Downpour

It was a hell of a surprise, you know.

I tend to take my showers in the mornings, and of course (since you generally sleep like a rock and have to be dragged out of bed even when it's noon already) you generally don't even know about it until I've finished and am already drying off. So it was one hell of a shock when I shut the spray off and was busily lathering myself, getting all slick and slippery, and turned around to see you watching me from around the corner of the doorway.

I might have twitched violently. Might even have jumped backwards in shock and cracked my head against the wall. I'd never admit to that, of course. But I was startled, and that must have been fairly obvious from your fit of giggles. "Oh my," you said, grinning. "Did I scare you?"

The look on my face must have made any reply unnecessary. "Well, let's see if I can make it up to you," you said, and came the rest of the way into the room, and I saw that you were as naked as I. There was another surprise -- I don't see you walking around without clothes much, because you know it's bound to result in me pouncing, every single time -- but I had no time to worry about hows or whys, seeing you sashay across the tile floor, breasts swaying, licking your lips. I felt my cock twitch -- it was already semi-hard from when I'd been lathering up and stroking myself a bit -- and then it wilted a little when you opened the shower door and the colder air rushed in. "Aack! That's cold!" I complained, and you put a finger to my lips. "Shush. No talky now. Is time for the sexings."

Well, now. How could I possibly complain about that? Not for the first time, I reflected how lucky I was, as you leaned forward, rubbing yourself against me, getting yourself wet and soapy as well. "Not enough," you decided, and turned on the shower again. Hot water blasted over both of us, rinsing some of the suds down between us, but only long enough to get you all wet and shiny. You shut the spray off again, then took the shower gel and poured a generous helping all over your tits. "Get me nice and clean, baby?" you begged in a little-girl voice, and wow! did that ever turn my crank. Far be it from me to refuse a lady's request, so of course I had to start fondling and squeezing and soaping those lovely breasts, my hands running all over your torso, getting you all lathered and slick. You moaned and your own hands went to work, running up and down my body as well, encouraging my cock to rise again, working up plenty more lather to replace whatever had been rinsed away by the brief spray.

You slid your hands lower, wrapping them quite firmly around my cock. "My favorite toy," you breathed, and began to stroke me in a steady, insistent rhythm that left no doubt about the eventual end. My breath was already coming fast at the novelty of the whole situation and I still couldn't quite believe I was here, with a hot woman in the shower squeezing and stroking my soapy cock, rubbing herself against me, suds all over her and dripping slowly down her body.

Suddenly you knelt in front of me. Not for the first time I was grateful for that nice soft shower mat. I thought at first you were going to take me in your mouth, and opened my own mouth to protest -- I might want to wash your mouth out, but not with soap -- but then realized immediately you had something else in mind. You leaned forward and wrapped both of those tits around my cock, sliding me up and down, in and out of that magnificent valley. I groaned with lust. The sensation was indescribable. Slithering and slipping, hardness wrapped by softness. I closed my eyes and leaned back, and heard a quiet but firm "No" from you; opening my eyes again, I saw that impish grin you do so well. "No," you repeated. "I want you to see me titty-fucking you. I want you to see me getting you off. I want you to watch as you paint my tits with your cum."

You licked your lips, and increased your pace, squeezing together more tightly around my heated cock. "And baby, I want it now."

I moaned your name, my legs and torso tingling. It felt like electricity was running along every nerve ending, starting at my head and feet and being drawn downward and upward towards my center, my whole existence funnelling inward to the sensation of my cock sliding between your tits. I felt myself begin to tremble, and my breath grew more ragged. "Oh," I moaned, and you moaned back. "Yes, baby. That's it. Come for me. Come on  me. Squirt that hot cum between my soapy tits. I need some good skin cream." You speeded up just a bit more, eyes still locked on mine, mischief dancing in their depths. "Be a good boy and come for me, lover. I want it now."

I gasped and shook and shouted your name as I blasted off without any warning at all. It hit me like a highballing freight train, pleasure exploding all through me even as I exploded between your tits. My cum mixed with the suds and water and lather, creating a hot, sticky mess which you promptly began rubbing all over yourself. When I had no more to give, you wrapped your hands around me and stroked upward, milking a last few drops out to land on the tips of your nipples.

"Good boy," you said softly. And turned on the shower again, and the hot water poured over us, washing some of the sticky mess down between us, but doing nothing to dampen my arousal. Somehow, I was still hard. I reached for your hand, and pulled you to your feet, and you grinned, and hooked a leg around my ass, spreading yourself for me. Hot, you were so hot, slick with excitement, slick with suds, slick with sweat. I slid into you and you moaned and I moaned and you leaned back against the wall, bracing yourself, readying yourself for the invasion, awaiting the pounding we both knew we needed now, fitting yourself to me with practiced skill and lustful, hungry hoyden joy.

Soon we would need another cleanup period. Hazily, rocking in and out of you with hard sharp thrusts, I wondered if we would even make it out of the shower at all today.

Flash Fiction Friday 5-25-12: "Auto-Eroticism"

(Source image: "Hillary" by Bradley Thurber)

The rain was slashing sheets across the windows of my Chevy. The engine ticked, cooling. Jazz played softly on the radio, the players noodling around, no particular destination in mind. The scent of the leather seats was strong.

"So," she said, looking at me calmly. "How long's it going to be?"

"Before what?"

"Before you make your move, you adorable idiot. You knew we wouldn't see anything up here, not with it raining like this."

"Um. Well, I....."

"Oh, shut up." She leaned towards me...and kept leaning, down into my lap. Her fingers worked quickly at my zipper and in a twinkling, she had me in her mouth. I groaned, and my hands wound into her glossy black hair.

She looked up and grinned at me, letting me slip free. "That's better," she breathed.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 100-135 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...the scent of [noun]..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

I've always wanted to have sex in a car, but none of my partners has ever been interested. Maybe some day. I looked at the gamin grin on this girl's face, and the rest of the scenario fell into place effortlessly: a rainy night, parked on a secluded embankment high above the city, soft jazz on the radio, and some steamed-up windows. Mmmmm. Delicious...particularly if your partner happens to be as bold as this one appears to be. Please, no references to "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights".

