Erot

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infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 512 Forest Lake Drive Warner Robins, Georgia 31093 Secret Thought: Erotique Copyright © 2007 by Sasha White Cover by Scott Carpenter ISBN: 1-59998-492-X

www.samhainpublishing.com All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2007 Secret Thoughts: Erotique

Sasha White Laura Bacchi S. Desires J.J. Massa

Beth Williamson Nix Winter

Psst… Wanna Know What Turns Me On? S. Desires Do you want to know what makes my toes curl, my stomach clench, my back arch and my pussy ache? Yeah? Well, I'll tell you. It's simple really, just…touch, stroke, lick, nibble, suck, bite, tug, pinch, pull…my nipples, and I'll be your slave. You drag your hands up my body, trailing over my thighs, my stomach, my ribcage and stop to gently cup my breasts. God, they're so sensitive to touch. You bring your thumbs up to rub in lazy circles around my nipples and I arch my back. Mmm, it feels good. You know me so well…my wants, my needs, my desires. You skim your fingers over the soft skin of my breast until you reach the area your thumb is caressing and you begin to

lightly roll my nipple between your fingers. Oh God. "You like that, baby?" "Mmm, yes." And I do, oh, I do but I want more. I reach up, sliding my fingers into your silky hair, and pull you down, pressing your face against my breast. You laugh, a deeple rumble that vibrates against my skin and I can't help but smile. The tip of your tongue circles my nipple teasingly and heat shoots straight to my loins. "Is this what you want?" Your voice is rough, your desire is showing. You know what I want. "Baby…" You pull your face back a little and I can feel the warmth of your breath fluttering across my nipple. And oh, it's good, so good. You lean in and slide the flat of your tongue across my nipple…up, down, round and round…dipping

your tongue in to lave the valley between my breasts as you make your way over to the other one. You flick your tongue and scrape your teeth lightly over my nipple before wrapping your lips around the straining bud and pulling it into your mouth. "You taste so good, so sweet." Oh fuck me. The vibration of your words against my nipple has my insides clutching in giddy delight. Your hand is on my other breast…caressing, squeezing, kneading…your fingers are tugging, twisting, pinching my nipple, and God, it feels heavenly. "Oh God…" You pull my nipple deep into your mouth, your tongue swirling, your teeth grazing, and one sensation drowns out another until it's nothing but a delightful blur. You slide your leg up between my parted

thighs and press it against my pussy, never stopping the assault of your hands and mouth on my breasts. You begin to move your leg in a delicious rhythm against my pussy and the friction of your leg combined with your warm, wet tongue against my nipple is enough to send me spiraling over the edge and straight into madness.

Southern Heat Beth Williamson Eastern North Carolina, 1849 Aunt Ethel was a bitch. No two ways about it, she was a dyed in the wool bitch. Emmeline was positive the devil had spawned that woman and that her life’s goal was to make life as miserable as possible for her. It was late July in North Carolina and it could not possibly get any hotter. The leaves were practically melting off the magnolias in the backyard. The old dog, Pansy, just stayed under the porch all day. Emmeline assumed she came out in the dead of night when it was only unbearably hot instead of like the bowels of hell in the middle of the day. Currently, Aunt Ethel had made Emmeline

take out the three rugs from inside the house, which probably hadn’t seen a good beating since Pansy was a puppy, and hang them on the line for an airing. And then she had to beat them. Lord have mercy. The dust, heat and the sun were sure to turn her into a puddle. She whacked at the nasty blue rug from the living room and pretended it was Aunt Ethel’s face. Emmeline had come to live with her aunt, uncle and cousin six months ago. She had been orphaned when swollen waters had swept her parents’ carriage away while crossing the Neuse River. Not quite eighteen yet (three more weeks, thank you!), she was forced to leave Raleigh, which had been her home all her life, and come to this rural farm. And she hated it, hated everything about it. The stink from the pigs and cows, the chickens pecking at her feet every morning, the shrillness of Aunt Ethel’s voice, and the whininess of cousin Martha. It was hell, pure and simple.

Her beautiful clothes now all looked like rags from all the work she had to do. Her aunt had obviously taken her in to get a free slave to work their farm. Because that’s all she did—slave for them. Her hands were red and roughened now, the nails horrific (she didn’t even look at them anymore, they were so hideous), and her hair was limp and ragged. It was a hard place to be in for a pampered attorney’s daughter. She found strength to get up each morning from someplace deep inside that she had never tapped before. Smacking the rug for all she was worth, Emmeline started to feel lightheaded from the heat. The sweat was pouring down her back like a small creek. It felt like little minnows were swimming along with it. She longed to wipe the sweat off her face, but knew her hands were covered with dust and dirt, and it would only get all over her, making worse into really worse. “Emmeline!” came Aunt Ethel’s voice from

the back door. She sounded excited, perhaps even happy. What was this? Had a snowball fight broken out in Hades? “Yes?” she answered with a grunt as she whacked the rug again. “You best hurry up with those rugs. We’ve got so much to do to get ready.” Emmeline heard the back door slam as her aunt went back in the house. Ready for what? And why did she think it didn’t bode well for her? After an exhausting day of cleaning the house from top to bottom, Emmeline stared dully at her plate. It was suppertime and the whole family was chattering away about something. It was all she could do to not lay her head down on her meatloaf and mashed potatoes and sleep. But it was too damn hot to even sleep. Her dress was stuck to her and she surely did have a terrible odor from the copious amounts of sweat that had lined

and then dried on her body. She’d washed her face and hands, but the rest of her desperately needed a bath. “Should we iron my dress, Mama?” asked Martha. She was nineteen, a little chunky like her mother, with blonde ringlets and bright blue eyes. A pretty girl, if only her personality matched. Emmeline couldn’t be more different with her black hair and green eyes, tall and thin like a reed. She looked like her father, not her mother who had similar features to Aunt Ethel. Uncle Virgil was more of a shadow, or rather stood in his wife’s shadow, and let the world pass him right by. It was a shame, really, because he seemed like a likable fellow from the three words he’d spoken to her in the whole time she’d been there. “Of course, darlin’. Emmeline can press it after her other chores are done. Beau won’t be here until noontime,” answered Aunt Ethel.

Beau? Who the heck was Beau? She found she was too tired to care and started eating her dinner. One thing she could say for Aunt Ethel, she cooked a mean meatloaf. “Emmeline, are you paying attention?” She started in her chair and realized that her aunt had been talking to her for the last several minutes, and no, she was not paying attention. “Yes, ma’am?” she answered dutifully. She realized early on that the best thing to do was answer politely or get cuffed on the ear. “You do know who Beau Montgomery is, don’t you? He’s the son of the former governor of Louisiana, that’s who he is. And he is coming here for a visit tomorrow. Your Uncle Virgil knew his mama real well and she told him to look us up when he came to North Carolina. He’s been attending school up there in Durham to be an attorney. Not one that worked with the poor like your

father, but one that works with important people.” Emmeline tried to look impressed, but it was too much effort. Instead, she continued to chew her meatloaf, feeling like she resembled a dumb cow chewing her cud. “He’s coming tomorrow, Emmeline! We need to make sure to finish cleaning the house before he gets here!” Finish? What was all that she’d done today? She scrubbed, polished, swept, beat, dusted, and cleaned everything already! Her dismay must have been evident on her face. “Don’t you dare look put upon, missy. Why if we hadn’t taken you in when my dear sainted sister died, you’d be living on the streets of Raleigh begging for bread.” Probably not entirely true. She would have been in an orphanage. “Yes, ma’am.” “So don’t get an attitude with me, Emmeline

Parker.” “No, ma’am.” “All right then. After you finish up the dishes tonight, put on some water to heat so Martha can have a bath. We want her to look her best for Beau. Martha Wilson is going to shine.” But of course. Husband-hunting. That’s what was going on. Emmeline thought she would give away everything she owned if Martha would get married and leave the house. Not that it would amount to much. It was midnight when Emmeline put away the last of the mess Martha had made in the kitchen taking her bath. She’d have thought her cousin was nine instead of nineteen the way she splashed and acted. She was absolutely miserable and as exhausted as she ever remembered being. She stepped out on the back porch and threw the last bucket of water out. She yelped in surprise to find Uncle Virgil

standing on the porch, smoking. “Uncle Virgil! I didn’t know you smoked.” His face was illuminated in the glow of the cigar as he took a puff. He was grinning a bit. “Neither does your aunt, so don’t tell, okay?” Emmeline smiled back. “Won’t say a thing.” She turned the bucket over and sat down, scratching her filthy head. What she wouldn’t give for a bath herself. Uncle Virgil sat down on the steps next to her. “I’m sorry your aunt has been so hard on you.” Emmeline shrugged. “Life gives you only as much as you can take.” “I reckon that’s rightly so, sugar,” he drawled. “You know, there’s a pond not too far from here. I’ll bet on a night like tonight, the water is just the right temperature for a swim.”

