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The Preacher’s Daughter

Svetlana glowered at the droplet of sweat threatening to tumble down into her eyes.  She tried to blow at it but it stubbornly danced to the edge of her eyebrow, then plunked down on her cheek.  She sighed and prodded at another piece of garbage.

Community service was stupid, when you got down to it, especially as a punishment for bad behavior.  Svetlana refused to call it anything else.  Bad behavior just sounded so ridiculous.

“Hey, hon, you want a drink?”

The sweet voice caught her attention and she jerked her iPhone’s headphones out with an elbow.  "What?“

A pretty red-headed girl, tall and slender and dressed in a very modest green dress, stood at the doorway of the nearby church.  She waved, ensuring she had Svetlana’s attention, then cupped her hands over her mouth.  "I have lemonade!  Inside.”  She gestured and then vanished inside the church.

Svetlana narrowed her eyes.  The day was oppressive, but she had an irrational fear of all things religious.  But.  The girl was cute, whoever she was, and maybe she could drag out a break to cover some of the pesky required hours.

She left her stick and bags where they were and sprinted across the ditch to the church door.  Inside it was quiet and cool and smelled like old people.  She sighed and made for the one visible light, which turned out to be illuminating a kitchenette.

The girl was standing over the sink, pouring lemonade from a pitcher into two Dixie cups.  Svetlana could not contain her chuckle.  "Are those for midgets?“

"Sorry,” the girl said quickly, turning an apologetic smile towards her guest.  "They’re the kids’ cups.  It’s all I’ve got.  I can always top you off!  I’m Esther, by the way.“

"Esther,” Svetlana repeated, then held out her hand.  "Svetlana.  Resident punk.“

Esther laughed, and Svetlana found herself warming everywhere at the sound.  "I’m the preacher’s daughter, but there’s no need to pretend you’re awful.”  She reached for the pitcher again, but this time she spilled one of the little cups across her chest.  The dress immediately became see-through and clung to her skin.  "Oh gosh,“ she said, and rested her forearm between her breasts as if to preserve her modesty.

Svetlana’s eyebrows rose.  "My fault.  Want help?”

“Sure.  Yech.  It’s all sticky.”  Esther began to shrug out of her dress, and Svetlana almost withdrew her helping hands.  Almost.  She felt Esther’s silky-smooth skin as she lifted the sopping dress over the other girl’s head and left her standing there in granny panties and a loose camisole.  Somehow, it was the most adorable thing Svetlana had ever seen.

She realized she was posing against the counter.  "Hey,“ she said suddenly, as if just thinking of it, "can I kiss you?”

Esther turned hot pink, but the blush crept down her body and Svetlana knew she was not against the idea.  "I mustn’t,“ the preacher’s daughter said softly.  "It’s against God’s – ”

Svetlana crossed the distance between them and planted her lips very firmly on Esther’s.  She wanted to search out the girl’s tongue with hers, but restrained herself, waiting for a reaction.  Esther stiffened at first, but as Svetlana did not move away she began to relax.

They broke away for breath, both panting.

“Gosh,” Esther said again, and then in a move that seemed almost practiced, she reached to put her fingers under Svetlana’s chin.  "I’d best try again.  Just to see if that’s really – what God – didn’t…“

And she kissed Svetlana again.  They came together, body to body, keenly aware of sweat and lemonade.  Svetlana thought about how Esther tasted like lemons and sweetness, and she trailed her tongue hungrily along the other’s girl’s chin.

"May I?” she asked as she slowly crouched.  Esther bit her lip, nodded.

“Forgive me, God,” she whispered as Svetlana slipped her hand inside her panties.

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Allies

Jim was falling asleep over his half-emptied pint of beer, his forehead dotted with foam from the rim.  A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he started, his hand flying to his empty holster before he remembered he had left his sidearm back at the camp.

