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Booking Her Passage

This is part 2 of an TBD-part continual story!  You can check out part 1 here.  Thanks for reading!

Venice could barely breathe as she gently pushed the library’s heavy double doors closed and turned the deadbolt.  She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the nearly-empty parking lot.  Parents ran in circles, rounding up sleepy but determined youth shrieking about the library’s puppet collection.

The quiet, scholarly young man who had kept to his corner all evening caught Venice looking and raised the corner of his mouth in thanks.  His mane of curly black hair was almost irresistible, but she’d managed.  Venice blushed and dropped back on her heels, reassuring herself that the deadbolt was secure.

Now.  She took a deep breath, turning to face her library.  Shelves heavy with knowledge strained towards the ceiling, and the silence made her quickened breathing loud and obvious.  Tonight it was just her and her library.

Clever girl, she thought, crazy, stupid, clever girl.

Because it wasn’t really just her and her library, at least not for long.  She looked down at her watch.  Quarter after eight.  Just enough time left to straighten up and finish her day job, and then the real work would begin.

Tonight was the second indulgence.  Venice had spent a lot of time justifying the original act to herself—the first time was a fluke, a taste to drive her wild.  What she wanted now was a feast.  She wanted to be filled with cocks, with cum.  She was hungry and she wanted to sate her appetite.  This, she told herself, was just sexual release.  Just an exploration of her sexual identity.

She was not, she told the insistent little voice, a whore.

Her gaze fell to the stack of unpaid bills on her desk and she flushed with irrational anger.  A librarian’s salary was barely enough to keep the lights on.  If she did have to turn elsewhere for additional income, well—that was her business.  The little voice could go shove it.

She bagged up the trash and checked her phone.  She dumped all the paper waste cans into one and checked her phone.  One message this time, confirming the library address.  Her face hot, she pocketed the phone, heaved the trash over her shoulder, and scooped up the paper waste can on her way towards the back door.

Venice was just tossing the trash into the dumpster when the sound of a pebble kicked across asphalt made her whirl around.  She screeched as she stared through the shaggy black hair of the scholarly young man.

He threw up his hands, clearly realizing he had nearly traumatized her.  “Totally didn’t mean this to come off like it is right now.”

Venice clapped a hand to her heart.  “What, fucking creepy?  Jesus.  Only rapists and how-to-catch-a-whatever cops hide in the bushes like that.”

“I wasn’t hiding in the bushes,” he protested, but then dropped his hands to his sides with a half-chuckle.  “Okay.  This is not going better.  Let me try again?”

“All right,” Venice said warily, because she couldn’t deny the tingling his earnest face summoned between her legs.  She folded her arms and tried to strike an intimidating pose.  “Your best shot.  Go.”

Hiding his relieved grin, the young man approached with a hand extended.  His brown eyes barely glinted through his mop of hair.  “Hey.  I’m Tavis.  I stayed for six hours today because I kept looking at you.  I looked because you’re beautiful and you love books and, well, I’m a sucker for those things.  But I couldn’t get up the courage to say anything inside, so—I decided to gamble on your being attracted to creepers who wait for you to take out the garbage.  Again, that’s Tavis, and the number’s two-four-three, seven-seven-zero-nine, in case the, uh, the police need it.”

He stood sort-of grinning with his hand out.  In the twilight, he was irresistible.  Venice took a deep breath and giggled.  It was time she unleashed her own awkward demons on a stranger, come what may.

She took the tips of his fingers and shook them.  “A pleasure, Tavis.  I’m Venice. In a sec I’ll text you my number because I’m already rather fond of you, but you should probably know that I’m staying late tonight because I’ve arranged a gangbang in the archive section.  You’re welcome to join.”  She rushed through the last sentence with all the breathlessness and gravity of a child offering their greatest possession to a friend.

Now it was her turn to gaze solemnly, hopefully at the other.  Tavis’s head began to tilt slowly until he was looking at her at a 90-degree angle.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?” Venice said, snappier than she had intended.

