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Down by the Bay

Nothing could make the moment more special.  He drapes over my shoulders, chin on my head, staring at the waves.  Our hands tangle and squeeze against my chest.  The silky roar of the ocean, crashing against the spray-dappled rocks, overwhelms any need for idle conversation.  I close my eyes.  It is me, and him, and the power of the water.  No cell phones, no family members’ pestering, no toxic workplaces or health problems.

Just us.

The sun breaks through the pale grey clouds, and I tilt my face towards its light, smiling with my eyes closed.  His hand touches my chin and gently turns me around so I faced him.  He is only a few inches taller than me, but when he looks at me with our forever in his eyes, he towers over me.

He kisses my forehead and slides his hand down to my wrist.  Without a word, but with a smile that makes a promise, he leads me down into the maze of rocks jutting out of the side of the cool Pacific shoreline.  Our beaches are rock and pebbles and sometimes a tiny strip of grey sand; golden beaches are legendary, to be visited on vacations.  Our beaches are for every day.

We pick our way down like two-legged mountain goats.  I giggle when the spray tickles my face, and when I lick my lips it tastes like salt and fish.

Suddenly, he’s tugging me down towards a flat boulder, tucked up against the hillside so the top of the embankment can’t be seen.  I lay down beside him on the sun-warmed stone and reach for his hand.  We stare up at the sky, which threatens rain and heat in the same breath.  His fingers dance gently between mine, adjusting his grip so I am unable to get free.  As if I would want to.  I smile into the light.

His lips brush my forehead, pushing aside a wayward curl.  My whole body responds to his presence, an arousal I have been hiding for hours.  We already made love when we woke up, but I am unable to be near him for long without desiring him.  Even more so, I crave his company and conversation; it fills an emptiness in me I hadn’t realized I suffered from until I met him.

He kisses me again, lower now, on my nose, my upper lip. I wait until he hesitates, then entrench my fingers in his hair and pull him down to me.  We meet in the way humans have met for longer than we have kept track – lips on lips, moist groping skin seeking the answer to the most terrifying question we all ask: am I alone?  And with every kiss, his answer to me is no, no, never.

He works his careful way down my body.  I halfway watch the edge of the hill, but if someone comes, they will see little.  Even a curious soul would have to pick their way down to find us.  So I lift my body to let him take off my shirt and kiss around the line of my cami.  Today I left my bra and panties at home, and he discovers this with soft, happy grunts in between caresses.

His hand slides beneath my waistband and his skillful fingers wriggle between my pussy lips. I sigh through my teeth and he grins at me, then kisses my breasts again, sneaking peeks at my face with his beautiful green eyes upturned.  Clear, bright, unrelenting Irish eyes.  I am overwhelmed by love, the very thought of him priming me so that when he slips two fingers inside of me, I come almost immediately.

He toys with me a while, while the breeze picks up and the clouds scud over me.  I turn my head and give him a long, meaningful look.  He tickles my clit one last time before he slips out and lets me pull my pants down over my ass.  Then I turn to his and undo the button, drag down the zipper.  His cock is ready for me.  I take the head gently between my lips and suck him all the way to the back of my throat, hitting my gag reflex but controlling it so my mouth contracts around him.

He sighs and grips my hair, pushing him deeper inside my mouth.  I wriggle my tongue all around the perfect girth, awakening a rush of blood that has me on my back, pants at my ankles, before I realize the oral is over.  He licks his fingers and wets me, then slides inside.  There is no first pump, just a long, slow decline against me until our bodies cling where our skin is bared.

I shift so he can better penetrate me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and neck.  He never takes his gaze off my face except to close his eyes when the ecstasy is too much.  We bob together gently, like the waves; the tide is heading out.  My thighs are slick, my palms sweating.  I am coming, coming again, throwing back my head as I arch up into him.  He grips the stone beneath me with his powerful hands and he comes too.  He throbs into my waiting hollow.

Slumped, at last, we lie in love.  He rolls off me and we stare at the sky again.  Nothing has changed.  We are the same.  We are all that needs to be.

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Captive Bird

Finch stared at the tiny square of light in the door and scratched her arm.  She sniffled and ran her wrist underneath her red nose, smearing snot across her face.  She scratched again and hoped he would visit her soon.

Footsteps in the hallway made her sit up straight.  Her thin shirt did not hide her pert nipples, and she slipped her hand past the waistband of her ragged pants and fingered herself.  She licked her lips and stared at the door, anticipation making her eyes bug out.

