e were in Valentino’s Bar, first date, third martini.It was going well so I told him how, as a kid, I used to fantasize about getting tied up by cowboys outside a saloon bar.In return, he told me when he was a kid, maybe slightly older, he used to think bondage involved two people tying themselves together. He’d thought it was like marriage but naughtier and more fun. If you did bondage with someone, it meant you loved them.“Kids,” I said. “So sweet.” “Yeah,” he said. “Not really.”A new year was starting, and we didn’t want to fall in love. When the snowdrops were pushing through, we brought a little light bondage into the bedroom, still shy like the flowers. His marriage had recently ended.He hadn’t come into his own yet. He kept twirling the emptiness on his finger where his wedding ring used to be. I was worried I might be his rebound.By the time the crocuses arrived, splashing yellow and purple across hard, blank ground, we’d moved on to more dangerous territory. He wou
Cleeeeeeeean!” I bellowed it. I was angry, but that was because I was hot. It was hotter than fuck, andI hate heat.“I am cleaning,” Mark said.I stood in the center of his workroom and stared. There was…stuff as far as the eye could see. Nails in baby-food jars, loops of rope, screws, hammers, sand- paper. There was a crab bushel full of electrical wire and it appeared to be severed at both ends. Both. Ends. What the fuck was that for?“This is not clean,” I whispered. “This is an episode of one of those shows about people who hoard,” I growled. But I pressed my ass to his workbench and tried to catch my breath. It might be insanely cluttered, but at least it was cool. No wonder this was his man lair.I fanned myself and looked around some more. Men’s magazines, cigar boxes full of god knew what. Jars, hinges and three clocks. Three.“Everything here has a purpose, either presently or in the future,” Mark chuckled, opening his mini-fridge. He popped a wheat beer and took a heft
There you go,” Joe said, and in nearly the same instant, the television flickered on. A peppy blonde was onscreen swearing that “you at home” could make a gourmet meal with everyday ingredients found in a typical kitchen. I couldn’t pay attention to her delec- table spread, however, because my eyes were currently feasting on the sliver of fuchsia satin that was peekingout of the waistband of Joe’s jeans.Joe was on his hands and knees, with his head buried behind the set, as he explained that a couple of cables had popped loose. I blinked my eyes, wondering if I was dreaming. Nope—still there. Those were undeniably panties. No man’s underwear could be that shiny and sleek and pink.Joe’s a strong, six-foot-two guy who plays rugby onthe weekends. His well-muscled frame is the epitome of masculinity, and was the number-one reason I couldn’t take my eyes off of him when we’d met a few weeks ago. But the fact that he had this kinky secret—this softer, sensual side—thrilled me in an i
My day had been utter shit. From spilling coffee all over myself during my walk to the office to getting yelled at about something out of my control, it was nothing but frustration. I walked through the front door of my apartment, kicked off my shoes and exhaled deeply for the first time in nine hours. Just after I finished pouring myself a full glass of red, I heard the front doorand smiled. “Hello?”“Hey,” I called back. “In the kitchen. Want a glass of wine?”“God, yes,” Olivia said, walking around the corner. I handed her a glass and she leaned in, her soft lips melting against mine. When she pulled back, I laughed at the way our lipstick blended together; the contrast ofmy light pink with her deeper red had turned into an interesting swirl on her mouth.“How was your day?” she asked, eyes fixed on my lips. I wondered if she wanted another kiss or was having the same thoughts about our makeup.“Long. Yours?”“Eh. It was fine.” She shrugged then walked behind me to rub my s
he air smells clean and sharp like minerals, tastes like new snow eaten from a mitten. I can hear carsup on the road above the river, but we are alone down here in the alders and scrub. Wet ferns are brushing my fingertips. I touch them back, wanting. Always wanting. My breath is coming out in little puffs while he fingers my zipper and reaches down the back of my jeans to squeeze my ass. The breeze is cool, but the sun is warm on my face and heats a little triangle on my chest that is exposed when my boy pulls off my jacket and reaches up inside my silk thermal shirt to pinch a hard nipple. The moss is bright green. The leaves are gold, bronze and yellow. A little snow has dusted the distant hills. It could be autumn, or maybe it’s winter or early spring. I don’t care. It’s not raining. I am outside and the river issinging as it curls around the bend and froths and pools against basalt boulders.We were driving along scouting for wild mushrooms, singing along to the radio, drinki
I’ve just hitched up my skirt. I’m kneeling and the hem is up at my buttocks, almost exposing them, but not quite. The familiar tingling anticipation sweeps over my flesh as I part my thighs, just a little, and lift one of the implements laid out before me. I always start with the smallest—the finest. I hold my breath and close my eyes, letting my head fall back, jaw slack, in the pose that signifies the begin- ning of my ritual. I run the tip of the long, fine shaft up the inside of my thigh, swirling and sweeping as I go, imagining the pattern it makes on my skin. My hand is shaking and the hairs on the back of my neck bristle in delight. If you really concentrate on your body, you can feel which nerve endings are connected. For example, if you arouse or tickle the tiny fine hairs just at the corner of your mouth, it sends a tingling sensation to the inside of your elbow—if you follow the line and sweep just there, you can trace a path all the way to the heavenly dip and peak of