His alarm faded as he peered up at Lily the barmaid, a busty Scottish implant who had come down to take over her cousin’s pub when he joined the British ranks.  She smiled at him.  "Ach, poor Jim, too tired tae finish ‘is beer.“

"Tired, cold, and lonely,” Jim said morosely, patting the side of his glass.  "Right now in Mississippi it’s gettin’ warm and here I am.“

"Yer doin’ great things,” Lily reassured him, bending even lower so that his line of sight was filled with her pale breasts.  Escaped strands of her red-brown hair tickled them so the barely-visible nipples puckered.  "I ‘ave tae say, ye deserve better than yer cold room.  Wish tae join me?“

New energy rushed through Jim’s limbs.  "In fact I do, ma’am.”

“Lily,” she corrected with a laugh, “it’s Lily.”

She pointed towards a door in the back and went to turn the sign at the entrance to CLOSED.  Then she shooed him into the back, where there was a small cot and a generous pile of wool blankets.

Jim suddenly found himself self-conscious.  He hadn’t been with a woman in months – years, if you didn’t count the farewell blowjob his high school crush Miriam had given him before deployment.  He swallowed hard, taking in Lily’s ample form as she undid the fasteners on her dress and her breasts swung free.

She reached for him.  "C’mere, love,“ she said, and guided his mouth to her.  Grateful for the instruction, he lapped at the hardening nipple, nibbling it so Lily squealed.  After a moment, she gave him a hearty shove and he fell backwards onto the cot.

"Pants off,” she ordered, and he scrambled to obey.  He took his cock in one hand and was about to warm up when Lily slapped the hand away.  She reached up and caught all her hair in one hand, then leaned dramatically over him and swirled her tongue down the length of his cock.  Jim arched his back and struggled to keep from coming – so long with so little time to touch himself, and he was ready to explode.

But he waited until Lily tugged her dress over her head and swung her pale white legs to either side of him.  She put her hands beneath his uniform and clutched at his chest.  "Mmm, do I love a hairy man,“ she said, muffled, into the top of his head.  Planting a kiss there, she reached down and slipped him inside of her.

Jim gasped.  She was warm and soft and tight, and already he could feel her relief dribbling between his balls.  He planted his hands firmly in her ass and held her down while thrusting up, and she threw back her head, laughing a wild, warrior-girl laugh.

"Ahhhch, dear sweet Lord above, but I needed tae fuck,” she said between laughs, and Jim clenched his teeth and shot into her.  He held on, unwilling to let go, until the spots faded from his eyes.

Lily patted his stomach and smiled.  "Good fer ye.  Now yer gonna suck my clit, love, for I still ‘ave tae get somethin’ out o’ this.“

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A Matter of Ass

There were three bare asses in a row, the girls bent over a railing, their heads together and giggling as they waited.  The girl from the front desk touched Whippet’s elbow.  "It’ll be those three.  Showers are in the back, towels on the shelves, and just wrap yourself up and stand over there and warm up. Seriously.  You’ll do great.“  She gave him a brilliant smile and was gone.

Whippet gulped and slunk across to the shower room.  He hosed off, trying to stop shaking.  You didn’t even use your real name, he reminded himself.  No one will know.

The towels were big and soft, and he lounged in them for a moment, enjoying the steam from the painfully hot shower before he slipped back into the main room.  The girls hadn’t moved, and their asses jiggled whenever they shifted, beckoning him.  He dropped his hand to his cock and encouraged its hardening.

The doors banged open.  "Right!  So let’s do this.”  The man that Whippet knew as Sam, one of the producers at the studio, crossed the room in three big strides.  "Where’s our man?“  He consulted his clipboard.  "Whippet?”

“Here,” Whippet said in a tiny voice.  Sam glanced up, his eyebrows betraying his skepticism, but he shrugged and made a checkmark.

“Cameras,” Sam said, and the girl from the front desk was at Whippet’s side again.

“This way,” she said, leading him to the three bare asses.  She took his hand and rested it on the first ass, a dark, savory round one.  "Whippet, this is Daisy.“

The girl looked over her shoulder, flashing her very white teeth.  "Hi, Whippet.  You gonna fuck me up the ass today?”

He swallowed again.  "Uh – sure, yeah, I’m gonna – “  He looked to the front desk girl, who gave him an expectant look.  "Fuck you so hard.”

“Oh good,” Daisy said, and turned away to giggle with her co-stars.