The door opened and the booted feet stepped inside.  She shaded her eyes against the bright light from the hallway and put on her most groveling smile.

The man who leaned down over her was dressed smartly in a military uniform of unknown origin.  He had a hard, squarish jaw and cold eyes, but his hands were soft, like an office worker’s.  He reached for Finch and she stretched her hand towards him.  With surprising gentleness, he lifted her to her feet and jerked his head.  "Come,“ he said.

Finch followed him into the hallway on unsteady legs.  She hugged herself and blinked at her surroundings – the stoic guardsmen who acknowledged her with barely a nod, the windows to the outside world, the other cells.  From these came moans of pain and pleasure, and Finch shuddered.  She looked ahead, realized her escort had gotten ahead, and flitted to catch up.

The guard led her to a room marked COMPLIANCE.  He pushed open the door with his big soft hands and gestured Finch inside.  She stepped into the air conditioned room, shivering and rubbing her arms.  The door closed behind her with a heavy thud.

"Ahhh.  Finch.  Step forward, little one.”

The Captor sat behind the desk, his fingers steepled.  Today he wore grey, as he always did, in his shadowy corner.  Laid out in front of him was an array of phallic objects, of metal and glass and wood.  Finch swallowed but crept forward, urged by her wet pussy.  This part, she thought, but that was as far as she could think before hitting a wall of erotic attraction to the Captor.

The man crooked a finger at her.  "Closer.“

Finch obeyed without a thought, trembling as she stepped into a shaft of cold sunlight.  She brushed at her matted hair with dirty fingers.  Once she had been very pretty, a beauty queen in a small town.  Where the light barely touched the lower part of his face, the Captor’s smile slid long and thin across his lips, showing yellowed teeth.

"Undress, girl,” he said.  Finch pulled her shirt over her head and dropped her pants to the ground.  She curled her toes and bent her knees inward, trying to hide her messy tangle of bush.

The Captor stood slowly and came around the desk.  He put his hands on Finch’s shoulders and stroked all the way down to her toes.  Then he stood back up and smiled at her, lifting her chin with a finger.  "So.  Have you enjoyed your stay with us?“

"Yes.”  She stared into his eyes with unflinching adoration.  "Very much.“

"Will you come to bed with me?”  The Captor swept his arm to indicate the queen-sized bed set up on the other end of the office.  He always asked.  She always said yes.

Finch groped for his cock, hard beneath his grey pats.  "Always,“ she said, in a desperate grunt.

He swept her up under his arm – she weighed nothing, and slumped as soon as her feet left the ground – and crossed the room with her, flinging her onto the bed.  Finch landed on her face and quickly arched her ass into the air, waiting for him to enter her.  She thrust herself out several times when he did not take her immediately, her whole body rigid with fear that he would no longer touch her.  No longer lavish her with his affections.

The click of handcuffs snapped near her ear and Finch tugged gently on her wrist.  She was chained to the bed.  She took a deep breath and let it out in pure relief as the Captor’s cock slipped inside of her.

"Three more years,” the Captor said in a dry voice, “of you and me.”

Finch came, then reached for herself, tightening her pussy so he would have maximum pleasure.  He was, after all, her god.

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Relaxation

We head into the room marked with a big “4,” Jay just ahead of me.  Once he gets the stubborn deadlock bolted closed, I start stripping down.  Steam rises off the hot tub, though the jets are off, and the thin mattress has a fresh sheet.

Jay removes his shirt and I take a moment to gaze hungrily at his barrel chest and broad shoulders. Once I liked hairless boys, but when I met Jay, my tastes matured and I realized what I wanted was a man.

Still watching him, I climb into the hot tub.  The water envelops me, welcomes me with its velvet warmth.  I close my eyes and release my heavy thoughts with a sigh, slipping my hand between my legs to encourage the sensation of the jets.  For now, it’s not Wednesday, it’s a sacred hour of heat and love.

The water shifts as Jay climbs in beside me.  He settles in across the way, a jet against his back, and for the first time in weeks the lines on his face loosen.  His eyes still closed, he smiles.