If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 4-29-11: "A Stolen Kiss is Sweetest"

(Source: Untitled image by Will Santillo)

God, why did I let myself be dragged into this? Liz thought. She scanned the room, looking for someone, anyone, who had two brain cells to rub together. These people are like a flock of chattering magpies. Lots of noise, not a damn thing to say. And I'm too hot and this wine is terrible and that music is crap and god, I hate this.

And then her eyes fell on Adele, and Adele turned and stared back, pinned Liz to the wall with that searing gaze, ignited her from crown to toes. And Adele smiled a long slow smile, and mouthed one word: “Bathroom”.

And Liz stumbled robotically towards the bathroom, heart hammering, breath already coming hard and fast. How does she do this to me every single time? she wondered.

And Adele followed, the lock clicking behind her. She advanced, bearing Liz back, Liz's mouth opening to accept Adele's hot tongue, feeling Adele's hands ripping her blouse open, wanting Adele's nipping teeth on her hard nipples, Adele's fingers buried in her pussy, wanting Adele, all of her.

Adele pulled back, grinning. “My lovely, lovely Liz,” she purred. “I have something for you.”

And Liz's eyes went wide as Adele opened her slacks to reveal the biggest strap-on Liz had ever seen. She shuddered, and spread her legs. “Oh yes, baby,” she moaned. “Now.”

“Right now,” Adele agreed, and thrust hard.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 120-240 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...hard and fast..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

I'm always curious about lesbian and gay relationships. I've read a lot of stuff that indicates one of the pair usually plays a dominant role, "playing the guy" if you will. Adele and Liz are my attempt to play out that kind of dynamic. I kind of wish I had more room to develop these two, and may do so later on. I picture Liz as the academic, intellectual type, possibly a scholar or an art gallery owner, overtly feminine but hiding her sexual appetite from the world. Adele I see as head of her own business firm, the kind of woman who dresses in business suits and wears her hair short, looking like something out of a Patrick Nagel print, knowing that people call her "butch" and not giving a damn about it. I imagine that she met Liz at her gallery and immediately moved in, knowing that Liz wanted someone to guide and teach her, finding to her surprise that Liz was enthusiastic and very unlike the drab personality she presented to the world.

In any case, I found this picture delightful, a moment of pure passion between two people who are obviously very much into each other. Lust? Love? Infatuation? Or just a power exchange? It seemed it could be interpreted lots of different ways. I think it's all of those, for these two. And I think it's hot as hell. I hope you enjoyed the pic and challenge this week.

Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 12-24-10: "A Holly Jolly Christmas"

(Artwork above is from a 70s Playboy cover by Haddon Sundblom, who is rather more well known for his other Christmas art.)

Christmas Eve, and Santa was more stressed than he'd been in months. Lists to check (twice), an elf rebellion to quell (the little buggers had gotten into the egg nog and were refusing to finish up the last few toys), last-minute transportation arrangements to handle (Rudolph, usually reliable, had been found dead drunk in a snowbank, muttering something about being a misfit). Santa wished grimly for a drink, and went back to rechecking the "naughty" list.

"Awwww. Is Papa all stressed out?" he heard from behind him.

Turning, he beheld a vision. A Christmas hat cocked at a jaunty angle. Golden hair framing an angelic -- no, make that a devilish smile. And the shortest red robe he'd ever seen. Not to mention the spectacular body it was just barely hiding.

"Here," she cooed. "Let me take care of that." And she spread her robe like she was unwrapping a gift.

Ten minutes later, Santa was feeling much more jolly. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" he boomed cheerfully. "I've gotten my present; time to get all the good girls and boys their presents too!

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Claus," she grinned.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus," he replied, and kissed her tenderly.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 121-199 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...unwrapping a gift..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class). 

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

This was partially inspired by Jimmy Buffett's highly amusing island-flavored Christmas tune "Ho Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum" (listen to it on Youtube here; lyrics are here if you really have trouble figuring them out). Who has more reason to be stressed during the Christmas season than Santa himself? I mean, the number of things he has to keep track of must be just ridiculous. And aside from the odd household that leaves out cookies and milk for him, how many people ever say thanks? I like to think that Santa's wife does what she can to help keep him unstressed, and I also like to think that someone who's that cheerful must have a very happy and very active sex life. So I wrote a little piece where Santa gets a nice bout of happy holiday sex from his loving wife and the problems he's dealing with just melt away. If you don't like that, well, humbug to you. :)

Eagle-eyed readers, or at least readers with the same exposure to children's TV specials, may also have noted the tip of the hat to the old Rankin-Bass animated "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" holiday special, both in the title and in the piece itself. I will never tire of watching that; there are so many happy memories associated with it. I never thought Rudolph was a misfit, but then that may just be because I was something of a weird misfit myself, growing up. And "Papa" is just what Mrs. Claus calls Santa in that special; there's no Santa-daughter incest going on here. :)

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! 

Please note that there is no participants list this week as I am traveling for personal and business reasons and have limited access to email and to Blogger. I hope you enjoyed this week's pic and challenge. Check back here on Monday for the next challenge, and if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

What She Wants

She knelt before me, ebony skin gleaming in the candlelight. Her lips worked with slow passion on my straining cock, fingers squeezing at the base of my testicles. She felt me quiver, and pulled my rod free with a wet popping sound. "Paint me," she said simply.

I raised an eyebrow. "You said what?"

"Paint me," she said again. "You've done my portrait enough times, and I loved what I saw. Now I want something different."

She turned her face up, cupped her breasts with her hands, squeezing and lifting them. "Here's your canvas, artist. Paint me."

Moaning softly, I began working my cock feverishly. I'd been so close to the brink when she stopped that it wasn't long before I was near explosion again. Her gaze moved ceaselessly from my face to my hand on my shaft and back to my face again. She began murmuring softly, encouraging. "Come on, baby. Splash me with your love. Give me that creamy white load all over my tits. I want your Titanium White dripping down my body, coating my face. Mix your palette on me, swirl that pearlescence around. Paint me with your brush. Paint me with your cum. Do it now! Now!"

Throat locked and straining, I did as directed. A thick, splattering jet burst out of my cock and onto her upturned face. She opened her mouth to catch the next spray, which shot down her throat with such force she nearly choked. Recovering, she thrust her shoulders back and raised her tits once more, catching the next few spurts, pearly white splashes landing on that dark, dark skin in an almost-shocking contrast. Growling deep in my throat, I kept pumping my shaft, shaping and squeezing each spurt, making her my canvas, turning her into the painting she'd requested.

