make, open projects clamoring for my attention on the computer. My dick stays obnoxiously hard between my legs as I try to concentrate. Knowing that you are down there waiting for me is a powerful aphrodisiac. I feel your pull like a magnet.

When I can’t stand the wait anymore, I set work aside and make the trip down the stairs. You are lying down on the cement floor. Maybe you were asleep. I pull your lead, forcing you up onto your knees. I take out my cock and feed it to you, savoring the feeling of your mouth on my dick. You are an eager fellator.  You use your tongue and your lips and your hands on my erection, my balls, my asshole. You are good. The pleasure is almost too much for me. Before you push me past that event horizon, before I slip past the point of no return, I wrench myself away, leaving you there, gasping and panting. Upstairs, my dick is now constantly hard, a heavy ingot between my legs. I keep thinking of you down in the cellar waiting for me. I am not very productive.

From time to time during the day, I come down and let you suck my dick. Sometimes I shove it into your mouth, cramming it down your throat, grabbing a fistful of hair and fucking your face. Other times I torment you with it, holding it just out of reach so that the collar chokes you, and every muscle strains as you stick out your tongue, trying to lick the red, swollen head.

My friend Bryan comes over for lunch, and I tell him I’ve got something to show him downstairs. We go down to the basement, and I watch while you suck his dick. You look really sexy like that, with your lips wrapped earnestly around his cock, his balls rubbing against your chin, your breasts swaying and jiggling as your mouth goes up and down on him. I join in, and you try to swallow us both at once. It feels weird to have my cock rubbing up against his inside your mouth. I realize that I have never touched another man’s dick before, and now I am. You use both hands on our cocks, massaging our dicks while you slather your tongue across both of the swollen heads. You take my hand, place it on his shaft; and his hand on mine. We jerk each other off while you suck us both. Suddenly, I am kissing him. If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it. It is weird to kiss a guy: his lips feel hard and rough, his stubble is scratchy.  It feels strange to hold another guy’s cock in my hand. Now Bryan is kissing me back, our hands pumping hard and fast on each other’s cocks while you struggle to keep both the heads between your lips. I feel him shoot off into your mouth, and that is what sets me off. We spurt into your hungry mouth like a pair of roman candles. You lick our dicks clean as they slowly wilt and diminish. Afterward, Bryan seems embarrassed by what happened. I offer him a beer, but he makes an excuse and leaves.

During the afternoon, you suck my dick some more. I play with your pussy, choking you with one hand while I run my fingers roughly up and down your slit. I’m not going to fuck you this time, though I want to and you want me to. You are shockingly wet. I slip a finger into your asshole, and you yelp. I let you masturbate while I jerk off into your open mouth.

I unlock you, and bring you upstairs where you shower and get dressed. Then I treat you to a big, beautiful dinner with flowers and a nice twenty-dollar wine. We sit outside together and look at the stars. You tell me this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

2.

You are still kneeling when I get home, which is good, because I know you don’t want to spend another night in the box. You are just where I left you, dead center in the middle of the living room, down on your knees, back straight; arms trussed up and bound behind your back.

The girl I brought home is young, skinny, pretty, and a little drunk. She giggles too loudly when she sees you. You hate her already. I can see it in your eyes, glinting through your glasses.

We make out for a while on the couch, right in front of you. She is a sloppy kisser, and over-eager to get my cock out. I get her top off, toss her bra aside. She has a pretty cute set of tits, the nipples hard and pink, pointing up and out.

She sucks my dick a little bit. She isn’t very good at it. She tries to swallow it whole, but gags and chokes. She bobs her head up and down, and uses her hand, but can’t find a good rhythm. She licks it like an ice cream cone, which is kind of sweet, but mostly frustrating.

I get annoyed and have her stand up and pull her skirt up and her panties down. I have her stand in front of you, and I tell you to lick her pussy. You don’t want to do it, but you do it anyway, sticking out your tongue and dragging it up her pouting, waxed, puffy-lipped slit. She grins, and giggles too loudly again.

I fuck her. I can feel your eyes on us every second of it. Her pussy feels really good on my cock, hot, tight, and very wet. She is gloating, chuckling as I fuck her bald twat, high on the thrill of fucking your lover right in front of you. She rubs her clit, and kicks her legs and comes loudly and dramatically on my thrusting dick.