I slip my finger inside myself, but it is unsatisfying.  What I want is my husband’s cock.  I drift across the hot tub, reaching to grab his knees in my hands.  Jay opens his eyes.  "Hi, you.“

I almost draw back, so overwhelming is the love on his face.  His hands reach for me, pull my face to his, but slows at the last second so when our lips touch, it is a spark, a tender remembrance of our first kiss.  I am back on his bed, fluttering with nervousness, and he is pressing me down into the down comforter, his finger on the bottom of my chin, his lips perfect – not too moist, not too rough.  Softer than light.  Soft as love.

We kiss.  Again.  Jay slips his tongue between my lips.  I rise up in the water, wrapping my legs around him so I straddle him on the bench.  I grasp his hair in one hand and kiss him, left to right, my tongue slipping into his ear so he moans and tightens.  I could be fourteen, alive with the possibilities of my body.  This is the power Jay holds over me, awakening even the most reluctant vestiges of my sexuality.

His hands grasp my waist, one on each hip.  He pulls me down into the water and I reach for him.  I barely have to go below the surface of the water to find him.  I slip him inside, and he pushes a relieved sigh out of me.  "I need this,” I whisper into his ear, and he grabs my ass and uses the water to drive into me.

He holds me so tightly that I can barely move – not that I have to; my pussy is doing the work, alive of its own accord, clenching him with a fearsome desperation and need.  He throws back his head and snarls out a laugh through his teeth, possessive and powerful.  I shudder, melting into him.  He fills me, raking my inner walls.

Suddenly Jay lifts me bodily and sets me on the side of the hot tub.  He points wordlessly to the bed.  I scramble out and slink across the distance between the tub and the mattress, then settle on my knees with my ass proffered off the edge of the bed.  I hear the water splash as Jay gets out, too, and then his cock is back inside me, my void filled, my need satisfied.  I grunt and woof like a dog in heat as he pulls me to him, his powerful legs propelling him into motions that slap my ass so hard I cry out.

He slaps me again, with his hand this time, and I come so hard I see spots in my vision.  Even as I try to recover my breath, Jay shoves me in a 90-degree turn so he can climb onto the bed behind me.  He presses my face down into the mattress and my pussy gushes with satisfaction.  Rarely do I think about our labels, but now, my mind is consumed with it: I am your possession.  I am your property.  I am your lover.

This last, as he slaps my ass again and comes himself when my pussy clenches up.  If he says something, if words materialize in the midst of bliss, I don’t recognize any but my name.  "Amber.“  Just a soft, adoring whisper as he slumps over me.  I slip down so we are parallel to the mattress, his weight comfortingly warming me.

Months of hardship, family squabbles, work crises…it all fades away, for a while.

"Thank you,” I whisper, and reach up to touch his stubbly cheek.  "For everything.“

"There’s a pretty goddamn big list of reasons why I married you,” he says, a smile in his voice, “and that was one of them.”

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A Rousing Tail

In the significant pantheon of things she hated, what Maxy hated most of all was her birthday.  She hated the idea of taking a day out of the year to celebrate her existence.  She hated surprises that disappointed because they were presents from people who didn’t care.  And most of all, she hated the Facebook posts.
But this year, she thought on the eve of March 16, it was going to be different.
Maxy thought about it all day at work.  A few weeks before, she had met – and was now dating – a lovely older man named Curt, who was well-off but had not yet insisted on buying her much.  He had asked when her birthday was and, when she confronted him with her hatred of birthdays, smiled a cunning smile and promised there would be only one present.
Just one.
Maxy itched with curiosity.  She went into the bathroom at lunch and scratched a different sort of itch, rubbing herself over her underwear until she was panting.  She took a picture of her disheveled pants and texted Curt: Thinking of u babe.
He texted back an hour later: Hot.  Hotter 2nite.
When she got home, Maxy hefted her purse across the living room and went to stand with hands on hips in front of Curt, who was channel surfing on her couch.  "Okay, big boy.  Spill.  You’ve been driving me crazy all day.“
"Uh-huh.”  He didn’t look up, still glued to the television, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Curt,” Maxy whined.  Before she could go any further, he was on his feet and had her wrist in his hand, pulling her in close.
“Listen to me,” he said in a low voice that left no room for argument, “you little minx.  Go into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed with your eyes shut.”
Maxy stared back, but her hesitation was minute.  "Okay,“ she said, scurrying off to comply.
To her horror, when she sat down, her cunt was soaked.  The commanding tone Curt had used had made her gush uncontrollably.  She folded her legs and waited for him to join her, her hands folded gently in her lap and her eyes squeezed tight.
She heard his footsteps, and then something cool and rectangular slipped into her hands.  "All right,” Curt said, “open your eyes and open it up.”
It was a long, black box with a bow on it.  Trying not to hate the idea of a gift, Maxy slipped off the bow and lifted the lid in between uncertain glances at Curt.  He stood with a stoically serene smile.
Inside was a winding black tail.  It was lush, about as thick as Maxy’s thin wrist, and glowed with luster.  Attached to the end was a slim length of smoothly pointed glass.  Maxy stared at it and then gazed up at Curt in wonder.  "A tail?“
"For you,” he said, then made a very clear “turn-around” motion with one finger.  Maxy did so, squeaking in surprise as he pulled her pants down to her knees.  He pulled her underwear down too, and she bit her lip.
“Already wet, I see.  Soaking.  Good girl.”  This last was right in her ear, and she arched back into him even as a cool, smooth surface caressed her asshole.  She hissed in her breath as the tip pressed inside of her, then backed out, then pressed in again, this time deeper.  She rocked back against it, trying to relax so she could take it deeper.  Maxy had never put anything in her asshole, though Curt had played with her with his fingers before.  She marveled at the cool weight and the feeling of security it brought.
At last it was in all the way.  Curt backed away and patted her on the head, then gave her ass a gentle swat.  Maxy leaped up onto the bed on all fours and looked over her shoulder, unable to hide her smile.
“It’s–so perfect,” she said.
Curt was busy pulling his shirt over his head.  "C’mere,“ he growled, and pushed her onto her back.  Maxy writhed upwards, the tail pushing even deeper into her ass.  She wondered idly if she could wear it at work.
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Man and Woman

