About Last Night

The tile floor is cold against my bare ass. I don’t have the energy to pull the bathroom rug under me. It’s all I can do to hold my hair back, keep it from falling in the toilet.

My head rings like a kettle drum. What the hell happened last night?

I have a vague recollection of dinner. My stomach wants nothing more than to reject the tender prime rib. And the booze. The booze! The fucking booze just kept flowing, like Christ himself was standing at the bar and filling glasses with a wave of his hand. I can’t remember how many tequila shots I had.

I spew into the toilet.

Obviously too many.

I had pledged my undying faith to Jose Cuervo; we’re BFFs now. Arriba!

I spew again. Not much is coming out now—I’ve been at this for a while.

Last night comes back in snapshots. The managing partner’s speech after dinner; I remember now. He droned on about the financial impact of the merger, bonuses all around, yadda yadda yadda. Everyone clapped at the announcement, some wolf-whistled.

It was at that point that Martin put his hand on my leg, skimmed it beneath the short skirt. The journey up my thigh came to a halt when he reached the clasps of my garter.

“Jesus.” Martin angled his head, appeared to be listening to the speaker. He dropped his voice. “Meet me in the lobby. Bring your purse.”

He left as everyone applauded the final words of the speech. Chairs scraped, music blared and bodies swarmed onto the dance floor. I followed a few out of the ballroom, the handful who were going outside for a smoke. I didn’t want a smoke. I wanted to finish what Martin and I had started back at the office, before leaving for the staff banquet; when he’d pinned me against his desk, ravaged my mouth with his, squeezed one hungry nipple between thumb and forefinger.

It’s no wonder I drank so much. I should have known the drinks wouldn’t dampen the fire. Tequila always makes me horny.

At a discreet distance, I followed Martin out the building, half a block up the street and into a taxi. He pressed me against the seat, pushed my knees apart.

“Go,” he said to the driver.

“Where?”

“I don’t care,” Martin snapped. “Just fucking drive.” His hand rushed up my leg, pushed thin silk aside and plunged.

Yes! Yes! My hands had a mind of their own at that point and craved to reciprocate.

Frantic with need, I fumbled trying to unzip his pants. He pushed my hands away and did it himself. He looked at me as he freed his cock.

“Is this what you want?”

I nodded. “Please!”

He wrapped his hands in my hair and pushed my head down.

“That’s it,” he moaned as I impaled my mouth on his cock. “You’re such a good girl.”

At once, I was calm. My head was clear. The stress of year-end bullshit dissolved. And as Martin fucked my mouth and crooned that I was such a good girl, I knew I had found my role. Knew where I belonged.

His cock jerked as he came down my throat and I gulped him down like a greedy slut.

I don’t recall much after that. I don’t remember dropping Martin off at his house, coming back home, getting into bed. I'm not even sure how I came to be crouched in front of the toilet, wearing nothing but a Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

The scream of the telephone stabs like an ice pick. The answering machine kicks in. My cheerful voice rings through the apartment.

“Hi, it’s Charlotte! I can’t take your call right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back soon. Have a great day!”

I dry heave. Am I really that fucking annoying?

“Hey, Charlotte.” Andrea’s voice floats through the speakers. “Why aren’t you at work? What happened last night? You left without saying goodbye. Some people are saying you left with Martin.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And his wife called to find out where he is. His wife, Charlotte! She says he didn’t come home last night. Everyone’s talking about it. You HAVE to call me and tell me what happened!”

Andrea hisses the last sentence into the phone. Then the buzz of a dead line.

I press my forehead against the cool porcelain.

Oh, fuck.

Sunday Sex

Sunday Sex is sacred to us, a tradition of sorts. It’s always slow. Always tender.

Which is much different than our usual session. Our usual session involves biting and growling and several loud orgasms. And ropes. Or a belt. Sometimes both. And if I’ve been a good girl, a flogger.

But Sunday Sex is sleepy and dreamy and one quiet, moaning orgasm. It’s simple. Satisfying. And reinforces our love.

So when he shoves my arms above my head, grips my wrists and presses them into the bed, I’m surprised. And at once, every nerve in my body tingles.

