So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie)

We spent the afternoon rolling up characters, one oppressively hot summer afternoon, five of us crowded around a rough plywood table in a space hollowed out from the cardboard boxes and defunct appliances that crowded my parent’s basement. I was the oldest one there, by a good seven years.

I didn’t really feel like being there, but I didn’t really have anywhere better to be. Mom had been badgering me to start taking classes at the local community college, but so far I hadn’t done anything about that. I still had the same crappy job I’d picked up my senior year of high school, delivering pizzas. My twenty-fifth birthday was approaching, barreling down on me like an oncoming logging truck in the wrong lane. Where had it all gone wrong? All my friends had gotten real jobs or gone off to university and moved away. I felt like the troll who lives under the bridge: old, cranky, and getting covered in moss.

Judith had the D&D bug in a bad way. She’d inherited all my books and dice and miniature figures, and she had invited all three of her dweeby high school friends over: Amy, Ben, and Heather; honors students every one, prancing merrily into their senior year with bright eyes and great expectations. Judith had begged me to play too; and out of the spirit of brotherly cooperation, and because Amy was pretty cute, and because I was bored, I agreed.

The character I rolled had a fifteen strength and a seventeen dexterity, but was sadly low on wisdom, and the rest of her stats were all average. I made my character a female Halfling fighter/thief, and on a whim I named her Rosie.

The rest of the session was spent outfitting (Rosie got leather armor, a short sword and sling, along with the requisite thieves’ picks and tools); once supplied, the newly-formed adventuring party ventured out of the small provincial village where we had all met up in an inn, and hit the road in search of adventure.

We had just enough time that afternoon to find a little adventure, in the form of a small and poorly-armed group of brigands, just across the river under the eaves of the Wild Wood. A short, but scrappy fight netted us a few silver and copper pieces, not enough to cover the cost of outfitting, but a start; and a treasure map that depicted a goblin-infested cave not far away.

It was getting late, and I had to get on the road and deliver some ‘za, so our characters made camp along the side of the road, and we all agreed to play again the following week.

I hated to admit it, even to myself, but it had been a blast. When I told Judith, she laughed and gave me a hug. “I never see you smile anymore, Big Brother. It’s nice to see you relax and have a little fun.” I always felt a little weird getting hugged by Judith, ever since she had developed breasts.

It had been fun. D&D was kids stuff, part of my dorky juvenile past. I was an old man now, a legal drinker, and I thought I was supposed to be past all that. It had been years since I had played, and I had forgotten how much fun it really was, how you could really get lost in another, fictional world, where magic was real, and the worst you had to worry about were marauding monsters and trapped treasure chests, and minimum entry-level jobs and security deposits and university applications weren’t even part of the vocabulary. I could hardly wait for the game next week.

The next time we got together, we raided the goblins’ underground lair, fighting it out, cave by cave. There was subterranean combat, tricks, trap, and treasure. We played all afternoon and through the evening, and I called my manager (who had been our high school quarterback for one largely unsuccessful season) and wrangled us a free pizza for dinner.

I discovered that I actually liked Judith’s friends, despite the fact that they were a motley trio of high school dorks; academic overachievers who listened to classical music and were close onto a decade younger than me.

By the time we had defeated the evil goblins, it was dark out, and my eyeballs hurt from staring at graph paper in low light for so many hours. Rosie, my Halfling fighter/thief, had taken a nasty wound in an ill-advised attempt to backstab the Great Goblin; but Carla, Heather’s female wizard zapped him with a magic missile, and Rosie’s wound wasn’t anything Titania, our elf-druid (played by Amy; I imagined the character was fetchingly pale and lithe just like her player) couldn’t patch up with a few ‘cure light wounds’ spells. Rosie landed a magic short sword out of the loot. All in all a good day, for all concerned.

Rosie came to visit me that night in my bedroom. I suppose I should have been out at a bar, trying to meet girls, but I was pretty broke, and I’ve honestly never had any luck meeting girls out. Especially in bars. So I had watched some TV, read a little, and I was just trying to decide whether or not I had the energy in me to masturbate before I went to sleep; lanky, hyper-smart teenage Amy and her baggy jeans and loose-fitting t-shirt kept sneaking into the back of my mind; pudgy, cuddly, bitingly funny Heather kept intruding into my erotic meanderings; and Judith’s friend Ben (who played a ranger) kept fidgeting into the back of my mind; and Judith herself kept bugging me, just on the fringes of my overactive sexual imagination.

Rosie slipped silently into the room, opening and shutting my squeaky bedroom door behind her without so much as a creak.

“Well met,” she said with what I can only describe as a shy smirk.

“Well met indeed”, I replied, too startled to come up with anything more creative.

Rosie didn’t look very much the way I had pictured her, which I guess shouldn’t have surprised me. She was short, of course, if I had been standing next to her, the top of her head would have just about reached my belly button. She had an unruly mass of frizzy reddish-brown hair, and mischievous hazel eyes. Her features were kind of rough and her complexion was ruddy. Her eyes seemed like they were set slightly too far apart in her head. She looked sort of like a rustic doll, a farm girl whose face had been carved out of a turnip. After all, she only had an 8 charisma.

“Nice work today,” she said, padding quietly across the room and climbing up onto the bed next to me. She was wearing a stiff leather jerkin, and loose fitting pants. She wore no shoes, and her broad feet were covered in soft, curly hair, the same color as the hair on her head. “I got a little carried away, trying to sneak up on the Great Goblin like that. I do that… I’m a little impetuous sometimes.” She reached over and stroked my hair.

I was naked under the sheets, and as soon as she touched me, my cock jumped. I wasn’t used to having any girl sit next to me when I lay naked in bed; especially not hobbit girls who were supposed to be strictly figments of my imagination.

“You’re a good player,” she said, still stroking my hair, “You know I’m already second level, right? Of course you know that! I think we’re going to go far together.”

“I’ve never had a female Halfling character before,” I said, “So far I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“Well, I think you’re going to enjoy it a lot more,” Rosie said. She giggled, a high-pitched, stuttering giggle. “I’m being awfully forward, aren’t I? It’s that impetuousness again… I guess that’s what you get for having a low wisdom. But I’m not actually all that experienced.”

“Neither am I,” I said. She had stopped playing with my hair, and was now gently rubbing my neck. Under the sheets, my cock was twitching into a full-on erection.

“Really?” she said, stopping mid-massage. “I guess I’m surprised. You’re so much older, and you’re good-looking. But I guess we always think our players are more experienced than we are. Do you mind if I take off my leather armor? It’s kind of constricting.”

She was wearing a soft white linen blouse under her leathers. It didn’t exactly show off her body, but it did make her look much more soft and cuddly. She snuggled up against me.

“Is this ok?” she asked, stroking one finger up and down my bare sternum. I didn’t object, and her face came closer and closer to mine, and then we were kissing.

I’d only ever dated a few girls, and it had been a long while since I had kissed anyone. It felt really nice. Her lips were soft and warm, and as soon as they met mine, insatiable. She pressed hard against me, slipping her tongue into my mouth. I fell into her, kissing her back, losing myself into her mouth. She took my hand in hers and guided it to her breast. Her boob was small and firm, like a ripe peach, and felt nice in my hand. I squeezed, and she pressed back against me.

“Am I going too fast?” her hand slipped under the sheet, deft as any pickpocket, “Stop me if I am… Holy Cow!” Her small, clever hand found my erection. “Holy Cow!” she repeated, “By the hair on Cyrrollalee’s toes, that thing is huge!!”

It was the first (and last, so far) time that my equipment had been called ‘huge’. It’s not. Not that I’ve had any complaints; but my dick isn’t particularly big. As far as I can tell, I’m pretty much average, as far as size goes.

“Wow! There’s a lot of you going on down there!” Rosie was stroking my dick now, and it felt amazing. Her hand felt totally different from my own. I was the only one who had touched my cock in rather a long time. Her grip was soft, and yet really strong. The girl was ripped, she had forearms like tree trunks. A fifteen strength is nothing to be sneezed at; she could have beat me at arm wrestling any day of the week. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that thing… I may have to go down there and have a closer look.”

She peeled back the sheets, exposing my nakedness. Again, that high-pitched, nervous giggle. “Very nice!” she said, “Very nice indeed!”

Rosie took the opportunity to rid herself of her own vestments; the linen blouse and pantaloons fell on the floor. She had a taut, if squat and stocky, little body. The same curly brown hair that graced her feet blossomed between her legs and under her armpits. Her breasts were smallish, but perky, pointing outward in slightly different directions.

She climbed back onto my bed, on all fours, her little conical boobs hanging down. Grinning, she nudged my thighs apart, squatted comfortably between my legs, slowly tracing her stubby fingers up and down the length of my aching erection.

“I’m not sure that’s all going to fit inside… I’m going to have to work my way up to that.” My cock was harder than hard, straining up to meet her stroking finger. A long, clear strand of sticky pre-come oozed out of the purple head, attaching itself to my stomach. A flick of her tongue broke the strand.