“Honey, and Fuschia,” the desk girl said, putting his hand on each ass in turn.  "You’ll love them.  They’re sweethearts.“

"Sweethearts.  Right.”  Whippet fumbled under the towel for his cock.  Someone whipped away the towel and turned a heat lamp towards them.  Whippet found that his shaking was slowing down.

The director cried, “Action!” and the girls wriggled over the railing for a while before they stood and presented themselves to Whippet.  He reached tentatively for their breasts, but soon the timidity was gone as they rubbed their bare flesh against his.

Then Daisy rolled in front of him and presented herself, cheeks spread wide.  Whippet gazed down at the tiny puckered hole and licked his lips.

“Kiss it,” the director called.

Whippet put one hand on each cheek and spread her wide.  He hesitated, then flicked out his tongue.  Daisy’s flavor was sweet and aromatic, completely unoffensive and very arousing.  He worked his way around the perimeter, then someone dashed up and slickened his cock with lube.

He took a deep breath and let her wiggle against him for a moment before he pressed the tip to her hole and pushed in.  She opened to receive him, tightening around his shaft, and he groaned. “Oh god.  Godddd.”

“Mmmm.  I like you right there.  Go deeper in my ass.”

Whippet began to thrust, throwing his head back so he could concentrate.  When he looked down, Daisy’s soft back bobbing in front of him made him clench his nails into her thighs and squeeze.  She whimpered and shivered and Whippet found his vision going red.

Someone pulled him free and hands were on his cock.  He looked down to see Honey and Fuschia working him up and down, grinning.

“Can’t come too soon, lover boy,” Honey said, and he happily leaned into the mercy of their tongues.

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Road Trippin’

Jess passed the pipe discreetly over the center console.  I took it without looking down.  "How’m I doin’?“

"Hang on,” she cautioned, her fingers dancing on my bare arm.  Then a sharp tap.  "Okay go.“

She leaned over and held the wheel steady while we rocked down a straight stretch of freeway, the ‘82 Benz pleased to be running again.  I ducked and took a hit, blowing the smoke out the cracked window.

"Ahhhh.  Much better.”

“Rest stop,” Jess said.  She squirmed in her seat.  "I need to pee.“

My buzz kicked in as we pulled off into the empty parking lot.  I got out enough to lean on the door and air out the car while Jess scampered in and out of the ladies’ side of the shingled building.  I took another hit from the pipe, keeping my eye on teh entrance in case any late-night truckers showed up.  Apparently no one else within a few hundred miles had decided to go for a 2 am ride.

"Boo,” Jess said right in my ear, and I reached out and caught her around the waist.  I planted a huge wet kiss on her temple.

“Hey, cutie.”

“You’re high as fuck, huh.”

“Yup.”

“So c’monnnn,” she said, grabbing my hand and dancing to the back door of our massive car.  I followed her a couple of steps before I realized what she was after.

“Jess!  We’re not allowed.”

“Yes huh.”  Her eyes sparkled.  "I made the last payment just now.  See?“  She held up her mobile phone.  I had to squint to see it, but the Total Amount Due number was unmistakable: $0.00.

We could finally fuck all over our car.

"Hell yeah!” I said and dove, taking her under me so we sprawled across the back seat. She giggled and bit her tongue in concentration as she felt for the door handle with her foot.  I heard it close behind me without even hitting my shoes.  "Nicely done.“

"Make out with me,” she said, putting her hands on my cheeks and pulling me down over her.

I fumbled with her pants in the dim light cast by the one rogue streetlamp until I got to the thong beneath.  I swept the little triangle of fabric aside and fingered her.  She moaned but could hardly have gotten wetter.

“Did you – ”

She put a finger that smelled distinctly of pussy to my lips.  "Shhhh.  Just fuck me.“

"You beautiful slut,” I said and wriggled until I could go down on her.  My tongue drew letters on her clit, slow, thoughtful ones that made her sigh and tremble and ask me what I was spelling.

“Important things,” I said, raising my head and licking my chin.  "Things that I dare not say out loud because maybe this is all just a really cool dream.“

"Okay,” Jess said.  "Then go real slow and I’ll figure it out.“  She rubbed the bare tops of her thighs and giggled nervously.  "And hold the extra tickles or I’ll have no idea.”