I pull out, and tell her that you are going to show her how a real whore sucks cock. I peel off the condom and present my straining dick to you, and you devour it eagerly, devouring my erection like a prime cut of meat. Her juices are all over me. I reek of her sex. I pull your hair and fuck your face. Your mouth is, as always, amazing; hot and wet and talented. I can bear it no longer. With a cry and a whimper, I come, filling your mouth with my hot semen. You swallow eagerly, milking me dry.

I give her a cab fare and send her on her way. She looks resentful, as if she had expected something more. You smile triumphantly as I shoo her out the door. I untie you. We kiss and cuddle, and go to bed together, where I find your pussy slick and wet and ready to go. I lick your clit until you can’t stand it any more, and beg me to please fuck your cunt. I gladly oblige.

3.

We find this one on Craigslist, of course. She taps softly at the front door, ignoring the doorbell. She’s cute; a little heavy, a little unsure of herself, with frizzy not-quite-blonde hair and skin so pale that it is almost transparent. I ask her in and offer her a drink, which she nervously accepts. She yelps when she sees you, even though we had told her beforehand exactly what to expect. I ask her if she’s ok, and she flashes me a disarming little smile and says ‘Yes’.

You are flat on your back on the coffee table, bound tight, your arms and legs lashed securely to the table legs. Your breasts are pancaked, and your labia peek out, betraying your excitement. The rope presses into your skin, carving out valleys in your flesh. To me it looks uncomfortable, but I don’t hear you complaining.

She sits on the couch and primly sips her drink, watching intensely as I step out of my pants and underwear. My cock and balls feel heavy, pendulous, as I climb up onto the table and straddle your face. You eagerly begin licking the underside of my cock, making me swell and grow hard. I shift position, and you licked and nuzzled my balls. I shift again, arching my back and spreading my cheeks, and you lick up and down the cleft of my ass, extending your tongue, licking all around my asshole before darting up inside. My cock is fully erect now, arching up and out, straining with excitement. I could come just from this. I stand up before we get too carried away.

“I think a woman looks so beautiful in a strap-on.” I say to the room. I produce our harness, with the large, purple, silicone dildo already in place, the one you like to fuck me with when the mood is upon us. This time, instead of buckling it around your hips, like we usually do, I fasten the straps around your face, so that the base of the dildo is pressed against your lips like a gag. You look strangely sexy that way, artificial phallus protruding obscenely from your face. I kind of like it. “Go ahead,” I tell her, “Be our guest. Please, don’t be shy!”

She is shy though, and it is cute. She is hesitant and self-conscious about undressing. I think she has a lovely body, even though she isn’t anything like model-thin. Her boobs are small and sweet, she sports a neatly-trimmed little bush. I think her best feature is her ass, large and curvaceous.

Nervously, as if she’s afraid it won’t bear her weight, she climbs up onto the coffee table. I can see your breathing get shallower and more rapid, see your lips swelling, pouting out like a blooming flower, see the wetness oozing between your legs. She slowly and tentatively starts to lower herself onto the dildo that is strapped to your face. She smiles… she likes it! She sighs loudly, and lets it slip slowly all the way up inside, until her pussy is mashed up against your face. She grins up at me: this is good!

She starts riding you, like an equestrian atop a galloping horse, bouncing up and down, grinding against you. I’m not sure how you can breathe: your head is captured between her thick, meaty thighs; when she bears down your nose disappears between her ass cheeks. She bends over and starts finger-fucking you. I don’t think she has ever been with a girl before. It looks like she is stabbing at your pussy. Two fingers plunge in and out like daggers. I know you are enjoying this, but I also know it will not make you come.

I pour lube all over my hard dick until it glistens and shines like an amphibian thing. I maneuver myself into position, pry her cheeks apart, take aim. She stops moving, and holds her breath. I slide my cock slowly, inexorably up her ass. She grunts as she is penetrated. I am fucking her ass now, and you have a front-row seat.

She starts moving on the dildo again, rocking back and forth as I sodomize her. She whimpers and whines. She is going to come. Her asshole squeezes me very tight; the motion of the dildo in her cunt drives me crazy. I am not going to last very long.

She orgasms, loudly, high-pitched, broken, unintelligible screams, mashing herself down hard against your face. Her orgasm triggers my own, and I shoot off with a shout, squirting deep inside her asshole.