Tavis raised his hands in defense again.  “Wow, I’ve never met a woman so brave as to actually live out her fantasies.”

“Oh.”  She dropped her guard, and with it the paper waste can.

“Now,” Tavis said, rubbing the back of his mop, “while I would love to be a stud and join you, what I’m actually facing is a two-year drought and probably the lowest self-esteem of my life.  Can I take you out on Friday night instead?  After your shift of course.  I wouldn’t dare take such a beautiful woman from her books.”

Venice was blushing furiously, and her now-free hand twitched towards her pantline.  “Yes,” she said, “you may.”

“Oh thank god.”  Tavis passed the back of his hand across his brow, leaving just a faint sheen under his hair.

He looked ready to say something else when Venice added, “But won’t you come in?  I mean—if this is how we’re going to start something, then maybe you should know.  What I do.  Sometimes.”  Venice’s mind churned.  She knew she could be ruining her best chance at serious stability, but—her newfound lust (and with it, courage) demanded that she be true to herself.

He hesitated.  She watched him process, biting her lip as he turned slightly to look at his dumpy pickup truck.

Finally, he sucked in his breath.  “All right. But promise me,” he said, trying very hard to be stern, down to the wagging finger, “that I won’t embarrass myself.”

“I can’t promise that,” Venice said, relief giving her the spunk to pop forward and kiss his cheek, “but I can promise you ought to have a good time.”

She led him through the back door.  In the half-light, Tavis caught her wrist and stole their first kiss.  Venice’s whole body lit up with heat as she returned it, sucking in his smoky breath.

—-

The others arrived almost together.  Venice sprinted across the library to answer the tandem knocks at the back door and found that the beefy ex-football player and the hunky construction worker were exchanging grunts about their alleged reasons for being there.

Furiously tucking her hair behind her ear, Venice pointed to each of them.  “You’re both here for the same reason.”

“Ahh,” the ex-football player said, his dark eyes sliding up and down her body as his equally dark hands rubbed together.  “Let’s do this then.”

The construction worker simply nodded.  Men of few words, Venice thought, shivering with anticipation.  She led them inside and to the archive section, where Tavis was sitting on the floor, a book spread across his crossed legs.  He leaped to his feet and offered both the newcomers a hand.

“Tavis,” he said.  They looked at his hand, at each other, then over at Venice.

“No names,” she said, wincing.

“Ahhh.  Ehhhh.  That’s my stage name.”  He grasped his crotch with a cheesy, toothy grin as if demonstrating the size of his package.  Venice dove between him and the newcomers and held his wrists.

“Shhhh,” she said.  “Just—they’re here to fuck me.”  Hearing herself say it aloud made the anticipation harder to contain.  “So help them out and just fuck the shit out of me, okay?  And I’ll tell you about my childhood and where I went to school and all of that stuff later.”  She touched his jawline with affection that shocked her with its strength.

Tavis nodded furiously and drew a line across his jugular.  “No talking.  Just humping.  Got it.”

Venice rolled her eyes with a smile and turned around, right into the grasp of the construction worker.  He raked his gaze up and down her body, her upper arms clasped in his sun-cracked hands, then he spun her around and slowly undid the zipper on her skirt.  Venice froze as his fingers explored past the thick black fabric to the insubstantial lace of her underwear.

Soon the dark hands of the ex-football player were exploring her pale legs.  Venice knelt down on the ground and presented her face to both the newcomers.  The construction worker flipped his dark hair out of his face as he slid his hard cock out of his pants.  He rested it on her cheek for a moment, then slapped her with it.  The black man did the same; they took turns leaving tiny stinging welts on her cheeks.