The man saw her across the garden, and his loins stirred.

He looked down at himself, bold and uncovered.  He touched the being waking from slumber between his legs, encouraging it to rise.  He looked up with a primitive shyness in his eyes, but his gaze was unwavering as he consumed her: tiny breasts like plums bulging softly from her tanned chest; delicate fingers, lifting dripping fruit to her bright lips; spine curved like a gentle snake.  The man hungered.

He strode through the foliage, stopping to pet the leopards and stretch out his hand for a raven to perch there.  She still stood at the tree, gazing up at the sun filtered through its branches.

He stretched out his hand to the woman, who turned with no surprise; there was nothing here to startle them, nothing to make their hearts beat faster.  Except each other.

She took his hand and pulled him towards her so he took her thick lower mane in his hand.  Wordlessly, she pressed into him so that his fingers slipped inside.  She was already wet, waiting for him.  He knew how this played out, but he hardened anyway.

In the tree, a monkey hooted her approval.  The man smiled.  He took the woman in his arms and laid her gently on the soft, mossy ground.  Water burbled in the stream as she spread her legs with her hands, inviting him downward with long, slow strokes down her own thighs.

He knelt on the earth and gathered himself in his hand, chasing her fingers with his soft flesh.  He reached her entrance and paused.  A gecko crawled onto his leg.  A curious wolf and her pups stuck their noses out of a nearby bush to take in the scent of rutting humans.

The man looked around him one last time: the garden, tended by unseen hands, filling with animals from land and sky to watch the sacred union.  Many drew close enough that fur and feathers and scales became a part of the sensory experience.

The man plunged.  The woman cried out.  The world paused, to marvel, to take note in awe.  Humanity unified.

The man moved with instinctual precision.  He came completely free of her every time, and she lunged towards him with every re-entry.  Her hand slipped between and below them, to fondle him and hold herself open.  Once, he held her down at the waist, moving so vigorously that she squirmed and spurted.  Her liquid sparkled on his chest in fearless droplets.  His face, tentatively furred, beaded with exertion.

As she writhed, the animals drew closer.  The wolves nuzzled at her breasts and lapped at her nipples.  A sparrow alighted above her mound, when he was withdrawn, and fluffed its feathers over her clit so she ached and stretched and the bird darted away.  The man sucked in his breath and placed his hands on her ass, lifting her to expose her other hole.  Into this he slipped, slick with their natural lubrication.  She tightened, the lines in her face expressing her gratitude, her vulnerability.

The man gasped, the world dotting with color.  He came.  Whiskers tickled at his ass and he clenched tighter.

He fell into the woman’s arms, rolling together in the moss to face each other.  His eyes opened, sleepy, and found hers.  She smiled and touched his face, tracing where the hairs grew.

They were too entangled to notice the dry rasp of bark on scales as a serpent twisted down the nearby apple tree.