We slowly, gently untangle. I untie you, massage the blood back into your hands and feet. Your face is sticky, shiny with her juices. I let the two of you kiss for a little while, then gently tell her it is time to go home.

I make you walk naked out to the car. Anyone could see you if they were looking, but they probably aren’t. You have a tiara on your head, and a butt-plug in your ass, with three enormous, gaudy peacock feathers sticking out of the base. I think you look lovely like that.

I follow you out to the car, and take off my pants, so that I am naked from the waist down. We get in and drive. When we get out on the thruway, I turn on the dome light, roll down the windows, and set the cruise control.

You masturbate as you suck my cock. The peacock feathers protruding from your rear end flap and flutter in the slipstream like a cavalry standard. The big rigs slow down and lay on their horns appreciatively as they pass us.

I love the way you suck my cock. You are so good at it! You play me like an instrument, like you are performing a symphony on my dick. With my free hand, I play with your breasts, pinching and twisting your nipples as your head bobs up and down on my lap. There are bruises on your wrists from where the rope cut into you. They look pretty. Your tongue is swirling all over the head of my cock, making me squirm with desire, making me hump back against your mouth. I am having trouble keeping the car in our lane.

Your fingers are making squishing sounds as you masturbate. You smile up at me around my cock, your eyes flashing merrily in the low light. The plastic tiara is sitting crooked on top of your head. I tell you I want to come in your mouth, but you already know that. You slip a finger up my asshole, and start sucking me in earnest, no more teasing. You are a woman on a mission.

I reach over and slide a pair of fingers up inside your pussy. You are hot and slippery and dripping wet. I finger-fuck you while you play with your clit. You suck my cock and torment my asshole. Somehow we manage to come at the same time. I cry out loud and shoot off into your mouth as you buck and shake through an orgasm on my probing finger. You swallow my come. I lick my fingers clean. You remove the butt-plug, and I turn off the interior lights and roll up the windows, and we drive home, taking the slow route, feeling deeply, deeply satisfied.

And they lived happily ever after.

END

It was corporate espionage, right down there at the very bottom of the food chain, where grotesque, blind organisms flail around in the muck, competing for whatever scraps filter down through the dark. Salem, the sole owner and proprietor of El Rey Del Taco was asking me to get a job over at Our Lady of Tacos so that I could spy on them and sabotage their product and find out why Belinda Moldover had a line out her door at lunch time and he didn’t.

I could have told him: Belinda hired cute high school girls, and had them wear skimpy, sassy little outfits, and their tacos were five cents cheaper than ours. But I didn’t. What would have been the fun in that?

“Just think, Sugarbuns, you’ll be making twice what you make now.”

Yes, and that was still less than half what I used to make over at the Rep for hanging and focusing light plots; before I got fired for, among other things, fucking the lighting director and for not fucking the production manager.

This job was the crusty bottom of the high fructose corn syrup barrel, a last-ditch Hail Mary pass. I was already way behind on the rent, and the cable company was threatening to cut off my internet. The measly salary Salem paid me didn’t even start to cover rent, but at least it allowed me to maintain my coffee habit, and I got to eat free tacos.

Salem wanted me to spy on the competition, but that wasn’t all he wanted. Underneath his expansive gut, his crotch bulged lewdly. He leered at me and licked his lips in an effort, I suspect, to appear seductive.

I had sucked Salem’s dick exactly once; I had more or less explicitly promised to do so at the job interview; if nothing else I am a girl who keeps her promises; and I had no desire to do so again. It wasn’t awful; it’s not like he had terrible personal hygiene or anything. It just wasn’t pleasant. He’s not very well hung, which isn’t really a problem for me, especially when it comes to blowjobs, but he’s also a combination of fat and reptilian that I find particularly repulsive. He’s the kind of guy who feels cheated if he doesn’t get to come on your face, the type who feels free to grab you with both hands by the back of the head if he doesn’t feel like you’re giving it your all. So I just played dumb and ignored the hints he kept dropping.

I wondered if he beat his wife, in addition to cheating on her and neglecting her. Probably not. Too much work.

So I got a job over at Our Lady of Tacos. And I didn’t even have to suck any dicks to get it.

Belinda Moldover ran Our Lady, and Salem hated her worse than he hated anything other than the Feds. I don’t think Belinda even knew Salem was alive, which of course only made him loathe her all the more.