He knows I like it hard, rough. Not that I don’t like Sunday Sex, but when he fucks me, pounds me, I feel truly wanted. Truly owned.

I wiggle beneath him as he kisses my neck, rubs his morning bristles against my cheek. I open my thighs to him, my hips reach up. I moan when he shifts away from me.

“Not yet, baby girl. Let me do this.”

“But, Daddy…”

He looks down at me. “Let me do this,” he repeats. “Keep your hands where I put them. I am trusting you to behave as if they were tied.”

It seems impossible, but my pussy throbs more. “Yes, Daddy.” It is barely a whisper.

“Good girl.” He kisses my mouth, nips my bottom lip. “Legs together.”

Understanding slams through me then. Oh fuck, is all I can think. A session, but not a session. Tied, but not tied. Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

I draw my legs together. And just to be safe, clasp my hands together above my head.

“I saw that,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s angry and I am immediately contrite.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. But I’m used to holding onto the ropes. My hands need to hold onto something. So I’ll hold onto myself instead.”

“You’re such a clever girl.” He kisses me hard. “I accept your compromise, but don’t bring your hands down.”

“No, Daddy.”

“Remember the Rule,” he warns.

My heart pounds. Oh fuck! We don’t follow the Rule on Sundays.

“Yes, Daddy.”

As he travels down my body, my hands clench and unclench, my hips buck. But my hands stay above my head and my legs stay together. Because the rule is: “Only Daddy spreads your thighs”.

And since I’m a bit of a slut, this isn’t an easy thing for me to do.

His mouth trails down my belly, kisses my hips. He pushes his tongue between my thighs and tongues my clit. I grip my hands together and thrust my hips into his face.

“I like when my girl is greedy, needing Daddy’s tongue, desperate to fuck Daddy’s mouth.”

I love it when he talks like this. It makes me want him more and my hips pump faster.

And this is when the session truly begins. Which one of us will give in first? Will he shove my thighs apart first? Or will I beg him to eat me first? And it will involve begging, because I know the moment I ask, it will invoke the Begging Rule. Which translates to me begging and Daddy teasing me until I’m coming apart. And as much as I like invoking the Begging Rule…because I’m a bit of masochist and love to edge…I don’t have time for that shit. Not today. I don’t want to be teased. I just want to fucking cum! Now. Hard and fast.

“You make my pussy feel so good, Daddy.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, Daddy. My pussy is leaking down my ass.”

“Do you want Daddy to lick your sweet ass?”

I moan. “Yes, Daddy.”

He digs his fingers into my hips and growls, his tongue still pressed against my clit. The vibration shoots right through me and I pump faster.

And I say what I know will send him over the edge. I know that he allows it to send him over the edge. But we both know I won’t ask if I don’t want it. And he won’t even try if I don’t want it. I love that about him.

“I want Daddy to fuck my ass.”

Without ceremony, he shoves my thighs apart and back, buries his face into my pussy.

His open mouth sucks hard as he spreads my pussy with his thumbs.

“Daddy, you’re going to make me cum!” And if this a Sunday Sex session, it means only one orgasm. Another Rule. And I don’t want to cum this fast. Not right now. Not when it feels this good.

He looks up at me and grins. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. Not even close. Sunday has just begun.”

Wendigo*

She wears nothing but a silk tie and silk ropes.

He covers her almond-shaped eyes with a fantasy tie by Rubinacci. It seems appropriate, all things considered.

He ties her calves to her thighs, her wrists to her knees. Her only comfortable position is with her thighs spread, pussy and ass exposed. She lays on the kitchen table, just at the edge, exposed to him like the best fucking meal a man could have.

He licks his lips, inhales. Yeah, the best fucking meal.

The chair scrapes the floor as he nudges it forward. Her cunt drips with need and he smiles.

"Greedy girl," he whispers. He flicks his tongue over her swollen clit and her body jerks. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I was looking forward to my dinner." He says it casually, as if they're having a conversation about weather or stocks. He looks up at her and sees her nod. And he smiles. "But you were late," he continues, keeping his voice flat, though his cock twitches.