Venice slipped her hand past the welcoming lace and fingered herself.  She was already sticky and throbbing, and even a delicate touch made her spasm as the cocks slapped her face.  Abruptly, the black man grabbed her face and twisted it towards him, offering her the tip of his cock.  She flicked out her tongue and traced the circumference of the swollen head, her eyes rolling back to seek his approval.  His lip curled in response and he shoved her face away.

Out of the corner of her eye, Venice saw Tavis.  He was hunched awkwardly, sometimes shifting as if to move forward and join in, but every time he hesitated.  She desperately tried to catch his gaze; finally she did, and gave him as encouraging a smile as she could with a dick between her lips.

He moved forward, stop-start, stop-start, until finally he was close enough to press his palms to her breasts.  His entire body relaxed as if an electrical current had just been switched off and let his limbs be, and with a shuddering sigh he leaned into his newfound task.  He rolled her nipples between skillful fingers and soon Venice’s hand was working over time on her clit as she was yanked towards orgasm.

 She gasped for air and turned to take the other cock in her mouth.  The black man only let her suck that for a moment before he jerked her off her feet and laid her down on the ground.  Whimpering, Venice flattened her legs open, lotus-on-her-back, and was grateful for those yoga classes, somewhere in the back of her foggy head.

A huge cock teased her entrance with just its tip and she leaned into it, moaning.  It lingered there, stroking her to silkiness, then suddenly retreated.  Venice vocalized her displeasure, but was swiftly silenced as the construction worker swatted her face and then dropped a fistful of balls on her face.

Venice’s tongue swirled between them; she nearly gagged on the smell of Axe soap but was grateful he had showered.  Meanwhile, the cock tip had been replaced by a heavy pair of lips, mercilessly sucking her clit and mouthing her whole pussy.  A thick, muscular tongue dove between her lower lips and sought another orgasm, a wave made more powerful by the heavy palm that ground into her clit.

Again, delicate fingers descended and teased her nipples.  Venice arched her back, scrunching her face into wrinkled pleasure.  “Fuck me,” she said, breaking the otherwise wordless soundtrack, then realized they were alone and cried out, “Fuck me!”

Someone obeyed.  Someone hard and ridged and powerful, slamming into Venice’s pussy with the enthusiasm of a stallion.

Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Tavis.  But it wasn’t Tavis. The same mop of hair, the same brown eyes, but he seemed to steam with dark heat and a fiery single-mindedness that left Venice breathless.  She arched her feet, her pussy in the air, and he reached beneath her and grabbed each ass cheek in his long but assuring hands.  He hissed, and the air by her ears crackled.  Venice squeaked and wriggled into his crotch, grinding her nub into the coarse hairs beneath his belly.

She came so explosively that she vaulted off of his cock.  His hands were still on her ass.  Just as the lights began to dim in her vision, Tavis pulled her back down, smeared her juices downward, and eased into her ass.  A thrill lanced through Venice.  “Tavis—fuck,” she said.  Again: “Fuck fuck FUCK—”

He slid her up and down his shaft, and his ridges rippled pleasure through her ass so she could feel every fiber of muscle, quivering with readiness.  She opened her eyes enough to see Tavis stretching out his neck to take the black cock deep in his throat before the construction worker blocked her view, straddling Tavis to bring his cock down to her pussy.

His eyes, too, were brown, but they glinted with shards of sunlight from his hours outside.  His rough hands were not gentle.  He jerked her on his cock, disregarding the strain on her asshole, which sent rivers of ecstasy gushing down the dick deep inside her.  Three men moaned, each their own sound: throaty and angry; dreamy and determined; clanging and earthy.

Venice’s voice lashed across them all, culminating in a shriek that might have been a name.  Her nails curled like claws into the carpet and her spasming anus squeezed an orgasm out of Tavis’s rigid cock.  He gagged with the intensity and his throat made the black man come, his hand descending to palm Tavis’s curly head of hair.  The slick walls of Venice’s pussy swallowed the construction worker’s cock and coaxed free a hot load of thick cum.