“Could you…?” I stammered, “Would you… please…?”

Rosie grinned. “Suck you off? I was just waiting for you to ask… I’m not evil after all.”

One hand carefully cupped my floppy, sensitive balls, while the other wrapped around my shaft in a steely grip, pumping purposefully up and down. She opened up her mouth and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, which was so turned-on and sensitive by now that the touch of her hot tongue made me quake and buck.

It didn’t last very long. I was too far-gone already, and she was too skilled. Before I could even think to try and stop it, I was humping up off the bed, fucking at her face, trying to get more of my cock between her lips. She stayed with me as I came, gasping and gurgling and blissfully pumping semen into her hungry mouth as she pumped all the come out of my dick with her strong little hand.

Finally, I collapsed onto her bed, and she released my tired dick. She smiled up at me, licking her lips.

“Was that ok,” she asked, “I told you I’m not very experienced.”

“That was amazing!” I managed to gasp.

“Well thank you!” she said, climbing off the bed and starting to pull on her clothing. “I enjoyed that very much. I’m glad you did too.”

She was strapping on her leather armor. I didn’t know what to say. She tweaked my nose and kissed me on the forehead. “You guys are playing again next Thursday, right? I’ll see you there!”

And then she was gone, like a thief in the night.

I couldn’t wait for our next D&D session. I was antsy about it all week, simmering with impatience. It was a good session, too. After clearing out the last of the goblin caves, we made our way back to town, where we cashed in our treasure and purchased new supplies. Then it was back to adventuring. We had our first run-in with the minions of what would turn out to be our arch-nemesis, the Scarlet Mage. It turns out that Judith had designed an interesting and well-crafted campaign, not just a series of dungeon-crawls. She had put a lot of work into all this.

Somehow, I don’t know how she managed it, but somehow Rosie kept playing with my dick under the table. She started out just petting me through my jeans, until I discretely unzipped my fly and set my poor, straining erection free.

The rest of the afternoon, whenever she wasn’t actually in combat or picking a lock or disarming a trap or whatever, Rosie had her strong, dexterous little hand wrapped around my cock, slowly and methodically jerking me off. She never brought me anywhere close to coming. She had no intention of doing that. She was just teasing me, keeping me hard, frustrated, and horny. For later.

Finally the game wrapped up, the dice and figurines were put away, the undrunk soda refrigerated, and the uneaten Fritos closed up. I tucked my obnoxiously hard cock back inside my pants. Judith and her teenage friends were going out to Denny’s, and asked me along, but I declined. Hoping my hard-on wasn’t making too obvious of a bulge in my jeans, I retreated to my room.

I probably should have gone to Denny’s with the kids. My dick was painfully hard, and I was twitchingly horny, but I didn’t want to waste it by jerking off. I compromised by trying to read a book and sort of stroking myself at the same time.

I don’t know how long she was standing there watching. I looked up, and there she was, a big fat smirk across her oblong hobbit face.

“Are you having a lovely evening?” she asked, “Were you waiting for someone?”

I watched, speechless, as she unbuckled her short sword, peeled off her leather armor and under-linens, and clambered up on the bed to sit next to me. My dick felt hot and heavy.

“Did I do a good job last time? I don’t have a lot of experience, but I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“No,” I assured you, “it was fantastic!”

We lay side by side and kissed for a little while. Her furry toes kept tickling my erection. I liked the way her little body felt, her boobs pressed up against my chest. I liked the way she kissed.

Finally she broke off the kiss. “I liked playing with your big fat dick during the game today. It was very distracting though… I know I blew at least one ability check, and it’s all your fault.”

My ‘big fat’ dick was tremblingly hard, red and engorged, and leaking copiously out the swollen crown. Rosie had the situation well in hand.

“I got you off last time,” she said, “don’t you think it’s my turn to get a little action?”

I could hardly disagree.

She crawled up the bed and straddled my face, her thick, meaty thighs to either side of my head. Her plump, furry hobbit pussy was just inches from my mouth. Her folds pouted hungrily open. The smell of her sex was sharp and earthy, like a freshly plowed field. She was shockingly wet. Her pussy was literally drooling down onto my face.

I stuck out my tongue and craned my neck, carefully tracing her slit with the outstretched tip of my tongue. Her taste was strong, feminine, a little salty, not unpleasant, but deeply intoxicating. She sighed out loud, spreading herself wider open for me and lowering herself down so that she could rub her sopping wet pussy and bulging little clit on my tongue.

I don’t know how long I ate her. Time seemed irrelevant. I wallowed in her slippery folds, pressing my tongue against the slick button of her clit, straining to slide my tongue as far up her entrance as I could physically manage. I licked her until the wetness rolled down my cheeks and my tongue cramped up. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe. I even dared to slip my tongue up between her butt cheeks, tickling the dark region around her anus. The sounds she made were encouraging, and never let up, but I never seemed to be able to push her across that final threshold into orgasm.

At long, long last she rolled off me, panting with frustrated exasperation. I just lay there, gasping, trying to catch my breath. My cock was still hard, obnoxiously hard.

“Cyrrollalee! By Lolth, you’re good at that! What level cunninglingist did you say you were anyway?! Oh sweet Cyrrollalee, I need to come so bad I can taste it!”

With no further ado, she climbed back on to me, pressing her hot, wet pussy against my erection, which lay flat against my tummy, the head nestling into my navel. Her folds enveloped my shaft and she started grinding back and forth on me, pinching and pulling her own nipples cruelly as she worked.

She quickly got more and more excited, rocking faster and faster and harder and harder, her breath coming in sharp little gasps. I was right there with her. As her panting turned into a long, drawn-out squeal, and her furry toes curled and her breasts flushed livid pink, I humped hard back up against her, lifting us both up off the sheets, and with a throaty moan, my balls twitched, and I shot off, all over my stomach and chest, a veritable lake of pearly white semen.

“No reason to let that go to waste,” Rosie said; and she proceeded to lick the come up off my torso like a cat licking milk up out of a saucer. “I should get going,” she said when she was done, “It’s Titania’s watch, and I’m supposed to relieve her at midnight.”

“Next time I see you,” she said just before she slipped out the door, “I am going to fuck your little brains out.”

I jerked off a lot that week. I jerked off at work, in between pizza deliveries; I jerked off at night and in the shower and in the morning when I woke up. I mostly jerked off to Rosie and her fuzzy pussy and pert little breasts; but I was sort of indiscriminant, indulging myself. I imagined fucking Amy’s druid character; I pictured watching Rosie eat out Carla, Heather’s female wizard; I don’t consider myself bisexual really, but I pictured myself fucking around with Beren, Ben’s ranger, the only male character in the party. I wondered if he had a pretty big dick. I even whacked off thinking about getting it on with Judith, my own sister. Who was pretty hot, when it came right down to it.

The next D&D session was a dungeon crawl through one of the Scarlet Mage’s outpost castles. Rosie was kept pretty busy, out front with Beren, on the lookout for tricks and traps, of which there were many; and we were almost constantly in melee, battling orcs and bugbears and hobgoblins, as well as sinister apprentice magicians, occasional undead, hired thugs, and the less conventional but equally deadly clockwork knights that the Scarlet Mage was fabricating and winding up to conquer the world with. Even so, from time to time Rosie found an opportunity to stick her hand between my legs and cop a feel. She did that often enough to keep me hard through the entire session. Matters were complicated by the fact that Rubenesque Heather, who was sitting next to me on my left; and pale, skinny Amy, who was sitting immediately to my right, kept brushing up against me and pressing their knees against mine. I wasn’t sure it was on purpose, but I wasn’t sure it was entirely accidental either. And Judith, behind her DM’s screen, had her shirt unbuttoned at least one button too many, and I kept unsuccessfully trying to determine whether or not she was wearing a bra.

After the game, everybody hung out for a while. I had arranged my work schedule so I didn’t have to deliver ‘za on D&D nights. College applications had started to trickle back in, and these kids being smart geeks and overachievers, they were almost uniformly acceptance letters. They were all talking about which school they would decide to go to; our D&D game was going to be scattered across the fifty states in a fairly short time. I guess I’d always know that, but it made me a little sad to think of it.

I felt kind of weird socially, kind of left out. These were my sister’s friends, a bunch of dweeby kids almost ten years younger than me, with bright futures ahead of them. And yet they had become my friends too. I was going to miss them, when they all went away to school. I hoped I wouldn’t still be delivering pizzas by then. I made up my mind to swing by the community college and pick up an application. Maybe I could start taking some classes.

When Rosie came up to my room that night, I was ready. I had a box of condoms, I had lube, I had a cheap bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Never mind about those,” Rosie said, indicating the condoms, “I had Titania cast a spell on me, so I can’t get pregnant. She’s a really good kisser by the way. But I will take some of this…” she gulped a big swallow of red wine, “…and this.” She squirted a large quantity of lube onto her hairy pussy.

I guess I’d expected a little more foreplay, a little more warm-up. Rosie lay down on top of me, kissing me, letting the wine dribble into my own mouth, squishing her little breasts against my chest as she maneuvered my erection toward her sopping wet, slippery little entrance.

