Flash Fiction Friday 6-17-11: "Five Star Service"

(Source image: "Room Service" by John DuPret)

"Will there be anything else, madam?"

She shook her head, distracted by something. "No, thank you."

He turned to go, and then she knew what it was. She'd forgotten the customary gratuity. And such prompt service deserved a tip. A large tip.

"No, wait."

He turned back, inquiry in his gaze. "Yes, madam?"

She untied her robe and let it fall to the floor. She expected shock, but he merely nodded and approached, his hands already going to the zipper of his slacks.

After, when she'd regained her breath, she confessed to being surprised.

"Why should you be?" he said calmly, already dressing, not a hair out of place. "We pride ourselves on five-star service."

She could only agree.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 64-94 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...a large tip..."

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 enjoyed putting this one together, but I should have perhaps allowed a longer word length. I wanted to do more with this than the word limit allowed me to. I may explore the concept a bit more later, or bring more of a Victorian feel to it (it certainly has that look, in the artwork), but at least I'm satisfied with this one, for a change.

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

You Infuriate Me

You infuriate me. You really do.

It's unfair -- criminal, almost -- that any one woman should have a body like that. Legs that go approximately up to your chin, hips that swing like they're on ball bearings, an ass that strains the fabric of your tight jeans, breasts so perfect in their marveled rondure that poets write epics about them. Full lips, sparkling mischievous eyes, a pert nose, windblown tousled hair that begs me to wind my fingers through it. And, damn it all, you know it well, and take full advantage of it. You snap your fingers and I dance. You whistle and I come when you call, panting like a dog. Your merest touch commands obedience, even though I hate myself with every fiber of my being for being so weak.

I rage. I rage against the icy eyes that hold me captive, the slight, slight smile that makes my knees go wobbly and my brain turn to tapioca, the low sultry voice that gets me hard by reading the telephone book. I rage against the failings in my character that let you control me so easily, against my damnable lack of anything resembling willpower. I rage against my distinct lack of experience, the product of too many years spent in solitude, the fact that your amazing femininity in and of itself gives you the puppet strings you need to make me jerk and dance about in spastic twitches.

You infuriate me. Running a finger along my lips, feeling me tremble under your touch. Running your hands along my back and neck softly, fingers caressing, stroking my hair. I shiver and gulp under your touch, knowing the whole while that it's the touch of a mistress caressing her dog, helpless to resist, not even knowing if I want to when even that slight touch sends such sparks, flaming desire dancing along every nerve ending.

How many times? How many times have you tormented and teased me? How many times have I gone home with balls aching, rod straining my jeans, hoping desperately that I could get home before spilling my desire? How many times have I failed miserably, gone off hair-trigger, under your slight caresses, wet spot forming in my jeans as I buck and snap like a shrimp on a dock, my essence spraying not into your warmth, but into the cotton prison of my underwear? How many times have you looked at me with amusement dancing in those eyes, stroking the ridge in my jeans till I forgot myself and reached for you, to be met with a stinging slap that crossed my eyes and rang carillon bells in my head?

Upon my oath, I'm not a violent man. But I tire of being your pet. One day the tables will turn. One day I will see fear in those eyes. Will see you back against the wall as I advance, rage burning low in me, burning, burning, till it's a tossup which is more intense -- the dull heat at my groin or the rage flaming at my core.

There will be violence then, yes -- but not hands-and-fists violence. Only the violence of rent clothing, of being slammed against the wall hard enough to bruise your back, of my mouth on yours, stubble rasping, scratching your tender skin. The violence of buttons flying, pinging off the lampshade nearby, of my hands plundering your breasts, squeezing and mauling them till you cry out with pain and humiliation. The violence of ripped panties, of jeans around your ankles, of being bent over the couch, ass raised, legs thrust rudely apart. Of a hand between your legs, feeling the awakened heat, a chuckle torn from my throat gone raw with suppressed lust.