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Life After Party

Olivia flopped over, pressing her arm to her forehead.  A headache drummed inside her brain, dubiously reminding her of the night before: the tailgating party turned into a postgame party turned into, well, she didn’t actually remember.

A breeze hissed through the room and she shivered.  Then she sat up, wide awake, her skin forming goosebumps.  She was naked in a strange bed, with no sign of its owner.  She bit her lip and pawed through the covers frantically.  No sign of a condom, either.

“Oh god,” Olivia said, dropping her face into her hands and trying desperately to slow her heart rate. Finally, she dared peek through her fingers at the room.  It was sparsely decorated – definitely a young person’s room, with a few heavy metal band posters and a coat rack with a couple of dark, heavy coats.  Above the door was a small wooden sign with painted elephants fading around the border.  When she squinted, Olivia could read what it said: Jerri’s Room.

Jerri.  She cast about in her memory, trying to remember which scruffy-faced freshman the name might belong to, but no one came to mind.  And anyway, it didn’t matter.  She wanted to be up, dressed, and out before her one-night stand returned and awkward words had to be exchanged.

She was just standing up and pulling her too-big Bulls tee over her head when the door opened and in walked a short girl with close-cropped hair and an irresistible smile.

Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth.  "Oh my god!  I swear, I am not here to steal your boyfriend.“

The girl’s smile wobbled, but did not fade.  She set the brown bag she was carrying down on the desk.  "My boyfriend?  Olivia, what are you talking about?”

“How do you know – ”  But it all fell into place.  "Jerri,“ she breathed, and she could see the I above the door burning fiercely with revelation.  "You’re Jerri.”

Now the smile did disappear.  "You don’t remember me?“

"I don’t remember much of anything.”  Olivia dropped her voice, ashamed.  Her cheeks were hot as she took another good look at Jerri, at her hard little body and open, honest face.  If she squinted hard enough, she could see why she would have thought she was hooking up with a boy, when she was drunk off her ass.

Jerri blinked, then sat down on the bed, staring at her hands in her lap.  "Oh.  I’m sorry, Olivia.  I thought you knew.“  She looked up from under her dark lashes, daring a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.  "You don’t…don’t hate me for it, do you?”

“Hate you?”  Olivia opened her mouth to continue, but then she closed it, because she had to think.  Fuzzy memories surfaced.  They were talking; Jerri introducing herself at the party, with no malice or dishonesty, and Olivia taking her hand and marveling at her soft skin and perfect nails.  Olivia touching Jerri’s face.  Jerri leaning in for the first kiss, the first of many in a night Olivia realized with her whole body that she had loved.

“Hey,” she said.  "Hey, I just remembered something.“

Jerri looked skeptical, but hope glimmered in her eyes.

Olivia put her hand to her forehead.  Her head still ached, but standing there in her t-shirt and nothing else, Jerri’s gentle gaze on her face, she knew something with a conviction deeper than she’d ever known before.

"I remember how much I like you,” she said with a smile.

Jerri’s relieved grin could have blinded with its brilliance.  "So you’ll stay for breakfast?“  She pointed to the paper sack. "I got bagels.”

Olivia thought she might overflow.  Instead, she lifted her shirt over her head and stood naked, her nipples erect, in the center of Jerri’s room.

“Let’s fuck first,” she said.  "I want to remember it for real this time.“

Jerri’s whole face pinkened with shyness.  "Okay,” she said.  "Come here.  Lay down.  I want to taste you first.“

A thrill ran through Olivia’s whole body, starting between her legs and singing in her brain.  She spread herself out on the rumpled covers.  Soon, Jerri’s soft fingers began to play across her skin, starting with her legs, followed by kisses light as butterfly legs.  Olivia sighed contentedly.  She loved long mornings.

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Crypt Tryst

My hand tightens around the crumpled, printed craigslist ad as I try to stop my trembling.  The mausoleum is dark, dusty, and smells like spider nests.  I clear my throat, testing my voice.  “Hello?  He-hello?"  The word echoes weirdly in the tight space, echoing far more than a tiny little building full of dead people should.

A raspy rattling noise draws my attention to my left.  A tall shadow – the promised 6’2”, at least – lurks around the side of the mausoleum.  I can hear the broad smile in his voice as he speaks.  “Why, look at that.  You made it.  I can already see you aren’t like the others.”

Warning bells in the back of my head.

