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]

(Fund) Raising the Roof

Wandering around the museum had been amusing for a while. Dinner was decent. But now, deep into the silent auction, I was bored as hell.

And then. His voice.

What he said wasn't important. A car with its headlights on or something. It was the deliciously gravelly, slightly drawling, disembodied voice itself that got me.

I found him at the information desk. Tickets were usually sold here but tonight it was just him, a lone guard keeping out the riffraff.

He looked at me, leered really, and I blushed. He beckoned me behind the desk and without a word started to touch me, sliding his hands under my dress, stroking me through my panties. I gasped, sighed, instantly wet. His mouth found my nipple and his fingers parted my pussy lips. I moaned, incoherent with sudden desire. He leaned me against the desk, undid his pants and began to fuck me, finally, finally murmuring in my ear. Cock and voice both drove into me, propelling me upwards. I came hard, dimly aware of being way too loud, my cries echoing in the entranceway like Muzak for perverts.

Later someone told me: our sounds had been piped throughout the building. Who knows whether I'd leaned on it accidentally or he'd purposely flipped the switch, but that entire crowd of hoity-toity rich folks had heard me pant and groan and wail my way through orgasm.

The benefit did better than ever that year. Turns out no one particularly likes a silent auction.

[written for Alison Tyler's sound and hearing 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]

Hood Ornament

He's waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the car, watching me. When I get there he kisses me, long and slow. He pulls up my shirt, sucks on my nipples, gropes my ass--and then pulls away.

"Thought I told you to lose those," he says, disappointed.

"What?" I half-laugh. "I thought you were kidding. You always say it's such a cliche."

He frowns. "Wrong answer."

He turns me around, pushes me down over the hood. My breath rushes out in a startled yelp. He lifts my skirt and yanks the offending panties down to my knees. When the cool air skitters over my exposed flesh I realize how wet I am.

"Shame I've only got the one," he mutters. There's the telltale clink of the buckle. "Bind your wrists? Or whip your ass?"

My heartbeat thumps hollowly against the car. He's never used anything on me but his hand.

He strokes my clit with the leather tip, once, like a tongue. I shudder, hear myself moan.

Then a burst of noise as a rowdy bunch of college boys spill into the lot. I move to stand and pull my skirt down, but he stills me with a look. I gulp. Blush. Close my eyes.

I can tell when they notice us. There's an abrupt silence, then a disbelieving snicker or two. I can feel their eyes on me. I want to disappear. But, also, my pussy throbs.

"Say," he says mildly. "Any of you fellas wearing a belt?"

[written for Alison Tyler's leather contest]

Talk Hard

"Why is it," you murmur, "that you let me do such dirty things to you but won't tell me your fantasies?" You smack my ass, watch me writhe.

"I don't know," I manage. "It's just so...intimate."

"And this isn't?" You slowly work a finger into my [DELETED]. My head spins.

"Point taken." But I'm silent. Distracted.

You take your hands away. I whimper. "Tell me," you say.

"Well…" I falter. "We're at a restaurant." You touch me again: instant reward. "You grab me. By the restrooms. You tell me not to scream. You drag me inside, pull my shirt up to cover my eyes. You use my panties to tie my wrists behind me."

You turn me face-up, spread me open, rub against me.

"You push me down, shove your [DELETED] into my mouth. Harder than usual. I realize I never saw your face. You could be anyone."

You slide into me just a bit, then out, holding my hips so I can't wriggle onto you.

"You [DELETED] my face," I pant, "a little too roughly. I can't catch my breath. You hit the back of my throat over and over…"

You grunt, but don't move.

"And then you hoist me up, bend me over the sink and thrust into me, and I'm coming --"

You groan, finally slamming into my [DELETED]. One, two, three strokes…

And you pull out, leaving me open-mouthed, gasping. You head for the door. "Get dressed," you say, grinning. "I'm taking you to dinner."

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

The Reunion

Confession: I hate netspeak. LOL especially makes me want to hurl Merriam-Webster's at the monitor. But there's one that goes back, in non-abbreviated form at least. Back to the days of hideous feathered hair, rainbow suspenders, and deely boppers.

That's why I'm not surprised when my best friend texts me from inside the reunion: "OMG, you'll never believe who's here!" We children of the eighties have rights to that one, I think.

And it's him. That unreachable one. God I lusted after him, but he was so out of my league it wasn't even funny. Then, a miracle: senior year he played Orsino to my Viola and he had to kiss me onstage, in front of everyone...but he didn't have to, um, suck face. The kiss was mandatory, but the mesmerizing swirling undertow of his tongue, perfectly slippery, shockingly intimate - that was his choice.

So now I give it back to him tenfold. Now I can reach him, grab him, pull him to me unthinkingly, blind with 20 years' worth of desire. And it's rampant hormones and roiling emotions all over again, and I kiss him, in front of everyone. His cock swells against me, remembering.

And I push him down and I undo him, and it's my tongue circling hypnotically now, slicking him with spit. And it's me who climbs him now, scaling the heights of the popular boy, my cunt gripping him like a fist. We both come fast and hard, gasping, shuddering. In front of everyone.

[written for Alison Tyler's "WTF? STFU!" 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.]

First Date: August

In the diner, they talk. She wants him to touch her. She could scoot forward on the seat, rub her crotch against his knee. But she doesn't.

In the lobby, they wait for the movie to start. Nobody's around. She wants him to touch her. She could lean in close and kiss him, but she doesn't.

In the movie, he puts his arm around her. She sinks into him, grateful. She wants him to touch her more. She takes his hand, places it on her knee. He gets the picture. He's slow but deliberate, makes his way up the inside of her thigh, watching her squirm and grimace. At the top, he does not grab or squeeze or stroke, like every other boy in the world. He taps, gently, as if he's asking to be let in. She's dizzy, can barely breathe. He pushes her panties aside and there's skin on skin and she's ridiculously wet and his finger slides into her and her whole body is suffused with joy.

In the hotel room, he's touching her already and she's not quiet anymore. She's on all fours on the bed and he's spanking her, hard and sweet, and his fingers are inside her and they can both feel her cunt contract. She would weep with relief but she's too busy laughing.

She knows he isn't hers. He belongs to someone else. Eventually, things are going to change.

But for now, at least, she is exactly where she wants to be.

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

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]

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]

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]