Gently, I spelled it out: I W-A-N-T T-H-I-S A-L-W-A-Y-S.  She missed the As and the Y, but I could see from the look of peace on her just-visible features that she had figured it out.

“I love you,” she said, her fingers in my hair.

“Ditto,” I said, and when she threaded her hands through the door handle I began to thrust.

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The Right Department

Nora hugged herself and shivered a little.  The dressing room lounge had a stiff breeze, but she couldn’t return to the warmth of the individual room until she’d picked the rest of the items marked M off the rack.

She wasn’t worried about anyone seeing her in just a bra and borrowed underwear – after 8, they closed off the lingerie department and she was left alone to clean up.  Or model what her customers had left behind.

It thrilled her, to know that other pussies had rested on the fabric she slipped on, strangers whose names she would never know but whose bodies had, in a fashion, mingled with hers.  She snatched a last lacy black number and dashed off blushing.

Nora didn’t bother to lock the door and slid the pink thong down her leg with her thumb.  With her other hand, she pinched the black panties off their hangar.

Something moved in the mirror and she frowned faintly, turning to tug the stubborn door closed again against the breeze.  Straightening up, with nothing on below the waist, she came face to face with a girl with short-cropped blonde hair and a hot pink, coy smile.

“No, don’t!” the girl said, laughing, as Nora swallowed her scream and scrambled to recover her modesty with the black underwear.  "Please don’t.  Your ass is adorable.“

"My – ”  Nora’s fingers began to tremble.  Never had she dared admit to anyone but herself that it was the leggy ladies that made her wet.  Certainly she had never pursued a girl, and only dreamed of it with strangers, because knowing her name might make her something to fear.  "I don’t understand,“ she finished, dropping her hands and hoping her flush didn’t make her blotchy.

"Shhh,” the girl said, and slid around the door, locking it behind her.  Her hands still against the wall, she asked, “May I kiss it?”

“Kiss it?”

“Your ass.  I promise, lip to cheek contact only.  It’s just so fucking adorable.  Please?  Butts?  For me?  I’ll be cute.”  And the blonde girl pouted her perfect pink lips and Nora shook harder.

“Okay,” she said in a voice so tiny she didn’t recognize it as hers.

The girl clapped her hands and took two long strides to come up behind Nora.  Even as Nora hugged her own shoulders and tried not to close her eyes, the stranger was down on her knees and her soft lips tingled right at the center, on both cheeks.

Nora sighed.  "Oh,“ she said.

She looked around in the mirror behind her.  The girl had her hands resting on Nora’s thighs, her hair making her look like a mischievous pixie as she smiled back at the glass.  Between Nora’s cheeks rested a bright pink kiss mark.

Nora began to giggle, and it made her wobble, so she reached out for the girl’s hair.  The girl looked up, and Nora’s pussy tightened as she recognized the look in the stranger’s eyes.

"I’m Evi,” the girl said softly, and then it was too late.

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Maximum Input

Hundreds of thousands of applicants to be the first to technologically make out in their car, and we won.

Henry and I were both shivering, our hands wound tightly together, as we stood in the driveway and watched the logo-encrusted van pull in.  Out popped a smiling Latino man, the sort that hosts late-night variety shows.

“Amigos!  I am Jorge. Let me see – you must be Henry,” he said, bobbing Henry’s free hand up and down.  My husband could barely nod.  "And you have got to be the lovely and talented Rosa.  We loved loved loved your essay.  So let’s get this started, eh?“

He and his crew went about pulling parts from their van.  I stood so enraptured with their process and products that I didn’t even notice Henry pull the groaning C230 out of the garage.

"Here she is,” Henry said, an unnatural amount of fondness in his voice as he patted the hood with one hand.  "Our first car.“  He looked at me and smiled.  "She’s pretty special.”

“Wonderful,” Jorge said, and his team descended upon our car like ants to watermelon.

