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The Kids’ Table

Every year, it was the same: Tommy and his parents arrived too late for appetizers, were squeezed at the end of their respective tables, and had to celebrate Thanksgiving with old Aunt Dorothy’s foul breath in their faces.  He hated this time of year and most of all he hated his extended family.

Except for his cousin Louisa.

They were roughly the same age, both just sixteen, though Louisa boasted a few months on Tommy, and he had always thought she was the most beautiful creature in existence.  Even after he found himself a working internet connection and entered the wide world of porn, he was never able to find a fantasy that came close to his dear Louisa.

And every year, it was the same: Tommy was shoved into a hard folding chair at the end of the kids’ table, far away from Louisa’s place at the head, where she sat every year because her family arrived precisely an hour early for the festivities.  But this year, fate had declared (thanks to a punctured tire and the resulting delay) that things would be different.

Louisa gave him a brilliant smile as he came in, stopping him in the doorway so that his parents bumped into him.  Muttering, they pushed past and he finally found his will to move, shuffling to the impossibly empty seat beside his cousin.  "Hey,“ he managed.

"Hi, Tom,” she said.  His heart twisted.  No one called him anything but his juvenile nickname, if anything.  Here she was, new curves gently outlined in her silky dress, treating him like an adult.  He shifted so the excitement tugging at his slacks would not show.

He sat down and scooted under the table.  Almost immediately he felt a soft pressure between his legs.  His eyes bulged but he managed to maintain his composure.

Louisa leaned forward, following her hand.  "You’re the only one who notices me,“ she said very softly, her breath making Tommy’s neck tingle.  "I wanted to show you my appreciation.”

Her hand kept working, finding the right angle to make him hard almost instantly.  He tried to hold in his breath so he would not moan, his gaze frantically calculating whether any of the dour adults several yards away had noticed his sudden fluster.  He leaned forward too, because that was how it went in his fantasies.

“If you – ”  Grunt.  " – want to go watch – “  Huff.  ” – a movie we could make this – “  Choke.  ” – more adult.“

"No more kids’ table,” Louisa said with a bright smile.  Her fingers lingered, squeezed affectionately, then withdrew.  "All right.  You go first.  I’ll follow in a few minutes.“

His heart pounding in his ears, Tommy scooted his chair back and hobbled to the stairs.  Down on the ground floor, there was no activity; everyone was upstairs waiting to eat.  He waited.  Wondered if she had set him up.

Then, she was there, her delightful scent floating along before her.  She turned the corner and flipped her hair until it was wild.  "Ready?” she said, beaming at him.

He managed to stop himself from coming in his pants as she glided towards him.

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The Bid

“Excuse me.”  Laurie tugged on the usher’s sleeve with as polite an expression as he could muster while other auction attendees elbowed past him.  "I have this special ticket – see, my dad couldn’t make it today, but he’s an official – “

The usher plucked the ticket from Laurie’s fingers with looking at him.  "Front row, third seat from the right, your pa’s name’ll be on the back.  Git in there.”

Laurie sighed and slipped into the stream of well-dressed men flooding into the auction house.  His father had refused to explain, mumbling something about “being a good grown-up lad” as he handed over the ticket in a fit of coughing.  Dutiful to a fault, Laurie took the ticket.  Now he was here and completely confused.

The auctioneer started almost as soon as he sat down between two mustached men who refused to look at him.  "Do I see ten?  Ten ten ten on the floor, do I see ten, yes, ten, ten to number twenty-eight, do I see fifteen, fifteen?  Fifteen, all right, thirteen, thirteen, we are bidding on a fine fine set of lovely luckies, all the way from Care-oh-LINE-uh!  Thirteen, yes, I see you there, sir, thirteen.“

As the hubbub continued, Laurie raised his hand tentatively.  The auctioneer squinted, pointed.  "Yes, you in the front there, the little one, thirty-five, I see you, thirty-five thirty-five do I see forty?  Forty?  No?  Going once, thirty-five going twice…”

Laurie held his breath.

“SOLD, to the little man in the front, for thirty-five dollars.”

An unexplainable excitement filled Laurie’s chest as he rose to follow the frozen smile of the blonde assistant.  She slipped behind the heavy curtain and Laurie held his breath as he went in.