Slowly, they sagged and extricated themselves.  Venice lay on her back on the wet carpet until she heard the door closed twice.  Then, in a tiny voice that shook out of her trembling body, she hoped out loud: “Tavis?”

“I’m here,” came his voice, very close to her ear.

She reached up without looking and found his hair.  Her knuckles collected his curls.  “Oh good,” she said.  “I hoped you wouldn’t run away.“

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The Dirty Decimal System

Venice ran her finger up the bridge of her nose.  It was pure habit – she’d abandoned her clunky librarian glasses years ago, after the laser surgery, but it was as ingrained in her as her adoration of books.  She kept an eye on the three shuffling young men who had just entered and were drifting towards the dusty archive section.  One was white and looked a lot like her kid brother, with blonde hair and freckles; the other two could have been twins, their dark skin absorbing the light as they vanished beyond where she could see them.

Trying to perfect her disapproving librarian stare, Venice stood up and scanned the library.  There was a graduate student in one corner, dutifully spread-eagled across her homework, but otherwise the building was empty.  With a sigh – she could never leave well enough alone, and she knew it – Venice sidled away from the desk and made a beeline for the archives.

She had to navigate a bit of a maze to find them, but at least she found the trio, lounging against the shelves in a tight half-circle.  She cleared her throat.  "Excuse me.  Can I help you find something?“

One of the twins raised a hand in greeting.  "Hey, suga’.  Got a quiiiiet little corner back here.”  He dragged out the I so the pinch in Venice’s gut tightened and drifted lower.  Without thinking she rested her hands on her hips, just above the line of her slacks.

“Yes,” she said, then cleared her throat because three pairs of eyes belonging to three well-built, good-looking, inevitably well-hung men were boring into her.  "Ahem.  Yes.  I do.  And I want to keep it that way, so what can I help you find?“  She tried to stand taller, but all 5’5” of her was minuscule in comparison to the bulk surrounding her.

They shifted closer, and Venice felt her heart in her pussy, its throbbing ever quickening.  This was something she’d barely let herself admit she’d dreamed about.  This was one of the deepest, darkest fantasies she had, one she’d never let surface, even in her open relationship with Ken.  That was long gone, and she hadn’t been fucked properly in months (though there was that one hipster at the bar, but he’d been laughable), and – their eyes, their stances were very clear.  They wanted her.

All of them.

She realized she must have conveyed the same with her gaze, because they backed off just a bit now and a ripple of knowing laughter ran around the circle.  Venice’s cheeks burned and she ducked to peek out into the library.  All was still quiet.  On an impulse, she dashed out towards the door and flipped the sign: “Out, Back Later, Will Return in One (1) Hour.”  She turned the lock, too.  The grad student had dozed off and did not even stir.

Venice darted back to where the men were waiting, her fingers working to unbutton her blouse.  By the time she returned, her shirt was off and dangling at her waist where it was still tucked into her slacks, and both the twins had their cocks out.  The white boy was still unzipping his jeans, but soon three sizeable dicks were waiting in a circle for her.

Barely able to breathe, Venice knelt down in the center and reached for all three, two with her hands and one with her mouth.  Her lips closed around the nearest twin’s cock.  He tasted like baby powder and cheap cologne and hungry sweat.  She was readying herself to take him deeper when he grabbed the back of her head and plunged into her throat.

Venice gagged uncontrollably around the mass of pulsing flesh.  She tried to pull away, to breathe, but he held her there by the hair.  Even as she blinked away tears from the blow, Venice could not deny that she was turned on.  More than turned on: she was unleashed.  She clamped her teeth gently around the cock and tugged without moving, just using her neck, and was rewarded with a satisfied sigh from the man.  Her hands kept working when she remembered to move them.

Finally he let her go and she turned to his brother, closing the distance with small steps of her knees.  His hair and flesh smelled the same, but he tasted wilder, woodier, like a room that has been opened to a forest.  He was less violent, so she was able to gaze up at him with her wide brown eyes, thrilled when he smiled through the contortions of pleasure.