She drops the smile and her bottom lip quivers. "But, Sir," she whimpers.

"You were late," he repeats. "And I was hungry."

Her hands bunch into fists. "Yes, Sir. I understand." He can see her body all but deflate.

"What do you think I should do?" he asks.

She hesitates for only a moment...his girl is so well-trained.

"I should be punished." Her tone says defeat.

She knows this will not be maintenance punishment. Not a casual spanking over his lap that ends in a hard fucking. She knows this will end in disappointment. She knows it will end with her wanting.

"How do you think I should punish you?"

"However Sir thinks I should be punished."

Again, such a well-trained girl. He knows he should punish her, and yet...

He leans his head against her thigh, brushes his beard against the tender skin; something he knows she likes. "I can't. I've been waiting all day for this."

"I know, Sir, and I'm sorry."

He smiles against her thigh. "Yeah, maybe." He kisses her thigh. "You'll be really sorry after I'm done."

"I...what?"

He doesn't respond to her query. Instead, he simply wraps his arms around her thighs and buries his face into her pussy.

"Oh! Oh, fuck, Sir! Yes!" Her hips buck into his face, blindly reaching for more.

"Start counting," he orders. He doesn't mean the smacks on her ass that he insists she counts out loud in a strong voice. He means something else. And she knows what he means.

"Yes, Sir!" He can hear the smile in her voice.

He spreads her pussy wide with his thumbs and sucks hard on her clit. As always, she cums fast and hard.

"One!" she cries as the orgasm hits.

He continues to lap at her pussy, thrusting his tongue into her cunt.

"Oh!" she cries and he knows she realizes what he meant. What he meant by counting and what he meant by being sorry and, most important, what her punishment will be.

It is a fantasy she had shared with him weeks ago...to be forced to cum over and over...and he wants to give it to her. Give her this gift. A gift for his good, good girl.

"One," she repeats. And he knows she's in.

"Use your safe word if you need to."

"Yes, Sir."

He knows she won't, but he'll watch her and shut down the session if necessary. Until then...

He presses his open mouth against her pussy and grinds his tongue against her clit as she chants "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Her thighs quiver as she cries out "Two!"

He presses a finger into her cunt as he continues to suck on her clit, fucking into her until she convulses around him. He loves that she's so quick to orgasm.

"Three!" His thumb works her clit as he licks the tight rosebud that continues to pucker.

"Oh, fuck, Sir. Keep doing that. Don't stop. You know how much I like it when you play with my ass."

"Yes I do." He moves up to her pussy and she groans. "You know the rules."

"Yes, Sir." Her hips thrust up. "You know what I want and what I need."

"And?"

"And you will give me what I want and what I need. I don't need to tell you."

"Good girl."

Confident that he has trained her well, that she'll obey, he loses himself in her. Loses himself in the heady scent of her pussy, in the dripping sweetness of her cunt. He clamps his open mouth onto her pussy, sucks her clit into his mouth, swirls his tongue around her until she is cumnming again. He rams two fingers into her soaking cunt and fucks into her as he continues to suck.

He stands, shoves the chair away, knocking it over. One hand reaches up to grip one tit and his fingers continue to drill into her and she cries out again. One hand twists a nipple, the other fucks into her greedy cunt, his mouth licks and sucks her clit. Tight muscles throb against his fingers as she cums over and over.

He realizes that she no longer uses words but only pants and moans.

"Oh fuck, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was enjoying it so much." He kisses her thigh. "So fucking much. You didn't use your safe word."

She rocks her head from side to side and chants. "Nine. Nine. Nine."

"Shall we make it an even ten?"

She arches as much as the ropes allow. "Please!"

He cups both tits in his hands and shoves his hard cock into her cunt, gripping her tits like anchors. She is frantic now, her head rolling from side to side chanting "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!".

He shifts, grabs her knees and rams into her over and over until her cunt spasms, sucking at his cock, pulling at him until he is cumming, unloading deep inside her.

He drapes over her, putting most of his weight on one elbow.

"How do you feel, baby?"