I walk forward anyway, my hand extended.  “You must be – "  I hesitate; I only ever got a screen name.  "The guy from craigslist,” I finish lamely.

By now he’s close enough to take my hand, and he does, jerking me towards him with such force I can’t resist him.  I’m in his arms, wrapped in the dark cloak he’s wearing.  He smells like musty hallways and forgotten attics, but underlying all of these reasons to run away is a deep, musky odor that fills my head and makes me lean up for a fierce kiss.

He’s through with kissing almost as soon as we’ve started.  He pushes open the mausoleum door and leads me inside.  He makes some motion I can’t see and there is light from two of the corners – candles, or fake candles, I can’t tell.  It doesn’t matter.  In the center of the mausoleum is a wide, flat stone, the lid of a coffin.  I bite my lower lip.

“Won’t this be insulting?  To the dead?"  My voice barely registers above a whisper.

He chuckles, low and sinister, and lifts me bodily onto the slab.  My skirt rides up around my legs and he helps it along with both hands.  His touch is cool, not unpleasant, but startling.  I quickly forget to care as his warm tongue slides up my leg, between my thighs.

I roll my head back and plant my feet flat on the slab, flipping the skirt so it layers over my shirt.  He smiles at this – at least I think he smiles – and kneels down before me.  As I stare at the cobwebbed ceiling, I wonder if this is how goddesses feel: worshiped, sacrificed, adored.

He makes my clit sing with a tongue more skilled than my college girlfriend’s.  Around, around, up and down, finding the places on my skin where no one has bothered to touch and bringing them to life.

Still, the warning bells.

He draws away, his face hidden by his hood, and drags the back of his hand across his face.  "Ahhhh.  It has been so long since I tasted such a lovely thing.  Let us see if you are so inviting inside.”

I don’t see him take his cock out of his robes, but I feel it immediately as he plunges in with no more foreplay.  It feels like a fleshy stone, riveted and craggy, and like his tongue it finds the places I have never been touched.  As he thrusts harder and harder, his breathing rattling near my ear, my arms wrapped around his broad back, I squirm and I wonder at the way his cock seems to have split into many wriggling things, all seeking my flesh, all threatening to overpower me with a shattering orgasm…

I come, and with a whisper that might be a kiss, the stranger is gone.

I wait, but there’s no answering climax.  I sit up, push my skirt down, and realize it’s dark and clammy inside the mausoleum.  I clamber off and dart out into the night, shivering and feverish at the same time.
And then it really hits me, the title of the posting:

WANTED: Your Sex Drive – DEAD or ALIVE!

The smell of death fills my nostrils as I flee the graveyard.

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Hold Me Down

Del paddled his feet under the comforter until it was perfectly situated.  He pulled the edge up to his chin, lifted one arm out, changed his mine and tucked it back under, and fiddled with the remote several times.  He kept glancing towards the door, imagining soft footfalls outside.

They came at long last, followed by a slinky, dark-haired woman.  She wore a bright red sports bra and a pair of unbuttoned jeans.  Behind these, he could just make out the straps of her harness.

She raised an eyebrow at him as she closed the door.  "Hiding from me?“

Del started and popped out from under the covers.  He smoothed them on her side of the bed and smiled uncertainly.  "No?  Yes?  I have no idea what the right answer is here.”

She laughed before catching herself and falling back into character, smacking the gum in the corner of her mouth.  "Ass up,“ she said, and Del held himself in the air while she slipped a towel underneath him.  She bent low and just barely brushed her lips against his half-erect cock.  He shuddered and lay still, watching as she unzipped her jeans and tugged them off.

The toy strapped into the harness was long and black and smooth.  He eyed it dubiously.  "That’s bigger than the last one, Megs.”

“Shhhh.”  She put her finger to his lips, gently peeling his lower lip down into a pout, which made her laugh.  "I promise I won’t push you further than you can go.“

Del made a tiny whimpering noise but nodded.  Even in her swaggering male persona, Megan respected his limitations.  No meant no for her, just as it did when they reversed roles.  Now she was palming her cock, dribbling lube from the bottle along its length.  She caught the excess on her fingers and surprised him by ringing his asshole with it and popping her finger inside.  Del gasped and stiffened.  Megan kissed his cock again.  "Relax.  It’s so much better that way.”

“I know,” he said through gritted teeth, “but I’m terrified, and fuckin’ rightly so.”