Because this is what you wanted, isn't it? You'd played me like a master violinist, tightened my strings till I nearly snapped from the pressure -- but "nearly" being the key word. Had raised my passions and ignited my rages till I gave you what you needed -- a dominating, hard fury that finally tore away any semblance of control and propriety in your too-tight life and let you surrender to its dark wash. You wanted this more than anything else -- wanted to be taken, possessed, used roughly and brutally till there was nothing left in your world but pure, raw sensation.

And I'll take it, too. Driving hard and fast, taking what's been mine all along, had I but known it. Plunging deep, plunging hard, angry steel merging with your liquid center. Screams of anticipation, of rage, of fear and shame and delight. Of ecstasy. Invading you, battering, leaving marks on your flesh, scarring and searing your soul with rippling flames, binding you to me now and forevermore.

Fire cleanses, fire destroys. But only in the fires of a forge is the strongest steel made. Links that can never be broken.

-- PB

"Forsaking All Others"

Susan had thought that nothing could spoil this, her perfect day, until she turned her head during the fundraiser dance and saw him.

She waved frantically to one of her bridesmaids. "How the hell did Mark get here?" she hissed. "I know I didn't fucking invite him."

Alexa shrugged, looking equally baffled. "Ask Tony?" she suggested. More than a little miffed, Susan tried just that, waving to get her new husband's attention, but he was busy dancing with one of the tiny little aunts he seemed to have in abundance. Susan's flailings were going unnoticed.

The DJ boomed, "Come on, folks, we've only had thirty participants so far for the fundraiser dance! Let's raise some more money for the newlyweds, huh? A ten dollar contribution gets you a dance with the lovely bride or the blushing groom! I want to see all you folks digging deep to get these two some extra spending money for their honeymoon!"

Jen panicked as she saw Mark reach inside his suit and withdraw a slim wallet. Approaching Sara, who was taking the contributions, he spoke with her briefly. Sara threw a panicked look at Susan, who made more frantic motions: "No! Stall him! Give him some excuse, I don't care!" Then she saw Sara's eyes bug out as Mark handed her a folded bill. He turned and started walking towards her.

Susan shut her eyes briefly, lips moving in a silent prayer: "Lord, please help me get through a short dance with my psychotic ex-boyfriend," and then put on her best smile. She was already framing the words, "Why, Mark, what a surprise!" But to her astonishment, Mark walked right past her to where Tony was dancing with his aunt, and tapped the little woman on the shoulder.

"I'm cutting in," he said calmly.

Susan's mouth fell open as her ex-boyfriend put one arm around her husband's waist and drew him close, then began twirling him about the dance floor to the strains of Prince's "When Doves Cry". She rushed over to Sara. "What the hell, Sar?" she half-wailed. "Why didn't you find some excuse to get rid of him?"

Sara looked as stunned as Susan felt. "Because he gave me this," she whispered. She held up a five-thousand-dollar bill. "What was I supposed to say?"


Across the dance floor, Tony wasn't sure what was making his head spin more -- the whirlings and twirlings as Mark spun him about, or the fact that he was dancing with his wife's ex-boyfriend. "Um, not that I don't appreciate the contribution, man," he said, "but really, how come you're not dancing with Sue?"

Mark looked down for a second and smiled grimly, then looked back at Tony. "Well, two reasons, really," he said. "First off, 'cause she and I didn't really end on good terms -- I'm sure you know that." Tony nodded. "Then you know she wouldn't really want to dance with me on this, her perfect day." The words were tinged with bitterness, and Tony nodded again. "But you're still wondering why the dance at all, if that's the case." Tony nodded a third time.

Mark tightened his arm around Tony's waist. "Well, that's the other reason," he said quietly, his voice low, taut with strain. His lips brushed against Tony's neck as he leaned close and whispered, "Because it wasn't her I wanted to dance with."

Abruptly Tony was aware of three things: firstly, that his heart was pounding far beyond any reason caused by a simple dance; secondly, that Mark was pressing very, very close to him, and the ridge in Mark's trousers wasn't just a roll of quarters in his pocket; and thirdly, that (oh my God) he was rapidly becoming as hard as Mark was. His cock throbbed. His breath came sharp and fast. His tongue tangled as he fought for words.