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and someone roughly undid her slacks, yanking them down her legs.  The twin she was blowing dove both his hands into her bra and released her tits so they swung brazenly when she moved.  Her ass was pulled into the air and her hands hit the floor.  It was the white boy behind her; he even moved like her brother, swinging with every step he took.  He positioned himself behind her while the twins shoved their cocks in her face.  Venice frantically licked them both, back and forth, while the third cock hovered at her entrance.

Then it was in her ass, not her pussy, lubed by a wad of spit the white boy dropped just before he pushed inside of her.  Venice could have screamed as guilt and pleasure overcame her, but her inner librarian squawked, “INSIDE VOICE!” and she muffled it against the carpet.  As he slammed into her, the white boy grunted.  The twins chuckled under their breath.  One knelt down on the carpet and offered her his very erect cock.  Through her tears, Venice reached for him and sucked hard.  There was no recovering now – she was lost in the adrenaline.

With a final heave, the white boy came in her ass, his ill-cut nails digging into her sides.  Venice arched her back and took him as deep as she could, having to catch her breath as he popped out and sat back, hard.  The twin in her mouth yanked himself free and wrenched her around so he could delve into her pussy.  He was massive, but compared to the ass fucking he felt like a dream.  Venice let herself fall into the rhythm, focusing only on the sound of her bare thighs slapping his.

The other twin tipped her chin back and made her open her eyes.  "Yeah, take it like a bitch.“  He was grinning, his teeth very white in the dim light.  Venice opened her mouth and he slid his cock inside, holding her head so he rammed into the back of her throat.  She was skewered from both ends – now a third place, as the twin behind her slid his finger into her lubed asshole.  He wriggled it vigorously as he increased his thrusting; as if on the same wavelength, his brother did the same.  Venice was completely filled.  The pain was excruciatingly wonderful.  She knew exactly how brutalized she would feel tomorrow, and all she wanted was more.

She came, uncontrollably shaking and writhing against them.  The cock in her mouth squirted first, gushing warm and thick down her throat.  Venice swallowed obediently and gasped for air, her hips convulsing as the finger in her asshole pumped with the ferocity of a vibrator.  Then the cock in her pussy hardened, pulsed, came.  The twin shoved her away and she was left in a shivering heap on the floor.

Above her, three pairs of jeans zipped and buttoned.  Three pairs of Nike tennis shoes clunked past her head.  None of them said a word.  Venice did not dare lift her head.  She wanted them to leave before she stood and collected what remained of her dignity.  She stared almost unseeingly into the row of archived books, and it was only when she realized she was reaching to put them in the correct order that she knew she would be just fine.

Shakily, she stood and dressed.  Her legs would not hold her, so she hobbled back to her desk and sat down with relief.  Blood pumped in her lower extremities and she could hear her heart in her ears.

The grad student raised her head, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth.  She caught Venice’s gaze across the room and smiled.  "Quiet in here,” she said.

“Yes,” Venice said, her hand slipping into her pants and touching her engorged clit.  She was already reminiscing, a coy smile on her trembling lips.  "Quiet.  Sure.“

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Vivid

Bree was going crazy.

Sanity wasn’t her strong suit anyway, but normally she could channel it into creativity or restless energy or, at the very least, a long, abusive hour at the gym.  But everything she tried failed to clear the cobwebs in her head.

She wasn’t even sure she could pin down why she felt like the world was spinning out of control.  It wasn’t: the bills were paid, the house was peaceful, and her husband was about to arrive home after what sounded like a good day at the office.  Still she found herself staring blankly into nothing for long moments, or trailing off while doing some essential task.

The makeup smear was the last straw.  Bree deposited herself on the couch, buried her face in her hands, and wept.  She cried until her head ached and her heart felt wrung out, then flopped over onto her cheek and stared at the blank TV screen until she drifted into a fitful nap.