We tried really hard. We tried a bunch of different positions. We tried until it hurt. I tried fingering her first, but I could really only get one finger inside before she winced and pulled away. It just wasn’t happening.

We eventually got off together, with me kneeling between her stout thighs, pressing the head of my cock against her engorged labia, jerking off into her pussy while she furiously rubbed her clit. Even if we were both a little disappointed that we hadn’t gotten to actually fuck, it was pretty freaking hot.

We tried again the next week, and the week after that. Some things, however, are just not meant to be. Apparently Halfling and human parts just aren’t compatible; I guess that explains why there aren’t any ‘Three-Quarterlings’.

We tried anal sex, with much the same results. We discovered that (once I learned to be exceedingly gentle) keeping the head of my cock pressed firmly against her asshole and bathed in lube, was an incredibly pleasurable thing for both of us: I would reach around and finger her juicy little pussy while my cock squished and squashed between her butt cheeks, and we would both end up coming like nineteenth-level-fireballs.

But no penetration. It was frustrating until we accepted the situation for what it was and stopped trying. Rosie confessed to me that the two Halfling guys she’d been with had penises the size of my little finger, or slightly smaller. She talked (jokingly, I think) about having Carla, the party’s wizard, cast a reducing spell on my penis. In the meantime, there were other things to do than fuck.

She taught me to go down on her just the way she liked; after much practice I was able to make her come on my face. The technique involved carefully inserting a finger in her asshole; slipping one finger up her pussy and making beckoning motions, while I flicked at her clit with the tip of my tongue. The first time I hit on that combination, it drove her wild; I thought her orgasm would wake up the entire household, and when I finally came up for air, flushed and sticky, she hugged me tight and kissed me all over my come-coated face.

Rosie, in turn, got really, really good at sucking my cock. She got so that she could make me come in under a minute, or keep me balanced precariously on the edge for literally hours. We got pretty kinky, kinkier than I’d ever gotten with a human girl. Rosie proved devilishly good at tying me up, and she loved to stick her slippery, stubby fingers up my butt and pinch my nipples and masturbate on top of me until I was straining at my bonds and literally begging her to touch my dick. I was happier, happier by far, than I’d ever been in my life.

During the assault on one of the Scarlet Mage’s outposts, a castle/clockworks factory, Heather’s wizard character, Carla, was killed. Already wounded in combat with dungeon nasties, she got hit by a lightning bolt in the final battle with the Scarlet Mage himself (who turned tail and disappeared in the end, teleporting away from his workshop before we could claim final victory). She was at something like negative fifteen hit points, and there was nothing our druid could do. We all offered Heather our condolences, and she rolled up a new character, another wizard. It sort of didn’t matter, because it was May, and the school year was wrapping up, everybody was getting ready to graduate and go off to their college of choice. It felt like a sad and solemn event.

That night, up in my room after our orgasms, Rosie was uncharacteristically cuddly. Usually she was pretty quick about making herself scarce after we’d both gotten off. This time though, she lay with me for a while, and we spooned together, and I played with her thick, curly hair and listened to her breathe.

“You know,” she said to me, “we’re not afraid of dying. Death isn’t that bad for us, it’s part of the job description. We don’t really die, you know, because we were never really alive. We live in your imaginations, and after death we continue to live there. Do you know what really scares us though?”

“What?” I asked.

“Being forgotten. Being filed away in a dusty stack of paper, left unfinished, never to be played again. The unfinished campaign, the books and maps left to moulder in the attic. That is the saddest thing I can think of.”

I thought about Harley, the first D&D character I ever played, a feisty gnome fighter. The fame had petered out before he made third level. I hadn’t thought of him in years.

“Promise me something,” Rosie said, “Promise me that you won’t ever forget me.”

I promised.

The downfall of the Scarlet Mage was epic. The attack on his final stronghold took three full sessions, and the Mage and his minions and machinations fought for every square of grid. His fortress was laden with tricks and traps, and when the party prevailed, the Scarlet Mage backed into a corner in the highest tower of his clockwork castle, we were down to our very last spells and hit points. Fortunately so was he, and in the end, the forces of good (or at least neutral-good) prevailed.

It was Rosie’s impetuous nature that did her in. The final combat had occurred in the Scarlet Mage’s treasure room. After he fell dead, pierced by swords, arrows, and magic missiles, before she could get so much as a ‘cure light wounds’, she went straight for his treasure chest.

It was, of course, trapped. There was a dormant fireball spell on the lock, and the whole table groaned as she blew her saving throw. The blast killed her instantly, sending her deeply into negative hit-point territory.

There was silence all around the table. Finally Judith said “I’m sorry. Do you want to do that roll over?”

I didn’t know what to say. I shook my head ‘no’. Rules are, after all, rules. There wasn’t any point in rolling up a new character; this was to be our group’s final gaming session anyway. Despite myself, I felt my eyes welling up with tears. I got up from the table and went for a little walk while the rest of the party rested and healed, and divvied up the loot.

Amy came and found me first, up in my room. She was really sweet, and we sat on my bed and talked for a while. I told her I’d miss her when she went away to school. She smiled, and said she didn’t actually leave until mid-August. And then we ended up making out quite a lot. She was a really good kisser, utterly different from the way Rosie kissed. She reminded me of a wild bird: intelligent, frail, energetic; and her kisses fluttered like the wings of a sparrow. Nothing too sexual happened that night, but we made plans to get together again soon.

The rest of the gang was still hanging out down in the basement, polishing off the rest of the Doritos and Diet Coke. Ben made a pass at me; at least I was pretty sure he did. I’m not used to getting hit on, especially not by guys, but the way he stood really close to me and asked if I’d like to get together with him, sometime soon, over at his house while his parents’ were out of town made me feel distinctly hit on. I dumbly nodded, agreeing to his nervous suggestion. I’ve never thought of myself as being in any way bi, but the fact was Ben was cute, and I found myself attracted to him, and wondering just what was going on inside those lanky khakis he habitually wore.

After the rest of the kids had left, Judith gave me a big hug. Her big breasts squooshed pleasantly against my chest. “I’m sorry about Rosie,” she said, “I know how much she meant to you.”

“That’s ok,” I told her, hugging her back, “That’s the way the dice roll… She was an awesome character though. I’ll never forget her.”

Judith kept holding on to me, tight, and her hand slid down my back, cupping my butt and squeezing, pulling my crotch close against hers.

‘Oh my God’, I remember thinking, ‘Where is this going to take us?’

Judith’s boobs felt really good pressed against my chest, and her butt was soft and round and squeezable, but nothing really ended up happening, except for one hot and humid night in July, when we double-teamed Heather. There was a little touching and kissing that night, but both of us were focused on pleasuring Heather, and the two of us didn’t do anything strictly incestuous together, a fact that I remembered with relief and regret over the years.

I had a lot of sex that summer; with Amy, who liked it rough, so rough that sometimes it scared me a little; with Heather, who was jolly and horny and kinky and insatiable; with Ben, who was sweet and just as inexperienced as me; I even had a very brief fling with Ron, my manager; and another thing with a lonely married woman named Kay who ordered pizzas alone on Friday nights and gave amazing tips and even better head.

I held on to my job delivering pizza for another year, but I did start taking classes at the local community college that fall: economics, statistics, and creative writing. I applied to the state university, and I hooked up with a D&D group at the college.

My new character was a female human Paladin named Belinda. She was a good character, but I never felt like we had much of a rapport: she seemed like a bit of a prude. I never had another character like Rosie. I never forgot her.

END

It is three in the morning and I can’t sleep. The second-hand air conditioner in my window rattles and hums, fitfully blowing tepid air across my body. I lie atop the sheets naked except for an old pair of white panties. Is the coffee I drank in the afternoon keeping me up? Or is it work-related stress from the job I hate and I feel like I’m on the brink of getting downsized out of? Is it the stifling heat that has settled on top of New York City like a heavy wool rug? Is it the fact that I’m approaching thirty, adrift and single, and not even really trying? It’s probably all these things put together, plus the fact that I have to be up at seven, and if I don’t get some sleep soon, I am going to be a disaster in the morning.

I peel off the ratty panties and toss them onto the floor. I have a respectable toy collection: several different vibrators, a couple of nice dildos, and lately a large black silicone butt plug that I’ve taken to inserting when I whack off. But I’m not going to get the toys out now, not at 3:15 in the morning. I simply let my fingers do the walking.

My slit is furry, warm and moist. My clit is swollen and sensitive. I trace my fingers up and down, round and around, and think about getting stuck in an elevator. This is my stand-by fantasy, an old favorite.

He doesn’t look like a rapist. But then again, who ever does? He steps in beside me and presses the ‘down’ button, thumbs it repeatedly for emphasis. He is wearing a grey tweed business suit, double-breasted. It looks well-cut and expensive. He wears a low-key, wide tie. A gold band gleams dully on his left hand. I feel his body heat next to me, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at the bulge in his crotch.