In the next second Mark's eyes went wide. One of their gyrations had obviously communicated Tony's excitement to him as well. "Well, well, well," he murmured, and thrust his hips forward slowly, deliberately, now grinding against Tony to the pounding rhythm of the music. Tony groaned as each pulsing stroke of Mark's crotch against his sent bright spears of delicious friction radiating outward, but Mark wouldn't pull away. "How come I never noticed this when you were dating?"


"This" was rapidly becoming unmanageable. Tony gulped and broke free from Mark, pushing him back till they were no longer pressed so tightly together, somehow keeping to the song's rhythm. He looked around rapidly but aside from Susan (who was shooting dagger looks at him) no one else seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.


Mark leaned in close once more. "Meet me in the bathrooms in five," he said quietly. And stepped away, leaving Tony's body full of adrenaline and his head full of confusion. He rearranged things in a hurry, till his obvious excitement was less apparent to every onlooker.

"Annnnnnnnnnnd that's the end of the fundraiser dance!" the DJ shouted cheerfully. Tony, seeing Susan approaching with murder in her eyes, hoped it wasn't the end of his new marriage as well.

-- PB

Hot and Wet

"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?" she inquired, shivering.

"Oh come on, Mar," he said. "You know the water'll feel great when we get there. 105 degrees, the park ranger said."

"Yeah, but he never said it'd be this freakin' cold at 3 AM!" she complained.

"Hey, that's your own fault for wearing just a bikini for the hike," he said. "C'mere. It's only half a mile to the hot springs, I'll keep you warm."

".......bastard," she muttered, refusing to be soothed, teeth still chattering.

"All right, all right," he sighed mock-theatrically. "Here, take my jacket. We're almost there anyway."

"I still can't believe you didn't bring a bathing suit," she said, snuggling into the folds of fleece as they walked.

"Remember what else the ranger said," he reminded her. "At this hour, people tend to regard clothing as optional in the springs."

"Yeah, but what if...."

"What if, what? What if we see some unattractive or overweight people without their clothes? What if there are some prudes there who don't approve? What if I get pounced on by a bevy of beauties when I strip down and hop in?"

She punched him in the ribs, hard. "Ow," he complained.

"Have to keep that ego in check," she said. "It's getting out of control again."

"Yeah, guess I can't argue with that," he said. "Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. Neither of us two cares about showing skin, so why should we give a damn about being nude in front of strangers we'll never see again? And if there are prudes, they'll just leave when they see skin. And as far as 'unattractive' goes, who cares about that either? Everybody's beautiful in their own way."

She shrugged. "Oh, have it your way, Brand. I still think it's going to be deserted at this hour."

"We'll see," he said. "I don't think so, though. Hear that?"

She had. Splashing and laughter drifted to them on the slight breeze from a spot somewhere up ahead.

"Told you we were almost there," he said. "C'mon, let's hurry. I'm getting cold without my jacket."

She punched him again, but not hard this time.

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

"Now that IS something," she said.

He couldn't think of any better words, and settled for simply squeezing her hand.

Before them in a small vista lay a series of natural hot springs, lit by soft white electric lamps. Steam rose from the bubbling water, coalescing in the chill air. The pools ranged from three or four feet in diameter to forty feet across at the largest. That last was currently occupied by three laughing and splashing couples, all of them naked as the day they were born. Their clothing lay in unheeded heaps nearby. The breeze soughed through the pines, its rustling seeming somehow secretive, approving of this hidden bower.

"Well?" he mused. "Shall we, then?"

She grinned, suddenly looking much more enthusiastic. "Yes, let's."

The other couples had obviously become aware of them -- shouts of greeting drifted across the pools, then changed to raucous yells of ribaldry as he began pulling off his clothes. "Woo! Take it off, baby!" shouted one of the women, standing up and waggling her glistening breasts at him. Brand grinned at her, and added a small bump and grind to his movements as he pulled off his shirt. More catcalls, this time from the two men who had their arms round each other -- another couple, obviously. "Nice pecs, baby!" they shouted. "What else you got in there?"