It was the fourth time we’d had sex. Each time before, when we were done, she rushed to cover her breasts with the blankets as I reached over to turn on the night- stand lamp and to get my after-sex cigarette and the ashtray. I’d finish my cigarette and head to the bathroom.When I returned, her men’s tank top was back on.The first time we were together, I begged for her breasts to come out and play. Her luscious, hot-as-hell DDDs. It was obvious that she was not going to free them on her own, but her protest was weak, a “No,” that whispered, Keep working me and I’ll give in. I want to give in.She didn’t like her breasts because they “weren’t butch,” she said. Because they presented her curvy female body to everyone she met.COME TO THE LIGHT195Oh, but they were butch. Sade just didn’t think the words butch and breasts belonged together. I, however, thought they were a match made in heaven.It’s no secret that I’m a breast woman. But butch breasts are a special type. Breasts b
The storm wakes me. The heavy weather has finally broken and brought with it fresh relief. I slide out of bed and sit behind the curtains. The window seat surrounds me, a little box of moonlight and flickering lightning. Thunder rolls the pouring rain from the clouds and I can see it spitting and bouncing on the street, when the moonlight allows. I grow cold, nipples stiff, shoulders shivery. But I don’t go back to bed. The street is deserted, all cats and foxes sheltering from the storm. The room lies dark behind the thick curtains. This is the witching hour. I hear the sheets move at the stir of a body. The bed creaks, feet pad close. The curtains pull aside, open to the dark and the warmth of the room. Of him—bed and sleep heated. I know that smell well; so many nights I’ve lain beside his sleeping figure and inhaled the air he exudes in sleep. Heat and sweat and sweetness, redolent of the weight of dreams. He slips in beside me, letting the dark into my little light hidey-hole.
I have about an hour to kill before I can go back to Eva. Walking this town from end to end would take all of ten minutes. I pause at the wine-tasting room, but there are too many tourists inside. Besides I’ll have to make the usual inane chitchat with one of the hospi- tality staff. “Is this your first visit to the Wine Country?” she’ll say, chipper as a Girl Scout. “Actually, my wife and I come up from San Francisco a few times a year, but not for the wine. We like to play our kinky Dom-sub sex game in your local country inn. Would you care to join us tonight?” I smile as I continue on down the street. If only it were that easy. Of course, bringing back another woman might be pushing Eva a little too far. This time. I pass a quaint tavern—everything is quaint here— and peek inside. Dim lighting, a few customers perched at the bar. Perfect. I take a table in a shadowy corner and order a glass of Frank Family Cabernet. You can’t get that by the glass in the city. The wine is deli
There’s an indeterminate span of time between asleep and awake. Those bleary moments, waves of thought washing over us as we struggle to gain or lose conscious- ness. Where dreams blur with reality, taking on aspectsand influence from each other.The shriek of an alarm clock is translated into the cries of some prehistoric flying creature chasing us through Elysian Fields. The scent of bacon spurs a vivid scenario of gorging ourselves on anything and every- thing within sight.The slow, rhythmic thrusts of a cock between swollen labia elicits dreams of multiple members in multiple orifices.This is how I awaken; gradually, with the dawning realization that at least one turgid member from myreveries is truly flesh and blood. Sliding between my thighs from behind as I lie on my side, body curled into the blankets surrounding me. A hand, presumably accompanying the penis in its adventures, is trailing feather soft over the curve of my breasts, fingers occa- sionally tweaking my nip
Let me tie you up?” he asked me, holding up the ropes so I could see them. At first I couldn’t take my eyes off them; they were slim and white and gorgeous. They were looped over one another and tied off beautifully in lengths with colored ends, so he could keep the lengths separate. I must have stared at those ropes in his hand for half a minute before I brought my eyes back to his and saw the wicked joy in them. Peter’s smile broadened to a grin. His blue eyes brightened. He knew he had me. He was fully dressed, and I was naked—very, very naked. I’d just gotten out of the shower, and I’d been thinking about him in there—thinking about what we might do when I got out of the shower and Peter took me to bed. I was already very turned on. He could see everything he wanted to see, I real- ized—in exquisite detail never before revealed. I’d just shaved, so he could see my sex. He could see the hot flush of arousal through my breasts and my face, see the stiffening of my nipples that