It is easy to get away with staring at his package, because the walls of the elevator are mirrored. Presumably to make the tiny car seem less claustrophobic. It is one of those ancient New York elevators, small as a coffin, rattley and shakey and creaky.

He has a thick, veiney neck, big hands, hairy forearms. His package bulges in the front of his trousers. He doesn’t look like anyone I’d ever date, not in a million years. He looks like he’s got a pretty big dick, looks like he’s really proud of it. He probably drives a shiny black SUV, an Escalade, or possibly a Hummer. Played football in college. Just made vice-president, and won’t get any further up the corporate ladder. Gets half drunk on Bud in sports bars, yells at his mousy wife in public. Plays a decent game of golf. Intimidates his subordinates. A prick.

He stabs the door-close button, and the down button again, in rapid, angry succession, and at last the doors slide shut and the car begins it’s rattle-trap journey down to the ground floor.

And stops, with a lurch. We are somewhere between the fourteenth and fifteenth floors, stuck in the shaft. I look at him. He looks at me. My palms are sweaty, my stomach is tight and nervous. My cunt tingles and salivates.

A long minute, standing inches apart. The elevator car does not move. I can see myself in the mirrored walls in three separate reflections: paisley patterned summer dress down to my ankles, panty lines visible, open-toes shoes in defiance of the company’s dress code. No bra, nipples clearly visible through the flimsy light fabric.

He smiles, and I feel adrenaline course through my veins, the kind of rush a junkie must feel when she shoots up. He grabs me by the face, pinching my mouth in one giant hand, my own teeth cutting the insides of my cheeks until I taste blood; he forces me down onto my knees, cuffs me across the face with the flat of his hand, yanks down the front of my dress so that my tits spill out like an overturned cart full of melons.

He laughs out loud, a nasty, barking laugh. Unzips, fishes out his gear. He has a monster cock; stupid big, shaved bald, a pink glans that looks like an afterthought. The shaft is thick and riddled with veins. He could be a porno star, the kind of mainstream porno with a disco soundtrack that I loathe, the kind that always ends with the guy jerking off onto the girl’s face. I bet he bought his wife a boobjob for her birthday.

He crams that big dick into my mouth and I can’t breathe. He pulls my hair, fucking my face, making me choke and gag. Morbidly strong hands on the back of my head forcing me down his length, cramming that cock down my throat, past my tonsils, halfway down my neck. He reeks of stale sweat and cheap cologne. His balls are fat and plump, like grapes on a vine. My windpipe is blocked. I can’t breathe. I struggle and swallow convulsively as he callously fucks my throat.

Just as I start to think that I can take no more, that I am about to pass out, he yanks his cock out of my mouth without warning, leaving me coughing and gasping for air. He chuckles as he pulls me up onto my feet again, each of my erect nipples pinched between his thumb and forefingers like a pair of industrial vice-grips. His oversized dick is red with excitement, slick and wet with my saliva. He hikes my dress up, pulls my turquoise panties to one side, muscles his way in between my legs, and rams his penis straight up my cunt.

I am wet and slippery, and my pussy accepts the invasion almost without resistance. He fucks me hard and selfishly, slamming me up against the elevator doors. I watch us, almost abstractly, like seeing a porn film through the window in someone else’s apartment. His pale ass clenched tight, he, fucks my cunt like a rutting animal. I realize that I am crying out, realize that against my own will I am going to come, and when he sees this he grins, fucking me even harder, so my toes are lifted off the ground with every thrust.

I feel him come, his cock twitching, flooding my hungry cunt with semen. I am almost there, and he leaves me dangling. Withdraws his reduced, come-slick dick, tucks it back into his pants, zips up. I finger my clit shamelessly, and he sniggers.

With a sudden lurch, the elevator car starts up again, resumes it’s plodding way down to the lobby. My dress is a mess, my tits are still hanging out. I finger myself ruthlessly, strumming my clit like a demented banjo player, holding my breath, my lips curled back into a convulsive snarl.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open just as I come. I come, gasping and panting, trying not to scream, tremors rocking through my body. He exits the elevator, striding off into the crowded lobby as I slide down the wall, landing in a heap on my ass, crying with relief, his sticky white come still leaking out of my juicy cunt.

Oh yeah, that did it. Now there is a wet spot on the sheets, but I am way too tired to care. I close my eyes again, inhaling the scent of my pussy’s excitement, and drift off into a few precious hours of deep, dreamless sleep.

Work is stupid. There is not much to do there besides send out résumés and pretend to work. Bella halfhearted patrols the cubicles from time to time, pretending to care what we are doing. I keep a spreadsheet open for appearances sake, but I mostly just play solitaire. At one point I walk past Leah’s workstation and notice that she is browsing porn. Looks like she is into spanking stuff: blonde, waif-like highly tattooed models with big tits and pierced nipples getting bent over convenient furniture by stern-looking men in suits with large hands, wielding cruel-looking whips and canes and scary paddles. Not really my cup of tea, but I admire the spirit. She should really be more careful though. I make it a policy to stay away from porn at work. I need this stupid job.

After work, at long last, I go home and change clothes. My mom thinks I should be dating: get a hobby, join a club, post a personal, go to a bar, something! It is all too depressing for words. I pull on my baggy dungarees, an oversized sweatshirt, trail runners and a battered old baseball hat worn backward on my head. I take the cross-town bus and walk the final three blocks to the underpass where the gay boys like to cruise for anonymous sex.

There is a pretty good crowd there already, in the dripping dark, amidst the empty beer cans and the condom wrappers. It is hot, unrelentingly hot, and the humidity makes it feel like standing in a lukewarm swimming pool. A constant roar of traffic overhead drowns out any attempt at conversation. I try not to think about rats.

I find myself standing close to a skinny, fair-skinned boy. He might be painfully young, it is hard to tell in this low light. Our hands join, his body presses against mine, we kiss a little bit, and then my hand is rubbing the front of his jeans, up and down, feeling his hardness underneath the zipper, feeling his eagerness as I extract his cock.

I maneuver myself behind him so that my crotch is pressed against his tight butt. My fingers encircle his penis. He is stiff, hot, smooth and silky. I jerk him off in the grimy, crowded darkness, playing him like a musical instrument, varying my tempo, building, building, slowing, teasing, building again until he is trembling with excited tension. I bite the muscles of his shoulder as I go for the final crescendo, sliding my hand up and down his hyper-excited cock, faster and faster, his breathing raspy as I bring him to a shattering, long-delayed release. He shoots semen into the night air in a clean, mathematically-defined parabolic arc, and I am already detaching myself, moving away into the crowd.

Another boy. This one is kind of fat, wears a little goatee. We kiss and grope a little, then he unzips and delivers me the goods. He wants me to suck it, but I am not getting down on my knees in this environment. I stroke his cock with my hand, enjoying the texture, enjoying his hardness. His dick is on the small side, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. My hand is wrapped around his penis, pumping happily away.

He wants to feel me too. Evasive action fails, and his hand worms in through the open side of my dungarees, down inside my boxers. I feel his consternation and surprise at what he finds and does not find down there. He pulls away, and I lose my grip on his penis.

‘False Advertising’, he whispers in my ear. I giggle coquettishly and shrug. His dick is still hard, still hanging out there, wagging like a dog tail in the subterranean gloom. He whispers to me again, his goatee tickling my ear. He wants to fuck me in the ass. I ask if he has a condom. He does, so I say okay.

I unclip the shoulder straps and my dungarees fall in a heap around my ankles. I pull down my boxer shorts. He stands behind me, hands on my hips, breathing hard on the back of my neck as he maneuvers his erection between my butt cheeks.

He doesn’t actually fuck my asshole; he is too eager and over-excited, and I am not relaxed or lubed up enough. He tries for a little bit, and then gives up on penetration, and concentrates on sliding his cock up and down my ass crack, like a bratwurst sliding up and down a hot dog bun, until he comes. It feels really nice, and I catch myself wishing he wasn’t wearing a condom. When he does come, he squeezes his body really hard against me, and I can feel his cock twitch against my anus as he convulsively squirts hot come into the condom wedged between my cheeks. We stay like that for a few heartbeats, and then he disengages, melting quietly away into the crowded darkness, leaving me to pull my clothes back on.

A couple more gay boys, a couple more handjobs, and I am through for the night. My arm muscles ache, my clit is humming and impatient, and my cunt is drooling down my legs. It takes forever for the bus to arrive, and by the time I get home I am exhausted and frustrated. I skip the porn, and land directly on my bed, naked and horny. I insert the butt plug, and apply the vibrating egg to my swollen clit, and indulge in another elevator fantasy.

I have to work late, and by the time I leave the office, the only thing on my mind is Chinese take-out and the half-full bottle of red wine sitting on my kitchen counter. A trio of workers in navy-blue coveralls gets into the car a couple floors below me. Repairmen or technicians of some sort; two guys and a girl. Are they electricians? With the phone company? I don’t really give the matter two thoughts. The doors slide closed, and the car glides down toward the lobby.