Mara's face was flaming as the comments continued, both the men and women making more and more pointed observations as her boyfriend slowly pulled off his jeans, revealing a nice ridge in his boxers -- the fucker was obviously getting turned on by this! She heard a soft moan and realized it was hers. Obviously Brand wasn't the only one who was turned on. She grinned. Time to turn the tables on him. She stepped forward and, hooking her fingers into his boxers, yanked them down around his ankles before he could react. His cock sprang out, pointing straight at her, and he gasped as the cold air hit his heated flesh. It wasn't cold long, though, as she opened her mouth and took his shaft down her throat in one swift, practiced move.

Brand shuddered and moaned and his legs wobbled. She felt him pressing on her shoulders for support; dimly she registered the filthy shouts from the onlookers, urging her onward. She started bobbing up and down on his cock, slathering sloppy spit everywhere, her hands going to his ass and pulling him closer or running up and down his legs and thighs. She couldn't believe what she was doing; five minutes ago she'd been wondering how she'd handle it if the springs weren't deserted, and here she was now deep-throating Brand in front of six total strangers, and loving it.

Brand's moans grew louder and louder as she worked his cock furiously with mouth, lips, tongue, throat. He staggered and almost fell and his cock popped out with a wet splatting sound. In a second he had his control back; stooping, he pulled Mara to her feet and spun her around, planting kisses on her throat, her neck, her face, her mouth. Now his hands were all over her, roaming, delighting, arousing her still further. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his heated touch. Her nipples, already hard as stones from the cold, were trying to tear through the fabric of her bikini.

Brand solved that problem by untying her top with fumbling haste and pulling it aside. Wolf whistles and cheers from the occupied spring, now. She felt her face go red again, but instead of giving in to the urge to cover herself, she leaned back into Brand's caresses, spreading her legs and arching her back to make her tits stand out more. She felt his hands lifting and cupping her tits, and he called out to the onlookers: "Impressive, aren't they?" More whistles and cheers in approbation. Now his hands were working industriously between her spread legs. She felt him shift as he kicked free of the jeans and boxers still down around his ankles, then he was untying her bikini bottom as well.

God, is he....? she wondered hazily, and then wondered no longer as his fingers plunged into her pussy. She cried out in wonder and ecstasy -- it was still a shock to her how damn good he felt inside her, whether fingers, cock or tongue -- and felt herself going limp as he worked her sopping slit. She found some strength, and raised her head to direct a challenging stare at the other couples, all of them now cheering wildly and offering suggestions as to how exactly Brand should proceed next. "You like what you see, do you?" she shouted raggedly, and felt her blood burn at the answering shouts.

Brand obviously had his own ideas on how to proceed, though. In a trice she felt herself scooped up. He took the few remaining steps towards the biggest spring, and dropped her into it without so much as a by-your-leave. She gasped again as the enveloping heat rushed over her and she burst to the surface, scattering spray in all directions like an eager dolphin. The cold night air quickly assaulted her wet skin, and she ducked rapidly down again.

Seconds later Brand cannonballed into the water as well. A giant wave arrowed across the pool and smacked the other couples in the face; laughing and choking, they settled back, their own arms and hands now working busily. Obviously the general excitement was catching in more ways than one. She saw the male couple tongue-spelunking furiously, could almost hear the beard stubble rasping from here. The dirty blonde who'd yelled at Brand to "take it off" had her head thrown back and her arms looped around her man's neck; it looked like he'd impaled her quite nicely and she was now hanging on for a ride. The other two had their arms around each other, idly caressing, but were still watching Brand and Mara intently. Their stares were at once challenging and inviting.

Mara looked at Brand and motioned to the watching couple with a twist of her head. "Shall we give them a real show?" she murmured throatily. She lay back, floating, and spread her legs towards Brand. "Let's go, boy. Always wanted to fuck you in the water."

"Then there's no time like the present," he agreed, wading close, guiding his cock into her slit. Water mingled with her juices as he slid home. Mara moaned again, and clenched her legs around his ass. "Wouldn't do to disappoint our audience," he grunted, already starting that nice grinding rhythm that she knew would have her shrieking her pleasure to the stars within minutes. "Now are you glad we came?"