Eventually I ran dry and surveyed the damage. My glistening cum ran in rivulets from the corners of her mouth, dripped from her chin, collected in the hollow between her breasts, trickled in thin streams around her nipples, pooled in thin splashes and splatters and droplets from chin to navel. She looked at me calmly, not saying anything.

Trying to catch my breath, I strode to the nearby workbench and grabbed my camera. A turn, a click, and this artwork was frozen forever in celluloid. The flash of her white teeth in the darkness of that face outshone even the glittering silver-white strands I'd painted her with. Very contented, that smile.

I offered her a towel and she shook her head. Her hands moved in slow, sensuous circles over her body, without haste, smearing my cum to a thin glaze, spreading it. She dipped a finger into the deep pool on one breast and drew slow spirals down to her nipple. Dipped another finger and tasted, then sighed in deep satisfaction.

"I may not know about art, but I know what I like," she murmured, hands still moving lazily, lazily, nipples now standing proud and tall. I couldn't bear it and leaned over for a taste, my own scent sharp in my nostrils, coloring my sensations with the salt tang of my own cum. She moaned softly as my mouth closed over her nipple, and her hands went to my cock, a paintbrush still dripping with its last glaze. "So glad I joined your life drawing class."

I couldn't help but agree.

-- PB

Welcome Home

On my way home, be there in twenty minutes, he typed, and hit Send. A few seconds later, his phone went queep and displayed her reply: Great! I'll be waiting for you.

She always did wait for him, he thought. Wonderfully patient, remarkably even-tempered, wholly understanding. He really didn't deserve her. But she sure as hell was a nice reward to come home to after a show. He could see her clear as day -- that pixie smile, that saucy wink, that come-hither motion of her fingers. He didn't know what it was that kept her so keyed up as a general rule, but he'd stopped questioning that long ago.

Twenty minutes later he pulled the GT-R into their slot in the underground garage and got out, stretching with a pop and crackle of overtired muscles and sinews. Right-ho. Time for a drink, a bath, dinner, and bed. Not necessarily in that order, he thought with a sardonic grin, twisting the key in the elevator and dropping his duffel bag wearily on the floor.

The elevator bell binged on the sixtieth floor and he emerged into their living room. "Hon?" he called, looking about and failing to find her. "Where're you at?"

"In here," her voice floated back to him, out of the kitchen. "Come and get me."

Well, well. It sounded like she was up to her usual tricks. He sniffed, and caught some wonderfully pungent aromas in the air. Garlic and other indefinable spices danced tantalizingly over his tongue as he tasted the scent experimentally. She must be making spaghetti bolognese. Wait a second, why am I thinking about what she's making for dinner? I want her for dinner.

He strolled amiably into the kitchen and stopped dead as he beheld a vision: she was bent over the counter, stirring a pot on the stove -- that must be the sauce, he thought dimly -- and moving slowly from side to side in time with the music drifting from their iPod dock. Not a stitch of clothing did she wear, save the apron tied round her waist, already spattered with a few splats of sauce. Her ass, which he always found maddeningly desirable at the best of times, practically screamed for him to come up and grab. Her breasts, too, seemed to be reveling in their freedom, hanging low and heavy like wonderfully ripe fruits.

In two steps he'd crossed the kitchen and was upon her, his arms going round her waist and pulling her hard against him. The ladle she held clunked into the pot and she moaned, "Oh yes. Yeah, baby, do you like what you see?" She wiggled back against him and her ass brushed against his groin. "Oooo. I can feel something likes what it sees." She straightened a bit and pulled his hands upward to her tits; he accepted the invitation, squeezing gently and feeling the nipples already hardening against his palms. "All night I've been waiting for you to get home. I've been simmering dinner on the stove; it'll be ready in a little while. But I've been doing some simmering of my own, and I'm ready now."

He could tell she was, too. He kept one hand at work on her breasts, squeezing and caressing, teasing those nipples into hard nubs just perfect for his fingers to tweak and roll. The other hand slipped lower, underneath the apron, down between her legs. She spread them wider, purring happily, as his exploring fingers found her hot and wet slit. He slipped two fingers inside and she shivered against him. She reached one hand back and grabbed one of his belt loops, pulling him against her. He growled low in his throat as his rapidly hardening cock caught in the folds of his boxers, and rubbed his crotch against her ass, his fingers now stroking inside her, soaked in her wetness.

He pulled his dripping fingers free and used them to lube up her nipples for some more twisting and tweaking play; she shuddered and gasped, and threw her head back. He buried his face in that ash-blonde darkness, his hands now fumbling with the button of his fly. "Yeah," he heard her whimper, and heard squelching sounds through the curtain of her hair -- she was very obviously playing with herself now while he struggled to get his cock free.

"Damn, what a slut you are," he growled, mock-sternly, and heard her fingers actually speeding up as she nodded her head frantically. "Oh yeah," she moaned. "Your slut. Do your little slut, baby. Do me now."

"Hate to keep a lady waiting," he agreed, and began rubbing his cock up and down her slit. With every delicious second of friction he could feel her dripping more and more onto him; in seconds his entire length was soaked, looking as if it'd been dipped in honey. Well, he guessed it had, in a manner of speaking. But there was far sweeter honey to be found. He angled, pushed, twisted; she wriggled, pointing her hips back and lifting one leg up, and suddenly he slipped into her. Both of them moaned loudly, he falling forward on her, she rising up beneath him. He bit her shoulder to stifle a scream as her cunt rippled around him. She was more than ready, he could tell -- she was practically there already. He started a hard rhythm, no time for niceties, his cock making wet delicious sounds as he thrust rapidly in and out of her. His hands went around her and began fondling her tits again; he used them as leverage to pull her upright so she was no longer folded over the counter, instead being nearly pressed against him.

"This is what I wanted all night," she moaned, writhing against him, hips thudding back against him, her cunt clenching his cock. Her hands grabbed the lower edge of the cabinet and clung there, bracing her, steadying her. "Missed you so. Fucked myself three times earlier tonight, watching some porn. But it's never good enough. Had to have you."

"Good," he grunted, thrusting hard, one hand sliding lower to her pussy. "Hate to think you'd found a replacement for me after only a day." She emitted an high wordless squeal as he began rubbing rudely at her clit, and she arched her back, pushing her tits harder into his upper hand. "Squeeze them," she moaned, pushing back harder against him. "Finger me. Oh, god, ring my fucking bell and fuck me. Harder, you bastard. Harder!"