And stops. Someone groans. One of the repairmen pushes the ‘Trouble’ button, and a few seconds later a lit-up button informs us that ‘Help Is On The Way’. He sighs and slumps against the elevator wall. He is black, tall and rangy, with ropey muscles and short, tight dreads. His partner is white, shorter, curly hair and an angular face like a weasel. He is chewing gum loudly. The girl is about my age, stocky and thick but not what I’d call fat, a clunky leather tool belt perched on her hips, glasses balanced on an upturned nose and heavy-looking breasts like two-liter bottles.

All six eyes are fixed on me. It is suddenly uncomfortably hot and close in here. I feel self-conscious in my white blouse, heels and slacks. The girl yawns and nudges her partner, the weasel-faced white guy. Black dude stretches and lazily unbuttons the top of his coveralls, exposing a smooth chocolate chest, nipples like Hershey Kisses.

I am kissing his pecs, the hollow of his sternum, nuzzling at his nipples. He tastes nice, sweaty and spicy. I can feel the other two watching, and it only makes me wetter, knowing that I am being minutely observed. The coveralls slide easily down his body. He is not wearing anything underneath.

He has a tight, ripped body. Very short, very kinky black pubic patch, big fat knobbly dick, uncircumcised, with a purple head like a ripe plum peeking out from underneath the foreskin. I drop to my knees, doing my very best to swallow him whole, which isn’t really practical, but is a lot of fun to try. I try a different approach, slathering my tongue up and down his shaft, slurping his fat testicles, pulling back the foreskin and tracing the topography of his glans. His cock is rigidly hard, craning eagerly upward, hot and juicy.

 Someone is unbuttoning my blouse, and my breasts hang pendulously down as my bra is unclasped. The girl is standing next to me, her tool belt level with my head. She pats me on the head like a dog, tousling my hair. Someone, it must be Weasel-Face, is tugging my pants off, groping and pawing at my cunt. I am soaking wet, hot and slippery and horny as hell. I raise my knees one by one, my mouth full of cock, and kick my panties aside.

Dreadlocks pulls his dick away, and I come up, panting. The girl chuckles, “What a horny little slut she is!” She tugs my hair fondly, and I wiggle my ass in response. The boys rearrange themselves.

Weasel-Face is standing in front of me, his jeans unzipped, his cock projecting straight out. His dick is pale, pink and white and blue, and it is crooked, bent like a scimitar. It fits nicely into my mouth, and I suck at it greedily. Meanwhile, Dreadlocks is behind me, maneuvering himself in between my thighs. I jump and startle as his big dick rams up against my cunt. Weasel-Face wraps his fingers in my hair and commands my attention, vigorously humping my wide-open mouth.

I am lavishing attention onto Weasel-Face’s thrusting cock, and trying to breathe, as Dreadlocks spreads my cunt wide open and crams his tool home. The sudden invasion makes me gasp, electrifies me, as I am suddenly stretched wide and full of dick. He starts fucking my cunt hard, slapping my ass in a casual way, every second or third thrust. I try to concentrate on the dick in my mouth, but it is getting more and more difficult. My head is lolling back and forth, I am humping back against Dreadlock’s fucking, grunting like a pig with the pleasure of it. Weasel-Face has withdrawn his cock from my mouth, content with the occasional slurp I remember to give him, and is now jerking off into my face.

Dreadlocks comes suddenly, slamming himself into my cunt and emitting a series of cut-off shouts: ‘Ugh-ugh…uhh!’ I feel his dick swell and spasm inside me, feel his hot semen flooding my vagina, spilling out and running down my thighs, dripping onto the elevator floor. He slowly withdraws, and I feel suddenly empty.

“Your turn” the girl says. She has one hand stuck down the front of her pants.

“Sloppy Seconds” Weasel-Face comments.

“Fuck her in the ass,” the girl says. Her hand is busy down the front of her pants, “You know she wants it.”

He smears the gooey wetness that is drooling out of my cunt up and down my butt, and around my anus before rudely jamming a finger into that tight, sensitive hole. I yelp and jump, but I certainly do not object as he works his forefinger in and out, twisting it around inside me. Besides, Mr. Dreadlocks has come around front again, and is busy feeding me his soft, salty, come-flavored dick, and playing with my breasts, pinching and squeezing my erect nipples. It is really quite distracting.

I guess Weasel-Face figures he’s warmed me up enough: he suddenly withdraws his finger, leaving my asshole gasping. I glance over at the girl; she is working her hand rhythmically back and forth inside her work pants, making the tools on her belt jingle. She looks down at me with a sneer. “Go ahead and sodomize her,” she says, “Horny little slut.”

Weasel Face takes careful aim, and works his crooked dick up my ass. It is kind of tight fit getting in, but once past the tight ring of my sphincter, he slides right on in. It feels wild, amazing, out of control. He starts fucking my asshole, sliding in and out, slowly at first, and then harder and harder, faster and faster, grunting with the effort.

I can’t take it anymore, I have to masturbate. I let Dreadlock’s cock slip out of my mouth, reach between my legs and shamelessly play with my swollen, aching clit. Dreadlocks takes matters into his own hands, masturbating himself onto my face. The girl is masturbating hard, leaning back against the wall of the elevator car as Weasel-Face pounds my poor little asshole.

We all four come at about the same time. Dreadlocks growls like an animal and splashes a relatively small amount of sticky white come onto my face; Weasel-Face buries himself in my ass, filling me to overflowing with what seems like pint after pint of his hot semen; the girl comes silently, her face screwed up in an ecstatic mask; and I go off bucking and screaming, wracked with pleasure that breaks over me again and again like storm-churned surf, until I am left a limp, sweaty, sticky mass on the floor of the elevator.

Without warning, the elevator car starts smoothly up again, and slowly descends to the ground floor as my technicians quickly tuck themselves back into their work clothes. The exit the elevator without a word, leaving me naked on the floor, soaked in sweat, dripping come and reeking of sex.

Work drags on and on. Bella has given up all pretense of trying to keep us on-task. There is an atmosphere of impending doom all over the office. I am tempted to follow Leah’s example and surf a little porn, but the fact is that I really do need this job, and I don’t want to give them any excuse to fire me. I know it is only a matter of time, but at least it is air conditioned in here.

At last it is over. I go home, take a shower, have a drink, have another one, change into my boxers and baggy sweatshirt and baseball cap, and fire up the internet. I turn on the webcam, and surf on over to the gay boy chat rooms, misrepresenting myself, flirtatious and coy, trying to get them to show skin without showing any of my own.

An hour or so of this, and I am drenched and edgy. My boxer shorts are sodden, I have soaked all the way through them and made a big wet patch on the computer chair. The keyboard is sticky with my own juices. I turn off the webcam and shed my clothing, flopping naked onto the bed. On my knees, ass thrust up in the air like a cartoon sex kitten, I carefully insert the well-lubed butt plug. I savor the sensation of fullness, the pressure on my pussy from the inside that makes my clit stand up like a little beacon. I run my fingers up and down my vulva, allowing a finger to slip inside and feel my warm, wet tightness, before I concentrate on my clit, slipping into fantasy as I draw tiny concentric circles round and around my sensitive button.

It is just the two of us in the elevator, him and me. I don’t recognize him, he got on at a higher floor. Cute, the body of a long-distance runner, or maybe a cyclist. He wears a low-key suit, and glasses. Kind eyes, easy smile. Looks a little shy, maybe a year or two younger than me. Nice hands. I automatically check; no ring.

He coughs and gives me an apologetic smile. I smile back, what I hope is a friendly little smile. He’s cute, just my cup of tea. The door slide close, and my stomach lurches slightly as the elevator descends.

A boom that is felt more than heard, almost sub-sonic, the shock waves passing through our bodies and upsetting our internal organs, making the whole building sway. The elevator stops so suddenly I am knocked to the floor. He maintains his footing. The lights go out, it is pitch black for a long, long moment, and then the emergency lights kick in. A whiff of acrid smoke. Sirens, dimly heard.

Time passes. Nothing happens. Cautious small talk, ginger attempts at humor. Still nothing happens. Fear and claustrophobia are slowly giving way to boredom. Horny boredom.

“We may be stuck here for a while.”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s hot in here.” Which is true, it is hot in the car with no air conditioning running, but it probably isn’t strictly necessary for me to be unbuttoning my blouse, stepping out of my slacks.

“I’m not sure my girlfriend would approve.”

“She’s not here though, is she? Come on, you don’t have to get naked, just take your suit off. It is hot in here, isn’t it?”

Reluctantly, and yet eagerly, like a dog slinking toward a treat it knows it’s not allowed to have, he peeled off his office clothes, folding and stacking them in the corner. He is wearing baby blue briefs, and the bulge in the front is positively mouth-watering. His legs are long and muscular, his tummy is flat.

We sit next to each other in our skivvies, making more small talk, pretending not to be flirting as we talk about where we went to college and what we like to eat and do on our weekends. He is training for a mini-triathlon; I put my hand on his leg and squeeze the muscle, and I feel him jump, but he does not flinch away.