Beyond stretched another huge, heavy curtain, dark and velvetty, but cut in places to reveal small clear boxes at about elbow height.  Laurie bent to look inside one but the blonde assistant batted him away.  "Touching only, kid.  Here.“  She scrubbed roughly at his hand with a cloth soaked in the unmistakable smell of antiseptic.  "Let it dry, then have your fill, then meet me at the other end.”

She disappeared.  Laurie frowned as he approached the nearest box.  It had a man’s hand-sized opening, and into this he slid his arm nearly up to the elbow.  The plastic passageway curved upwards and he followed it, fingers tingling with anticipation.

They brushed something smooth and impossibly soft, and a delighted giggle sounded from above it. It was warm, wet flesh.  Laurie jumped and almost withdrew his hand, but now something came alive between his legs and he could not resist.  He reached upwards again and this time felt more aggressively; his fingers slipped up to the fingernail inside the silken lips, eliciting a gasp from the invisible girl.

Biting his lip in determination, Laurie slipped in and out of her until his hand was wet with her delight.  Thirty-five dollars well spent, he thought, because suddenly he remembered that there were five other boxes.

He skipped on down the row.

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Sparks on the Line

It was time.  Keela glanced up surreptitiously from the product she was assembling with trained fingers to see Leader standing on the stairs near the door, tapping his shiny black shoe.  His hands drummed an awkward rhythm, out of time with the inoffensive music blaring overhead; it was this sound that had caught her attention.

Leader acknowledged their eye contact with the slightest tilt of his head and disappeared up the stairs.  Keela waited the appropriate amount of beats, then yawned, rubbed her eyes, and palmed her station off.  She slipped out of her factory overcoat and hugged herself in feigned need for the toilet as she went up the stairs.  None of the other dead-eyed workers even blinked.

Leader’s office was dark, but she knew well enough to slip in anyway and flick on the lights.  The overhead buzzed stubbornly before tossing its half-hearted glow across the craggy face of Leader.  He was still wearing his dark supervisor’s apron.

“Bend over,” he said, flipping one gloved finger in a very clear gesture.

Keela bowed and lowered her torso down over her legs.  She wrapped her hands together and rested them at the crack of her bottom while the sound of squeaky shoes told her Leader was coming around the desk.  His rough hands raked her pants down to her ankles.  She shivered at the unexpected cold, her skin pimpling.

“Over,” Leader said again, and Keela clenched the backs of her knees with the crooks of her elbows.  Now she held her breath.  She knew this sequence of sounds by heart: zzhhhipp, as Leader’s erect cock slithered out of his slacks; crackling, as the device came alive; and then the impossible tingling of the charged air moving closer to her buttocks, to her pussy.

Keela almost screamed as the current raced through her anticipating flesh. The device lingered between her asshole and her pussy, meandering with no hurry down, down, then up, up, inside of her, filling her with the all-encompassing shock of an instant orgasm.  She rocked against the device, barely registering Leader’s hungry slavering, coming as hard as she did every day when he brought her into his office.

A tiny puddle of drool collected at the small of her back.  Something else wet and warm slithered down her leg, landing on her skin in time with Leader’s grunting.  The device switched off, leaving the air in the office dead and silent.

He waited the appropriate amount of beats.

“Get out,” he said.

Keela scrambled to pull up her pants and, without looking at her boss, slipped back out to the factory floor, her body still quivering with pleasure.

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Apocalips

The oceans were boiling.

Her seafoam hair tossed by the hot crosswinds, Atom waited at the edge of the cliff.  Debris whipped around her naked body as she swayed in time to the silent song of her planet’s destruction.  She was the last experiment, the last adaptive life form to be introduced onto the dying world, and her bloodline had failed.  Taurus was a miscarriage of an experiment.  So they burned the evidence.

Her slender fingers danced across her bare clitoris.  She leaned into herself, gasping.

A telltale whisper of bare feet made Atom turn her head slightly to catch the approaching figure in her peripheral.  "Rino,“ she said softly, dropping her hand.

Neutrino, his haphazard face obscured by his customary hood, bowed slightly.  "So they cast us aside at last,” he said, a sweeping gesture taking in the dying water below them.

“There are worse ways to die than seeing the end of the world.”  Atom had always longed to find a neuro-dump of poetics, but she had been denied this one pleasure by her creators and did her best to compensate.  "Rino, hold me.“

He came beside her and wrapped her in his corded arms, and she closed her eyes to forget that he was a conglomeration of all of the dead scientists who had built their careers on Taurus.