Belinda had been an investment banker before the big crash, and she still dressed like it, in snappy pantsuits and pinstripes. Everything about her screamed ‘dyke’, and she overcompensated with too much pink and frilly stuff, and cheesy posters of half- to three quarters- naked muscle boys on her office walls. There was absolutely no sexual innuendo during the interview; it was very professional and above-board. She hired me. I knew right away that I wanted to fuck her. One way or another, I was going to lick her pussy.

As far as the spying went, there really wasn’t much to it: the tacos were almost exactly the same as the ones over at El Rey. Same brand of shells even, same supplier. Like I said before, the only difference was more teeny-boppers, and the price. Belinda made less money per unit, and she more than made up for it in volume; a concept that was utterly foreign to Salem. So I made shit up. I told him they used kangaroo meat in the ground beef, marijuana sweepings in the salsa. He ate that shit up.

As for sabotage, I did what I could. I spit in the lettuce. I squirted ketchup into the salsa. If I were a guy, I would have jerked off into the guacamole. Once I got brave and wiped pussy-sweat onto a tray of fish sticks. I broke taco shells and skimped on lettuce. Nobody noticed my efforts, but I was certainly enjoying myself. I have to hand it to Salem, he picked the right girl for the job. I’ve always been a bit of a junior-league terrorist, a mean little bitch. I guess it’s just the way I’m wired.

Once, when I was little, I walked in on my Mom and her boyfriend doing it. My dad was at work, and I was supposed to be over at my friend Molly’s, but I ditched that and walked home. I insinuated myself silently into our suburban ranch house, and tip-toed down the hall to my parents’ room. The door was ajar. I stood there in the doorway to their bedroom for a long time, just watching.

I’m not sure exactly how old I was at the time, but I was certainly old enough to enjoy the spectacle. He had a high forehead, and a pronounced farmer’s tan. His butt was skinny and pale, and his penis hung down between his legs, thick and heavy, dwarfed by his big, hairy, dangling balls. He was kneeling on the bed, with his face planted squarely in between my mother’s wide-spread thighs. She was sprawled out, a big lazy kitty-cat, practically purring with bliss as he busily licked and slurped.

What I saw made my cunny all moist and tingly. I stood there silently for a long time, just watching. I think I could have been bouncing up and down on a pogo stick and playing the cymbals; they would never have noticed me there in the doorway. They were completely wrapped up in what they were doing with each other.

She kicked her legs and lifted her ass off the bed and yipped like a coyote. I guessed that meant she was having an orgasm. He stayed with her all the way through it, her hands buried in his thinning hair, pressing him hard into her muff. I squeezed my thighs together. Inside my panties, my young pussy felt hot and wet and squishy.

Mom climbed on top of him, facing his toes. She could have plainly seen me, except that she was totally focused on the cock in her face, like a greedy kid confronted with a big candy cane. As she played with it, his thing magically grew and stiffened, until it was tall and rigid, standing straight up like a rocket ship poised for launch.

At this point, they switched positions again. My mom lay flat on her back on the bed, her legs held straight up in the air, her toes pointing at the ceiling. He climbed on top of her, his hard cock jutting out and bobbing around. It was bigger, hairier, and uglier than I had expected. Cocks, I decided, were not especially aesthetically pleasing. Still, it was damn sexy.

I actually heard her pussy squelch as he entered her. They both started moaning softly. I stuck one hand down my pants. My fingers came back wet and sticky.

I waited and watched while they got more and more into it, humping faster and faster, louder and louder. My mom was screaming incoherently. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was butchering her alive, chopping her up for stew meat. I held my breath, counted to five, and made my entrance.

“Mom! I’m home… oh!”

I couldn’t have timed it better. They both jumped like they had stumbled into a yellow-jacket nest. Mom squealed like a bunny rabbit, and they disengaged in a flurry of limbs.

His dick twitched, and fat, viscous globs of white stuff oozed out the end, falling like raindrops on the shag carpeting of my parents’ bedroom. He looked abashed and uncomfortable; she looked embarrassed and irritated. I was thrilled.

“Molly wasn’t around, so I just came home…” I let my voice trail off. “I’m gonna make a peanut butter sandwich. I’ll be playing with my Barbies in the back yard!” I finished brightly, leaving them to pick up whatever pieces they wanted to.