A few hours later, they let us come back outside and sat us in the front seats.  There were now strange apparatuses scattered between our legs, under the seats, and around the instrument panels.  I lifted something that looked like a suction cup on Henry’s side.  "What is all this?“

"Virtual reality,” Jorge said in an eerie sing-song voice as he snapped something down over my eyes.

I was now staring at the inside of the car, but nakedly.  I squeaked and went to cover myself even as I turned to the left, where an equally naked Henry sat looking just as startled as I did.  "Woah,“ he said.

Suddenly the apparatuses came to life.  A long, slender tube snaked its way between my legs and hovered at my entrance.  Henry gulped as the suction cup clamped on to his dick.

"And go,” said Jorge’s disembodied voice; we were completely alone in our virtual world.

The car began to fuck us.

It rocked with the motion of a skilled human being, and Henry and I both drew in our breath at once. My hand went to his.  He reached over and grabbed my shirt front and stroked my tongue with his.  I struggled not to climax too quickly – while strangers were watching, what was I thinking?! – but the car was persistent, and I shuddered around the tube.  Henry’s hand tightened on mine.

“This – is – awesome,” he said, before his words collapsed like a tent and he made noises and the car gently came to a stop.

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Necessity Breeds Creativity

They only knew her as Tangelina Grimes – Tangie for short – and no one knew where she came from.  She drifted in and out of the studio, working odd jobs for the janitors when there was extra mess to cart away.  The directors, actors, and crew came to smile at her bright orange hair as she bobbed and weaved among them without a word, just a brilliant smile with a gap between her front teeth.  She had only given her name once, to the head janitor Jose, but it had spread like wildfire.

So they were surprised when she shared much more of herself.  One of the producers, Sam, stepped away from the gang-bang shoot for a few moments to make a call in the kitchen.  He opened the door to find bright-haired Tangie sitting on the counter, her legs spread under her skirt and a condom-wrapped banana halfway in her pussy.

Her eyes popped open as she heard the door, and though she tensed, her smile was as wide as ever.  "Hullo,“ she said.  Sam froze, his iPhone squawking halfway to his ear.

"Call you back,” he said, and pocketed it.  "Tangie.  I – didn’t realize you were in the business?“

Her face scrunched up adorably.  "Oh, psh, I’m not,” she laughed.  "I’m not pretty enough for the boys to stay hard.  See?“  She pinched the tiny love handles, made prominent by her scrunched position on the counter, and giggled.  "Nobody wants to watch this.”

Sam’s eyes drifted down to her pussy, sleek beneath the close-cut hairs.  "Oh, I think they will.“

Tangie wriggled off the counter, slipping the banana out with a pop.  Behind her, lined up along the counter, was a colorful array: the orange of a carrot, the white of a lotion bottle, the red of a toy firetruck.  She laid her banana next to these, and Sam’s eyes widened.

"All of those?” he asked in a husky voice.

Tangie tucked her hair behind her ears, her cheeks warming even as she giggled again.  "I get horny, okay?  And like I said – the boys don’t like me.“

"I think,” Sam said, clearing his throat because there was suddenly an awkward lump there, “you’d be surprised.”

“Let me show you,” she said eagerly, lifting her skirt again so pink peeked out.  She took the lotion bottle and dipped her hand down to gather moisture, then ran it over the top of the bottle.  Pulling a nose-wrinkling face, she squatted and gently pushed the bottle up inside.  Sam crossed his legs.

“Will you try one session?  Just one.  And if you don’t like,” he added quickly, because a bit of fear danced behind Tangie’s eyes, “you can go back to being a janitor.”

She thumbed the bottle thoughtfully, managing to think and relax against the stroking at the same time.

“Sure,” she said, “just one.”  And with a little gasp and shiver and titter, she squeezed so hard the bottle popped free.

“Oh good,” Sam said.  He couldn’t stop staring.

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Master of the Kennels

Klia tried to stop her trembling as the hovercraft pulled up to the intimidating iron gates, but her hands betrayed her.  She stuffed them between her legs and tried not to hear Azha’s whimpering.  The gates opened and the hovercraft slipped inside, picking up speed to avoid being crushed as the metal formation clanged closed.