She sighs, shifts her head. Though she is blindfolded, she presses a kiss against his cheek without fumbling.

"Ten."

He chuckles. "Good girl."


*The wendigo is a mythical cannibal monster or evil spirit

What she wants

I wait until she’s dressed; the pretty silk blouse and frilly floral skirt.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her.

She smiles. Blushes.

“Turn around.” I rotate my hand in the air, thrust my chin at her.

She sucks in a breath, but turns.

I push up her skirt to find her bare bottom. “Good girl.”

I brush my fingers over her pussy.

“Oh, Jesus, sweetheart. And you’re so wet."

"You make me wet." Her voice is breathy, barely a whisper.

I smile. "You’re about to get wetter."

I press my mouth against her pussy, savor the salty-sweetness that is hers.

She bends over, her legs wide and I push her cheeks open. She rocks back and forth, riding my tongue, moaning my name.

My cock is throbbing and I need her lips around it. I need to hold her head as I fuck her sweet mouth, but I can’t stop feasting on her juices. She tastes so fucking good.

She’s panting now, and I know she’s close.

I reach up, gently pinch her clit and she groans.

"Please,” she begs. “Please."

And I know what she wants.

I drag my tongue along her wet folds, up to her tight asshole, swirling my tongue round and round.

"Yes!” she moans. “Yes!"

I squeeze her swollen clit and grind her ass with my tongue until she cums, sobbing my name.

Hog Wild

Jessica pushed the kick stand out, swung her leg off the bike. She eased off her helmet, ran her fingers through her hair.

She waved to a few riders she recognized, hooked her helmet onto the sissy bar. The charitable ride was fun. The route had meandered through several small towns where residents had lined the streets. It had moved her to see so many people standing on sidewalks and at the end of their driveways with signs that said ‘THANK YOU’ in large bright letters.

“Kinda chokes you up, doesn’t it?”

Jessica nodded at the biker who parked next to her. “I had to keep telling myself not to cry.”

“I hear ya.”

Jessica snorted out a laugh. Jake was tall, with a slender but muscled build that said he was disciplined. The shaved head and goatee gave him a somewhat hostile demeanor. It seemed that she bumped into him at every charity ride; they had made a habit of flirting and teasing each other.

“You were crying?”

He smiled showing straight, white teeth and a dimple that winked in his left cheek. Damn he was hot!

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a rep.”

Yeah, she had heard about Jake’s rep, wondered if the rumors were true. “Your secret is safe with me.” She laughed, shoved her gloves into a saddle bag. “I’m going to grab something to eat. Want to join me?”

“Sure. But I could use a drink first.” He put his hand on her back to steer her toward the beer garden. The touch was light and casual, but it felt intimate.

“I’m not thirsty.”

He stopped, turned to face her. His hand never left her back, but pressed into her, held her against him. Possessed. “Good. Me neither.”

He took her hand and walked toward one of the pavilions, tested two doors before he found one that opened. He closed the door behind them, twisted the lock, flipped on the light. Shelves were neatly stacked with cleaning supplies. A wood table dominated most of the space.

“Are you okay with this? We can go…”

The rest of Jake’s suggestion was muffled in his shirt as Jessica pulled it over his head, dropped it on the floor. She raked her nails across his chest, pressed an open mouth on his left nipple, flicked her tongue across the silver ring that pierced it. He cupped his hand on the back of her head, pressed her against him. She tugged at the ring and he groaned, pushing his hips against hers.

She shifted, cupped his hard cock with her hand.

He backed her against the table. “Jess, Jesus, I want…I fucking need to taste you.”

She kept her eyes on his as she popped the buttons on his jeans; smiled when she found him commando.

“You said you were thirsty.” Her hand wrapped around his cock when it sprang free. She grazed her teeth along his throat as she stroked him.

“I was.” Jake boosted her up onto the table, yanked off her jeans, pushed her knees back. “Now I’m hungry.”

He shoved her thighs apart, spread her lips and stood over her.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “And so fucking wet.”

His face hovered above her a moment. He raised his eyes to meet hers, then his mouth was on her pussy, hot as fire. He lapped at her, feasted on her like a rabid wolf. She cupped his head, pushed him against her and he sucked her clit into his mouth.