Later, Mom sat me down and explained that she had been playing a special grown-up game with my “Uncle Jim”, and that I shouldn’t mention what I had seen to my father.

A few days after that, after dinner, when Mom and Dad were watching TV, I knocked her porcelain elephant off the shelf where it sat. It shattered into a million little pieces. She had gotten it from her own mother, who had supposedly gotten it as a present from her fiancé, who was killed in the war.

“Why did you do that?” she asked sharply as she swept up the scattered shards. I knew that elephant had been precious to her. I just smiled and shrugged.

A couple years later, after she and Dad had gotten divorced, I blew one of her suitors. He had come over to pick her up for a date, and he was a little early, and she was still getting ready, so she told me to entertain him while he waited.

She went into her bedroom to put on makeup and fuck with her hair. I climbed up onto his lap. He wasn’t bad looking; sort of tall and gangly. I smiled sweetly up at him. I felt a certain something shift and twitch inside his pants, so I shifted my butt accordingly. That something responded. I slid my tush up and down his lap, and it responded even more. There was quite an impressive lump going on in his trousers.

I clambered down off his lap, and unzipped his pants. He certainly didn’t make any moves to stop me. The head of his dick was swollen, red and juicy. I popped it into my mouth like a big candy plum. He tasted nice, kind of salty and freshly washed. I wrapped my small hands around his shaft and slid them up and down, up and down.

He started rocking his hips back and forth, trying to get more of his dick inside my mouth. I persevered, keeping the head of his dick — but no more – captured between my lips, and pumping my hands up and down until my shoulders ached.

Suddenly he grunted. Strong hands grabbed me by the back of the head and pressed down, hard. His cock filled my mouth, plunging against the back of my throat, obstructing my breathing, making me choke and gag. I started to panic, but he held me tight. He was breathing hard, thrusting at me, fucking my mouth. He whispered “Bitch” in a raspy voice, and flooded my mouth with hot, thick, salty, bitter semen.

The hands grasping my head relaxed, and I fell onto the floor, grinning up at him, my mouth full of his come. I savored it, delighted in it, drank it with relish, knowing that it rightfully belonged to my mother. Just as he finished zipping up his wet, soft noodle, my Mom walked back into the room, ready for her date. I swallowed, and smiled sweetly.

It wasn’t long after that that she stopped speaking to me.

Back at Our Lady of Tacos, I was running out of lies to tell Salem, and my petty attempts at sabotage were going completely unnoticed. I was bored. I decided it was time for more drastic action. I would seduce Belinda Moldover.

In terms of seduction, I’ve always favored the direct approach. Friday night, after my shift was over, I ditched my apron, pinched my nipples to make them show clearly through my tight t-shirt, and slipped discretely into her office while my co-workers were busily cleaning up and putting away.

She was sitting behind her desk, a mahogany antique the size of an aircraft carrier. A ream of paperwork was spread out in front of her. She looked up at me through prim, rimless bifocals, looking for all the world like a sexy, dykey librarian. The poster of the oiled-up muscle boy behind her, wearing nothing but a black g-string and bow tie kind of spoiled the effect.

I spilled my guts to her, laid it all on the line. I told her I wasn’t sure I should say anything, but that it had been eating a hole in my gut. I told her I thought she was an amazing, beautiful woman. I told her that I was finding myself strongly attracted to her, and I thought we had chemistry, and I hoped that the feeling was mutual. I told her I’d never done anything with another girl before, but that I was curious to try.

I told her a bunch of untruths, filthy, filthy lies. Almost all of it was pure fabrication. I did think she was really hot though. I guess I have a thing for older women.

She took off her glasses and gave me a look that was pretty much smoldering. I melted like butter on a hot day, feeling myself get all wet and gushy inside my pants. I really wanted to fuck her, right then and there, right across that massive, cluttered desk. I wanted to spread her legs and lick her up, down, and left and right until she screamed.

“You’re a very attractive young lady,” she told me, “And I have to say I’m complimented… as well as tempted.”

I knew what she was going to say, and my gut tightened up and my mouth went sour.

“It really wouldn’t be ethical, as you’re an employee and I’m your employer… and anyway I have to confide in you that I’m sort of involved with someone else.”

She said it like it was some kind of big secret, but everyone knew. She and Dolores Breakwell were lovers. Dolores ran a garage a couple doors down and on the other side of the street from Our Lady. She was a classic dyke, short and stocky, with closely trimmed fingernails, muscular forearms, and a mullet.