She perked up a bit. “A pond? Really? Where?” He ground out the cigar, then put the rest of it in his shirt pocket and stood. “About half a mile north. It’s on town property so no one owns it. Most folks use it to, ahem, take baths on hot summer nights.” He pointed toward the trees across the meadow. “The moon is real bright tonight, so you should be able to find your way easy. Right through those pines over there, can’t miss it. Be careful, now, ya hear? There are only a few critters out there at night, but that don’t mean there aren’t any two-legged ones too. Holler if you need help, I’ll be listening.” With that, he patted her shoulder and went inside. A pond! Swimming! Oh, Hallelujah! Emmeline bundled a towel, soap, her brush, and clean clothes and marched out into the night. She should be afraid, but she was too

excited. The sweet smell of the magnolia blossoms and the honeysuckle bustled through the breeze and teased her nose. The grass under her feet was damp with dew and tickled her calves like small tongues licking her skin. Her dress swished softly in the night, blending with the sounds of the crickets and katydids chirping around her. The moon hung high, shining like a new coin. The stars sparkled and twinkled in the black velvet sky. It was so peaceful, so beautiful, and for the first time, she didn’t miss her old home. Living in the wilds did have its blessings. She reached the trees and headed in cautiously. She hugged her bundle to her chest and tiptoed in, careful not to step on any sticks or twigs. She didn’t know why, but somehow she knew she wasn’t alone. And oh, how she hated being right. A splash in the darkness confirmed her fears. Then she heard a voice, a male voice, humming off-key. She crept closer, skirting around the

pine trees, grateful for the prickly needles that coated the ground beneath the prolific pines. When she got closer to the water, she could hear him more clearly. She didn’t recognize the song, but that didn’t mean much. He was humming it badly enough to make the frogs stop croaking. Emmeline finally arrived just beside the pond. She pressed her damp, sticky back against the rough bark of the pine and felt a small broken branch pushing into her spine. Ignoring the discomfort, she braced herself to peek around the tree. And promptly forgot her name. The moonlight shone through the trees onto the pond like a porch light, illuminating both the water and the wet, naked man. He was beautiful. It wasn’t a word she had ever applied to a man. But he was. He was tall and slender with broad shoulders and a matt of hair on his muscular chest. She couldn’t tell the exactly color of

his hair, but it was probably blond. He was floating on his back, sweeping his long arms up and down, gently moving from one side of the pond to the other. He looked like a creature of the sea, full of liquid strength and grace. But what really drew her attention was what was lying between his legs. She’d never seen a naked man before, of that she was certain. She was also certain that his had to be extraordinary. She’d heard the cook talking to the maid about it once before her parents had died and the servants dismissed. They’d called it a “cock”. His cock was big and reached nearly to his belly button. And what was below them— she heard them call “balls”, although they weren’t exactly round—they were covered with hair, probably dark blond in color, and looked like very large plums. Juicy ones. Suddenly the dampness in her dress wasn’t the only thing wet on her body. She was wet between her legs. Reaching down, she

touched herself through her dress and shuddered. She bit her lip to the point of pain to contain a moan. How could just looking at a naked man do this? Her nipples were hard points rubbing against her damp clothing. They were throbbing in tune with her vagina. What had cook called that? Oh, yes, her pussy. The names were naughty and just knowing them was enough to push up her pulse even higher. She saw him reach the edge of the other side of the pond. He stood, the water sluicing off him to reveal an absolutely perfect behind. It was round, yet firm, and she found herself wanting to run over and caress it, squeeze it, bite it. Oh, good gravy! She had thought she was hot before, but now she was positively burning up. He walked out onto the bank to retrieve his clothing, which was in a pile on the pine

needle floor. Emmeline saw a horse tethered just beyond the trees. He used a shirt to dry himself off, then slipped on his trousers. She couldn’t quell the aching feeling of disappointment at that. Looking at him had brought incredible pleasure. He pulled on his boots, then carried the rest of his clothes to the horse. She must have made a noise, because he stopped and turned around to look her way. Pressing herself into the tree, she willed every pulsing, pounding part of her to be still. There was no way in heaven or hell she would get caught spying on a naked man. Aunt Ethel would probably beat her. Moments later—it could have been ten minutes, it could have been a hundred minutes—she heard the sound of hoof beats fading into the distance. She let out a deep breath and peered back around the tree. Alone. Squelching the unhappiness of having her first naked man walk away, she concentrated on the fact that the pond was

now hers. Heaven! She slipped off her shoes, then her dress and chemise. Feeling even more naughty, if that were possible, she waded into the water, as naked as the day she was born. The water wasn’t cold, but it was cooler than the night air and it was absolute bliss. She dove in. Beau knew someone had been watching him. It was a prickling at the back of his neck. His hackles had risen like little soldiers. He left his horse a few hundred yards away and crept back to the pond. He heard a splash like someone had dived in the water. Satisfaction in his instincts made him smile grimly. But who? Who had spied on him? He thought he’d found the garden of Eden when he’d discovered the pond in the night. He had been staying in town at the hotel, but it was so hot, reminded him of home in

Louisiana. And his favorite pastime at home had been skinny-dipping in the creek behind his house on such a hot, sticky night. But here he’d been watched. And that was not acceptable. He planned on sharing a piece of his mind with whoever it was. When he finally reached the pond, he poked his head around the tree and peered into the darkness. Ready to scare the hell out of him. Holy shit. It wasn’t a he. It was a she. A selkie. A goddess floating like one of Circe’s handmaidens. A siren calling him. His cock was instantly as hard as the pine tree he leaned against. She was tall and slender with hair so dark, he could actually see it floating on the lighter colored water. Her breasts were the size of oranges, with perfect dark nipples pointing toward the night sky. Slight curves and legs that seemed to go from her shoulder to her neck. He shivered to imagine those legs wrapped

around his waist as he plunged into her hot, wet warmth. Who was she? Emmeline couldn’t remember feeling so peaceful. She was on her back, much the same as her naked man. Well, he wasn’t exactly hers and she needed to put him out of her mind. She was floating like a butterfly, gently spreading her wings across the midnight touched water. Absolute bliss. “You know if you’re going to spy on someone, you ought to be more careful about it,” came an annoyed and very male voice from the bank. Holy crackers! She stood up so fast, she nearly fell face first into the water. But that didn’t work either, because the pond only came to just below her breasts. There they were bobbing on the water. She ducked down to her neck and turned to glare at him. However, it was hard to glare when you

wanted to gape. Shirtless, he stood with his hands on his hips, a smirk of amusement gracing his kissable lips. God sure knew what he was doing when he made this man. “Shoo!” she said, flicking her hand in the water. “Pardon me?” His voice was like hot honey, warm and thick. His drawl was not local—it was more singsong. It sounded more like “Pah-don me?” “I said shoo—git, go on home.” He stared at her in surprise, then threw back his head and laughed. It was a big, booming laugh that reverberated in her chest although a good twelve feet separated them. “You were spying on me.” Emmeline felt her cheeks heat. He was right. She had spied on him. “Did you like what you saw?” Her eyes had always been her downfall.

Daddy used to say they reflected every bit of her soul for the world to see. This stranger must have seen her answer in their depths because he started unbuttoning his pants. “Wait, I…” He stopped on the third button and looked at her expectantly. She shook her head and sank down under the water, unwilling to acknowledge that she had invited him to join her in the water. She felt the ripples undulate past her as he stepped into the pond. Her blood was thumping in her ears. She opened her eyes and saw him—at least from the chest down. He was magnificent and he was coming toward her. Strong arms lifted her up out of the water. She was suspended a few inches from the bottom, her breasts with tight nipples were thrust forward. Eye to eye, she stared into his—and they were blue, a sapphire blue in the moonlight. “My God, you’re perfect,” he whispered

hoarsely. He slowly let her back down to her feet, sliding oh so sensually down his hard, muscular body. He lowered his head, and his lips met hers. They were soft, yet insistent, rubbing back and forth across her inexperienced mouth, inciting a yearning for more. Much more. Emmeline wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. The hairs on his chest caressed her already painfully proud nipples, making them beg for more. She could feel his cock, rock hard against her belly, pulsing along with her heart. She wanted to touch it, pet it, feel it between her legs. More. She hadn’t realized she said it out loud until he raised his mouth from hers and answered. His hot breath puffing on her face, smelling of mint. “There’s more, darlin’. A lot more.” She opened her mouth to respond when his

