Mastermind

I've been angling for hints all day, but you're obstinate. I know you have a plan. You always have a plan.

I don't know if you're going to bring me to a shadowy stairwell, push me against the wall and grope me until I'm wet and panting, then up to a chaotic rooftop party where nobody minds when you spread my legs and thrust your fingers into me, hard and deep...

Or if you're going to dress me up and take me out, pulling me down dark alleys on every block, teasing me (vibe nestled against my clit, pretty jeweled plug in my asshole, clamp on each nipple) until I can barely walk, and on a crowded, brightly-lit corner I have to beg you to take me home and fuck me, passers-by staring...

Or if you're going to lie to a bar full of strangers that it's my birthday, bend me over a barstool and spank the hell out of me, inviting them to help, hiking up my skirt to expose my panties and then my bare skin, and when I groan, all those hands mauling my ass and swollen pussy, you shove your cock into my mouth to shut me up, and we'll get kicked out, arrested maybe, but I won't stop you (or whoever it is that's started pounding into my aching cunt)...

Funny, you always call me your naughty girl, your dirty slut, but you're the one with the ideas. Me? I'm just along for the ride.

[written for Alison Tyler's naughty contest]

The Divorcee Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even

"Greedy," they call her. One year since her husband left and this is what her new lovers call her. She had loved him, fiercely, but now that it's over she can admit they'd always been mismatched in bed. Ten years of her sex life gone. No wonder she's so hungry now. Famished. She always wants more.

It's a mystery where most fantasies begin, but this one she remembers. Flipping through some magazine and oh. That picture. Nothing was showing, even, but her imagination seized upon it. How it would feel to have that many hands on her. The cocks, the mouths. She'd stopped breathing, thinking about it.

Tonight isn't going to be quite like that, she knows. She isn't lithe and untarnished anymore, and neither are they. But the details still inspire. The arch of her back, his thigh solid against her. Strong fingers stroking her jaw and working their way down the back of her jeans. Soon he'll lift his head and suck on her nipple, bite down. In a moment his hardness will nudge her lips apart and slide home. She will be laid bare, spread open, pinioned, stretched. She will take him in, and him, and him.

Does it count as being taken when you give yourself so freely? She wonders how many it would take to quiet the clamor inside her. She doesn't want oblivion. She just wants to be here, now. She wants to wake up. She wants those years back. She wants, she wants.

[written for Alison Tyler's three guys & a girl contest]