He didn't know whether she meant for him to rub her clit harder or to thrust into her harder, so with a growling moan he started doing both. He ground his fingertips over her clit in short, quick circles, continuing to piston his cock in and out of her. His thighs and calves were starting to burn now, his belly and groin starting to smart from the smack smack smack of his body slapping hard against her soft ass -- even with a cushion that soft, things were bound to get a little red at this speed. She didn't seem to care, though, still moaning uncontrollably, pushing herself back against him, her arms trembling now. And he didn't give a damn either -- all of a sudden the only thing that mattered was coming inside her as soon as humanly fucking possible.

"No endurance record this time, my dear," he gasped, and she moaned back, "I don't care, lover. I want that cum and I want it now. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you give me a big load? Ohhh, I bet you can. I bet your balls are just churning right now. Come on, baby. Give me that nice big -- ooooooooooohhhh!!!" She squealed in delight as he began spurting inside her, his hand on her breasts clenching almost painfully tight, his fingers on her clit spasming over her nub in a stuttering rhythm. She ground her hips against him, got a bit more friction, and promptly began to come herself, throwing her head from side to side and moaning almost incoherently "yes.....yes......yes".

He thrust home one last time, almost lifting her off the ground, and then pulled back, down, out of her, leaning forward, resting his weight on her. Both arms tightened around her middle, and hers folded over his.

"God, I love you," he whispered to her. He heard her purr happily. "I love you too, hon," she whispered back.

-- PB

Three A.M. Surprise

He clicked off the PC's power button and glanced at his watch. 2:48. Great, he thought, another night killed by work. I won't deny that six figures is nice, but just once it'd be nice to throw this fucking pager into the nearest lake.

Stretching, he stood and wandered through the silent apartment, plodding upstairs to bed, his mind fuzzy, eyes sandy, neck aching. He shivered, a chill scurrying down his neck. Maybe we should have turned on the heat tonight. He resolved to get under the covers as quickly as he could. He noted sadly that she was a silent lump on her side of the bed, and smiled a little at her cover-stealing ways -- again 85% of the bedclothes were wrapped around her, leaving him his usual pittance.

He stripped off his clothes wearily and slid under the covers, amazed as always at her sleepy bed-warmth. "My own personal heater", he'd called her once, and she'd been offended for all of a quarter second before bursting into giggles. "Can I help it if I'm warm-natured?" she'd wanted to know, and kissed him happily.

As he sighed softly and wriggled to get into a more comfortable position, trying not to awaken her, she suddenly spoke. "Did you think I was sleeping?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "You were quiet enough to be."

"I was watching you," she said. "A bad one this time?"

He nodded, his movements only half-seen in the midnight stillness. "Those numbskulls at Pyragore went and hired a new sysadmin and he managed to FUBAR their network in just one day. Their accounting server was offline and if I hadn't fixed it by 3 -- well, 3 our time, anyway -- their CEO wouldn't have gotten his weekly paycheck. And we all know we can't have that."

"I guess not," she sighed, snuggling closer to him. He felt her warm flesh pressing against him. Flesh? Wait a minute. She never went nude to bed. "Hey, you're nekkid, woman! What are you up to?"

"Mmmmmm," she purred, snuggling closer still, throwing one leg over him. He felt wetness smearing across his thigh. "I've been lying here waiting for you. Having a little fun. But it wasn't enough. Never is, you know."

He did know. Once she got going, she was like those massive centrifuges the military uses to test the endurance of pilots. They take what seems like hours to wind down when the tests are over. She was the same way. Not that he minded! Especially now, with her purring against his throat, nuzzling and licking, and writhing against him, half-straddling him. His cock was wide awake now, trying to raise its head but being prevented by the pressure of her leg. He bent his head and she divined his intent right away, raising her lips for a long hot kiss. Her mouth was eager and soft, devouring, tasting. She seized his tongue with her teeth and sucked on it hard enough to draw a soft hiss from him. She slid her body over his and he felt the tips of her nipples scoring trails down his chest. God, she was worked up.

A second later she slid her leg down his body; his trapped cock sprang up. "Oooo," she murmured in delight. "Look what I've found." Her exploring hands slid over his chest, his abs, his groin, tangled briefly in the curls there; then slid lower still and grasped him firmly by the shaft. He groaned with pleasure. "Is this all for me?" she wanted to know.

"Christ yes," he managed. "God, I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?" she inquired innocently, now stroking him deftly, squeezing below the head, forcing more blood into his already painfully hard shaft. "How I do this?" And emphasized it with a long languorous stroke. His hips bucked involuntarily upward.

"No," he growled, and his mouth found hers again for a savage kiss, then broke. "How you can get me hard in less than ten seconds, just with a caress or two."

"Or five or six or seven," she agreed, stroking him, stroking. "I just like my toy nice and hard, you know." And she slid around some more, climbing on top, straddling him, reaching down, guiding, positioning. The covers fell away; he could swear he saw steam rising from underneath, where their bodies touched. Her breath caught, hitched, as she settled firmly onto his cock. "Couldn't do that if you weren't nice and hard, could I?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," was his only response as she began grinding away on top of him. Her hips pistoned up and down, a nice hard rhythm. He'd thought she might want it slow and soft, but that hard driving motion made her intentions crystal clear: she wanted to fuck him, to bounce up and down on his cock until she got off again. She didn't care if he came or not. Just wanted to use him for her own pleasure.

That was just fine with him. He met her bouncing with hard, sharp thrusts of his own. Up and into her. Up and in. Up and in. Thirty seconds and both of them were breathing hard. A minute, and she threw her head back, crying out, her hips moving faster and faster. Her urgency spread itself to him; he knew he had only bare minutes to cum in her before she went off like fireworks. His hands went to her tits, groping them, tweaking the nipples savagely. She bucked against him excitedly, moaning, head rolling back and forth bonelessly as she fucked him. He felt the urge rising and began to yell, helpless to stop, helpless beneath the rippling savage grasp of her cunt, feeling her milk him efficiently, dribbles of precum now becoming a foaming torrent, feeling short spurts become long sticky blasts of cum as he emptied himself into her, thrusting hard, lifting her upwards, hands now on her ass, squeezing hard as she rode him to an orgasm of her own. A sharp hiss from her and a bitten lip was the only outward sign, but the spasms in her pussy were proof enough of her pleasure.