mouth clamped down on hers again and this time, his tongue snaked into her mouth. It was raspy and slick, seeming to dance with hers, teaching her how he would dance with her pussy and his cock. She clenched all over to imagine what that would feel like. Was she ready for it? To lose her virginity to a total stranger? Oh, yes, she was. He was exactly what she expected her first lover to be. Big, but not too big, beautiful, sexy, and most importantly, he wanted her. Simple, skinny, forgettable Emmeline. Tonight she didn’t feel simple or forgettable or even skinny. She felt like Aphrodite. Beau wasn’t sure she was real. Maybe he was having the most erotic, sensual dream of his entire life. But no, he could feel every inch of hers pressed up against him, hot and wet. Ready. He released her lips and they both took

much needed, gusty breaths. “Lie back in the water again.” Her eyes were green. A dark mossy green and they were as wide as they could get without swallowing her face. “Please.” She nodded and shakily lay back in the water. Those incredible breasts were laid out in front of him like a feast. And he was powerfully hungry. “Flawless,” he said as he leaned down to gently lick the left one. She gasped. “Feel good?” “More,” she said huskily. Damn straight. He licked and nibbled over and over, all around the nipple, knowing she needed more. Waiting until she was ready to beg for it. Then he opened his mouth wide and began to suckle. “Lord have mercy!” she whispered, then

moaned as he took even more of the tasty globe into his mouth. His tongue laved the nipple as he sucked. His hands were busy too. One held her head so she’d be steady. The other teased her right nipple until it too was distended and as hard as his cock. She tasted like sunshine, and honeysuckle, and woman. It was enough to make him grow another inch. And the size was perfect, just big enough to fit in his hand. Time to switch sides. He let loose the left nipple with an audible pop and twirled her around so he could feast on the other. “More,” she said again. Apparently she was hungry too. When she stopped moving in the water, he had just begun to suck on her right nipple when he felt her hand on his cock. At first, quite by accident he was sure, but then she grew bold. Inexperienced and fluttery, then demanding and incredible. Her slender fingers seemed to have acquired a lot of

knowledge quickly. They were moving up and down his engorged staff and alternately caressing his balls. He’d never been so aroused. He would come in the water if he wasn’t careful. And this experience was too much to waste quickly. Giving her nipple one last lick, he stepped out of range of her talented hand and instead grasped her feet and spread her legs wide as she floated on top of the water. Then stepped between them. What in the world was he doing? Was that his head between her legs? Oh, Sweet Jesus, that was not his finger! It was his tongue! She knew the feel of that tongue after he’d completely destroyed her sanity with it on her nipples. And now he was licking her pussy! She didn’t know people did that. But if no one else did, they should be. The feel of that strong tongue on her was astonishing, and with each stroke, she was getting closer and closer to something.

Pleasure was snaking through her so fast, she couldn’t keep up. The warm water, the night air, the heat of his body, and his mouth. Dear God in heaven, his mouth! His tongue swirled, and whirled, and licked and then he nibbled with his teeth. It was all building up, and building up, and suddenly, a million points of light exploded in her body. She heard herself cry out hoarsely as she soared ever higher in an intensity of pleasure that stole her breath. Her breath was coming in gasps and her heart seemed to have doubled in size. Suddenly he pulled her up to his chest and dove into her mouth. She kissed him with a ferocity that surprised even her. She tasted her own muskiness in his mouth and that made her want more. More. He guided her legs around his waist and nudged his cock against her pussy. Ever so slowly he entered her. And it felt like she’d been skewered. She tried to push him away,

but it was like pushing a boulder. There was no give on the man. “Shhhh, darlin’. It’s okay,” he whispered against her lips. His hands roamed up and down her body, caressing, touching, pleasuring. The awful pain faded and instead, she began to move with him. Rocking against him as his hardness slid in and out of her softness. His mouth landed on her nipple again and she moaned as he suckled her deeply. His pace grew faster and faster as the water around them rippled and splashed with them. Suddenly her body tensed as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. She heard him cry out as he spilled his seed. Emmeline had never felt so…incredible. He was breathing like a locomotive and his hands never stopped touching her. “Who knew I’d find a selkie in the waters in North Carolina?” He chuckled as his hands

swept over her still aroused nipples. She smiled. “A selkie? Nope, just a girl in desperate need of a bath. Who knew I’d find a demi-god in my pond?” He slipped out of her and scooped her up in his arms, headed for the bank. Emmeline’s head lolled against his shoulder. She was exhausted from the housework, the swim and the wondrous sex with her stranger. “Tuckered out, eh?” he said as he lay her down on his discarded clothes. “Take a rest, selkie. We can continue this in a while.” Emmeline couldn’t keep her eyes open. She drifted off to sleep with the comfort of a warm man behind her and a strong arm protecting her. A feeling that she’d never had and was afraid she could get very used to. * Beau awoke with a start. He thought he’d dreamed her, because she was certainly gone. He was naked, lying in the woods and

wondering where his selkie was. He sat up and picked up his shirt, which was still slightly damp. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Oh yes, she was real all right. Her scent was all over his clothes. Just one whiff and he was hard and ready again. Damn! Where was she? Beau knew she wasn’t nearby, but he’d be damned if he’d return to Durham without looking for her. First he had to go visit his mother’s friend. He expected it to be another husband hunting dinner and sorely regretted agreeing to it. He stood and brushed the pine needles from his skin and pulled on his clothes. He really wanted to go hunting for a water nymph. Emmeline hummed as she polished the furniture in the parlor. Aunt Ethel kept looking at her like she’d lost her mind, but she didn’t care. She had a dream come true last night and nothing could spoil it for her.

She had awakened before dawn and left his arms, although every inch of her skin yelled in protest as she left. Oh, how she wanted to snuggle up beside him and stay there all day. Perhaps even all week. She giggled and wondered how one encounter had turned her into such a tart. “We only have an hour until Beau arrives, Emmeline,” came Aunt Ethel’s voice. “We don’t have time for daydreaming. What has gotten into you?” She stood with her hands on her ample hips, staring at Emmeline from the door to the kitchen. Emmeline shrugged. “Just feeling good on such a beautiful day I guess.” She was feeling good too. Some twinges in muscles she’d never even known she had, but overall, a peaceful, rapturous state that she hoped to hold onto as long as possible. She felt peace, something that had escaped her since her parents’ death. Her dream

lover had helped her achieve it. “Well, feeling good is fine as long as you get your chores done!” Aunt Ethel snapped before she walked toward Martha’s bedroom. “The ironing better be done!” Emmeline ignored her. Today wasn’t going to be spoiled by her aunt’s sharp tongue. She finished the last slat in the rocking chair just as a knock came on the door. Uncle Virgil nodded at her from the steps and she opened the front door. It was difficult to surprise Beau. His selkie did it with flair for a second time when she opened the door to the Wilson’s house. She obviously wasn’t expecting him either because her mouth opened slightly in surprise. Beau’s pants grew snug as he remembered just how those lips tasted. So she was the girl his father wanted him to meet. Hot damn! He thanked his lucky stars she wasn’t some tittering blonde with

sausage curls. He smiled and tipped his hat. “Good afternoon.” He held out the calling card that his father insisted he carry. “My name is Beau Montgomery. I believe I’m expected.” The flush that stole up her creamy skin reminded him of the color of her nipples. “Uncle Virgil,” she said flatly as she stepped aside. “Martha’s beau is here.” Martha’s beau? Who the hell was Martha? An older man came to the door with a serious expression that flickered back and forth between him and his selkie. Shit, could he actually see the heat between them? Beau certainly felt it along with the summer heat that slid down his skin from sunup to sundown. It felt like every hair on his body was standing at attention. He could not look away from her beautiful green eyes. “Do you mind taking your eyes off my niece? Your manners are lacking a bit, young man.”

Beau shook himself mentally and focused on the older man. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought I knew your…niece, but I think I’m mistaken.” He handed the man his card. “Beau Montgomery.” He took the card and shook his hand with a callused one that had known much work. “Virgil Wilson. Come on in. You favor your mama a bit. I believe Ethel and Martha will be down shortly.” Beau stepped in the house and the selkie’s expression was now one of distrust. “This is Emmeline Gardner, my niece and Martha’s cousin.” She curtseyed briefly then disappeared into the shadows of another room. Damn! Emmeline walked through the kitchen and out the back door. She couldn’t stay there any longer. Her midnight lover was the man

Martha wanted to marry. Her mind was having a hard time accepting that fact. And she had given Completely. Totally.

herself

to

him.

And Martha wanted to marry him. She sat down heavily on the back steps and laid her head in her hands. Her ecstatic mood blew away like a spring storm, with a bang of thunder and the shock of lightning. Through the screen door, she heard Aunt Ethel’s voice, high and screechy, and Martha’s softer tones giggling, simpering. Lord, give me strength to get through the day. “Emmeline?” Uncle through the door.

Virgil

asked

quietly

She waved her hand up in the air to signal she was all right, which she most certainly wasn’t. The door opened and closed and he sat down beside her.