She slipped her hands beneath his robe to find his growing erection and pressed it to her hairless mound.  "One last time,” she said when his dark red eyes met her pale yellow ones.

Something not quite human dug her nails into the bare back of something over-human.  Perfect breasts brushed patchwork skin.  Fire rained into the sea, turning the water into a fine hot mist that pinkened them both.

Their final coming was together, roaring, howling, as the cliff beneath them surrendered to the beams of flame and collapsed into the sea.

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Robot Uprising

The lab hummed with life and nearly-life as Titus sidled through.  He tried to keep his clumsy apologies to a minimum, but it seemed that every time he turned to make his amends he bumped into someone else’s delicate project.  Finally, grumbling, he reached the bank of office doors at the back and dove into his.

Gleaming a tantalizing silvery-blue, the robot stood slumped against her upright harness.  Her faceted eyes were lifeless, and even her metal breasts seemed to sag.  Titus ran his hand down her chrome-plated arm, a whisper of a touch that lingered over the activation pod at the base of her wrist.

She blinked and straightened, her head swiveling as she gathered vitals about her surroundings.  After a moment, she locked her eyes on Titus.  "Hello, sir,“ she said in a voice several notches too loud.

"Ttssshhhhhshhhh!”  Titus’s fingers danced frantically over first his mouth, then her mouth-opening, as he scrambled to find the volume.  A few flicks of the remote on his desk and she was speaking in a sensuous whisper.  He glanced over his shoulder.  No one in the lab had seemed to note the interruption, but instead of taking chances he hit another button, which darkened the windows.

Now he crossed back to the robot and wrapped his arms around her.  She stood unmoving except for her eyes.  "Are we alone?“ she asked.

Titus nodded. "Yes.  Yes, very alone.  Very much alone.”

Whirring and clicking, the robot sprang to life, stepping down from her harness and pushing him onto his knees.  "Make my pleasure modules sing,“ her staccato voice snapped.

Titus’s face creased in a beatific smile.  "You forgot – ”

“Make my pleasure modules sing, BITCH.”

Titus fell to licking at the slit of artificial flesh as the robot purred and gripped his tousled hair in impossibly strong fingers.

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A Pile of Compilers

Amie rubbed her aching eyes and sighed at her monitor.  Somewhere in the bowels of this 3000-line program was a missing semi-colon, and she had to find it.  This was not amusing.

Stacy bounded into view, glaring at something over her shoulder.  She ducked behind Amie’s cubicle wall and pressed her back up against it.  "God damn it!  I hate working with computery men.  Stinky fuckers, every one of them.“

"Carl swatting at you again?” Amie asked, still squinting at the endless lines of code trickling down her screen.

“Always.  I don’t know if he thinks he can slap me straight, or just likes the idea that my cute little lesbian butt has touched other cute little lesbians butts.  Who even knows.”  She leaned over the desk so that her cleavage dangled temptingly in Amie’s line of sight.  "Whatcha working on?“

"Same as before lunch,” Amie sighed, but it was hard to stay grumpy with two beautiful breasts in her face.  Impulsively, she leaned forward and planted a kiss between them.

Stacy giggled and tugged on Amie’s long, straight hair.  "Stoppp.  If someone sees, they’ll bring a sexual harassment suit down on us so fast…“

"It doesn’t count if you like it,” Amie said, flashing her teeth.  She kissed Stacy’s chest again, this time dropping lower so her tongue could tease just above an areola.  "Besides, it’s almost midnight. Who’s even here besides Carl?“

Stacy pretended to think.  "Mmmm…no one.”

Amie pointed a finger at her coworker, her gaze locked on her screen again.  "You.  Me.  Break room.  Ten minutes.“

Despite her earlier protests, Stacy straightened up and grinned.  "Make it five and I’m there.”

Amie’s heart was starting to pound, but the excitement building between her legs made scanning code go faster.  She spotted the missing syntax with seconds to go, hit the key triumphantly, and switched her laptop to the innocuous puppy screensaver.

The door to the break room was closed.  Amie slipped inside and closed it behind her, surreptitiously locking it from the inside.  Stacy sat with her back to the door, draped in the blanket she used to keep her legs warm in the winter.  At the sound of the door closing she looked over her shoulder, grinned, and dropped the blanket as she stood.