She sat there for a moment, breathing hard, hands braced on his chest. "Good to see you remember your role," she breathed happily. "That's my good, good cock."

"Oh yes," he said softly. "Yours any time you want it."

Her voice was low, sultry. "Indeed? What if I said I wanted it again, right now?" And punctuated it by clenching around him. Wonder of wonders, he was still hard.

"Then I guess you can do as you damn well please," he murmured, and his hands went around her waist as she began pumping her hips again....

-- PB

Working Hard, or Hardly Working?

"Interoffice mail, Josh."

Josh was startled out of his midmorning daze -- what shall I have for lunch? Will there be time to get the research done on those bonds before Mrs. Wright's 2:00? Damn, I hate this uncomfortable chair -- by a sultry, smoky voice. He looked up to see Lynne, the office assistant who also served double duty as mail girl, staring at him rather like the cat who just swallowed the canary. And, as always happened when she spoke to him, he got tongue-tied and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Uhhh...." he managed finally, after a thick silence had persisted for several seconds.

Lynne's smile broadened. "Ohhhh, my. Was my Josh having a naughty daydream? Did I interrupt something? Should I let you get back to your" -- her gaze strayed down his chest to the crotch of his slacks -- "fun?" She pronounced that last with an exaggerated, breathy pout.

Josh instantly went beet red and began stammering (again par for the course, he thought irritably; damn it all). "No, I, um, I was just thinking about, about, about some stuff, that's all, not.....er, not that." And bit his tongue. He sounded like a fucking idiot. Why the hell did this woman make him so nervous? Why did she make his heart pound, his tongue tangle, his brain whirl...his cock throb?

Maybe it was because she absolutely refused to wear business attire. Well, she did wear a suit jacket and skirt, but somehow the skirt was always just a few inches short of decency and the suit jacket was always open and the blouse was always unbuttoned so her big breasts swelled into some very impressive cleavage. Maybe it was because she licked her lips whenever she saw him, and winked at him, and kept playing with her hair whenever she caught his eye from across the office. Maybe it was the Nordic goddess look that she pulled off so well, with her white-blonde hair and those high cheekbones.

Or maybe it was because she kept looking at him like a target fixed in her crosshairs. As she was doing now. "What's so wrong with....that?" she inquired, lazily. "Having naughty daydreams? I do it all the time, you know." She giggled throatily, and stretched like a lioness, the movement pulling her blouse tighter over her straining breasts. His eyes bugged out.

There was absolutely nothing he could say in reply to that, only stammer and stutter. Goddamn it, he thought, am I never going to learn to deal with women? She could make it a little easier, anyway; doesn't she see what she's doing to me?

Abruptly, Lynne seemed to tire of playing with him. "Interoffice mail," she reminded him, holding up one of the big envelopes and dropping it on his desk. "See you later, loverboy." And she flounced off, pushing her little cart between desks, ass working prettily under that tight skirt. He stared after her, but gulped and pulled his head down like a turtle into its shell when she glanced over her shoulder, smiling wickedly, and caught him red-handed (and red-faced, he thought ruefully).

Shaking his head to clear it, he turned his attention to the envelope. Light. Must be another damn memo from Carlson in A/R. If that fucker tried to disallow his travel expenses one more time, Josh was going to march over there and force-feed him the expense claim sheets he seemed to love so damned much. He slit the envelope and shook it a bit, dislodging something that fell out onto the desk with a faint plop.

It was a pair of red panties.

What the hell?

For several long seconds the gears in Josh's brain squealed and smoked, grinding futilely in an effort to get some synapses firing, figure out the reason for this, anything. He stared, and stared. They were still panties. And wow, were they bright red. And -- he sniffed, realizing he smelled something musky and strong -- they smelled really good.

Abruptly he realized that he was in the middle of a busy office with a fucking pair of women's panties sitting out on the middle of his desk. He snatched them up, looking around guiltily, and stuffed them hastily into a drawer.

What in the hell was going on?

Grasping at straws, he reached for the envelope again and shook it some more. A half-sheet of paper fell out. He turned it right-side up and read what was written there in a feminine hand, with mounting shock: 

Josh,

I'll make this short and sweet. I've seen you staring at me. I know I embarrass you, but you don't need to be embarrassed. I want you, and I want you now. These are my panties. I just took them off in the bathroom. That means I'm not wearing any right now. Come meet me in the supply closet in five.

-- Lynne

Wildly, Josh scanned the room, sure the truth must be printed all over his face clear as day, and saw the culprit staring openly, boldly, at him. She looked once, very directly, at the open envelope, then back at his face again. And slowly, deliberately, mouthed the words Want you. Want you NOW, Josh. And got up, and walked down the hallway, in the direction of the supply closet.

Josh got up himself, a little unsteady on his feet, and began drifting -- it felt like his feet were several inches off the floor -- across the office and down the hallway. He passed a few people who said hello, but he was incapable of speech, incapable of caring that they gave him odd looks, surprised by the dazed look on his face. He found the supply closet and knocked, feeling stupid the instant he did it -- who knocks at a supply closet door? Gritting his teeth, he opened it and stepped inside.

And there she stood, gaze playing over his body, a hungry look in her eyes. Before Josh could say a word, she'd stepped close to him and captured his mouth with hers.

God, what a kiss. It went on and on and on. Her tongue swirled around his, her hands slid down his back to his ass and clenched there, her hips were thudding against his. His cock was awake and roaring, hard and angry. She was moaning into his mouth, writhing against him, one hand now on the back of his neck, the other one working at his belt and the catch of his slacks. He felt cool air on his legs as his pants fell down around his ankles and she broke the kiss long enough to murmur, "Let's see what you've got, loverboy." And she dropped to her knees, both hands going to his boxers and pulling them down. There was an instant of pain as the waistband caught on his cockhead, but then they were down and his cock was pointing at her face.

She obviously knew what to do with it and engulfed him like someone who hadn't eaten in months. White lightning danced in Josh's brain and he groaned as she took his shaft down her throat all the way to the base. She rubbed her nose back and forth in his pubic hair, humming around his cock, lips forming a tight, hard O at the base. Then she pulled back. His cock sprang free with a wet pop, slick and shining with her saliva, and she looked up at him with a devilish grin as she began to work it with both hands. Massaging, twisting, sliding friction up and down oh dear GOD it felt good.