She smiled that infuriating smile again and gave her cock one last stroke.  "All right.  Legs up, hold them to your chest, like you want to give me everything you’ve got.“  She tilted forward on all fours, wriggling her hips until she got into place.  Del closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations of touch.  Her hair tickling his knees.  Her breath scattering over his stomach as she sought the right angle.  The smooth tip of the toy, teasing at his asshole.

She slipped it in, just barely.  Del’s whole body seized up, but in time with Megan’s gentle stroking of his cock, he relaxed until she eased further into him.  She began to rock her hips, her own face contorting with each thrust as the nub on the harness ground into her clit.

"Hold me down,” he managed.  She obliged, falling forward to pin his wrists down under her palms.  Her strength was startling for how small she was, and Del felt sufficiently trapped.

Now the toy was buried halfway in Del’s ass.  He was filled, conquered, lights going off behind his eyes as her pumping eased the toy in and out of him at the perfect angle and speed.  His cock hardened and quivered in her hand.

Del’s back arched as Megan fucked him to a frenzy, her lip curling with power.  As he came, spurting onto the underside of her chin, he saw not just an overwhelming sense of ownership in her eyes, but a fierce love that would have taken out anything that tried to do this to him.

Afterwards, he was a shivering ball of nerve endings.  Megan slipped out of the harness and curled around him backwards, becoming the big spoon.  She laid her head on his knees and smiled as she reached up and touched his face.

“You,” she said.  "I love you.“

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The Interview

“Michi?”  My intercom squawks, making me slam my desk in surprise; I must have been daydreaming.  "Michi, your three o’clock is here to see you.“

Fuck.  I don’t remember scheduling any appointments today.  But there it is, staring at me from my Outlook calendar: 3:00-4:00 pm, internship interview, Trevor L.  I squint one eye shut.  Trevor is a very, very familiar name.

So is the handsome black man who peeks in the door.  He gives me a big, sloppy grin.  "Knock knock.”

“Oh my god.”  I manage to hide the phrase in a giant, unladylike bite of warm tuna sandwich.  "Trevor!  Trevor, hi, come on in.“  I know I’m blushing like a tomato and my hands are shaking.  I look exaggeratedly beneath piles of paperwork for a napkin, trying to catch sideways glimpses of him, to size him up.

He is clean-shaven and lean, a little leaner than the last time we met.  The last time!  I can hardly think straight.  Trevor works for our vending machine company, and three months ago, I fucked him after hours against the snack machine.  It was hot and I’ve masturbated to it almost every night.  Now here he is, dressed to the nines, and my panties are uncomfortably wet.

I squirm and point to the chair across from me, with the safety of my monitor and the paperwork between us.  "I’m sorry.  I’m so rude.  Have a seat!  I’m Michi, and – ”

“I remember you,” he says in his soft, honey-like voice.  I melt helplessly into my seat.

“Of c-course,” I manage, with minimal stuttering.  I try to regain my businesswoman composure, tapping his file on the desk brusquely.  But our eyes meet and I’m lost again.  "I’m so sorry.  I didn’t realize you were interested in an internship here.“

"Just trying to get my feet,” he drawls, his gaze never leaving my face.  My blouse is one too many buttons undone, I realize, but he’s looking me nobly in the eyes.  "Get out of the vending business.“ A flash of very white teeth and a big, flat tongue behind.

And I desperately want that tongue all over my body.  "Well,” I say, trying to be casual as I stand and cross the room to close the blinds, “I think we can work something out.”

He half-rises as it dawns on him, but I make it back to straddle him before he can leave the chair.  "I can’t stop thinking about you,“ I breathe in his ear, my chest heaving; I’ve lost all pretense of professionalism.  I reach back and free my hair so that it cascades around his face, walling us in so we can only grope with our lips.  His hands reach up and take my face and my fantasy is alive once more: his hands explore the nooks and crannies of my blouse, my pencil skirt.  He finds the waist of my lacy thong and tugs it away.

I go after his well-ironed pants.  As I try to wrangle the zipper, I toss my head back. "How the hell did you get such a perfect crease?  Fuck I can’t use an iron.”

He laughs, almost a giggle, and kisses behind my ear, making it a thousand times harder to get him free.  Finally, squirming, I unleash his ready cock, sprouting out of his pants like a welcoming totem.  With a relieved sigh, I straddle him again and ease him inside.

