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.]

The Hardest Part

"I've wanted to fuck you since the first moment I saw you." He says it matter-of-factly. Conversationally. The bastard.

I pause for a long moment, struggling to keep my face impassive. I can't decide whether to jump him or punch him. Finally I snap, "What the hell took you so long?"

He shrugs, grinning now, challenge in his eyes. "I try to wait until I can't stand it anymore," he says. "I like the anticipation."

And then he's on me--biting my neck, pawing at my tits, pinning me against the wall. He pulls my shirt up, finds my nipple and sucks. I swoon, delirious. He doesn't kiss me. This isn't about romance. This is about heat, about desire, about him getting inside me as soon as humanly possible.

He hikes up my skirt, gropes me through my panties, then pushes them aside. Without warning he shoves a finger into my cunt, and then another. I open to him readily, gratefully, panting and groaning with pleasure, and then his hand is over my mouth. "Shut up," he murmurs, and whirls me around. I barely have time to brace myself against the wall before he slides inside and begins to fuck me, grabbing my hips, pounding into me relentlessly. I come so hard I see stars. I feel his cock twitch and pulse a second later.

Breathless, we slump against each other.

"So," he says, "was it worth the wait?"

I kneel, take him into my mouth. I'm not waiting anymore.

[written for Alison Tyler's "seven dirty words" contest]

"Do You Take This Man..."

Josh had been teasing me mercilessly all day, groping me when we were alone and whispering dirty things in my ear when we weren't. The end result being that, regardless of how inappropriate it was, I was now sitting for my wedding pictures with a soaking wet pussy.

"Now the garter," the photographer prompted, and I groaned. The stupid garter. I thought it was tacky, but Josh hadn't budged, saying that he deserved a few shots of his bride showing some leg.

I sat, and Josh knelt in front of me, sliding my dress up one thigh. I was so worked up that, even through stockings, his hands felt so good on me that I almost closed my eyes in pleasure before remembering where we were. I glared at him, pulling the skirt back down an inch or two.

But when he slipped the garter on, he held the hand closest to the camera motionless while his other hand crept under my dress and between my legs. As soon as he brushed against my panties, my resolve crumbled, and he knew it. He pushed the silky fabric aside, slid a finger into me, then another, and began to thrust hard and fast while his thumb circled my clit. Completely helpless under his touch, all I could do was take it, blissfully.

So it was that under the watchful eye (and lens) of the photographer, my husband-to-be brought me to the final orgasm of my unmarried life.

Best wedding photos ever.

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

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]

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]