Amie had to bite the side of her lip.  "God.  We do this once a week and I still can’t get over how gorgeous you are.  Every fucking time.“

"Shut up.” Stacy model-walked towards her coworker with a slinky smile.  "And take your clothes off.“

A moment later she was burying her tongue between the folds of Amie’s pussy as Amie sat up on the counter and rested her heels against the cabinets, gasping as Stacy expertly worked over her clit.  She rested one palm on top of Stacy’s golden curls, trying not to worm off the counter as she came hard.  Stacy raised her head and wiped a dribble of cum off her nose.

"My turn, beautiful.”

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Rainbow Roll

Jack always wondered why the sushi shop on the corner never closed until 11 pm.  His apartment building overlooked the little shop, and he saw customers moving in and out until around 10, when the city hushed into an informal curfew.  But the lights in the sushi shop still flickered until an hour later, when they would finally go out, leaving a faint emptiness where the neon buzz had been before.

One night, a project deadline kept him at the office past dinner, so by the time he got home around 10:30 his stomach was very angry.  Jack shrugged off his shoulderbag and went back out into the rainy night.  He flipped up his hood and dashed across the street, not even bothering to glance for cars.

The shop bell jangled and the lone server – a slender, pretty girl of indiscernible Asian origin – glanced up from her stool. She gave him a smile and paused to grab two menus before crossing to the table he had chosen.

“Party of one?” she asked in a soft accent.  Jack nodded and took the menus with a grunt of thanks.

The first covered his expectations: sushi rolls, miso soup, some haphazard teriyaki offerings.  It was the second that caught his eye.

Above the top of the flyer, the words “RAINBOW ROLL” were displayed in glittering golden letters.  Below the title was an image of a man reclining on pillows with beautiful, scantily clad women sprawled around him.  Jack frowned and glanced up, catching the server’s attention.

“Can I try the rainbow roll?” he asked, tapping the second menu with two fingers.  The girl kept her gaze on his hand, then met his eyes and grinned.

“Of course.  Follow me, please.”  She bowed slightly and waited for a confused Jack to stand and trail her to the back of the restaurant.

They passed through a bead curtain into a smoky room lit by candles and smelling strongly of incense.  Jack turned the corner and froze, one hand on the wall.

The menu had not lied.  Spread out across the length of the room, a veritable rainbow of naked women lounged: dusky black, creamy brown, soft gold, ivory white, and several in between.  They smiled with their teeth and blew him kisses as the waitress touched his elbow to move him closer.

Jack turned to utter his thanks and surprise to the waitress, but he was unable to get the words out as his gaze raked up and down her thin body, her breasts and crotch outlined by a slim silver bikini.  She cupped her hand around his ear and stroked it down his stubble.

“Enjoy your rainbow roll,” she said as the other women rose and surrounded him with eager hands and mouths, drawing him down onto the spread of pillows.

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Rivalry Love

Brent peeled off his Elks uniform and chucked it across the locker room.  It landed halfway in the hamper, dripping sweat into the pool already on the floor.  He waved an aching arm at it.  Good enough.

His footsteps slapped hollowly through the empty rows of lockers and benches as he padded to the showers.  He had opted to stay late, preferring the solitude of the field for his endurance training; besides, then the showers were deserted and he could hose off in peace.

Brent adjusted the temperature with a practiced hand and stepped under the flow.  He closed his eyes to let the water tumble down his face.  He let out a deep sigh as his muscles started to relax.

“Oh!”

Brent whirled around at the single, startled word.  Standing buck naked at the shower room doorway was Rodney Whittaker, quarterback for the Bobcats, the Elks’ biggest rival.  More specifically, Rodney Whittaker was Brent’s biggest rival, his nemesis on the field and in the hearts of both schools’ cheerleading squads.

“I thought – uh, they said – I biked over to see Cynthia, and they said I could use the showers.”

Brent had never seen Rodney so flustered.  His gaze dropped to the other boy’s cock, which to his surprise was halfway hard.  Rodney followed Brent’s line of sight and suddenly his cheeks pinched in a smile.

“Right?  Everyone’s always like, ‘You just play football because you have a tiny dick, blah blah blah.’  So much for that.”

“Yeah,” Brent said.  He turned around slowly, staring at the wall and trying to think of anything else, because a sudden rush of blood was swelling his own dick.  He put a hand over it, tried to push it down.  He frowned at the sound of three of the other showers turning on.

But before he could turn around, another hand slid down over his, slipping between his fingers and gently caressing his shaft.  Brent moaned without prompting, his heart skipping beats wildly.  Rodney’s now-rock-hard cock pressed into his ass crack.