“I need you inside me. Now.”

“Not yet.”

“God, Jake.” His mouth was doing wonderful things to her pussy , but she needed more. “Please, I need something inside me.”

“I can do that.”

As he sucked hard on her clit, he pressed two fingers into her cunt, slid them in slow, then withdrew. When she arched against him, he pushed in as deep as he could.

“Oh, God, yes!” Her hips rocked against his hand and he pistoned like a jackhammer while she chanted his name. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Even as she came, he kept fucking her with his fingers. “No chance, babe.”

Barbie

I was thirteen when I made my Barbie fuck Ken.

Ken was on top, Barbie was on her back. It's what I knew to be the norm. Then my older sister told me about sixty-nine, and Ken and Barbie discovered a new position.

I got a new Barbie for my fourteenth birthday. Ken was a happy man. He had two women who fucked him day and night in a variety of positions.

Then I found my dad’s Playboy magazines, and everything changed. Pressing Ken against Barbie made my stomach jump, but pressing Barbie against her girlfriend made my pussy tingle.

None of us noticed that Ken had driven off in the pink convertible. The Barbies were too busy eating each other’s smooth pussies.

And I discovered masturbating.

I would lie in my bed, surrounded by teddy bears, and stroke my clit.

Eyes closed, I fantasized that my best friend, her long blond hair a contrast to my own raven locks, kneeled between my legs. Her eager mouth against my pussy, her tongue licking my clit.

My fingers were her mouth as they swirled over my clit. My fingers were her fingers as they fucked into my innocent cunt.

A Night at the Opera

“I hate the opera,” grumbled Erica, as she furled and unfurled the two-page program. She had noticed two typos when she skimmed through it. How good could the production be?

As the orchestra tuned up, random notes of mediocre music drifted through the audience, though the term audience was pushing it a bit. Forty-two people in an auditorium that held two-fifty hardly qualified as an audience.

But there it was.

And so was Erica. Sitting in the back row of a near-empty auditorium, waiting for a fat broad with humongous boobs to come out on stage and sing at an octave only dogs would hear. It wasn’t over until she did. That, my friends, is a known fact.

“You agreed to come with me tonight.” Jason’s face was deadpan as he reached over, pressed his hand on her bouncing knee. He pressed just hard enough to make his point. Stop making a scene. Or else.

Erica stilled her leg, slumped back in her seat. She had worn her favorite evening dress—a black mid-thigh flare—and a lacy garter. She had spent thirty minutes on her hair, twenty on her makeup.

For this. This small-town, amateur freak show.

“That’s better.” Jason rewarded her with a light kiss on her cheek as the lights dimmed and the orchestra played the opening notes.

Pouting in the dark, Erica watched performers with worn costumes and tired voices drag through their scenes.

She deserved to be rewarded for this, for sitting through singers that sounded like cats in heat. She deserved to be rewarded for giving in to Jason’s ridiculous whims, his drive to support local arts. She deserved…

Her head swiveled over to him when his hand creeped up her leg, under her dress, fingered the hook of her garter that rested well up her thigh.

Erica smiled into the darkness of the near-empty theater. She swiveled her head back and faced the actors, let her head tilt back and spread her thighs in carefree invitation. Oh, yeah, she deserved this.

Jason’s hand slid up her thigh, his finger grazing the folds of her pussy.

“You’re already wet,” he breathed into her ear as he palmed her.

Two fingers dipped down, came back up—lubed—to stroke her clit. She could only nod as wave after wave of need ripped through her.

“You like when I finger you, don’t you?”

She nodded again. “Don’t stop.” She meant to sound demanding, but it came out more like a whimper.

That didn’t matter. Jason knew what she wanted. He thrust two fingers into her pussy and fucked into her with lightning speed.

The sucking noises of her wet cunt matched the tempo of the music as he pounded his fingers into her. Her moans melted with the aria, seemed to harmonize with the players. And when Jason made her cum, her cries of release were drowned out by the ear-splitting falsetto of the fat lady.