If there’s anything I truly hate in this world, it’s being thwarted.

I decided that if I couldn’t fuck Belinda, I would definitely fuck her girlfriend. And Dolores proved to have far fewer ethical qualms about cheating on her lover and boinking me. I barely had to work at it to get into her pants.

She liked to lash me to the bed and make me eat her pussy for what seemed like hours on end. That woman was insatiable! She also liked to fuck me in the ass with a strap-on dildo, my wrists bound together in front of me, tied securely to the frame of her bed, sodomizing me like it was a competitive sport. I liked it even more than I let on. I barely had to fake anything,

We pushed our luck, and I encouraged bad behavior. We fucked in customers cars. I hid in the garage bays while she and Belinda fucked, and when she was gone, I came out and licked Dolores’ wet pussy some more. We had sex in their bed, while Belinda was out shopping. And inevitably, we got caught.

They double-teamed me. My hands cuffed behind my back, I desperately licked at Dolores’ pussy and clit while Belinda worked over my rear end with a belt, making it whistle through the air . Then they switched places, and I buried my face in Belinda’s silky-smooth crotch while Dolores flogged me. She used the buckle end. It hurt a lot. I screamed until my throat was raw and my voice cracked. The more I screamed, the wetter Belinda seemed to get. She made me stick my tongue up her ass, and told Dolores to fist-fuck my rancid little cunt. I was on the rag at the time, and she pulled out my tampon and did her absolute damndest to cram all five fingers up my poor pussy. She didn’t quite do it, I think she had four fingers inside me, and another in my asshole when Belinda finally came, kicking and wailing and telling me I was a filthy slut and a cheap little whore. I must have completely ruined her expensive high-thread count sheets, a thought that gave me some bitter solace after she threw me out of her house to limp home with a sore, shell-shocked pussy and a wounded, bruised and bloody ass. I still have scars from some of the gouges that belt buckle made in my poor heinie.

Belinda and Dolores broke up after that, and Belinda took up with one of the assistant managers, a pixie-faced seventeen year old named Cassie. I was fired, of course. Fired from Our Lady, and than fired again from El Rey for having blown my mission and not having blown Salem. I was summarily, and probably illegally, thrown out of my apartment for non-payment of rent.

I took up residence in a house that had been foreclosed upon, on a street littered with empty houses. The copper wiring had all been stripped out, but at least the water still worked, though my showers were bitterly cold.

I spent a lot of time over at the Starbucks, where I could charge my laptop, and drink overpriced, mediocre coffee until my hands wouldn’t stop trembling and my gut felt like it had been knifed. I thought about going pro, peddling my ass on Craigslist, which made for a couple pretty nice masturbation sessions, but when it came right down to actually doing it, seemed too banal and depressing for words.

Back at the house, I pirated internet from the nice young couple who lived across the street. There house was one of the few on the block that had actual, legitimate residents, and they took good care of it. It was cute. She was pretty, in a friendly, slightly chunky, carefree sort of way; he was the spitting image of a ripped Buddy Holly, with square, black-rimmed glasses, and an intricate retro heart tattoo on his upper arm.

I figured out a way to file other people’s taxes online, and have their refunds sent to an anonymous debit card that I bought at the Seven-Eleven. That was more profitable and far less risky than turning tricks. So, for a while anyway, I could live high on the hog.

Sometimes I’d watch my neighbors across the street, from behind the cracked and moldy window panes of my dilapidated American Dream house. They seemed happy.

Sometimes she’d mow the lawn, wearing nothing but hiking boots, bike shorts, and a jog bra. She had long, wavy, not-quite-blonde hair, and big boobs. I thought about what it would be like to fuck her, what it would be like to have those strong, thick thighs wrapped around my head. I thought about what they must look like when they had sex, his beefy, cut body on top of her curvaceous one, sliding his thick, hard cock into her juicy pussy, squeezing each other’s hands and whispering endearments as they fucked. I bet they looked pretty hot, doing it. I thought about what it would feel like to slide my wet finger up his tight little butt, just before he came deep inside her pussy. Pretty nice, I bet.

I continued hogging their bandwidth, committing tax fraud and watching porn, eating junk food and occasionally wishing I was a better person.

END