He has an erection. It is bulging urgently inside his briefs, straining to get out. God, if I had a dick, it would be so hard right now! My pussy is moist and eager, my clit is humming. I let my bra-encased breast brush against his naked shoulder. He does not pull away. I take a chance, reach over, stroke his hard cock through the fabric of his underwear.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“I know.” I do not stop. His dick feels really nice inside his shorts. I want more.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We’re not doing anything.” I leave off petting his dick for a moment to unsnap my bra, setting my breasts free. “Do you like them?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

I extract his penis from his underwear. He does not stop me.

He has a lovely cock, medium-large, thick, with a very pronounced, teardrop-shaped head. His pee-hole is a slit that looks like the pupil of a cat’s eye.. A glistening, clear strand of pre-come is leaking out of that eyelet, and I scoop it up with one finger and bring it to my lips. He tastes sticky and sweet.

I start jerking him off. I have gotten very, very good at giving handjobs over the years; I’ve had a lot of practice. The trick is figuring out what the guy likes; every man is different. I find the way his likes it best, grasping his hot dick very lightly in one hand, pumping in a rapid irregular rhythm, bringing him close and then backing off. I can feel his pulse thumping in his dick.

He doesn’t seem to care one way or another for having his balls played with, so I move further south. Now that gets a reaction! He moans and humps the air with his dick, waggling it like a spear as I circle his anus with one finger, oh-so gently petting the soft skin around his asshole.

“Oh my God,” he gasps, “My girlfriend is going to kill me!”

“Your girlfriend is never going to know.” I say. I insert my fingertip into his tight little asshole, at the same time dropping my ravenous mouth onto his cock. It is delicious. The head of his dick fills my mouth like a hot piece of candy. I lavish my tongue all around him, jerking him off with one hand, fingering his ass with the other, sucking like a Hoover all the while.

I want to taste his come, but I want him inside my cunt even more. I release his dick, extract my forefinger, which has worked it’s naughty way up his asshole until I was knuckle-deep inside him. His dick flops wetly and frustrated. I pull off my panties and toss them aside.

“No, please…”

“You want me to stop?” I am straddling his lap. My wetness is drooling out of me like a leaky faucet. I can feel the heat of his cock close to my pussy.

“No, please, no…”

I grab a hold of his dick, place it squarely up against my drooling lips, and lower myself onto him. It feels amazing to be full of him, and right away I know I am close to coming. He opens his mouth to say something, and I feed him my breast, shoving my erect nipple into his mouth. He sucks my tit hard as I squirm on his cock, rocking back and forth and up and down.

We roll over so he can be  on top, which is kind of my favorite anyway. Where is his girlfriend now? His dick is sliding in and out of my cunt, sending jolts through me with every thrust. “Please play with my asshole,” he begs, and I oblige him. I can barely reach his backside this way, but when I find his anus, he goes wild, fucking me even harder. I encourage him, worming my finger deeper inside, talking dirty to him, calling him a fucking stud, a sex machine, begging him to come in my pussy.

He does come, squirting deep inside me with a long, drawn-out wail. His orgasm triggers my own, and my pussy pulsates on his cock, milking every last drop of semen out of him. It seems to go on forever, and we stay interlocked, limp and motionless, for a long while, breathing hard, his soft dick inside my tired pussy.

I am highly tempted to go for a second round, to lick my pussy-juice off his dick until he gets hard in my mouth, but now we can hear the sounds of rescuers approaching, and he gets shy. He is thinking of his girlfriend again, and feeling bad about what we did. I try to feel a little guilty, but I can’t.

Bella calls me into the office. “This isn’t easy for me to say, you know. You shouldn’t take it personally. It is no reflection upon you. It all came down from corporate. We’re downsizing.”

Even though I’ve been expecting this for weeks, it still comes as a shock. I don’t know what to say. I stand there in front of the desk, feeling like a rag doll, a plaything tossed aside.

“It’s no reflection on you personally,” Bella repeats, sounding weary, “It would be best if you just packed up your things and left now.”

Best for who? I don’t have much to pack up, it all fits into my backpack. I don’t speak to anyone, keep my eyes glued to the carpet as I traverse past the cubicles on my way to the elevator.

The elevator seems to take forever to arrive. Finally, the doors open up and I step inside with a sinking feeling in my gut. I just want to get out of the building, to feel sunshine on my skin, to breathe some fresh air and to figure out what I’m going to do next.

Just as the doors are sliding closed, Leah comes running, “Hold the door!” I bump the door open for her, annoyed because I don’t feel like company. She slips in, out of breath, the doors close, and the elevator starts going down.

Leah is taller than me, and skinnier, and has the kind of curly, golden-blonde hair that I would have killed for as a little girl. She is wearing charcoal-grey pinstriped pants, and a sleeveless white t-shirt with a black bra clearly visible underneath, in flagrant disregard for company dress code. We have worked in the same office for over six months, and I don’t think we ever spoke two sentences to each other.

“Laid off?”

“Yes.” I say. I don’t really feel like talking about it. How am I going to pay the rent with no paycheck? How am I going to eat? Where does a girl with not much job experience and an undergraduate degree in English look for work in an economy like this?

“Me too,” Leah says, “Good riddance. Screw it. I won’t miss this lousy job.”

The elevator jerks to a sudden halt, and an obnoxious high-pitched alarm starts going off.

I can’t believe it. Can anything else go wrong today? I just want to go home and start drinking and get on with my life. Sex is the last thing on my mind.

Until Leah leans in, backing me into the corner, an arm on the wall to either side of me so I can’t get away, and kisses me softly on the lips.

“Looks like we’re stuck”, she says, her face uncomfortably close to my own.

I must be the only female in the history of Sarah Lawrence College to graduate without ever having fucked a girl. It’s not that I have anything against the concept; it’s just not my primary focus, and I had a lot of other things going on at the time. It looks like all that might be about to change.

Her lips are on mine, her tongue is insinuating its way into my mouth, startling me with her aggressive forwardness. I realize belatedly that I am kissing her back, and that her lips are soft and feminine and highly kissable.

Her hand slides up my skirt, boldly exploring, probing my pussy through my underwear. I am instantly drenched. I want her fingers up inside my panties, buried in my cunt. She obliges me, her mouth pressed against mine, her hand cupping her breasts, two fingers pushing my panties aside, finger-fucking me hard and deep. I gasp into her open mouth as she penetrates me, the alarm of the stuck elevator ringing in the background, grinding my hips against her thrusting hand, and I realize that I am about to come on her long, tenacious fingers.

I mew aloud, abandoning myself to the orgasm, arching my back and leaning my shoulders against the wall of the elevator, surrendering myself to her. Leah grins, lifting up my skirt and pulling my panties aside for a better view, fucking my cunt hard with two fingers. Her thumb is bumping up against my clitoris, and that is what sets me off. I come, gasping and panting, shaking and struggling to get more of her inside me, more of her flesh in contact with my own.

When I have settled down, she withdraws her sticky fingers, and coyly holds them up to my mouth to lick off. I clean them like a cat, licking off my pussy juice, swirling my tongue all over them, as if her long, graceful fingers were a cock.

She is peeling off her black pants. Underneath she wears a tiny pair of pink bikini panties. I tell her I want to see her tits, and with a smile that is almost shy, she obliges me, pulling off her t-shirt and unsnapping her bra. Her boobs are smaller than mine, pert and bouncy. The nipples are pink and conical and erect. I would like to have one in my mouth, but she turns around, facing the wall, thrusting her rear end out, and I know what she wants now.

I tug her panties down around her knees. She has a beautiful ass, pale and taut, not so much as a ripple of cellulite. There is no hair between her legs, she is waxed as bald as a porn star. Her labia are fat and puffy, the inner parts of her vagina are tucked shyly away.

SWACK! SMACK! Now her ass is not quite so flawless, but looks even sexier with two raised red hand prints, one on each cheek. I like the way her flesh jiggles when I slap her, I adore the sharp intake of breath, and the way she wiggles her behind, inviting more abuse. I oblige her, spanking her ass until it is livid red and angry, until she is panting like she’d just run a 10k, until my shoulder aches with it and my hand feels swollen and sore.

“Kiss it better” she whispers, half a command, half an urgent plea, and I am only too happy to do just that. I get down on my knees behind her, spreading her cheeks apart like the two halves of a ripe peach, exposing her hidden inner bits. Pink, moist lips peak out from between her fat outer labia. Her anus is tiny, delicate looking, crinkled up like a tiny little starfish. I nestle my face between her soft cheeks and flick at it with my tongue and she sighs and presses back against me.

I try to picture working my fat black butt plug, all slick with lube, up that tiny little hole. It is hard to imagine it fitting, but it is a sexy image indeed! I imagine her moaning, begging me not to stop, her asshole stretched wide around the toy, her pussy leaking come all over my fresh white sheets. I lick her ass, up and down, pressing the flat of my tongue against her asshole. She tastes clean and earthy. I try to work the tip of my tongue up inside her butt. Her asshole is clenched tight.