“Do you know that young man?” Emmeline’s stomach tightened up and she thought she might just be sick after all. Why would he ask that question? “I don’t know what you mean,” she said quietly. Uncle Virgil sighed. “You and I both know you’re too smart for playing games, young lady. There was a look in his eyes and in yours that you knew each other. Don’t know how or when, but it was there.” Emmeline was quiet, unable to respond. She was learning a lot about Uncle Virgil in the last two days. “And I also think that you should be in there with him, not out here staring at the mosquitoes. Martha ain’t ready to choose a husband, no matter what Ethel thinks.” He rubbed her shoulder and stood. “It’s your choice, and I’m hoping you’ll make the right one.” Within

moments,

she

was

alone

again.

Pansy lifted her head from the shade of the porch and looked at her with her sad dog eyes as if to ask, “Are you going to let him go that easily?” She heard another one of Aunt Ethel’s braying laughs and something inside her snapped. She was tired spending her days feeling sorry for herself. Life was meant to be lived not endured. Emmeline stood up and brushed her hands down her skirt, grimacing at the frayed bottom. Nothing to do about it now. She took a deep breath and went back into the house. She went into the house with her shoulders squared and her mind made up. Walking into the living room, Beau spotted her first and his blue eyes lit up like a firework in July. That’s when Emmeline knew her choice was the right one. Aunt Ethel frowned at her. “Emmeline, I don’t know where you got off to, but we need some refreshments. Get back in that

kitchen now and fetch them, girl.” He stood and walked over to her. She smiled. The sound of Aunt Ethel sputtering registered somewhere in the back of her mind. “I’m downright happy to see you.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. The touch of his lips was like magic. Tingles ran up her arm and down her body. “Would you care to take a walk with me?” he asked with a wicked grin. “I hear there’s a nice pond nearby.”. Emmeline laughed. It felt so good to laugh again. “I’d like that.” “Young lady, you are not leaving this house with that man!” Aunt Ethel stood up and waggled her two chins at them. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Beau politely. “I really came here to see Emmeline. You see, we know each other from way back. I was hoping I’d run into her while I was in town.”

Emmeline was wondering how he was able to tell such a whopper without laughing. “We will see you all in a little while.” He took her arm and led her to the door. Emmeline was smiling so broadly her cheeks started to hurt. The touch of his hand was warm and firm on her skin. Like it was meant to be there. “Do you mind?” he whispered. She shook her head. “No, I was about to do the same thing.” Beau stopped her and cupped her face in his hands. “I couldn’t wait to do this.” His lips touched hers briefly, like a butterfly landing on a flower. “I can’t do much more than that with the three of them watching through the windows.” Emmeline laughed. He waggled his eyebrows and tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go swimming.”

Unknown Wanton Sasha White I have a thing for anonymous sex Some might call it a fetish. Some might call it an addiction. I don’t know what to call it. All I know is that when I’m blindfolded, I’m in my own world. I can be who I want, do what I want. Pleasure is the only goal. When I stand in front of the bathroom mirror smoothing red lipstick over my full lips, my fingers tremble just a little. Excitement. Anticipation. Desire. Putting that particular shade of lipstick on is like a signal to my brain. It helps me shift the straight-laced school teacher I am during the day aside so the wanton that I truly am can come out and play. Or be played with. One last look at the reflection that isn’t

really me, and I switch off the light and leave my apartment. A cab takes me to the pre-arranged hotel. I don’t need to check in as John is always there before me. John is my friend. He understands my secret. And I trust him with it because it feeds his secret desire too. He likes to control things. He likes to watch, and to direct. On that night, neither of us spoke when I entered the room. He just took my coat, leaving me in my corset, panties, and high heels, before he turned me around and placed a thick velvet cloth over my eyes. “I have a special treat for you tonight, Cerise.” His voice was thick, the heat of his breath as he talks teases the shell of my ear and a shiver races down my spine. Once the blindfold was firmly in place, his presence shifted away. Straining my ears, I could hear him settle against the dresser a few feet

away. Or maybe it was in a chair? I didn’t really get a good look around the room when I entered. I didn’t really care about the room. “Take off your panties off,” he ordered. “I want you ready to be fucked immediately.” The second my panties hit the ground, another knock sounded at the door and my sex clenched. It was almost time and my body was past the point of readiness. John brushed past me on the way to the door, I heard his hand hit the doorknob, but it didn’t open. Every muscle in my body tightened as I waited for the sound of the door opening, the rush of cool air that would flow into the room and caress my overheated skin. But he didn’t open it. “John…” “Get on the bed, hands and knees. You are not to move or speak. You are just here to be used. You understand?” I didn’t even nod. I just clambered onto the

bed, knees spread wide, back arched, waiting. The door opened and closed, and I sense another person, but only John spoke, his words whispered so I couldn’t understand them. A few more rustling sounds echoed through the room and a slight tremble started inside me. It was this moment that I loved the most. The moment when I could feel lustful eyes on me, but I could see no one. One warm hand drifted over my rump then settled on my hip briefly before traveling back over my butt to dip between my legs. A shiver whipped through me and I couldn’t not arch against the touch. “Oh, she’s so wet.” My head came up, my body stilled, even the tremors inside stopped. John’s husky chuckle drifted through the room as the rounded head of a hard cock nudged at my entrance. “Yes, Cerise, you’re going to get fucked by a woman tonight.”

“A very horny woman.” The words ended on a grunt as the cock thrust deep. Warm, smooth skin pressed against my buttocks and small hands gripped my hips as she ground against me. Long inches of thick hard rubber filled my sex and pressed against the magic button deep inside me. A whimper slipped from my throat and I closed my eyes beneath the velvet. Fingers tightened and she pulled out…then slammed into me again, and again, picking up speed. Within seconds this anonymous woman was fucking me fast and hard. Our panting breaths broke the silence, the feminine sounds of two women close to the edge mingling with the juicy noise of my pussy being filled and emptied as skin slapped against skin. The stiff rod pumped into me steadily, hitting my hotspot with every thrust. I bit my lip and swallowed a cry as the tremors of a small orgasm hit, spreading from the inside out, ripples of erotic delight following.

“You like that?” she huffed. “Feel good does it?” “Very,” I purred, head hanging, back arching to change the angle of penetration. To deepen it. And it did. I’d never dreamt of a woman with a strap-on cock before, but it almost felt real. The only difference was there was no heat. The rubber dick dipping in and out of my pussy was not warm human flesh. It also wasn’t going limp. A purr rumbled from between my lips, I rocked into the deep fucking, and my sex tightened again. I was close, so close to coming again, and this time it was going to be good. As if she knew it, the stranger picked up speed, her harsh breath a clear warning. She bent over me, her hands shifting forward, cupping my breasts, and squeezing them through the satin of the corset. “My turn now,” she growled. “You’ve been a good little slut and now it’s my turn.”

With a last rough thrust, she settled in deep and ground against me, her forehead dropping onto my back as her cries filled the room. The sounds from her, the sensations from within, the raunchiness of it all pushed me over the edge. Pleasure crashed through me and I swear I blacked out. I barely felt her ease from my body or heard the mumbled conversation that reminded me of John’s presence. When the door opened and closed, cool air drifted in and I stirred from my collapsed position on the bed to sit on the edge. John removed the blindfold, pressed a gentle kiss to my lips and then left the room. I was alone. The way I liked it. I didn’t bother to clean up or put my panties back on. Instead, I slipped my coat on and drove home, reveling in the stickiness and tenderness between my thighs. I have no idea who she was, the anonymous lady whose fantasy was to strap on a rubber

cock and fuck another woman, but I was glad she was as lustful as me.

She’s My Type Laura Bacchi “Yes!” Cara must have found the typewriter ribbons. The right brands safely tucked away in boxes by some grandmother decades ago. At the right price. I heard her take the stairs two at a time to the attic studio where I stood surrounded by the black and silver relics. Emerson. Remington. Even a rare Duplex, a sculpture in its own right. Miles of brittle ribbon streamed from the insides of each machine into loopy piles on the pine floorboards and marked me with whatever ink remained. The humid attic air melted the lashes of black to indistinct smudges on my flesh within seconds. God, I hate September in the South.