“I’ve seen you watching me,” the other boy murmured into his ear, making Brent shudder.  "I know you want this.“

Brent bit his lip.  A thousand scenarios flooded into his mind: the coach walking in to find them; his mother making a surprise visit to the school; his teammates discovering not only his pleasure but his fraternizing.  But worst of all: looking back on this day and regretting that he hadn’t taken the chance he had been dreaming of for almost three years.

So he put his palms against the wall and offered his ass to his greatest rival.  Rodney grinned, swiped his tongue across his hand, and moistened his cock.

"I won’t make any wide receiver puns,” he chuckled, and nuzzled the tip against Brent’s asshole.

The sound of the showers mostly drowned out the boys’ satisfied grunts.

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Closing Time

The tempered squawking of the baseball announcers was the only sound of life in the bar.  Grunting as he leaned across the counter to reach the far corner, the bartender glowered at the small figure hunched over the last stool.  "Hey.  Kid.  We’re closing.  Move along.“

The figure uncoiled, lengthening into a slender woman with a pixie cut.  She smacked a piece of white gum under her canines.  "Your sign’s still on,” she said with a jerk of her thumb over her bare shoulder.  The movement made her visible breasts quiver.

The bartender stopped mid-wipe and sighed.  "Right.  Okay.  Look, I’m turning off the sign.“  He crossed the distance behind the bar and flipped the switch.  Neon tubes hissed and died.  Hands to hips, the bar cloth dangling from his fingers, the bartender faced his last customer.  "We’re closed.”

“Excellent.”  The young woman swung off the stool, and with a thrill in his groin, the bartender realized she was not wearing pants.  Her heels ticked away the seconds as she moved to the door, bolted it, and slunk back towards him.

He suddenly found that his hands were awkward, no matter where he intended to rest them.  "Ma’am, I’ll h-h-h-have to ask you…“

"I’d prefer you give commands.”  She dropped to her knees on the rubber mat, her tongue lolling.  Like graceful divers, her hands disappeared into his pants and slid them off.  "So?  What’ll it be?“

"In your mouth,” he gasped, his hand moving without bidding to the back of her head.  Her hair was coarse, dyed too many times; he grasped a handful and pressed her nose into his crotch.  She accepted his length down her throat with a grateful gulp.

His eyes fell on the envelope, splashed with beer, resting where she had been sitting.  His name was on the back.  His fingers trembling with the effort of concentrating, he managed to extract the card.

Happy birthday, bud.  Have one on us.

It was signed by bar owner and his coworkers.

Stabilizing himself on the edge of the counter with his palms, he adopted a wider stance.  "Deeper, bitch,“ he said, and she went to work.

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An Unusual Weapon

She is almost six feet tall, her breasts bound in plated strips of pulsing charged armor.  Most of the rest of her body is nude, except where similar electrified panels hold in the un-aerodynamic parts of her body.  She moves like the night, dark and sudden, shadowed and malicious.

It doesn’t strike me that anything is unusual about her until she draws her blade.

My hand drops to my holster, but her weapon whips out and strikes my hand.  My hackles rise, my ears flatten, and by instinct a howl fills my throat, a cry of pain equal to the sting of her blade.  Instead of a mortal wound, a harsh red welt rises on my wholly intact furred fingers.

I stare in disbelief at the warrior woman’s weapon, which quivers upright in the air.  It shimmers insubstantially, as if undecided on what form it will take.  One of those forms is distinctly phallic, and now the weapon hardens into this shape as she smacks it into her other palm with a toothy smile.

“We both know how this fight ends,” hisses her translator.  Her grey lips do not move, but her eyes narrow and widen expressively.  "You, on your knees, ass in the air.“

She is so frank that I give her the benefit of the doubt.  My jaws work around the words of the common language, but it is like gnawing tough game.  "And if I shoot you first?”

“You won’t,” her translator says, and follows this up with an eerie facsimile of a chuckle.

Something whips under my feet and I am on my face in the loam, spitting leaves.  She gently rests her booted feet against my hips, and the cool tip of her weapon slides into the small of my back and against the waistline of my uniform.  She leans down, so close that I can feel the pulse of her armor on the back of my neck.

“Now,” she says, and it is not the translator speaking for her anymore, “let’s see how you like this.”

The tip of the weapon moistens and slides down my skin as I shudder with anticipation.  If only every spat between bounty hunters ended like this.