Ten more minutes, I thought, glancing around the carnival. Ten minutes and then I can get out of this nightmare and go for a drink. I hauled one of the milk cartons up in front of me, and began stacking the plastic rings from the Ring Toss. This was the last year I’d volunteered for the games. Next year, I’ll sell tickets or something that doesn’t involve snotty kids screaming because they didn’t win a plastic frog. The sky was several shades of amber in the wake of the setting sun. I loved summer. And despite the disaster of this year’s Ring Toss, I always looked forward to the annual Shriners Carnival. I always volunteered. The money went toward revitalizing the parks and play- grounds in the area, places I used to go to when I was a child. Every year held surprises, from the old friends who came back for the night, to the local celebrities who turned up in support. Last year, we had an Emmy Award winner perform an impromptu concert. This year, my surprise was the very reason I ne
It’s not much fun giving a blow job,” Taryn remarks over the noisy gush of heat hitting my hair. “AlthoughI think every lesbian feels that way, don’t you?”“Only if they can speak from experience,” I reply, wincing as Taryn continues to torture my tresses. Taryn winces, too—for an entirely different reason. “And I seri- ously doubt that the judges are going to inquire about my sex life, oral or otherwise, during the interview.”“Agreed.” She puts down the blow-dryer and picks up a hairbrush. “A better question would be: why did you get involved in beauty pageants?”I smirk. The answer is out of the question. I got involved in beauty pageants because I wanted to meet girls. I could care less about the sash or the cash or the crown that glitters like a dinner plate in an advertisementfor dishwashing soap. That doesn’t mean I don’t take pageantry seriously. It just means that I’m not in it to win it.I used to think pageants were sideshows, populated with aspiring anchorwomen who
Ihate being here.I hate sleeping in this bed, Clark’s marriage bed,sleeping on his wife’s side while she’s away on business and waking up face-to-face with the knickknacks and nail polish on her bedside table.And the baby oil! Why wouldn’t Clark have put that away before I came? Why the hell would I want to be reminded that he has sex with her too? More puzzlingly, why do I jump at every opportunity to stay the night?Well, that question has an easy answer: it’s the wake- up call that keeps me coming back. It’s his arms circling my body before the sun comes up, when I’m still warm with sleep. He kisses my shoulder, walks his fingers down my belly, and I’m sold. I’ll put up with any amount of heartache if it means getting fucked first thing in themorning.My pussy’s never wet when he finds it, so Clark burrows under the covers to turn me on in the most effi- cient way possible. Spreading my legs, he situates himself between them and dives at the apex of my thighs. I don’t know
Jason left for work the same way he always did, but instead of following his normal routine he came home two hours later and slipped back into the house.Sneaking through his own house like a criminal felt absurd, but he did it anyway.When his best friend told him he thought their wives were more than just friends Jason hadn’t believed it. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. So when Rose told him that Miranda was coming over that day to help her in the garden he knew what he had to do.As he creeps upstairs, he hears soft voices and sees that the bedroom door has been left ajar. He leans forward until he can see into the room. And there they are, Rose and Miranda together in bed.Jason watches them. He can’t help but appreciate how beautiful Rose is like this, her head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open. Sure, he’s seen her like this before, but it’s not the same when he’s the one moving above her, when he’s focused on what he’s doing, what he’s feeling.Now he can j
Renata climbs the stairs from the dungeon, brushes aside the leather curtain, and looks around. Tonight she doesn’t need a fancy station. She only needs a quietcorner and a chair. This room will do nicely.She takes a seat against the wall. Like a lioness crouched by a watering hole, she watches the snack table across the room. People come, people go. Then her patience pays off. Vicki’s red latex minidress and stiletto ankle boots identify her. She’s trying to drink a Coke with one hand while holding a chocolate-chip cookie with the other. It’s awkward with the cuffs. Renata strides over and presses herself against Vicki’s back.“When’s your break over?” “Now.” Vicki lowers her snack. “Good. Keep the cookie.”A hand on Vicki’s biceps, Renata propels her across the room. Vicki’s ass and boobs jiggle under the low-cut latex. The ankle cuffs mean she has to shuffle quickly to keep up. By the time they get to Renata’s chair, Vicki’s breathing hard.Renata drops Vicki’s arm and sits,
He was young and his cock was as hard as a steel rod. No foreplay was necessary. He took off his clothes and, bang: hard and ready. Not like your sad, little caged protuberance. I can’t imagine you were ever like that, were you?” She shook her head in mock sadness as she gazed at Bob. He knelt, naked, with the exception of the chastity device affixed to his cock andballs. He yawned, silently. “Does this bore you?”“Sorry, Ma’am.” It wasn’t so much that it was boring, it was that it was just stories. He needed more.“And then today, at lunch, I seduced a UPS guy. All tan and muscles, he looked great in his uniform shorts but he looked even better out of them. Nine-inch cock, at a minimum. Straight and thick. And boy could he eat.Someone had trained that boy well. I had three orgasms before we even got to the actual fucking. I thought about you—stuck here, cleaning the bathroom or the kitchen or whatever it was you were doing.”“Look, Barbara,” Bob stood up. “I just don’t think th