For hours that afternoon, I’d trudged from machine to machine, stripping every spool in the hope that she would find carefully preserved replacements. I felt guilty for lacking confidence in her ability to locate them—I should know by now that what Cara wants, Cara gets. While unwinding the slender strips of ebony, my mind wandered—as usual—to sex. Sex with Cara. Some of the spools moaned when I spun them. Long, plaintive sounds that wouldn’t end until the last inch of tape was undone. I wrapped the thin lengths around two fingers as I worked. Then I added another digit. And another. My fingers were soon bound tight and my hands prickled with sensation. I got my wrists into the action, and when I heard her talking on the phone earlier, I realized both hands were encased in something akin to boxing gloves. By the time she reached the studio doorway, my erection was in full force. Her face flushed pink with victory while she

told me the details. “The old drugstore on Forty-Seventh, you know, the one set for demolition next month? Tons of them in pristine condition.” She paused to catch her breath, and zany amber ringlets bobbed with every animated gesture of her hands, her pale green eyes almost maniacal. “The owner said to come by this afternoon and take ‘em away. No charge.” I wondered if this was how she looked when she came—and if I would ever hear a throaty “yes” directed at me and not some curbside objet d’art discovered on trash day. A guy could wish… It took her a moment to absorb the scene I’d created in her studio. Then the laughing began. The loud, hysterical kind that meant you were the butt of some hilarious joke known to everyone except yourself. She stepped nearer and grabbed my upper arm— probably because it was the only exposed skin not covered in black. “When you take the ribbon out, you remove

the whole spool.” Her curls burrowed into my shoulder. She’d never gotten this close to me. She smelled of mint. Her giggling was somewhat under control when she looked up and searched my face. Either for signs of intelligent life or hurt feelings. I felt like an idiot. “I’ll clean it up.” Then I grinned in spite of myself. She scanned the room with a look that could only mean ideas were running through her brain at light-speed. “I kinda like it. Maybe we could save it for Halloween. Use it on the porch…” I shook my head. “This stuff might not wash off. The neighborhood moms would riot if their trick-or-treaters got permanently inked.” Cara backed away in mock fear and headed downstairs. “Back in a few,” she called. She’d finished the paintings last month. I’d finished the frames about two weeks afterward and was ready to stain the wood

when she called me from her cell phone. “Don’t touch the frames! You haven’t touched the frames yet, have you? I had a thought…” I smiled into the receiver. “No, Cara. I’ll be waiting.” After rummaging through the fridge for a beer, I sat and waited. When Cara gets an idea, it’s always best to rest up before she slams you with the details. She barged through the door with an exquisite fossil, its bones concealed by dust and grime. Three filthy cloths later, the outside case gleamed like patent leather and keys struck the platen with ease. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. I’d only seen typewriters in old films. There was something elegant about the machine. The sound of the keys striking and the way the smooth buttons felt beneath my fingertips. Classy. Just like Cara.

We were installing her one-person show downtown at Puschi’s in November. Large paintings would fill the walls, each piece covered with words obscured by paint. Cara spent months scraping through layers of pigment to reveal letters in various states of visibility. Peeking out to tease the viewer, leading them to believe there was a story beneath the brush strokes. But she kept insisting that something was missing. The viewer should be involved, a dialogue encouraged. So she hit upon the idea of putting a typewriter in front of each painting with a long roll of paper in place. People could tap out their thoughts about the art or whatever else crossed their minds. Artsy-fartsy, I know. But her work was so luminous, so beautifully done, that she could probably get away with it. She decided on black frames to match the typewriters. And for the antique machines, I made sturdy platforms and painted them a stark white for

contrast. We would mount them to the walls below each piece. I got them done in about two weeks. Next we hunted down the old typewriters. Flea markets, yard sales, and seven on eBay. We pretended we were on a sacred quest for holy relics of the Information Age, and during our scavenger hunts, she loosened up a bit. Not that she was uptight—she just stayed so focused on making art that I rarely saw anything but her drive. She finally admitted since I’d come on board as her assistant, she felt more content with her paintings. She said I gave her permission to wander away from the intensity… Her trip downtown was guaranteed to last several hours. She’d chat with the drugstore guy. Drop into a gallery. Grab a bite to eat. With the windows open, I could always hear her old Toyota crunch up the gravel drive. And since my zipper was now etched into

my cock, I might as well do something about it. I stared into the mirror she had fallen for at an estate sale last weekend and tried to talk myself out of jacking off in her studio. The mirror was over eight feet tall, bordered by ornate carvings that glinted in the late afternoon sun. My hands were bundled with streams of black that wafted to the floor. I needed to see my prick in the mirror, to yank my cock till limp while the typewriters sat watching. More than anything, I wanted Cara there watching, too, so I could perhaps please her. Or at least show her how badly I wanted her. After loosening my strange gloves, I pulled my T-shirt over damp hair. My cut-off jeans and underwear came off next and they landed softly in a puddle of ribbon. I stooped to grab more ribbons, but it was hard to find where one ended or began. Growing impatient, I sprung the lid to an untouched Remington. The ribbon spun

freely and I wound it around my balls and the base of my cock. Then I looped it around the length of my shaft. Slivers of pale skin flashed through the dark strips. After draping the rest around my neck and torso, I did the best I could with my legs. I lamented the fact that my bindings weren’t snug, but pressed on. I could imagine her drawing the ends further from my body, tightening the strands to the point of discomfort. My right palm broke completely free of the mitten I’d created and cupped the head of my cock. It was weeping in anticipation, its clear juice turning black with each stroke. Sweat flooded my pores, beading on the surface of my skin before pulling the ink downward in pitch-black drips. Catching sight of myself again in the mirror, I let out a chuckle. I looked like a negative of a mummy until you noticed the eager penis throbbing through its wrapping. It bobbed impatiently, so I teased it a bit with a finger

poking out of my other glove. Then it dawned on me to tie the ends of the ribbon to tables scattered throughout the studio. It was awkward, but I managed—hopefully not losing too much time in the process. It was perfect. I angled my upper body away from the tables and watched the ribbons go taut. After a few adjustments, my prick felt the tug and strained to point upright. One swaddled hand fought to caress my balls while the other choked my shaft. A foot slipped on the ribbons, almost dropping me to my knees. The action jerked my cock to the side. The sudden constriction both tortured and thrilled me. I nearly came. Shit. The front door slammed and Cara’s footfalls bounded up the stairs. “If they don’t stop blocking my drive…” I looked up. She stood doe-like in the mirror, her arms filled with boxes, and her mouth gaping. Cara had very nice molars.

The rest was a blur. I shuffled backward to ease up my ties, but lost my balance. Brittle ribbon to my left gave way, sending me into the edge of a table. I managed to stick my elbow out and make contact with the tabletop, but not before jamming my butt cheek into the corner as I skidded. I could tell the skin was broken and the pain intensified my embarrassment. She dropped the boxes and rushed forward to help me. I waited for her to yell at me or maybe laugh, but she did neither. I tried to speak, to say it was a Halloween costume or make up some other lie. The enthusiastic hard-on poking through the ribbons, however, made me think twice. Cara supported my body with one arm and inspected my wound. Her silence drove me crazy and I sure as hell couldn’t say anything—shame had crushed my throat. Her hands weren't pampered. They did rough work and I expected them to be calloused like mine. But they were much

softer than I’d imagined. Supple fingers traced the welt created by my stupidity as she kneeled behind me. When her tongue ran the length of my wound, I gasped and filled my lungs with damp attic air. She eased me to the floorboards, her breath hot on my nape. Fingertips found spaces in my bindings and toyed with patches of skin, making me shift my weight among the ribbon-filled floor. My breathing quickened when she made her way back to my sore, raised flesh. Maybe it was the ink that made it sting so—I had enough experience with this type of thing to recognize the added discomfort. She clawed my other ass cheek with her tiny nails and I squirmed. I looked into the mirror. She was watching me, trying to gauge from my eyes what I wanted. I poured all my longing for her into that silvered glass and she sucked it all in. As if she knew what I was thinking. What I wanted. And how I

needed to be punished for what all I’d done. Her fingers threaded through my hair and pulled, bringing me back to slant against her lips. I loved the taste of her against my tongue and strained to get closer to her face while I tried to please her with my mouth. Without warning, she released me and my head fell forward. I heard the shuffle of clothing behind me. Her shirt came to rest against my thigh followed by a simple cotton bra. The metallic rasp of a zipper came next. She pressed into my back, her chubby nipples branding whatever flesh they could touch. My balls ached. As if on cue, she sought my prick. The rhythm of her left hand gave her away. Cara’s knuckles beat against the top of my ass while she flicked her clit, the tempo matching her hand on my cock. The ribbons decorating it were drenched with an inky bath as she slicked her hand back and forth. When her motions gathered speed, I choked

back a moan. She responded by removing her sweet, warm hand. The stroking she did for herself, however, continued. In a heated breath, she whispered for me to take up where she had left off. “I want to watch you,” she whispered. I complied at once. Her teeth sank into my shoulder while she stared into the mirror. Fingers still wet from ink and sweat and pre-cum found the cleft of my ass. I cried out when she grazed it and the tight brown hole quivered helplessly from the contact. “Please. There.” Somehow I managed to push the words out. She eased the first finger in with a precision most artists possess. A practiced, sensual twist of the hand guaranteed to make a paintbrush obey. I almost shot when she glided along the gland longing for attention. She knew I was at the edge and withdrew