The baying of the harrihounds was deafening as the slave girls were ushered out of the hovercraft and up the stairs to the main door.  Klia stifled her disgust at the blotches on Azha’s pale red skin and hugged her close.  "Hush, little one.  You’ll be – “  Her voice wavered as she looked over Azha’s matted hair to see Lord Wendell’s beady human eyes boring into her.  "Fine,” she finished, with a trembling of her own.

A servant emerged from the home: a slender ranyed like them, his skin the traditional deep blue of males.  He nodded to Klia and extended his hand to Azha.  "You, with me, please.“  His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking that he was giving her a command.

Lord Wendell cleared his throat.  "Excuse me, I believe – ”

“This girl,” said the servant, in the same soft tone, “is for the hounds.  Orders of His Majesty.”

Azha cried out.  Even Lord Wendell looked away.  "Ah.  That explains the request.  Carry on.“

Klia could not watch as the sickly girl stumbled against the servant through a side door.  The harrihounds’ baying grew louder and more frantic.  As Lord Wendell hurried to pull the last of the tributes out of the vehicle, one of the harrihounds’ voices rose to a crescendo above the rest.  Klia flinched and tried to stand straighter.

The servant returned, his expression unchanged.  He opened the door and let them into the main hall of King Thancmar.  Klia’s feet made no noise on the soft carpet stretched before them to the throne at the end of the long chamber.

They arrived and fell to their knees.  Klia did not raise her head until she heard the grunt of Lord Wendell getting to his feet, and then she dared look up.

King Thancmar oozed over the sides of his chair.  One hand, like a string of sausages, rested on the head of the largest harrihound she had ever seen.  His thick mane was groomed to a sheen, and when he curled his lips to show its teeth, they glittered with gold.

"Ahhh, what a jewel you have brought me, Wendell,” Thancmar said, the words sliding out of him like thickening blood.  "Your taste in visiting gifts is impeccable.  Bring her here.“

Wendell gave Klia an almost apologetic look and took her elbow, walking half the distance to the throne with her before bowing and backing away.  Klia willed her body to remain rigid as the king sized her up.

"Mmm, so delicate, so supple, so ready for me and mine.”  And King Thancmar heaved himself out of his throne, towering above Klia so that her head came barely to his waist.  Her throat bobbed as she realized why he had designed his throne this way.  Out from beneath his robes peeked an uncut, hairy cock, like a curious, hideous worm.  She shuddered; he saw, and it widened his smile.

“First me, then the hound,” he said, patting the harrihound between the massive ears.  The animal gave a soft snarl.  Its gaze never left Klia.  She imagined how it would feel, bent on the floor as a show and a toy, and trembled, because she would not have to imagine for long.

“Come here, girl,” Thancmar said, and she stumbled forward to ram his foul-tasting cock down her throat.  She pumped until, as she gagged, he came in her mouth, his whole body convulsing and an inhuman noise growing in his gut.

Klia dared not look at Lord Wendell as the servant appeared once more and disrobed her.  "I’m sorry, sister,“ he whispered to her as he removed her robe with surprising gentleness.  Klia closed her eyes as he pushed her to her knees and arranged her limbs.  She could hear the harrihound breathing hard, the soft whines of arousal in his throat.

She thought of making love to Imper, their bodies a mass of lithe limbs and sweet affection.  She locked her mind on that image and waited.

The harrihound descended like a storm.

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Arranged

I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for the cold, approving eyes of my father, or the fuzzy lines of my grieving mother. The podium yields under me, making my journey that much more difficult, as if offering me one last chance to choose disgrace and flee.

But I don’t.  My groom awaits me, masked under the hot lights, and I rise to meet him.  My peacock feathers spread behind me and catch the light, and I know I am glorious. I hope the guests can’t see the tears.

The fat priest awaits me impatiently, his big shoes tapping. I arrive and close my eyes. I can’t watch him as he speaks away the rest of my life. I don’t dare look at my betrothed.

Everything happens in a blur: the sacred vows, the mumbled permission from our mothers; someone yells out the traditional greeting, and my groom sweeps me down the stairs.  He has still not removed his mask.