Without warning she was on her feet again. She took his hand and guided it under her skirt; he gasped as he felt heat, wetness. He'd read stories, of course, had seen pornos, but never in a thousand years had he thought it was like this in real life, this heat that could scorch his fingers, this fire in her eyes, this hunger in her happy growl. She sighed happily and smiled at him, mouth wide, licking her lips as she moved his hand to where she liked it most. He felt a soft nubbin under his fingertips; experimentally, he pressed lightly on that button, and was rewarded by a burst of more wetness and a shuddering gasp from Lynne. "Oh yes," she sighed, "yes, play with my clit. Oh, yes, Josh, like that."

Encouraged, he kept rubbing, remembering from his reading that women liked it best when you kept a nice steady rhythm. So he did just that, moving his fingers in slow circles over her clit, watching in awe as she shook and shuddered, hips bucking towards him, legs clamping hard around his hand and making it harder for him to touch her.

Abruptly she spun away from him and hiked up her short skirt; dumbfounded, he could only stare at the globes of her ass as she presented it to him. She bent over, bracing her hands on the shelving, and tossed a glance back over her shoulder. She licked her lips and fixed her gaze on him, a searing contact, then said, very deliberately, "Do me now, Josh."

Head spinning, he stepped closer to her, fumbling his cock between her spread legs. He probed with the head, then found her center; heat and wetness splashed over his shaft as he fumbled. She wiggled her ass at him, moaning, and suddenly he sank home and there was no doubt anymore. His eyes rolled back in his head; he felt like he was flying, being pulled onward by the incredible pleasure flaring outward from his cock, buried in her velvety slick softness. He thrust forward, moaning uncontrollably. Her cunt clenched around him as he pulled back and thrust again, and then he was sliding in and out, bucking wildly against her, balls slapping against her ass, hands clenching around her hips, pulling her against him. Not that he needed to -- she was pushing back hard against him, trying to find a rhythm with him, eagerly cooperating, spreading herself wider, chanting his name softly.

He could feel his balls churning and boiling after a few minutes of this, and instinctively sped up till he was banging her with pure abandon. She threw back her head and cried out with joy, and he gasped out, somehow, that he was about to, to, to, and she moaned yes, yes, do it, fill me, cum in me, shoot for me, loverboy, and he felt his consciousness spiral downwards, inwards, funneling out through his cock as he fountained urgently inside her, coming hard, hips jerking spastically, hands clenching uncontrollably, body filled with sunlight, mind whirling, legs shaking. He pulled back -- exquisite agony as his cock popped free! -- and heard wet squelching sounds. She gasped as he slid out, and purred, "Oooo, Josh, you fucked me so good and hard. I'm gonna be oozing your cum for hours, I just know it."

She straightened up, flipping her skirt down, and stepped close to Josh, who was still panting from his exertions. She looked fantastic -- face full of color, eyes glittering, lips full and sulky. He wanted to pounce on her, take her again -- his cock gave a twitch just at the thought -- but with completion his initiative seemed to have deserted him again. He could only stare in wonder.

She opened the closet door and giggled as Josh frantically began pulling up his clothing. "Coast is clear," she reported. She gave him another very direct look that was fraught with promise. "Tell me, loverboy.....what are you doing after work?" She grinned, and slipped out the door before he could even come close to forming a reply.

And Josh realized his office life had just gotten a great deal more interesting.

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #13: "A Domme's Work is Never Done"

She sat down slowly, aching muscles creaking, joints pleasantly warm and loose. She stretched lazily and her breasts pulled tight, spilling out of the corset. It had been a good couple of sessions. Images drifted slowly across her brainspace, sending evil tingles through her. No matter how hard she came when disciplining her disciples, there always seemed to be room for more later on, when she was remembering.....

As she was now. In her mind's eye she saw the flickering crack of the lash across his back, painting precise patterns over his flesh, a study in crimson. Saw the arch of his body, not cringing to escape the next blow, but rising high to meet it. Saw him throw his head back, a soundless cry ringing voicelessly from lips gone red and puffy with lust. Saw her own hand tightening around the handle of the flogger, then pausing to determine where best to place the next blow. Saw him writhing from side to side, tantalizing glimpses of his hard cock twitching and jerking as he fought to keep from spraying his excitement everywhere.

It really was an art, she thought, pulling herself free of the dreamhaze and returning reluctantly to the present. The wetness running down her thighs cried for more action, and her hand went between legs and began stroking, slowly, slowly, building the fire...

“Mistress?” A hesitant voice from the doorway. She snapped alert, her hand going instantly to the flogger at her belt. He never learned.....


(This is my entry for Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #13: 250 words on the photo shown above. FFF is usually hosted by Spanky, but he's taking some time off so the lovely Sephani Paige has stepped in to host this week. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.)

-- PB

Next Stop, Orgasm

She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on high heels that looked fantastic, but provided very little actual ankle support when you get right down to it. Not for the first time, she cursed the overcrowding in her city that forced her to take this annoying subway to work every day. The people were rude, the crowds were thick and the smell of hundreds of hurried, overstressed people was something better left undescribed.

She turned up the volume on her iPod a bit more and adjusted the headphones. Beethoven's Sixth washed over her, painting its usual idyllic picture of a pastoral countryside gathering. Her mouth twisted bitterly with recriminations. I should never have left. I hate it here.

Hating wasn't getting her home, though. She brushed her hair absently out of her face and stared hopefully at the electronic progress bar on overhead display. Still six stops to go, dear god was this day ever going to end? All she wanted to do was get home, drop her clothes on the floor and head straight to a bath. And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.

In that instant the subway lurched hard and she lost her grip on the pole. She staggered backward and thumped solidly against another person. A restraining hand came down on her shoulder and she heard a deep rumbling voice: "Whoa, there."

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "Just lost my balance for a second."

"Yeah, those heels don't look too stable," he agreed. She could hear the grin in his voice. His other hand grasped hers, and guided it back to the support pole. "There you go."

She nodded. "Thanks." She peered at his reflection in the glass ahead. Tall, at least six and a half feet, skinny as a rail, dressed in suit and tie. And a fedora -- how many men still wore hats these days? It looked good on him, from what she could see.