the finger, lazily twirling it along the moist outer ring. Waiting for the right moment to enter me again. An eternity passed before I felt the second digit burrow against the other hoping for accommodation. I splayed my legs wide. Then I forced my weight down to bear against her touch. Her two fingers slowly worked themselves deeper. I bent low to give her more access and my ass thrust backward, urging her to go further inside. She interrupted her own pleasure to grab my hair and pull me upright. “I want to see you when you come,” she whispered. She went back to rubbing herself and I had to give in. The pulsing in my ass matched the movements of my wrist. Jolts of pleasure ripped through me from rear to front before rising to sear my brain. My cock twitched and shuddered, flinging semen onto her mirror. The opaque fluid smeared

an image of two charred lovers as it made its descent. The sight of my coming forced her own. She panted and moaned, and I savored the view of her body naked as I bent forward again. Pear-shaped breasts rode each wave of breath from her lungs and sent the blush of her nipples in opposite directions. Her curls danced and dripped while she bucked behind me, spraying my back with less aim than I’d given her mirror. When her eyes unglazed and met mine, I smiled. It was a sheepish smile. My trademark. She chuckled and rolled me over into the crinkly mass of ribbons. “You made quite a mess today, Paul.” I love it when she says my name. I stood and began unwinding myself. She helped, sending me spinning like I had done to the spools. After a few minutes, I was unwrapped and naked. I caught her around the waist and pushed her unzipped shorts to

the floor before meeting her kiss. Her smudged cheeks lifted, shadowing a dimple in the left one I had never known was there. Like her paintings, I’d found something beneath the surface. Something involving me.

Office Politics J.J. Massa “One moment, Miss Carson, and I’ll…” I faltered, cleared my throat. A slight tapping on my desk had caused me to swivel away from my computer monitor and look up. My new boss, Mr. Weaver, was standing there, arms crossed, golden eyebrow raised as he shook his head side to side. “I’ll check his schedule, ma’am, because I know he’s not in right now.” That was a fine line, of course. If he were truly in, he’d be at his own desk, not mine, right? Mr. Weaver gave me a nod and a wink, approval. I’m almost ashamed to tell you how good that felt. My chest actually puffed out, no shit. I couldn’t help it, not even if I wanted to. I smiled back. “He’s good, Jack!” The other man’s voice

took me by surprise. It was Fred O’Neil, head of acquisitions. I hadn’t even noticed him. Jack Weaver had that effect on me. “Now, if only he had better legs, bigger tits,” the asshole chortled. “You know, while he sat on your lap and squirmed?” he snickered as the two men passed my desk and walked into Mr. Weaver’s inner sanctum. I turned away, every bit of my face warm, right up to the tips of my ears. What an image, me on Jack Weaver’s lap. Oh, man! I had to adjust myself, shifting in my chair. My fingertips were gripping my stiff cock, trying to find a comfortable position, when a heavy palm landed on my shoulder. Oh, god! It could only be… I tipped my head back just slightly. Yep, it was Mr. Weaver. I groaned inside, humiliated. “Mark, I can tell that O’Neil’s comments made you uncomfortable. Step into my office when he leaves, would you please?” My hand dropped uselessly to my leg. I

couldn’t speak and just nodded. The grip on my shoulder tightened a little and then fell away. I didn’t move, waiting until I heard the muted footfalls, the door open and close, then laughter from the inner office. Caught like a fly on a pin. Shit, shit, shit! My head dropped forward to the LCD of my monitor. God, I was so busted, so humiliated. Guess he’s got me pegged now. My intercom buzzed. “Mark? Why don’t you order us a round of coffee, hmm? Run across the street. It’s nice out, get yourself one, too.” I cleared my throat before I hit the microphone. “Yes, sir,” I answered steadily, proud of my firm voice. “Cream, sir?” “Hazelnut, please. Fred? Yeah, him, too.” “Okay,” I responded, scooting my chair back. It would be cold out, but it was a nice day. The cool air would cool my face and my stiff cock. I hoped. I felt a lot better by the time I got back. I

was sure I was just being sensitive. Mr. Weaver was a man’s man. A man’s man who liked women. A nice guy, sure, and very sexy, but he didn’t have a hard-on for skinny little male secretaries, I was sure. That didn’t mean he’d hold it against me. He was a nice guy, like I said. Before I walked into his office, I tapped on the door. “Coffee, Mr. Weaver,” I called softly. Pushing open the door, I nodded politely at Mr. O’Neil and handed him his coffee, then turning toward Mr. Weaver, who reached out for his cup. Before his hand closed around the steaming drink, he winced and jerked back, rubbing his shoulder. I must’ve look scared or something. “I’m fine, Mark.” His deep voice sounded so warm, like a verbal hug. Yeah, I had it bad. I put the coffee on his desk, reaching over to place it right in front of him, so he wouldn’t

hurt his arm again. His long fingers settled over mine around the paper cup. The way my arm was angled, I realized Mr. O’Neil couldn’t see it, not that I thought of anything much besides Mr. Weaver’s intense brown eyes and warm hand on mine. “I pulled a muscle at the gym earlier. Thanks for the coffee.” I searched his eyes, looking for signs of pain, I guess. He smiled at me and winked. Oh, god, the killer wink. So sexy and so damned intimate. I nodded. “Yes, sir,” I said, backing away a little, slipping my hand out from under his. What the hell was what was going on I sat at my desk, until it was cold, figure things out.

that? I couldn’t tell you in my head, or his either. fiddling with my coffee all the while trying to

I forced myself to turn back to the computer. They weren’t paying me to play with paper cups and stare off into space. By

the time Fred O’Neil left, I was so into the report I was typing up that I almost didn’t notice. Almost. “Weaver said to send you in,” the weasellike man called on his way by my desk. My insides felt frozen as I looked over my shoulder at the half-open office door. He had reminded the other man to send me in. Shit. I must really be in trouble. Maybe Mr. Weaver… No, I wasn’t going to do that to myself. I could wait until I got in there and heard the worst. I wouldn’t convince myself that I was fired before I ever even crossed his office threshold. That was just silly. Right? “Hi, Mark,” Mr. Weaver said as I poked my head in. “You wanted to see me, sir?” I asked, hovering in the doorway. “Yes, I did.” He looked up, right into my

eyes. “Come in and close the door,” he ordered then looked down at some papers on his desk. I did as he told me, entering the room and closing the door. Sure, I was nervous, no question. “Yes, sir?” I eased farther into the room, really getting worried now. He pushed the papers aside with a sweep of his arm. “Come around here, Mark,” Mr. Weaver instructed me, indicating that I should stand in front of him, his voice firm. I did—of course I did. He looked at me for a minute, stared straight into my eyes. I began to fidget, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Do you have a crush on me, Mark?” he asked, his deep, sexy voice low, steady. Shit! I felt my eyes widen, and then I dropped my gaze. What else could I do? I couldn’t look at him. “Mark? Do you?” His tone brooked no argument.

“Yes,” I whispered, feeling devastated. He was going to fire me. I knew he wouldn’t tell anyone, but, shit. I’d probably never see him again. If I did, he would look at me with pity, if he looked at me at all. “In that case…” Here it comes, I thought. I braced myself, sure I was going to burst into tears or some other, unmanly thing. “You won’t mind sitting on my lap and squirming around a little, hmm?” I swear my mouth dropped open. “And I’m going to want to play with your—what did O’Neil call them? Oh, yeah, tits!” Before I could say or do anything, Mr. Weaver pulled me to him by my hips. “Let’s see how big a crush you actually have on me, Mark,” he murmured, his hands moving to my waistband. “But, but,” I stuttered, “guys like you don’t like guys like me!” God I’m an idiot. “Au contraire.” he smiled, tugging me to stand between his legs, “in a minute, I’ll

show you just how much ‘guys like me’ really do like guys like you. First, let’s see how much you like me, shall we?” Before I could form an answer, as if that were even possible, he had my fly undone and my pants and briefs down around my knees. “Oh god,” I moaned as he began to lightly rub my thighs. I was stunned when he leaned forward to take the tip of my hard cock between his lips. “Mr., Mr. Weaver,” I choked, sounding like an idiot, I’m sure. He took my balls in the palm of his hand, the other hand sliding open a drawer on his desk. “I think, Mark,” his voice was thick, strained, “when we’re doing this, you should call me Jack, okay?” “We’re going to be doing this again?” My voice was high and squeaky. I didn’t care a bit. “Let’s do it once and see if we like it, what do you think?” He had something in his

hand, but he still unzipped his pants, pulling them down somehow so that his cock sprang out. “I have no doubt we’ll want to do it again,” he promised, his voice a satin seduction. Let me just go on record as saying that Jack Weaver is not a small man. The sight of his dripping, thick cock made me harder than I’ve ever been in my life. I wanted to touch it, to feel it—to feel it in me. I pushed my pants, briefs, shoes and socks off, moving a little closer to him, my knobby knees touching the edge of the chair. “Jack,” I repeated. I’d never called him by his first name before. “Good boy,” he smiled, sliding his legs between mine and opening them so that I was straddling his legs, resting on them. I was naked from the waist down and my shirt was open, though my tie still hung on around the collar. He was sliding one hand up and down my torso under the shirt,