A key in the front door brought her awake, though she was too groggy to rise.  She wondered if she should fix her inevitably disheveled appearance, maybe wipe off the makeup instead of adding to the new stain on the couch, but her energy level would not comply.  So she kept staring until her husband came into the living room to set his bag down.

Micah stood over her, bringing with him his special brand of deodorant, sweat and cool breath that drove Bree wild.  Her pussy tightened with familiarity and longing, but she could barely raise her head.

“What’s wrong, pet?”  Micah stretched out a hand and ruffled the hair sitting on her ear.  "Bad day?“

"No,” Bree said.

Micah waited a beat.  She heard the half-smile, the affectionate exasperation, in his tone.  "Then what?“

"I don’t know,” she said, sing-song.  "I hurt, kinda.  Nothing makes sense.  I’m tired but I can’t sleep.  If I were a hard drive I’d want you to reformat me.“

"But I like your partitions.”  He tickled the spot between her rib cage and her hip bone, and she managed to squirm.  Micah squatted down beside her head and kissed her forehead, brushing her hair away from her face.  "You’re THIN32.“  He made sure the capital letters were clear in his voice.

Despite everything, his playful voice reached out and tugged the corner of her mouth into a tiny smile.  "Kiss-ass,” she said, but didn’t mean it.

He took her hand.  "C’mon.“  A tug.  "C’mon!  I can’t reformat you without access to your slots.”

Bree oozed off the couch and flopped onto the floor, face in the carpet.  "Mmmph.“

"Bree.”  Firm, unwavering, invigorating.  "Get up.“

She obeyed, heaving herself to her feet and shooting a startled look at Micah.  He wasn’t the quietest person she knew by any means, and he loved to make nasty jokes and spin scathing commentary.  But it was mostly for his audience’s sake, and never in front of the people he was teasing.  And when it came down to it, he was kinder and more open than most people she knew. Right now, though, there was little trace of that in his voice; he was the consummate commander, leaving no room for questions.

But not quite, she thought as she twisted around the tight hallways and entered the bedroom.  Underneath it, I hear him loving me.

She sat down on the bed, turning around in time to see Micah walk in and close the door with a firm hand.  His golden-green eyes were steely.  "Hands and knees.  On the floor.  Now.”

“Micah,” she started, but he crossed the room in one stride and clapped his hand over her mouth, so tight that when she tried to suck in her breath, she was sealed by his salty skin.

“Enough.  Don’t speak again until I say.  Nod if you understand.”

Bree bobbed her head, searching his face.  The giver of orders.  The man she strove to please over all others.  His eyes burned into her.

“Good girl.”  The fire flickered and she knew she had nothing to fear, before the flames roared back and he shoved her away.  "Hands and knees.“

This time, she obeyed without hesitation.  She gripped the carpet with her fingers and ground her bony knees down, willing her back to straighten as Micah tugged her pants down to her calves.  In the reflection of the as-yet-unhung mirror sitting on the floor, she saw herself: silky hair wild about her face, makeup still smeared from sleep and tears, green eyes begging for sense to be made.

Sense asserted itself on her ass: Micah’s hand came down firmly across both cheeks, the slap resounding against the walls.  Bree quivered but did not cry out, pursing her lips together.  Micah brought his hand down again.  Again.  Until her whole ass pinkened and her wrists were trembling under the strain.  She maintained her silence, and for the first time that day, a gleam of triumph was born in her eyes.  She saw it in the mirror and found that she could draw a deeper breath.

Micah’s hands descended to the back of her neck and pulled her upright.  He held her suspended for a moment, looking her up and down with rough assertion of his ownership.  Bree was standing under her own power, but she felt like a kitten clenched, dangling, between the jaws of the lion.  It took a few blinks, but she steadied her chin and gazed back at him courageously.