Brakes screeched and the subway lurched hard again; this time it was he who was thrown against her, with a very surprised "Oof!". She snickered inwardly but gasped with surprise as his hands went to her waist and clenched hard, even dragging her skirt down a bit. A tingling bolt shot through her and she swayed with a new unsteadiness that had nothing to do with the subway. Oh no, not here. Not now. 

"We seem to be having trouble keeping our footing. Maybe you'd better keep holding on there," she heard herself saying, from a long way away. A tiny flame kindled inside her, her slit beginning to trickle wetness. She slipped the earphones down off her head, wanting to hear that voice again.

A rumbling chuckle. "Indeed? Perhaps you're right." His hands tightened a bit, one on her waist, one sliding down a bit to the fullness of her hips. He shifted a bit behind her as the bell bonged and the car stopped at the new station, the doors opening and letting a positive flood of people in. In seconds, they were packed in like sardines. She pressed hard against him, feeling wiry strength in his frame, in the confidence of his hands on her.

And something else, too. There was a very definite rigidity pressing against her ass now. She shifted experimentally and rubbed "innocently" against him, catching a muffled groan before he chopped it off. Another lurch as the car started off again only made things worse. She grinned wickedly, her mind clicking along rapid rails now just like the speeding car, no longer worried about propriety, only wondering how best to accomplish her new goal: getting him into her as soon as possible.

First, access. "Belt," she murmured, and after a shocked second she felt his hands undoing his belt. She wriggled against him, her hands going to her skirt, rucking it up a bit. Her eyes caught those of a businesswoman standing across the car; the woman looked stunned for a moment, then a knowing grin spread over her face. No interference there, obviously.

She wriggled some more, fingers tearing at her panties, sliding them down her legs, just far enough. There, that should do it. Now him. "Open up," she whispered; startled, the hoodie-wearing kid to her right swung around. "Say what?" he inquired, and she dismissed him with a wave of a hand. Behind her, the real object of the comment was doing as asked; she felt the heat of his cock pressing hard against her. She bent forward a bit but the angle was wrong. "In! In!" she hissed, no longer caring who heard, and felt him probing at her lips till suddenly everything aligned and he slid home.

God, it felt so good, so fucking good. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that wanted to escape; several people nearby were now turning to watch, most looking horribly embarrassed and turning away again. One or two were openly admiring, though, including the businesswoman across the way, whose mouth was parted in a sulky pout. Her breath was coming fast.

Their breath was coming much faster, though. He pressed home his length into her, moving within her in quick, short thrusts -- there just wasn't space for anything else. It was more than enough, though. She tightened her cunt against the invading flesh, milking it, massaging it; his hands on her waist, so powerful, pulling her hard against him, helping him drive himself deeper. He growled deep in his throat and that noise had half of the car looking this way.

"You ready?" he murmured into her ear, still moving relentlessly inside. "Yes, yes, now, do it," she whispergasped, and was rewarded seconds later with his burning cum splashing into her depths. Frantically, she worked a finger around to her front and strummed her clit hard, once, twice, three times; that was enough to send her over the edge as well and she shuddered all over, chills racing over her body.

The bell bonged and half the car exited at the next stop, all of them glancing at the guilty pair as they left. Again, lots of embarrassed looks, mixed in with a few admiring ones. The businesswoman, grinning, stopped at their side long enough to say, "That looked like fun," and then exited with the rest of the horde.

"Fun?" she mused, feeling him slip out of her, no doubt leaving smears of cum and her pussy juices all over her legs, her ass, her skirt. "Yes, I think you could say that." She pulled her skirt down again, but stepped out of her panties -- they'd slid down to her ankles anyway. She picked them up and met her paramour's eyes. Gray as stormclouds, they were, but sparkling with glee.

"Want these?" she inquired.

He nodded silently. She tucked them into his jacket pocket, and turned to face the window again. Just another subway ride, she thought. God, I hate this city....but I guess it does have its good points.

-- PB

[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 2

[Part 1 can be found here.]


Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"

Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.

"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"

I reached for her but she shook her finger at me. "Ah-ah!" she tutted. "You can just watch for a bit."

And so I stood back and watched as she began to run her hands up and down her body. In a few seconds more she was slowly moving to the music again, the music which we could still hear pulsing through the door. Her lips parted and she ran her tonguetip along her lower lip, still twisting and swaying slowly while caressing herself. She sighed softly as one hand cupped and lifted a breast, pinching gently at the nipples, which I could see were hard as tiny pebbles. Her other hand was now between her legs, pressed hard against the same spot I'd been sucking and licking so industriously not so long ago.

She moaned louder and threw her head back, suddenly stopping her dance. She lurched for a second and I almost reached out to steady her but remembered her "hands off" admonition and stayed put. She rocked back and leaned against the counter, using it to support her as her hands kept busily working away. Breathing hard, she fumbled at the snap on her jeans and slid them down. My eyes went wide as I discovered why those jeans had been so wet: no underwear met my gaze, only smooth skin and a tiny landing strip above a pussy that was slick and shining with her nectar.

Her fingers slid lower and plunged in. "Ohhhhhhh," she moaned, and her mouth went tight as she began to fuck herself. Decorum was far out the window now; she was too far gone to worry about niceties such as buttons as she ripped hard at the V-neck of her shirt. The buttons flew off, plinking on the tile floor, and she yanked the shirt wide, her breasts spilling free. Her hands were now moving all over herself, from sopping pussy to her tits and back again, mauling and squeezing her bright red nipples and then darting back to her slit to finger herself furiously. Her eyes flashed open and she speared me with a lusty grin, her gaze sliding down my body to the ridge in my jeans. She licked her lips and nodded in its direction.

My mouth was watering and my cock was aching. I had my own jeans and underwear pulled down in seconds, my cock standing out like an exclamation point to emphasize the amazing show she was putting on. Soon I was stroking myself in time with her own strokes, both of us now gasping with lust and shivering with desire. I was moving slowly towards her but somehow stayed separate still, even though my cock was now just inches away from her soaked slit.