"I haven't yet," she sighed, riding his cock, riding the swells of the waves. Soft murmurs of approval came from the watching couple; the other two were far too wrapped up in each other to care. "But if you keep that up, it isn't going to be long."

-- PB

Happy New Year

He stood on the balcony, the cold air swirling lazily about him. Cars honked faintly from the street far below, lights twinkling in the distance as if winking at him in invitation on this most festive of nights. He sipped slowly. Bubbles tickled his nose, and he almost sneezed. Remembering....

"Achoo!" she sneezed. "Dammit, I don't think I'm ever going to like champagne very much."

He smiled, sipping slowly from his own wineglass. "That's all right, it's only a once-a-year thing for us anyway."

She grinned back, and very deliberately poured her glass all over her chest; her dress, already clinging like a second skin, went transparent immediately and outlined her pointy nipples and the curves of her breasts quite nicely. His breath caught at the sight.

"Very true," she purred. "But I still don't like champagne. Maybe you'll drink up what I seem to have spilled here." She reached for him hungrily.

He shook his head, emerging from reverie. Wind skirled around the corner of the building and bit hard at his face, blowing around his legs next and making his wool overcoat flap. He pulled it more tightly around him, then frowned. Remembering....

"For you, my dearest," she said, holding out a largish box. He frowned in surprise, and his brow furrowed as he opened the box to reveal a gorgeous charcoal-grey wool overcoat.

".....the hell?" he queried, clearly puzzled. "Since when do we give gifts on New Year's Eve?"

"Not for New Year's, you insensitive clod," she scolded, the sweet smile on her face taking any sting from her words. "Our anniversary. Remember?"

"Oh, that's right," he mused. "God, it's been a year already since we first met?"

"Are you saying you haven't enjoyed it?" she smirked, coming closer and tilting her head up.

"Now I'd be a fool indeed, to say something like that," he breathed, and bent to kiss her. She tasted like strawberries and cream, and her intoxicating scent, indefinable as always, filled his head till it spun round like a top. How sweet, he thought hazily as she growled happily into his mouth and pressed ardently against him. How sweet she is....

Again he shook his head, harder this time, bringing himself forward once more to the present. A lick of cold startled him: a snowflake, landing on his nose. He looked up and saw it was beginning to fall in earnest, creeping up stealthily amidst the silence that surrounded him. No tunes or party from the dark and empty apartment at his back. No voices cutting through the stillness. No sound of breathing from his side. No warmth of presence from a delicate hand held tightly in his.

Such a contrast. He drifted again, remembering the chaos and noise from that one year. Remembering..... 

"How many of these people did you say you know?" he shouted into her ear. "I thought you said this was going to be a small party!"

She speared another small bite of the cake on the plate she was holding and chomped delicately. "As far as Rick's concerned, this is a small party, hon," she rejoined after a moment's chewing. A bit of white frosting clung to the corner of her mouth; she wiped it off quickly and licked it off her fingers, as unselfconscious as a dog. "What's the matter? Too much light and chaos? C'mon, let's find somewhere more quiet."

She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs, the crowd reluctantly parting for them, then closing thickly in their wake, like Jello. The din was considerably lessened when she led him into the guest bedroom and cut off entirely when she drew him into the bathroom beyond that, closing the door behind them.

"Hon, what.....?" he started, but was silenced by her finger on his lips. She locked the door, put her cake down on the counter, and then began unbuttoning his slacks, darting a swift hand inside and sliding it deliciously up and down, creating lovely heat and friction against his very surprised, but very pleased dick. As was usual for her, she had him hard and throbbing in a twinkling.

Her first task accomplished with dispatch, she grinned at him and drew his cock free from his briefs. Her eyes locked with his and she sank slowly, oh so slowly, to her knees. Keeping her eyes on him, she opened her mouth and began licking him from tip to base. He moaned as her tongue decorated him, swirling about, wrapping about his shaft as if it had a life of its own, wet slurping sounds echoing off the tile, saliva glistening in the fluorescent light.