tweaking and pinching a nipple, rubbing my stomach. His other hand was busy, too. He had put what he was holding on the seat of the chair, beside his leg. A condom and a tube of something, I couldn’t tell what it was at first. Oh. Oh, my! He kept lube in his office? I’d ask about that later. Now, he traced between my parted cheeks with two fingers, teasing at my hole. Man, it felt so good, so hot. I was so excited I could barely hang on. I tried to focus on him, on touching him, learning his shape, his width, every vein and wrinkle. He was circumcised, the flared and purple head of his cock a work of art, shiny drops of pre-cum leaking from it. I wanted to feel him in my mouth almost as bad as I wanted to feel him deep inside of me. What to do? I looked up and he was staring at me, a funny smile on his face. “Not this time, Mark. You can suck me

tomorrow.” How’d he know? Maybe I licked my lips. “Today, I want inside you, my cock in your ass.” His fingers stroked between my cheeks, fondling my hole, making me ache for him. Was that whimpering coming from me? “Shh.” He pulled my face to his, his lips touching mine, brushing over them and back again. Oh, god, this was more than I could have hoped for. He was kissing me, sipping almost, from my lips. I’m such a fairy sometimes, I know, but it was so sweet, so good. It was the stuff of dreams—my dreams, anyway. When he pulled back, I turned my face to his neck, inhaling his scent, just hanging on, loving how he touched me, stroked me, explored me. His fingertip pushed against my hole and I moaned, wanting him deeper, wanting more. He reached over and grabbed the tube; I

could see it was brand new. When I looked at his face, he winked. “Just for you, Mark,” he murmured. “You wanted me?” I couldn’t get my mind around it. Its not that I have low self-esteem or anything, just that, shit, Jack Weaver and me! Oh god. “Put this on my fingers, and then put the condom on me,” he instructed. I sucked in a breath or two. This was for real. “Yeah, I wanted you, from the start. You’re just what I need, what I was looking for.” I squeezed some of the lube out onto his fingers and he carried it back behind me. I was tearing open the condom when he pushed his finger inside me. Slow, steady, but there, flexing a little, turning, filling me, although not enough. “M-more,” I stuttered, squatting a little more, spreading my ass cheeks as wide as I could, giving him easier access. He slid a second finger into my hole at the

same time that I rolled the condom down over his thick cock. “Ahh,” I groaned out, pushing back against him when he hit that special little bump deep inside. I wanted to say more, but that was the best I could do. “You sure about that?” he teased me, pulling me forward, taking his cock in hand. “Let’s see,” he whispered into my ear. I felt the big round head of his thick, hard cock right at my opening. How would that huge organ fit into my tiny little hole? Beautifully, I thought, sinking down on it slowly, a millimeter at a time. Sweat beaded his forehead as he held himself still, guiding me, letting me go at my own pace. It had to have been so hard. But I wouldn’t know. I like being fucked. I don’t like doing the fucking. That’s just me. Oh, but he was fucking me so well, I thought, when a few seconds later, I could feel his balls against my ass, his cock-head

right there, right on my prostate. I collapsed against him, moaning, shaking; it felt so damned good. I knew I’d come any minute. I was just sure. “Hold on,” he said, the look in his eyes promising that he was just starting. He slid his forearm under my ass and lifted me a little and I hung onto his shoulders for all I was worth, his other hand wrapped around my cock. He began to thrust up, hard, fast, sliding out and sliding in. I was moaning constantly, tears running down my face. I can’t describe…so good, just so damned good. I barely felt the warning tingle in my balls when everything seemed to gather and erupt like a volcano. I swear I blacked out. Maybe it was only a second or two but I did. The next thing I knew, he was holding me tight against him, pumping upward in short, jerky thrusts. “Sweet

Mark.

Sweet,

sweet

Mark,”

he

murmured into my neck over and over. I just—I felt so special, so cosseted, that’s the word. What can I say? It’s how I felt. I lay against him, not wanting to move. What would happen now? “Was so good,” I managed, just wanting to cuddle. I admit it. I’m a cuddler. The good news is, so is he. Stroking my hair, my back, holding me against him, he just cuddled right back. “Hard to believe its going to get better,” he rumbled. He lifted me away and looked into my eyes. “Are you going to have any problems with this?” he asked me seriously, his sexy voice like caramel over gravel. “Um.” I was nervous now. Sitting on my boss’s lap wearing nothing but a shirt and tie, I couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence. “With what?” I asked stupidly. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

“Having an affair explained patiently.

with

the

boss,”

he

“Can it be a long one?” I asked. “Very long,” he nodded, winking at me. “As long as you promise to sit on my lap and squirm whenever I tell you to.” “Yes, sir,” I promised, snuggling back into him. “Anytime you say, sir.”

Diary of a Virgin Sasha White “I’m a virgin, and I want to stay a virgin. But I’d love to learn how to give a blowjob if you’re willing to teach me.” There, I said it. Too late to back down now, not that I’d want to. The churning in my stomach and the heat between my thighs told me I was finally moving forward. Taking a step in the direction of sexual maturity. By the time I was twenty years old, I’d only seen a man’s cock once. It was at my high school grad party when we were all drunk on the idea of being adults and going out into the world on our own. Not to mention the beer and Sambucca. Bill had whisked me away to a dark room where we got all hot and heavy. He was a very large and attractive junior that had a

chance at pro football if he remained injury free for the next few years, and the way he pressed his big body against me that night had made coherent thought almost impossible. I let him feel, lick, kiss and nibble at my generous tits while my hands explored his muscled form. When I teasingly ran my hand over his hard-on, he eagerly whipped it out for me. It was so large, and hard, yet soft. The skin was hot and I felt this incredible urge to kiss it. I was a good catholic girl, innocent enough to be scared by that urge. Scared that I would end up like most of my friends, seventeen and pregnant, I pulled my hands back sharply and told him that was enough. He wasn’t even my date for the dance and I was behaving like a slut. Well, I’m behaving like a slut again. Only this time it’s deliberate, and I’m enjoying every minute of it. I’m tired of being

the good girl, waiting to fall in love. I work in a bar now, serving drinks to all kinds, telling dirty jokes, dancing around and flaunting myself. I like it for the easy money, and for the enjoyment. It’s a heady feeling when guys sit at the bar just to flirt with me. A part of me wishes that just once someone would ask me out on a date, instead of just “Come home with me tonight, babe”. But at the same time, a larger part of me is curious as to what I’m missing out on every time I turn one of them down. They want to fuck me, I know this. I revel in it. They see me as I want to be— adventurous and daring. Not as I am— sexually innocent, deprived, and insecure about my ability to please a man. It scares me a bit. All my friends have been doing the sex thing for years. I hear the talk, know the language and the technicalities of it, but what if I’m no good at it? What if I can’t make him come? Kathy, my roommate

and closest friend, says I wouldn't need to do anything, that the guy will do everything. I just have to lie back and enjoy. But I don’t like that idea. I also think Kathy is just saying that so that I won’t be any good at sex. Then I won’t be competition for her. It’s true that she’s my friend, but sometimes I think she’s only my friend because I’m a virgin and she knows that the guys will eventually all go to her when they get tired of waiting for me. Like last night. It was Sunday, our night off from the bar, and we’re sitting at a pub listening to the band. Kathy likes the guitar player so she sends him a drink and he comes to sit with us for a while between sets. With hands under the table and heads bent together, they happily ignored me. Except that occasionally he would glance sideways at me, in invitation. I pretended to ignore them and eat my nachos, but I kept catching bits and pieces of their conversation.