I have had close encounters with anuses before, but only gay boy anuses. They’ve always been loose and limber; the licking has always just been a precursor to me sliding a finger or two up the guy’s ass, and I’ve always had a handful of cock and balls to go with it. I enjoy licking Leah’s shy little asshole, teasing and tickling her, licking softly and persistently until she is loose enough that I can get the tip of my tongue up inside her butt.

I slide my thumb inside her pussy. I am shocked at how hot and wet and slick she is. My thumb meets no resistance; it is like dipping a finger into a bowl of melted butter. I am instantly buried in her pussy up to the knuckle. My forefinger rests against her clit, nestled between those fat outer lips. I proceed to fuck her, from inside and out, squeezing my finger to press against my thumb, my extended tongue wormed up inside her ass; and she proceeds to go a little crazy, emitting choking gasping screams and humping wildly back against my face, covering my hand in hers and pressing me harder, harder, harder against her sopping wet cunt. I can barely breathe and yet I keep on licking. When she comes, I feel her pussy tense and relax, opening up and clamping down on my thumb. I fuck her through the aftershocks, and only reluctantly withdraw, collapsing onto the floor with come all over my face and fingers and a big smile on my face.

We get dressed. “Thank you,” she says, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” She pulls out the emergency stop button and the trilling alarm stops and the elevator resumes its slow slide down toward the hot, humid streets of unemployment.

I glance up at the security camera in the corner, with its red blinking LED. “Do you suppose that thing works?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Leah says, “I certainly hope so.”

The elevator stops at the ground floor and the doors slide open. I think about asking her for her email, asking if she’d like to get together for dinner, or have a drink. I think leading her into my bedroom, lying down on top of her. I imagine how she would look atop my sheets, her flawless cheeks spread apart, with my butt plug lodged inside her asshole, her pussy crammed full of my fingers, her clit craning out toward the vibrator I am holding millimeters away.  I think of her kneeling before me in my bathtub as I beat her ass with a ruler, making her count the strokes out loud through her sobs. I think about going down to the underpass with her, hand in hand, fingering each other in the semi-darkness while gay boys with hard-ons crowd all around. I step out of the elevator, go to catch up with her, get her phone number, but it is already too late. She is gone.

END

I’m not sure how old I was when we found the body. The oncoming avalanche of adolescence had not yet totally engulfed me, but the first tendrils of my sexuality were swirling around my ankles, and the rumbling of those turbulent teenage years was bearing down fast. It was late one summer afternoon, just after our weekly Girl Scout meeting, and my friend Aimee and I were teetering on the very brink, not quite ready to take the plunge, but way too far gone to want to back out.

There was a patch of woods behind our development, too wet and marshy for the developers to build houses on, so they had left it, a kind of irregular green isthmus, tangled and soggy and bug-ridden and private. We were headed to a little flat place that I knew of, next to the stream, for some ‘practice kissing’. I had a fairly good idea where that might lead, and I thought that Aimee did to, for all her show of hesitation and reluctance.

He was lying, face-up in the mud, a little ways off from the little stream that ran through the middle of the woods. He was wearing blue jeans with the knees torn out and a denim vest with no shirt on underneath. His feet were bare, his toes pointed skyward. There was no sign of any violence. In retrospect, I suspect that it was an overdose. The only way we knew he was dead, at first, was his eyes: half-open and staring upward, already glassy and lifeless.

I thought I knew him. I thought he’d gone to high school with my older brother, Ted. He was one of those guys who hung out in front of Emil’s gas station; scary, shady, criminal-looking, sexy, dangerous guys. His blonde hair was cut in a mullet; business in the front, party in the back. A couple large black flies were lazily circling his body, intermittently landing and taking nervously back off.

“Touch him” Aimee told me.

“No Way!”

“I dare you to,” Aimee said. There was something coquettish about the way she said it, something that warmed that special spot between my legs, the region my mother called my ‘pussywillow’, the place that I had already started privately thinking of as my ‘cunt’. “I double dare you!” Her eyes sparkled flirtatiously, and it made my cunt tingle and buzz in a deliciously tantalizing sort of way.

His skin was pale, whiter than in life. It was uncannily like touching an uncooked hamburger, soft and firm. His flesh felt strangely cold for such a warm afternoon. I jerked my finger away with a thrill and a squeal.

“You know what I heard about guys, when they die?” Aimee asked.

“What?”

“I heard they get wood. Boners. Big time woodies!”

“Eeeeewwww!” we squealed together, running giggling away into the woods.

We only made it a hundred yards or so; it was a small patch of woods. A little ways away we found a likely spot, a fallen tree that looked comfortable to sit on, and we sat.

I don’t think either one of us considered calling the police about the corpse lying there in the mud, or telling an adult. For one thing, that would have raised uncomfortable questions about what we were doing down in the woods and why; for another thing we had other, more pressing business on our minds.

My hand found hers, or her hand found mine, and our fingers intertwined and squeezed. Our lips met, pressed together. Mouths opened, allowing tongues to dart and flirt, in and out, like nervous, excited puppies.

I slipped my hand inside Aimee’s blouse, cupping the soft, warm swell of her budding breast through her bra. She made a whining, keening noise, and pressed her body against mine, kissing me harder, encouraging my touch.

Her hand had strayed between my thighs, up under my uniform skirt, and was now tackling the barrier of my panties. Far from hesitant or reluctant now, Aimee’s fingers pushed my panties aside, and danced lewdly up and down the soft, furry, damp territory, making me moan aloud into her mouth. Practice kissing indeed! Aimee and I did a lot of practice kissing that summer and into the fall; I lost track of her when we went to different high schools.

Fast forward twenty years.

I was hanging out in Martin’s apartment, three-quarters naked, sprawled out on his bed. It was high summer in New York City, and he didn’t have air conditioning at the time, and it was muggy, hot and sticky.

“Are we going to act out my fantasy now?” I asked only a tiny little bit peevishly. Martin was my boyfriend, had been since April.

“Your fantasy is disturbing,” Martin said. He was naked, flaccid, sweaty, delicious. Just a few minutes before I’d had a mouth full of his cock. “Your fantasy gives me the creeps.”

“Aw, come on!” I rolled over onto my back, regarding his nakedness from upside-down. “We did your fantasy, didn’t we?”

It was true. The previous Wednesday, I had assiduously plucked Martin’s eyebrows and painted his nails while our friend Tobi (flaming gay Tobi who did costumes and makeup for off-off-Broadway productions) applied makeup and did his hair. We squeezed him into a cute little purple dress; we padded his bra; Tobi had brought along a pair of cowboy boots that fit Martin and looked quite chic.

And then we went, Martin and me, out on the town. After a nervous, giggly drink or three, we ended up at a tiny lesbian dance club down in Alphabet City called “The Pussy Palace”.

It was dark inside, and the music was loud. Martin is not an especially small guy; he stands a full head taller than me, and he has hands like catcher’s mitts. But out on the dance floor, in the dim, sweaty haze, under flashing colored lights, nobody looked twice. We were just another pair of dykes dancing together: a tall, kind of butch girl in a short summer dress; and her shorter, bustier, somewhat chunkier, more femme girlfriend.

Someone looked twice at us. Uninvited, a girl started dancing around us, and then with us. She was cute: my height, but skinnier, with fuchsia hair and multiple ear piercings and a rather pixie-like, suggestively angelic angular face. She wore tight black jeans that showed off a sexy little ass, and a black AC/DC t-shirt.

The three of us danced together for a while, riding the rhythms of the music, enjoying and amplifying and reverberating the tension we were generating. Eventually, inevitably, we migrated up to the roof, a large, tar-papered flat expanse three stories up. The skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed over us like obelisks and monoliths, and the stars and moon were drowned out by a leaden ceiling of low cloud. The roof was bathed in a twilight-glow of reflected light pollution.

I’d been up on this roof before, back in my more exclusively sapphic days. There was a smattering of couples, dispersed around the perimeter, in various stages of making out. We staked our claim to a quiet corner of rooftop and started getting to know each other a little better.

There was kissing all around. New Girl was an aggressive kisser, with a tongue like a weasel, and she was a biter. Kissing Martin dressed as a woman felt pleasantly odd to me, out of context, strange and yet familiar in a tantalizingly sexy way. Watching them kiss each other was just plain hot.

Martin was half-sitting on the parapet, and New Girl and I were pressed up against him. I felt hand traversing my body, feeling me up, groping me, squeezing my ass and cupping and rubbing my breasts, and I couldn’t tell whose hands belonged to whom. My pussy was wet and squishy, my clit was erect, and my entire body was giddily jittery with excitement. Not just sexual excitement either, we were about to get found out, busted, and I wasn’t at all sure how that discovery would go over.

Martin’s dress had ridden up around his waist. His pretty pink panties were visible in the gloaming. New Girl’s hands were roaming, exploring, traipsing their leisurely way up his muscular thighs as she kissed him.  Any second now she would find out.