At last, he nodded his approval and tossed her onto the bed.  She sprawled and lay without moving, trying not to wince at the lump of quilt digging into her back.  Micah retreated to the closet and rummaged around.  He returned momentarily with one of her bandannas in hand, rolled up to a tube.  He pushed the fabric between her lips and loosely knotted it behind her head.

"Now,” he said dangerously, right beside her ear, “not a sound.  On your knees again.”

Bree’s pussy was soaked; she felt a patch of cooled moisture on the quilt as she rolled over and presented Micah with her ass.  He made it tingle by running his fingers along the sensitive skin, and where he had slapped her harder, he bent to kiss.  Bree closed her eyes with every touch.  The coiled springs in her shoulders began to loosen.

He filled her without warning, grabbing her hipbones like handles and slamming into her.  Bree bit down on the gag with all her might; she was leaking natural lube, but she had not been prepared for the sensuous violence of his descent into her and his cock worried at the back wall of her pussy.  The pain was excruciatingly pleasurable.

Micah slapped her on the cheek and leaned over her to grab her chin and twist her face up and to the side.  "Look at me,“ he demanded, and Bree opened her eyes.  His was a conqueror’s face – her unstoppable Irish warrior, who never settled for no.  The sum of her fantasies washed over her, flushing her to an insatiable heat.  So often she had drifted into dreams dreaming of the highland soldier who came to take the peasant girl away.  She gave herself over to the minutiae of their coupling as he shoved her away and resumed his unquenchable thrusting:

His arms, thick with muscle, to protect and claim.  The hairs on his corded legs making her soft skin rage as they pressed together, together, together.  The chest that pillowed her when terror came in the night, always a barrel full of fervid love from which she was privileged to drink, now the impetus of his assertion over her.  She drooled around the bandanna and tears slipped down her face.  The bliss of powerlessness was unbearable.

He slapped her once on each cheek and she clenched.  His fingers closed around the knot of the bandanna and tugged her head up, up, back, leaning over so their faces were less than an inch away.

"Tell me,” he said, his voice shaking with the strain of keeping his orgasm at bay, “who you are.”

The question froze the scene.  His words were crystals, delicately suspended in the air.  They formed a bridge over the vast crevasse between her and clarity.

“Yours,” she breathed.

“Again,” he said.  They were still frozen, their words locked out of time.

“Yours,” she said, stronger this time.  "Your girl.  Your property.  Your slut, your servant, your lover.“

"Again!”  His forearms were shaking now, but he clamped her jaw in his palm.  His fingers squeezed down to the bone.

Tears came.  They were not the tears of earlier; those were self-pity and confusion.  These were tears of certainty, of purity, of a braid of emotions she did not care to define.

“I am yours,” Bree said as the world fell into place and time began again.

“Good girl,” Micah said, and he too let go.  "Now come.“

He arched his back and clenched his fists, disappearing into the higher plane of consciousness.  Bree tightened and followed suit, her hot juices spattering the bedding, mingling with his cum in and on and around her.  With his heat came a slow, overwhelming need to curl into him, be devoured by him.

Slowly they unfolded.  Micah kissed his way down her spine, lingering on each cheek of her reddened ass.  Bree let her head fall, her sweaty forehead against the quilt.  The exhaustion came flooding in, but her head was clear.

"Tell me,” Micah said, settling into the mattress beside her and untagling her hair with his fingers.  The conqueror was gone, replaced by the comforter.  "Do you understand?“

"Understand?”  The bridge he had just built her wobbled as she reached out to rest the tip of her finger on his nose.

He smiled.  "Understand why I did that.“

Bree nodded slowly.  "It’s a play on words, right?  You gave me orders.  But really, you gave me order.”  She scooted across the quilt until her lips were almost touching his.  "You make my world make sense, Micah.“

"You make my world worthwhile, Bree,” he said, and love made his eyes greener as he enfolded her in a hug that encompassed her entire world.

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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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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.“