Stranger Things Have Happened

"So," you say, "let's go over this again."

I nod wordlessly, leaning into you.

"I go up to that stranger"--you let the word hang, knowing it's the whole point of the fantasy--"invite him over for a drink, and he comes to our table."

"Mm-hmm," I murmur, and you suck on my earlobe, making me sigh.

"I unbutton your blouse," you continue, "and then I undo your bra, let him look at your tits." Your fingers brush my already-hard nipples, and I shiver. My pussy's throbbing.

"I hike up your skirt, spread your legs so he can see your panties," you go on, sliding a hand across my thigh, grazing my clit. "Then I pull them aside so he sees how wet your cunt is." You feel for yourself, and I can't help moaning.

"And then I let him have his way with you," you finish. "There's just one thing," you say, and I look at you. I'm so dizzy with desire it takes me a moment to recognize what you're holding: the belt to your raincoat.

"I don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself," you chide, drawing my wrists behind my back and tying them securely.

I don't know what to say. This wasn't part of the plan.

You make quick work of the blouse's buttons, of the bra's clasp. I feel cool air on my exposed skin, my torso now bared to the waist. And then you're gone, walking toward the bar.

I wait, trembling.

[written for Alison Tyler's "tie me up" contest]

Ring Bell for Service

"Dammit, I wanted to fuck you in that tent," you complain, grabbing me with one hand while the other rings the bell. You're dripping rainwater all over me, but it doesn't matter. We're both drenched.

"Well, now you get to fuck me in a sleazy motel," I say. You grope my ass through my pajamas, soaked from our dash from the campsite to the car, then shove me toward the check-in counter, pinning me against it. Your hands continue their assault. You know that being manhandled like this makes me hot.

"Quit it!" I hiss, anticipating company, but you keep going. You kick at my foot, knocking me off balance, and I widen my stance to compensate. You take the opportunity to slip a hand between my legs and I stifle a gasp. You twist one nipple through wet fabric until I groan, "Stop."

But my back's arching and you know I'm close. You spin me around and wrap your lips around the other nipple, then push pajamas aside and slide a finger into me, my moans suddenly loud in the empty room as I start to come. You thrust again, again, propelling me higher - another finger, deeper, faster - until my cries turn into a wail. You urge me on, making me come harder...

Then there's a movement in my peripheral vision and I realize the room wasn't empty at all. I look and there's the clerk, watching, rapt. And that makes me come the hardest of all.

[written for Alison Tyler's "motel sex" contest]

Copping A Feel

"Do you know why I stopped you, ma'am?"

The officer is so young. His blond hair, cropped close to his scalp, looks as soft as peach fuzz.

"Um…no?" I lie unconvincingly. I can’t afford a ticket.

"You’re going the wrong way down a one-way street," he says. I wonder why he became a cop. Wonder if he gets off on the power. The thought makes my stomach lurch apprehensively, but it also makes me moisten and swell.

"Step out of the car, please." His gaze flickers over my body, clearly visible through the sheer sundress. A shiver runs down my spine.

"I’m sorry," he says, "but I need to pat you down," and then he’s touching me, politely at first. I stifle a sudden, wild urge to laugh, but then he brushes against a nipple and I moan inadvertently. Abandoning all pretense, his hands roam over my ass, then back up my inner thighs. "Spread your legs," he murmurs in my ear, and I do, gasping when he pulls my skirt up and gropes me abruptly, discovering my wetness.

I hear the buckle, the zipper, then feel the head of his cock against my slit, nudging me thrillingly open and then sliding inside me easily. He pushes me down onto the car and begins to thrust. I'm over the top in seconds, my cunt pulsing uncontrollably. He fucks me harder, faster, and I come and come, transported, until he shudders, groaning with pleasure.

I get off with a warning…this time.

[written for Alison Tyler's "one way" contest]

Hustle

It's strange being home again. Three months we've been at college, but it feels like years. And now we're back - different, but the same - and my half-dozen boys do not want the night to end.

So, as I stand to go, I'm not surprised when they swipe my car key right out of my hand. The six of them are quick, sneaky, work as a team. I watch, helpless, as the keyring arcs across the room, is passed hand to hand, and, predictably, ends up down someone's pants.

When we were kids, that was the end of the chase. An unbreachable border, that waistband, between a girl and her male friends. A fail-safe.

But they don't know how three months have changed me.

The counterpoint to their jump and jive, the foil to their fancy footwork, I walk slowly toward him. I sense their collective gulp as they realize the game has changed.

The room is silent. I feel like I’m in a dream.

I draw close, reach out, unbutton, unzip. He holds still as my fingers slide inside, search for my quarry, brush against him accidentally, then deliberately. He’s hard. His breath hitches. As I grab the key with one hand, the other hand wraps around his cock and strokes him once, twice. He’s trembling. I lean forward and, in a movement so daring I wonder at myself later, take him into my mouth, suck mercilessly. Swallow.

Game over.

This time I make it to the door.

[written for Alison Tyler's "key" contest]

Getting Shushed at the New York Public Library (an almost true story)

He emails me: I feel like I should take you to the NYPL. I mean, sexy small-town librarian comes to the big city... It has to be done.

Me: Dude, I'm not a tourist. You don't have to trot me around to see the sights. -- Besides, living in the suburbs an hour outside the city doesn't exactly qualify as "small-town."

Him: Still. Come on. Don't you want to? The one with the lions.

Me: If it'll make you happy. :)

In the empty elevator he shoves me against the wall, rubs my clit through my skirt roughly, talks dirty in my ear. He knows how much I like his hands on me in public. I gasp, sigh, melt into him and almost come before the doors slide open.

In a stately marble hallway I stand with my back against a pillar and quickly hike up my skirt, pull down my panties, to flash him. I can see the sudden desire in his eyes.

And in the Rose Reading Room, amid all of that quiet studiousness, he bends me over one of the massive oak tables, lifts my skirt and thrusts his fingers into me, hard and fast just the way I like it, until all of my stifled moans can't be held in anymore and I cry out, coming and coming again, my voice echoing against the high ceiling, heads turning our way in disapproval.

Outside, he shoots me a sidelong glance. “Happy?” he asks.

I smile.

[written for Alison Tyler's "sexy" contest]