She pulled back for a quarter second and grinned that devil-may-care grin at him once more, then took his cock in both her tiny hands and began to pump him slowly. He was already breathing hard but seconds of this delicious torture soon had him panting like he'd just run a marathon, sagging against the sink, hands clutching helplessly at the air. God, she was such a minx. And if he knew her at all, this wouldn't be enough for her, she'd have to....yes, there she went, engulfing him with her eagerly sucking mouth, lips and tongue working, moaning in her throat, blowing him so deliriously and sloppily that strings of ropy spit were streaming from his dripping cock, breaking free to pool on the tile below. Lightning danced in his brain and he groaned her name, the only thing he could get out past the pleasure already crowding him to overfilling.

Suddenly she stopped completely, his cock still buried down her throat, and locked eyes with him. Sounds were coming from the bedroom behind her and abruptly there was a knock on the door. "Anybody in there?" came a slurred voice. "My back teeth are floatin'."

She slid his cock free with a slow and deliberate "pop" that had to have been audible through the door. "Occupied," she said sweetly. "Come back in ten minutes, please."

"Fuckin' Rick," they heard the bathroom-seeker muttering as he left in search of a less-busy haven. She looked at him and grinned. "Where were we? Oh yes....I believe you were about to fuck me until I screamed."

And she stood up, pulled up her dress -- no panties beneath, he realized, stunned anew. Minx, he thought again, gazing at the wetness already dripping down her thighs -- how long had she been hot and ready? Had she been planning this, or was it just her usual constant slow burn? God, she's incredible. How the fuck did I get so lucky? She shrugged the dress's straps off her shoulders and then did a slow bump-and-grind. Her tits spilled out immediately, her nipples -- hard and crinkled -- standing out like bright red rosy buds, begging to be sucked. He reached for her, but she forestalled that, wheeling around and bending over the counter. She tossed her head, her blonde mane slipping to one side, and gazed back at him sidelong.

She waggled her ass at him, reaching back one-handed to finger her sopping pussy and spread it wide for his delighted gaze. "Take what's yours, loverboy," she whispered.

Wetness on his cheeks, freezing to cold diamonds in his beard. He tried angrily to brush them away -- more unwanted detritus -- but they clung stubbornly. A shuddering sob tried to tear itself free and he choked it back. He reached convulsively for the railing and clutched it hard, steadying himself, its rigid edges biting into his hand. Memories. Only memories now, as intangible and substanceless as air. All lost; all gone; all ruined; remained only dust and ashes in the hearth that once banked the flame of their love.

There on the deserted balcony, clad in the gossamer film of broken dreams, snow drifting around him in silent invitation, ghosts of New Years' past crowding close, he raised his champagne flute on high in fingers made cold and stiff by the biting wind. "Happy New Year," he said softly.

-- PB

(This was not originally how I intended to end the year, but this balcony scene just wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy this one despite of -- or perhaps because of -- the ending, and that your New Year's Eve is much happier than his. May all your dreams come true in this upcoming year. Thanks for reading!)

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

The Devil Inside

(A bit late for Halloween, but what the hell.)

Smoke, hubbub, pounding music, fumes of sweat and alcohol, perfume and colognes, leather and latex and vinyl. It was fairly standard, as Halloween costume parties go.

It was also, he mused, extraordinarily boring. Not a target in sight, not a conversationalist who could keep up with him, not a single interesting individual worthy of attention this evening. Then again, so many of them had gone overboard with their costumes, while he'd favored the understated approach. No pitchfork and bright red-tailed spandex getup here; he'd chosen a sober grey double-breasted suit, dyed his hair black and slicked it back from the temples, added a bit of rouge to his cheeks, trimmed his goatee so it came to a fine point -- small things, really. His one concession to the devil motif was a pair of tiny horns he'd affixed to his forehead with spirit gum and prosthetic makeup. They were barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. But most people hadn't bothered looking, all night.