Still she fucked herself, and still I flogged myself. Something had to give soon, and it was her. A mewling cry burst from her lips, a primal squeal of ecstasy as she buried her fingers deep in her pussy. I heard her juices splattering on the floor in a perfect torrent. Her hips bucked hard against her hand and seconds later she came again, jerking backwards and forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. She fell to her knees; I let go of my cock to help her up, but thoughts of chivalry vanished when she grabbed my ass and devoured my cock in a single gulp. Suction like I'd never felt sent my brain into a whirl. Her lips and tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, and I roared my own primal roar as I blasted off down her throat. A slight gurgle from her was her only reaction as she kept milking me, her throat clenching hard around my still-spurting cock, her saliva drooling out and around the base of my shaft.

Finally she pulled back, her hair wild and her ruby red lips red no longer -- all her lipstick was painted all over my softening cock. She stood up in one smooth motion, breathing hard, and leaned back against the counter. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, grinning at me, and went right back to fingering herself! Again I reached for her, and again she stopped me, this time with a hand on my chest, her other hand still working busily in circles on her clit. "No," she panted, looking up at me, "just....I....oh, oh, ohh, ohhhhh, YESSSSSSS......" Her entire body tensed up and her eyes went wide as she went rigid all over for what seemed like an eon, then slowly, slowly relaxed.

Still panting, she bent over and pulled her jeans up, swifly knotting her shirt together below the curve of her tits. Her gaze swept over my body and a smile swept over her face, a very self-satisfied look, like a cat that's been into the cream. And without another word, she turned on her heel and strode for the door.

"Wait!" My voice, a ground-glass croak. It did stop her, but only for a moment. She tossed another grin at me over her shoulder, unbolted the door, and slipped through it like smoke, gone. By the time I yanked my own clothing into a semblance of order, got out of the bathroom, and had convinced Security not to throw me out on my ass, she was nowhere to be found.

I resolved to come back here the next time this band was playing.

********************

Hope you enjoyed this one!
-- PB

[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 1

Rock concerts are really a crap place to meet people. Fortunate for me, then, that I don't go to meet people, but rather go to listen to the music. Last night, though, I met someone at a rock show, in about the most direct way you can meet them.

It was a show from one of my favorite blues guitarists. He and his band aren't much for small talk or patter in between songs -- they let the music do the talking. Their shows are always packed with people watching him and the boys pouring emotion and soul into their instruments, and women writhing like sirens on the dancefloor. I don't know what it is about this group that makes the ladies want to get up and act out their erotic dance fantasies, but as a lover of female beauty in all its forms, I always have trouble keeping my eyes on the band at these shows when there's such a wanton display of lust on the dancefloor.

Tonight was pretty much the same as usual for this group: dark, smoky club, people packed in around tables and chairs and bar, and the dancefloor full of men and women grinding against each other. I'd been watching one particular brunette all night, but she seemed off in her own world, eyes closed and weaving to the music, completely unselfconscious and completely unconscious of the effect she was having on all the males within fifty yards. I just shook my head in admiration, and turned my attention back to the band again.

A good, long set by a really good band doesn't just tire and dehydrate the band -- if they're doing their jobs, the watchers get tired and thirsty too. This would be why they play at bars, of course, and the owners love it when they're getting a nice influx from thirsty fans. Right now, I was one of those thirsty fans. Fighting my way through the mob to the bar, I managed to get a Scotch on the rocks and turned to head back to my spot near the edge of the club. Slithering sideways around a table, I backed to avoid somebody tipping back in his chair and felt a huge THUD as I ran squarely into someone else. The Scotch tumbler flew from my hand, arcing downward to splash directly into the jeans-clad crotch of the brunette I'd been watching all evening -- now off the dancefloor and standing right in front of me.

I was stunned for a moment, but she wasn't. Her mouth drew down into a line as she looked down at herself, and then shook her head, a half-grin now playing about her features. "You realize, of course, that you're going to have to make this right," she half-shouted, her voice cutting cleanly through the Delta blues rumble of the band.

"I'm so sorry," I shouted in return. "The guy over there" -- I half-motioned to the fellow who'd caused the mess, now leaning forward (of course) and talking animatedly to his friends -- "leaned back so fast I jumped to avoid him."

Her brows drew together. "What?" She motioned to her ear. "Can't hear a thing you're saying!"

I leaned forward, precisely at the wrong instant as she leaned forward as well. Our foreheads met with a white-hot CRACK and she staggered on her feet. Oh, this was going just wonderfully. Shaking my own head to clear it, I grabbed her by the shoulder to steady her and leaned in a bit closer into a very tantalizing aroma of womanly sweat and some indefinable perfume. "I was TRYING to say I was sorry," I yelled, "but it doesn't seem to be working very well, does it?"

She raised her head. Incredibly, she was still grinning. Stunning ice-blue eyes blinked up at me. "No," she allowed, "doesn't seem to be. You'd better come with me for a bit. Can't even hear ourselves talk here."

With that, she grabbed me by the wrist and began pulling me, quite sharply, towards the back of the club. Somehow she was able to eel her way through the mob with no problems at all, sliding through spots that closed seconds later, all of them bumping into me and giving me irritated looks. I tried to figure out where she was headed but...no, surely not. What possible reason could she have for...?

I barely had a chance to stammer out "Um, is this really a good....?" before she had pulled me into the women's bathroom behind her. Two blondes looked up from the sinks, startled. "Out," she said curtly, pointing at the door. One of the two opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it swiftly as the brunette's eyes flashed imperiously. The two of them beat a hasty retreat and the brunette locked the door behind them seconds later.

"What...?" I managed, before her hands went round my neck and she pulled me to my knees in front of her. "Suck," she said. "That looked like good Scotch and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Well, who was I to argue with that? So I opened my mouth and got to work, sucking spilled Scotch out of the crotch of a pair of jeans molded around a woman I'd only met a few seconds ago.

I could only taste a bit of the Scotch, truthfully. Within only a few seconds, though, I didn't care in the least about that, because it was very obvious that not all of the heat and wetness on these jeans was Scotch, or sweat. This woman was so turned on that she had soaked through her underwear AND her jeans as well. The Scotch was just the overlay. Even through the jeans, though, she tasted amazing: dusky, spicy, and oh so very womanly.

I sucked and licked at her crotch for several minutes, her hands moving restlessly through my hair. The seconds ticked past and she began to moan as I began to press my tongue harder against her crotch. "Mm, yes, that's good," she sighed as I put my arms round her thighs and began to massage her firm ass, still licking and biting at her crotch (which, it must be said, was getting rather wetter, not drier from my attentions).

Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"

Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.

"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"

****************

[Part Two can be found here.]

-- PB