No one stops us for congratulations as he takes me into the consummation room.  He sets me down gently on my feet and I stand, quivering, feeling naked already.  I catch my breath as he puts his hand to the mask to reveal himself.

“Please,” I say, “leave it.  I wish to learn to serve your body before I know your face.”

He tilts his head, and it has the effect of a curious bird, but he complies without a word.  He reaches for the buttons on my dress and slowly undoes them, one by one.  The consummation room, warmed by candles, still feels cold as I am bared.

When my dress falls to my feet, feathers and all, he offers me his back and the buttons on his suit. My fingers feel fat, clumsy, but I manage to disrobe him.  His skin is a pale copper and I cannot stop my hands from lingering.  He has muscles, but they are undefined, potential lying beneath soft, curly body hair.  I wonder what he is thinking about my body.

He turns without warning and tosses me onto the bed – not roughly, but playfully.  Then he is down on top of me, his ass in the air and his tongue tracing my inner thighs.  He notes the wetness of my anticipation and, with a smile visible even under the mask, he backs off, kneeling on the floor to service me.

I cry out, from pleasure and fear.  This is not how a purchased bride acts: she is the servant, not the princess.  But he holds me down, firmly but not without kindness, until I come.  Then he raises his head and watches me for a reaction.

“Please,” I say again, “please.”

He shimmies up the bed so we lie parallel.  He gently turns me away, on my side, and feels between my legs, reaching with his cock until he finds me.  I tremble, waiting for him to push in, but there is a long pause.  His breath grows hotter on my neck, and I realize he has removed his mask.

“Hello, my bride,” a husky, gentle voice says, and we make love for the first time.

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Sugar Sweet

“What’ll it be, sugar?”

The greeting was so Southern that he barely looked up.  "Coffee.  Black please.“

Then he really looked.  She was smiling at him, her sweet round face peeking out from a mane of blonde curls.  Her plaid shirt, tucked messily into her jeans, was open enough at the top to give him a peek.  He found that his ears were warm.

"Oh, eh – my ‘pologies, I didn’t expect – excuse me.”  He tipped his hat and spun around, letting the door rest behind him for a moment. He took a deep breath, turned, came back inside, this time with a grin on his face.

She laughed.  "What’ll it be, sugar?“

He leaned across the counter and looked down at his hands, adopting a contemplative look.  "Well, let me think.  I’m drivin’ my truck across the state border.  I’ve had a long, lonely drive all through the night.  And there’s a pretty girl in front of me.”  He raised his head slowly, a wide grin spreading across his face.  "Looks like I need coffee.  Black, please.“

Her laugh was full and bright as she turned, displaying her round ass under the apron, and fetched him a clean mug.  She poured in the coffee.  "Anything else?”

“Ah, y’know, just a bit of company while I sip this.”  He lifted the mug to his lips.  "What’s your name?“

"Not tellin’,” she said, tapping her chin with a finger.  "It’s more fun that way.  C’mon.“  Suddenly she was all sass and curves as she swaggered into the back.  He looked around at the empty cafe, hurriedly swallowed a few mouthfuls of blistering coffee, and slipped through the back door.

She bounded up to him, her now-freed breasts jiggling wildly.  Her grin was infectious.  "Right here!  On the rag washer.  Hurry!”

She was fumbling with his pants, and he scrambled to help her, caught up in the excitement.  She wriggled against him and worked her hands until he was warm and ready, then she jumped up backwards onto the washer, spreading her legs under her skirt.  Giggling, she reached for his shirt collar and pulled him to her.  They locked lips and he found his way in.

They rocked together, struggling to find a rhythm, until she slapped the washer on.  The unit vibrated beneath her, giving them a cadence to rock to.  She squealed and clutched his shoulders, flinging her head back so that her curls fell around her bare shoulders.  He flicked out his tongue and teased her nipples as she came, and then followed suit, relief from the road rushing through him.

She shoved him off almost as soon as he had finished. “All right, mister, back to your coffee.  It’s getting cold.”

He stood struggling to pull on his boxers, calling after her, “What, no goodnight kiss?”

“I’m just your sugar sweet girl from Georgia!” she called back, and he smiled and went out to caffeinate for another long drive.