Her hand slipped inside the frilly waistband of his panties. We all three stopped, frozen in time. I watched her face intently, as my heartbeat counted the seconds away: startled; confused; dawning realization; pleasurably surprised.

“Oh, verrrry interesting, a genuine trouser snake! I haven’t played with one of these in years!”

She fished Martin’s erect cock out of his sassy panties. He was rock hard, practically glowing, and the tip was all wet with his oozing juices. I love Martin’s cock; I think it is the perfect size for a penis: not so big as to be intimidating, but definitely on the larger than mean end of the bell curve, with more emphasis on hefty girth then length, and a fat, sharply defined head like the helmet of a WWII German soldier.

His balls hung down, fat and ripe like some strange fruit, masculine and delicate, until recently furry, but shaved bare for the occasion.

New Girl slid down Martin’s body, ending up on her knees, and started sloppily giving him head.

I set about relieving her of her tight black jeans; quite a project with her kneeling on the tarpaper between Martin’s legs, mouth and both hands busily occupied; but I was finally able to tug them off. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Her naked white butt shone like a full moon in the low light. Her pussy was a neatly groomed patch of soft black hair; fat pinkish purple labia pouted out from between puffy outer lips, drooling with excitement. A few stray hairs curled around her delicate, winking, pink little asshole.

I played with her pussy while she noisily sucked Martin’s dick. She was very hot, very wet, and very slippery. I slowly traced the length of her slit, making her squirm, and brought my sticky fingers to my lips: she tasted clean, sweaty but clean, salty and a little spicy. She reminded me of cinnamon.

She came up off his cock with a pop, gasping for air and a big fat grin on her face. She wrangled my cami top off, and it joined her jeans on the tarpaper roof. The three of us kissed for a while more as she fondled my breasts and sucked my nipples, and Martin fingered her pussy, and she played with Martin’s hard cock. We must have been a sight up there on the parapet; three girls getting it on, two of them bottomless and one of them topless. A sight for sore eyes, but not such an unusual sight, at least not on that particular roof.

The touching and the fondling was getting to be too much; the delights of anticipation were being overwhelmed by the need for release. The kisses broke off; Martin fished a condom out of his purse, tore open the wrapper, and rolled it onto his rigid, bobbing cock. New Girl climbed onto his lap, straddling him, facing away from me, out toward the thousand windows of the city at night.

I felt a burning stab of jealousy as I watched Martin’s condom-sheathed cock –my boyfriend’s cock—slithering in between New Girl’s thighs, squishing up and down her juicy vulva; but the sensation was washed away by a rising tide of pure horny sexiness as she maneuvered her pussy into position, poising herself like a pole-sitter, balanced perfectly atop his straining, bulbous, latex-covered glans.

As I watched, rapt, she lowered herself gingerly down onto him, engulfing his ample cock with a satisfied sigh. It was way better than any porn, ever.

She started moving up and down atop him, kissing him viciously and mauling his fake tits. I licked his condom-covered cock when it slid out of her, licked her pussy stretched tight around his member, licked his sweaty, smooth, swollen balls, pried apart her cheeks and licked her tiny little asshole. When his cock popped out of her pussy, I swallowed him whole, and tried to cram my tongue up her gasping cunt, before helping to stick his dick back inside her.

Their movements were getting more and more frantic, their tempo was raising, approaching crescendo. I had a finger up New Girl’s butt, and I could feel Martin’s cock moving inside her. It was hot.

I slipped one long, slippery finger up the tight, muscular entrance to Martin’s asshole, shoving my probing finger in all the way up to the knuckle. His anus grasped me tight, and with a long, drawn-out, unintelligible guttural, rumbling growl, he came, humping violently up at the night sky, pummeling New Girl’s cunt.

His orgasm set her off, and she came, arching her back, fingering her clit, howling like a coyote, a long, slowly trailing off series of yip-yipe-yips. When his softened dick finally slid out of her exhausted pussy, her hands were shaking. Martin’s makeup was smeared all over his face. He looked like a tramp.

Later on that night, in the back of a taxicab, drunk and disheveled, sweaty, wired and tired, we kissed and made out on the way home. The driver watched curiously in the rearview mirror.

“That was hot!” Martin told me. One of his breasts had come askew and I adjusted it for him.

“Yeah it was,” I said. The plan had gone perfectly, far better than I could have ever hoped for.

He had his hand down the front of my pants and he was fingering me. My pussy was still juicy wet, and it felt nice, but it wasn’t going to get me off.

“We should do that one again!” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. The cab driver was stopped at a green light, staring at my unzipped crotch, “Most definitely.”

Fast forward to the following week.

“We did your fantasy. It was hot. Now we should do mine. Isn’t that only fair?”

“Ok, ok,” he said, “We’ll do it then.”

It was Saturday. Martin hadn’t answered his cell phone all day, which was unusual. We were supposed to be getting together for dinner, and I still hadn’t heard from him.

I let myself into his building –he had given me keys ages ago—and walked up the five echoing, paint-peeling flights to his apartment.

There was blood everywhere. A trail of gore led in streaks and dribbles from his kitchen, through the living room, and away into the bedroom. His bedroom door was closed.

I opened the door with trepidation. It looked like a scene out of horror movie, the kind from the ‘80s that I hadn’t been allowed to watch growing up, but I’d watched anyway. The trail of blood was thicker here, and led straight to the bed. Blood was spattered everywhere; the sheets were soaked scarlet red, blood splashed all over the wall, and to the far corners of the room; a few drops had even managed to hit the ceiling. A blood-smeared butcher knife lay on the floor, blurry red fingerprints on the handle.

Martin lay, face up and unmoving, on the bed. The crimson tide was centered on his t-shirt, no longer white, but soaked through with blood. His blue jeans were black with blood, gore streaked up his neck and onto his face.

His eyes were closed, his skin was pale. I gingerly touched him. His skin was clammy cool, and felt remarkably like uncooked hamburger.

My heart was beating so hard inside my chest I was afraid it might burst. I was pumped full of adrenaline, my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in hard and fast. My hands were shaking. Under my skirt, my panties were wet.

Carefully, with trembling fingers, I undid the buttons of his fly. His cock sprung out and up, like a stout branch of oak tree, hard as wood.

I ditched my skirt, and tossed my panties aside, taking care to keep them out of the congealing pool of blood. Then I climbed onto the bed, straddling Martin’s prone body. My knees and ankles were instantly smeared gory red. The bloody sheets felt squishy and sticky underneath me.

I grasped his erection in both hands beneath me, handling it like a dildo. My cunt was hungry and drooling. I luxuriated in it, teasing myself, sliding my vulva up and down his length, stimulating my horny, swollen clit with his inert, rigid tool.

I rocked back and forth, grinding my juicy cunt onto his hard dick, taking my pleasure in jolts and shocks, his body laid out below me like a corpse on an autopsy table.

No more teasing, no more torment. I lifted up and plunged down, relishing the sensation of penetration, the sudden fullness.

I fucked his hard cock, riding his lifeless body like a cowgirl astride a mechanical bull. There was no him, it was just me, just the angle I liked, just the tempo I needed. I felt my orgasm coming on, and redoubled my efforts, bouncing up and down like an ecstatic little girl on a pogo stick.

I came, and I came hard, grunting and huffing and puffing, my cunt contracting and my toes curling, pummeling his blood-soaked chest with balled-up fists. It was an awesome come, and it left me grinning and relaxed, riding the edge of that wave, ready for some more!

For just a moment, a bird’s-eye vision of the scene flashed through my head: me straddling my boyfriend’s corpse, fucking him obliviously away in a veritable pool of his life’s blood. The image only made me hotter.

I felt his dick twitch inside me as I bounced, though his prone body remained still, and I felt his hot semen flood my cunt, and that triggered my second orgasm, which might not have been as intense as the first, but rumbled on much longer, like thunder in the distance, and left me gasping.

At long last, I had had enough. I was sated, my cunt was tired and getting raw. I climbed carefully off him, leaving his erection still stiff as hardwood, pointing at the ceiling, slick and gooey with my juices. Our co-mingled come leaked freely from my cunt. I was more or less covered in blood, like a five-year old who had gotten hold of red finger-paints.

Martin sat up stiffly and shook his head. “How was that?” he asked.

“Fantastic!” I gushed, “Totally fucking awesome!!”

The pills he’d taken kept his dick obnoxiously hard. I tried giving him a blowjob/handjob, to no avail. Then he tried masturbating, but it just wasn’t happening. There was no second orgasm in the cards for him, and he was stuck with a big fat boner until the drugs wore off. It looked kind of uncomfortable. I was tempted to climb on for another ride, but my parts were already sore and tender.

It took forever to clean up. The sheets were a total loss; we were still finding splotches of fake blood in odd places around the apartment days later. Martin thought Tobi had overdone the gore, but I thought he’d done just fine.

“I soaked in a cold bathtub for like an hour to get my temperature down.”

“I know, it was awesome!”

“That was kind of creepy,” Martin said, “I’m not sure I liked that. Let’s not do this one again, ok?”

Oh, we’d definitely be doing that one again!

END