This time, I expect his size, but he still fills my tiny cunt to satisfaction.  I inhale like a swimmer emerging from the depths and he lets out his breath in an inverse echo.  My knees dig into the arms of the chair as I raise and lower myself on him, once, twice, faster, dripping down the length I have not yet swelled to accommodate.

Trevor smacks my ass.  Between the surprise and the pleasure, I squeeze and gasp and come on him.  I can barely keep my eyes open and I know my hair is in his face, but then he cries out and lunges up, holding me as close as he can.  We bind at the waist until our climaxes subside.

Panting, I sit up and clear my throat.  "Well.  I think you’ll be perfect for the position.“

His eyes are already alight with post-coitus contentment, but they sparkle with a genuine joy.  "Really?”

I gingerly displace myself and return to my seat.  My skirt gets straightened, my top rebuttoned. Then I lean palms-down across the desk.  "We work well together, you know how this place functions – and besides, from what I’ve seen, you do a very thorough job.“  And I give him one of my most charming smiles.

He’s beaming from ear to ear, zipping up his pants even as he extends a hand to me.  "Thank you so much, Michi,” he says, pumping my hand with as much enthusiasm as he pumped his cock into me.  "I promise I won’t let you down.“

I grin, unable to contain it.  "I’m counting on it.”

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Whimsy

We sat down beside the river together, the Storyteller and I.  I tucked my legs beneath my long skirts, splayed sideways in the juicy grass, my head propped in my palm as I watched him.  The Storyteller took a flask from his patchwork jacket and a tiny stringed instrument from his pocket.

He smiled a silly crooked smile at me, took a sip from the flask before handing it to me, and held the instrument up to his ear.  His grin widened as his fingers tickled a tune.  I giggled at the sound; it was like the banter of fairies, or a field of daisies gossiping through their petals.

“Long ago, when the world was still being made,” the Storyteller said.

My head swam as if I’d drained his flask of its mead, though I hadn’t yet touched it.  As if by another’s prompting, I lifted the flask to my lips and let it hover there, just touching my moist skin.  My eyes were locked on the Storyteller.

“In those days, a beautiful angel maiden stood queen over the subjects of the world, who were not yet so divisive as to form clans and countries.”  The Storyteller coaxed another riff out of his instrument, this one with a hint of malice running beneath.  The flask bumped against my teeth and I gulped at the sweet, heavy liquid that hit my tongue.  "But there was a shadow in the heart of the lord of the warriors.  With each passing day his malice grew and twisted his features, until he was no more human than the serpent.  He was the first demon.“

I could barely keep my eyes open, my chin bobbing towards my chest.  The Storyteller’s face was an indecipherable blur.

"Then came the wars.”

I tumbled forward into his vision, my whole head filled with the frantic music of the tiny instrument.  The black sky roared with columns and balls of fire, dodged by beings of light.  A crescendo of wild drumbeats brought the image to a standstill, and as if from a distance I heard the Storyteller: “There was only one way to reconcile.  A child must be born, produced of the light and the darkness, and given reign over the world.  His struggle would be internal, eternal, but he would unravel the war.

"But the child must be made.”

I was lying on a grassy hill, facing the blue, cloudless sky.  I raised my hands and saw that they were glowing from an internal illumination.  Something rough and sinewy slid between my legs and I raised my head to see a scaly, demonic face gazing at me with a horrific mixture of adoration and loathing.  A long, snake-like tongue slithered out of its mouth and lifted my luminous skirts with surprising strength.

I was bared, exposed, my head still swimming.  I stared up at the sky.  The creature’s tongue dove inside of me, somehow unbearably rough and heartbreakingly satisfying as it flicked in and out.  I felt myself grow wetter; my hands moved to my nipples and I toyed with myself.

At last, the creature brought its legs up and forward and hovered over me as if waiting for a signal.  I lifted my head again and met its eyes.  I thought I would be consumed by the ancient fires there.

From far away came the sounds of four tiny strings, plucking out a melody that was as old as the world.

The demon plunged into me.  I shrieked, the sound rising visibly from me like steam.  I clenched the leathered buttocks in both hands, forcing him to work for every thrust, holding him in until my back arched and my lips parted and my breath escaped in rattles.  Then I drained him of his semen, hotter than flame, coursing through my entire being until I knew: our child was conceived. The human race would be born.

Slowly, the vision faded.  I was staring languorously at the Storyteller, who gazed back at me with intent but knowing eyes.

“And that, my love, is how we all came to be.”