Vesti la Giubba

It's stupid how fast he turns me on. Even fully clothed. When he grabbed my ass and told me to wear the gloves, just like that I was hot for him. Elegant on the outside, maybe, but underneath? Just another weak-kneed, wet-pantied girl, aching to be fucked.

He knew it, too. He slipped the usher a twenty to stand watch, then closed the curtains to our private box. The music began and so did he, smooth and slow so as not to draw attention. The zipper was easy. Shimmying out of the dress was tougher, but soon I was sitting there without a stitch on. -- Wait, I'm lying. I still wore the gloves.

I kept my eyes forward, prayed no one would look over. I was shaking: aroused, ashamed, my nipples hard, pulsing like twin beacons in the dark.

He waited until the applause to grip the back of my neck and pull me down face-first into his crotch, and when he forced his cock between my lips I could feel it in my cunt. Suddenly blissfully mindless, I slipped off the seat, knelt in front of him.

All at once, his come was hitting the back of my throat and somebody was slamming into my pussy from behind. I bit back a moan before he clapped his hand over my mouth. I twisted in pleasure, came so hard it was like I'd been punched in the gut.

Sighed.

Then wanted more.

Shameless.

He snickered, pinched a nipple, commanded, "Encore."

[written for Alison Tyler's pin-up girls contest]

[The cover girl that inspired the piece is here.]

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]

Flashback

As we push through the crowd, you start to grumble. Disneyfied, you gripe. Sanitized. You miss the pre-Giuliani peep shows, you claim, although I know you never indulged. You were still an innocent then, another wholesome midwestern boy newly arrived. But you like to reminisce.

I grab you, ford the stream of passers-by. "Peep shows, huh?" I murmur, stealthily unbuttoning underneath my coat. You catch on fast, lean in, shielding me from view so you can get your eyeful. I really only mean to flash you my bra, but you slip your hands inside and undo the front clasp, cupping my tits. You kiss my neck, push me against the wall. I realize too late that you've pinned me there at the elbows, nudging my coat open to expose me.

"No," I whisper, but I can't free myself. My nipples throb and ache in the cool air and my cheeks burn. A lanky hipster type stops to look. "Hold her," you say, and the guy grips me hard enough to bruise. Kneeling, you grin up at me, neon reflecting in your eyes. "Crossroads of the world," you muse, lifting my skirt. "A juncture. Everything converges here." You pull my panties aside and dive in, burying two fingers in my cunt. My captor sucks on one nipple, bites down on the other as I groan and start to come, oblivious now to bystanders.

-- Yeah, I didn't know about that webcam either. Broadway and 46th Street. Um, oops.

I ❤ NY.

[written for Alison Tyler's ❤ contest]

The Good Humor Man

That was the summer with the heat wave. That was the summer when it was so hot for so long that we ran outside with the neighborhood kids every time the ice cream truck went by. I tried everything that year - Toasted Almond and Bomb Pops and Push-ups and Hoodsie Cups with the flat wooden spoons that tasted like my childhood.

That was the summer we both got a crush on the towheaded college kid that drove the thing around. I'd never seen you like that around another man before. It was like you wanted to flirt but couldn't quite figure out how, so you just got tongue-tied and goofy. I could see you blushing even through the heat.

And late one night we found him parked at the ballfield long after everyone had gone home. All he had left were boring old popsicles, and I got so distracted by the prospect of you going down on a guy that I practically started fellating that neon monstrosity without realizing it. Which certainly got both of your attention, and I leaned in and kissed you, and then him, multicolored tongues mixing crazy new concoctions. And you and I knelt together in front of our Mr. Softee (who was, in fact, not at all soft), and we licked and sucked him until he melted with pleasure, his come sweeter than any ice cream I've ever tasted. And then we brought him home, all three of us sticky and dripping and grinning.

[written for Alison Tyler's "eavesdropping erotica crafts dessert" contest]

Test Drive

This time, our little ritual may actually get us kicked out. This time you're really pushing it. Usually we just lie down together, bouncing experimentally, making a show of scrutinizing prices and features. The truth is we can't afford any of these beds, but we like to pretend.

But tonight something's gotten into you. Tonight when we lay down on the most plush and pristine floor model in the place, you pulled me close and kissed me lingeringly. You acted like we were home alone, in our own creaky hand-me-down bed. Tonight you teased my nipples, slipped your hand between my legs, made me squirm and shudder. The store was deserted, you said. No one would see.

Tonight when the salesman told us the store was closing, you made me ask how much weight the bed would hold, because I wanted to have two men at once. Tonight you invited him to touch me and watched while he stroked me through my panties. Tonight you pushed my face into the mattress and told him to finger me until I begged to be fucked. Tonight I begged and you shoved your cock into my mouth while the man thrust roughly into my pussy and I came for what felt like forever and I took it all and didn't spill a drop of come onto those clean white sheets.

Tonight we bought a bed and you made sure that tomorrow, when they bring it to our house, they'll send two delivery men.

[written for Alison Tyler's beds contest]
[The bed photo that inspired the piece is here.]