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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.

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Alley-Oops

Becca’s foot tapped impatiently as she waited near the gym entrance.  No sign of her brother, or any of the rest of the team, for that matter.  It was annoying enough to have to ferry Victor and his friend Luke around to and from basketball practice during her winter break, but when they disappeared to snog the high school girls, it was that much worse.

Another five minutes passed.  Becca fiddled with her boxy phone and sighed.  She had given them the fifteen minute warning thirty minutes ago, with no text in response.  Drastic measures would have to be taken.

She strode across the court, her street shoes squeaking.  At the other end, the door to the locker room hallway was propped open with a brick.  She peered in, but there was no gender designation here, so she slipped inside.  "Victor?  Luke?“ she called softly as she crept down the hall, her fingertips brushing the rough bricks.

A shadow loomed in a dimly-lit doorway ahead, and she started.  "Hey, someone there?”  She tried to keep her voice from wavering, but it was impossible, as spooky as the drippy pipes and abandoned yet echoing passages were.

The shadow shrank and then a tall, lanky man-boy peered around the corner, half-hiding his face and wry grin.  "Hey, Becca.“

"Oh.  Luke.”  Becca put her hand to her heart.  "Thank god it’s you.  Fucking creepy place.“

"Come on in,” Luke said, gesturing her into the doorway and vanishing.

She hesitated.  "Isn’t that the boys’ – “

"It’s just me,” Luke called back, still out of sight, his voice betraying broad sweeps of movement.  "Victor’s off with Fenny.“  Becca rolled her eyes; her brother had a string of awkward, messy high school girls, and Fenny was the latest whack job.  With a last glance over her shoulder – because convention was convention, after all – she entered the boys’ locker room.

Luke was buck naked, still dripping from his shower, his impressive cock hinting upward and a confident grin pointed at Becca.  She blushed furiously and covered her eyes with her hand, leaving enough space between the fingers to stare.  "Luke!  What the hell?”

She was four years his senior and still had to admit that, standing posed like that, he cut a more impressive figure than any of her peers.  He kept smirking.  "Isn’t this why you came back here?“

"I – no!  No, of course not, I’m seriously just trying to leave.”  With each word, the gaps between her fingers widened until finally she just dropped her hand.  "Homework.  Due.  Sometime.“

He seemed to swirl something around in his mouth, finally deeming it worthy of voicing: "It’s not gonna suck itself.”

“Honestly!” Becca almost shrieked, but then she caught herself.  Not that she could ever admit it, but – she had harbored a secret crush on Luke since they’d met, when he was a precocious but soft-spoken thirteen-year-old as tall as she was at seventeen.  Her throat bobbed.  "Are you sure,“ she said in a tiny voice, "that Victor isn’t here?”

“Positive.”  He rested his hands on his bare ass.  "Pretty please?  I’ve always seen you staring.“

Again, she swallowed hard, her gaze drifting down to his slowly awakening manhood, and then she made up her mind.  Summoning all the huffiness she could, she plopped down on her knees on the rubber mat and cupped him in both hands.

"This is for that three-pointer,” she said, and took him between her lips.  He gasped and jerked, but she held him still.  "And this,“ she said, pulling away and grinning up at him, "is for being a cheeky little bastard.”  She nibbled down the length of him and he hardened so quickly she was afraid he would come before she’d had enough time to make it worth his while.

“Control thyself,” she chuckled, and went back to work.

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The Kids’ Table

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

Except for his cousin Louisa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Bid

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

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

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

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

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

Laurie held his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He skipped on down the row.

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Sparks on the Line

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He waited the appropriate amount of beats.

“Get out,” he said.

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

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Apocalips

The oceans were boiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Robot Uprising

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make my pleasure modules sing, BITCH.”

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

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Rainbow Roll

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Closing Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday, bud.  Have one on us.

It was signed by bar owner and his coworkers.

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

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An Unusual Weapon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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