Wait a second. That looked promising. Oh, she was a looker, all right. Masses of ash blonde hair tumbling around her creamy white shoulders. A figure that would make hourglasses weep in envy, shoehorned into a clinging diaphanous dress of purest silver that left everything and nothing to the imagination. Purest silver in color, it seemed constructed of cobwebs and moonlight. He wondered idly how she'd gotten here without being arrested. Thigh-high slits on the sides revealed tantalizing flashes of leg as she turned this way and that and the full points of her nipples were clearly visible. Clearly she was enjoying something about this party. Her face, though, was utterly impenetrable, inscrutable, revealing no hint of what she was thinking.

And -- what the fuck? -- an argent halo glittered insubstantially over her head. Stranger still, no one seemed to be paying her -- or it -- any attention.

Surely not, he thought. What's she up to?

He sidled through the crowd and touched her elbow. "Pardon me, my dear," he intoned.

She turned, apparently unsurprised. "Yes?"

"As someone in the business" -- he didn't say which one, knowing she knew full well what business he was in -- "I'm curious about the halo. Draws attention, doesn't it?"

"Only when I allow it to," she answered. "Now that I've drawn yours, I don't need it. Does it bother you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Bother? No, not exactly. It affects me, that's for certain, but not in the way you might think."

She raised an eyebrow of her own in response. "How then does it affect you, pray tell?"

He smiled grimly at her phrasing. Deliberately, he ran his eyes up and down that statuesque body, then -- just as deliberately -- looked down at his crotch, where his excitement was showing rampantly.

The halo flickered and died over her head. Her lips parted and her eyes smoldered. "Ah," she said, articulating the word very deliberately. "I see."

He slid around behind her, arms encircling her waist, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Was this your idea, or that of the Presence?"

She sighed and leaned back against him, pressing her softness against his burgeoning hardness. "Mine. I'm so God-damned tired of His holier-than-thou attitude. He created sex, why is He so uptight about it? I haven't been laid in centuries. This is the Night of Mischief; His attention's elsewhere tonight and I figured no one would miss me."

He chuckled and ran his hands up her front, cupping the weights of her breasts. "I've always enjoyed corrupting you types. I guarantee you'll enjoy yourself, if you'd like to accompany me to somewhere more private." He punctuated the last word by tweaking her nipples sharply, and she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily back against him.

"Yes, I do think I'd like that," she murmured, undulating against him in a manner that was swiftly stoking his interest -- and his passions -- to a high flame. "How shall we do this?"

He grinned, and took her hand. "The bathroom's unoccupied." She trailed after him, quiescent for now. They stepped into the bathroom and he closed the door behind them; a flash of ire seared and sealed the lock. "Don't want to be disturbed, you know," he remarked offhandedly.

He put both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Tell me, my little Seraphim, what do you want this night?" He knew the ritual: she'd pretend aversion for a token time, then cooperate eagerly, the formalities of her protestations having been satisfied.

But she surprised him by dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing down the zipper of his pants. "To worship this," she said softly. "To take in the profane and make it sacred." Her small hands went inside, caressing, feeling the weight and length of his erection; he growled subvocally as her fingertips rippled up and down. "To feel what I've been denied for so many years."

Abruptly she pulled downwards and his pants fell around his ankles. His cock, hard and red, stood out like a prod, pointing directly at her face. She looked up at him then, and there was in her eyes such a look of lust that even he was swayed by its force.

"Or, not to put too fine a point on it," she purred now, "to have you fuck my brains out." Her hand went to his shaft and grasped it firmly. He gasped at how cool and soft her fingers felt around his heated flesh. She began stroking him, gently twisting her grasp around and around, squeezing him downward and then upward, milking the first drops of pre-cum free. Her hot tongue darted out to taste the pearly beads. "Better than pearly gates," she whispered. Her tongue laved his head, spreading her saliva and his pre-cum all round. "Much better."

He groaned and raised her to her feet. His hands roamed now, all over her body, questing, caressing, stroking, and then clenching and grasping hard. The fabric of her dress tore with a barely-audible thrumming sound, and her breasts -- marvels of shadowed rondure -- spilled free. He manhandled them, squeezing and tugging, mashing them together, cupping them, hefting and pulling. She gasped and threw her head back. "Yes," she sighed, "like that. Oh, yes, like that. Harder. Bite them!"

He did as he was told, feeling her hands still twisting and caressing on his cock, now slick with her saliva. Worse yet, he was rapidly losing control in her grasp. He growled deep in his throat as she milked the head, making circles around the mushroom tip. A particularly apt touch drew a rattling, ragged gasp from him and another from her as he bit harder on her nipple. "Christ yes," she moaned. "Oh, fuck me. Wanted your cum first but I can't wait."

"You've much to learn about devils," he grunted as she began pumping his shaft, hard. "We excel at teasing....but we can stay hard as long as we want."

"Ah, so?" she grinned wickedly. "Then let's have it. C'mon. I want that devilcum all over my tits." She began pumping him in earnest and dropped to her knees again, presenting him with a tempting target, working his shaft with enthusiasm and skill he'd rarely felt even from the lower-circle demonesses. He howled his delight as his burning seed erupted and splashed all over her tits, streams and spurts flowing and coating her creamy white flesh with even more whiteness. "Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, working him harder. "More. More! I want more!" He reached down inside and kept it going, erupting and erupting, all over her hands and forearms, all over her tits, splashing and splattering over the ripped remnants of her dress, drooling down her legs and pooling on the floor.

Finally he stopped, afraid he'd drown her before he'd even gotten into her, but she surged to her feet and engulfed his lips in a savage kiss. He felt his hot cum smearing all over his suit and tore furiously at it, wondering why he wasn't as nude as she was, or at least close to it. Buttons flew and cloth fell to the floor as he pulled her hard against his bare chest. "Mmmmmph," she moaned into his mouth. "Need it now. Give me that big hard cock. Want it in me. Now. Now!"

He ripped savagely at the shreds of the dress around her waist, getting them out of the way. In a twinkling he had spun her to face the mirror and slammed her down on the counter. She sang a high crystalline note of pure voiceless need and spread her legs as far as she could; he accepted her offering and drove home into her, hard and deep.

A red haze filmed his vision. This was what he was. He snarled and his hands clenched; the fingernails grew till they were claws. One hand clapped hard on her shoulder, yanking her against him; the other came down with a loud crack on her ass. She yowled in delight and began shoving back against him as he pistoned into her, fucking her deep and hard. And he began reviling her, savaging her with words as he savaged her body: "Slut. Filth. You're all the same -- so pure and holy and good when He's watching, but give you a little taste of the good stuff and you're all over it. You can't get enough. I could fuck you for days and it wouldn't be anywhere near what you need; you'll be begging for more cock even after I've bruised you inside, filled you with gallons of come, clawed and shredded your flesh, fucked you till you were damn near split in two. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah," she gasped. "I want it. I'm a dirty slut. I want cock. I'm meant for fucking. Take me, use me, pound me, fill me. Fuck my filthy hole with that big devil cock. Give me more of that hot steaming seed. I want it so bad."

And he drove into her. In. In. In. Harder and faster. She was gasping, screaming, her hair flying about, her eyes blazing, locked with his in the mirror as he pounded her harder, deeper, faster. Their bodies blurred together, pounding and thrusting in desperate frenzy. Time stretched and flowed, everything in the universe drawn down to this one unholy mergence. They fucked and they clawed and they scratched and they bit. He banged her from behind till the countertop shattered. He threw her against the wall and she jumped onto his cock again, wrapping her legs around him so tight he felt something creak. He drove her to the floor and had her there, leaving claw marks on her shoulders, her waist, her legs, her breasts; she left him unmarked but took everything he threw at her and begged for more.

Eventually even immortal flesh tires, but not without a final climax. He drew her down hard and fast, clenching her ass, pouring his essence into her in a fiery river of pleasure so great it was agony. She shrieked filthy words in a voice made raw by lust and rough use, and he howled imprecations at her, calling her slut, whore, succubus, finally grunting oaths in bastard pre-Druidic language as the pleasure overwhelmed him. They collapsed together to the floor, neither one truly sated yet, but knowing that their time here was done. Such a union isn't meant to be, after all.

-- PB