Like when he whispered something to her and she giggled. “Not Candace,” I heard her say. “She’s still a virgin…waiting for love.” He looked over at me with a grin on his face, then stood up and said goodbye before heading backstage again. We watched him walk away for a minute. Just enjoying the rear view of a goodlooking man. “Are you going to bring him home tonight?” I asked. “No,” she replied. “I don’t want to fuck anyone tonight. I just want to tease them. The drummer’s next. He’s from out of town, just helping out his friends tonight. He’s married too. I wonder how hard it’ll be to get him to ask to come home with me?” She smiled confidently. I sat back and watched the band for the next set, my mind going full-tilt into the future. I was a little angry with Kathy for telling

that guy I’m a virgin. Why is it his business? I bet he asked Kathy about me. Yeah, that’s it. He showed interest in me and Kathy had to shut that down before he got too interested. She knows I’ve been thinking about having sex lately. After all, I’ve been waiting a while for love and I’m getting tired of it. Being alone every night. Playing with myself while I listen to the groans and giggles in the next room. Imagining what’s happening in there. Imagining it was happening to me. Love isn’t even close to coming for me. Maybe I’ll never fall in love; maybe I’ll always be a virgin. No! That will not happen. Why can’t I just have casual sex? Everybody else is doing it. I can still wait for love to live with someone. I can still wait for love to give up my cherry too! A blowjob. That’s the answer. Kathy says that she hates giving them and

will only do it if she’s with someone special and he begs. She says they always beg for it. But I don’t want to like a guy, give him a blowjob, have him see how innocent and clumsy I am, and not want me anymore. That would be humiliating. How can I do this? How can I learn to give a good blowjob and not feel threatened? I can’t trust Kathy to tell me how. She’d probably tell me to bite him, that he’d like it. Yeah, right. I may be inexperienced, but I’m not stupid. Kathy bought another drink and told the waitress to bring it the drummer. The married drummer. I watched as he accepted it and looked over at us with a smile. He’s got a great smile. When the set was over, both him and the guitar player joined us. His name was Jim. He talked with me a little, but his attention was clearly on Kathy and the guitar player, Mike. When Mike went

to the bar to get us another round of drinks, Kathy leaned over the table. Seductively flashing cleavage, she started to flirt heavily with Jim. I could tell he wasn’t thinking of his wife, he wanted to fuck Kathy. Mike got back with our drinks and sat next to Kathy again, possessively putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. I looked at them. I looked at Jim looking at them. I looked down in Jim’s lap and saw an impressive bulge at the juncture of his thighs. Without giving myself a chance to think about it, I leaned forward and whispered my request in his ear. His body stilled and his head turned slowly and he looked into my eyes incredulously. “Are you serious?” “Yeah,” I whispered back. “Yes. Yes, I am,” It comes out firmer the second time and I look him right in the eye. “Kathy won’t fuck you. She’s just being a tease. I won’t fuck

you either, but I’m not teasing about the blowjob. I want to be good at it, and I’m nervous, so I need a teacher. I want to learn to give head.” He leaned in close, staring at me like I was crazy. His breath feathers across my face, warm and smelling slightly of mint. My stomach’s tied itself in knots so I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I can do this, I tell myself. I want to do this. My pussy is already throbbing and thoughts of visiting the girls’ room for a quick selfinduced orgasm float through my head. “You want me to teach you how to give hummers?” A grin had spread across his handsome face. “Yeah,” I leaned forward and whispered into his ear again, “and we can take all night if we need to. I want to be good.” I let my tongue dart out and take a taste of his neck before I pull back. Uhm, salty. Manly. At that point I knew I

was going to like tasting him all over. The ride home from the pub was short. We walked into the apartment and Kathy headed straight for her room. “Have fun,” she called out over her shoulder. “Have a seat.” I gestured Jim towards the worn out sofa in the living room. I sat next to him and wondered what to do next. Before I could get myself too worked up, he turned towards me, placed his arm along the back of the couch and let his fingers play with the ends of my hair. He just smiled at me and my mind began to race. Where do I start? I want to get my hands on him. And my mouth, maybe a small nibble or two as well. It felt like I’d let some animal loose inside me, one that’d been tied up for too long. Just thinking about seeing his cock up close for the past hour, thinking about touching it,

licking it, sucking it had made me so wet I worried that a stain might show through my jeans. God, I can’t wait anymore. As if he read my mind, his hand quit playing with my hair and reached to cup the back of my head to pull me in for a kiss. That was what I call a kiss. A tangle of tongues and heavy breathing, both his hands gripping my head, changing the angle and titling it back so his hot mouth could gain access to my neck. My hands gripped his shoulders, trying to get us closer but I couldn’t seem to get close enough. So I stretched one leg over his and pulled myself onto his lap and nibbled on his neck, his earlobe. Oh yeah, that felt good. I ground my crotch into his. He was hard already, and big. Even through his jeans I could tell he was big. My hips moved in an erratic rhythm against him. Hungry and searching, I couldn’t seem to get what I needed. The

more I ground against him the achier I got. He pulled my mouth back to his, and our mouths ate at each other, our breathing getting harsher and filling the room. So good, so hot. One hand stayed tangled in my hair and I felt his other go south, leaving a trail of heat. He cupped a breast firmly, rubbing it and playing with my hard nipple through my shirt. Impatience had me in its grip and I pulled away from him. Keeping my hips firmly against his, I whipped my shirt and bra off before grabbing him by the head and pulling his eager mouth to my naked tits. While he was licking and sucking on my tits, I reached for his belt. A sharp tug on my nipple shot pleasure straight to my pussy and I gasped at the sensation. “Stop,” I said, pushing myself off his lap. “I want your pants off. I wanna see your cock. I want to suck it.” He didn’t need to be asked twice and I

watched as he quickly rid himself of his clothes. Ohhh, look at that, and it’s all for me. “Keep your hands to yourself for now,” I said, and knelt down between his spread legs. “I want to do this right, so no distracting me.” I leaned in close and used my hands first. Pulling his cock back from his belly, I examined it closely. The skin was so soft and warm, but underneath it was hard as a rock. Memories of Bill and that dark deserted room flashed through my head. But Jim was circumcised and the head was already squeezing out a little juice. I leaned forward and stuck out my tongue to taste it. It wasn’t bad, a lot like the taste of his neck, only stronger, more potent. He sighed and pushed his hips a little deeper into the sofa, spreading his thighs a little wider. I pulled my hands from his dick and ran them over his firm thighs. Licking

the soft skin where leg meets torso, I kept my hands busy everywhere but on his dick. My tongue followed my hands; everywhere but where I knew he really wanted it, where I really wanted it. I was teasing him, but I was also teasing myself. I could feel his legs trembling and hear his sighs turn to groans. A feeling of power swept over me and I realized I was doing good. He loved it. I brushed my fingers across his cock once more and pulled it away from his belly towards my waiting lips. He groaned loudly and arched his hips. Oh yeah, this is good. I wrapped my lips around his meat and slid down as far as I could. It filled me up and my hand still had room to grip the base. Trying to catch my breath, I just kept my mouth there and swirled my tongue around with a little suction. His hips started to slowly thrust into my mouth and his cock hit the back of my throat.

“Relax your throat,” he instructed. His voice was soft, raspy, and it hypnotized me. I pretended to be sucking a Popsicle, and my throat relaxed. It felt good; he wasn’t thrusting hard and once I got used to it, it sort of tickled. “Move with me,” he coaxed. His cupped my head, tangled in my hair, urging me to move up and down. My hand automatically tightened on the base of his cock and moved with my lips. Our rhythm slowly picked up speed, my hand and his cock slick with the sweet/sour juice leaking from him steadily now and my saliva. Some of it dribbled out the corner of my mouth and down my chin. I tried to pull back and wipe my chin, but Jim held my head firm. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing great.” I couldn’t breathe. My breath was rasping in and out through my nose and we went faster and faster, his cock banging against the back of my throat. He moaned and groaned

loudly, his hands gripping my hair so tight my scalp began to ache. Against my tongue I could feel ripples running up and down the inside of his cock. Suddenly he pulled my head closer and he held me there. I was choking and my nose was pressed up against the wiry hair surrounding the base of his cock, filling my nostrils with the pungent scent of man. Warm goo shot down my throat in a jerky stream that soon lightened and turned to sporadic spurts. His hands loosened and I could breathe again. Pulling back a little, I looked at the cock in front of me. Still a little stiff but getting smaller, and covered in juice. I licked up and down, gently cleaning it before I leaned back on my heels and looked up at him. Not only was his cock limp by that time, he also looked like every bone in his body had turned to mush as he lay back on my sofa and smiled at me. “You sure you’ve never

done that before?” he asked. Taking that as a compliment, I smiled proudly. We just looked at each other for a moment and then I climbed to my feet and held out my hand to him. The rest of the night was spent in my bedroom with him teaching me different, inventive ways to stimulate and please a man. From tit fucking to using ice cubes, fingers up the ass to ball handling, I loved it all. To this day I love to suck cock. I love to give a good blowjob, do a hummer, or lick it like a lollipop. And I owe it all to my teacher, Jim.

The Art of Love Nix Winter It's there, whispering at the back of the mind, a dark ribbon of doubt. We don't deserve love. Sex is bad. It has to be earned…that sweet milk of love and acceptance, of touch and pleasure. After a day of monotony and disharmony, of errands and cars that don't go fast enough or lives that don't go fast enough - a million little tearing things at us, it's so easy to be sure that we'll never be the one that deserve. Those dark ribbons of doubt tie the heart and hands until there's nothing left but, “Get out of my way!” It's a self-propelling malaise. “I have a headache. Okay? It's not about you!” Sure. Of course not. Didn't think so for a minute.

And there are lovers, bound by ribbons of doubt and fear and anger, irritation, and ribbons of pent up needs. Welcome to modern life. Aren't you just dying to be the coyote who calls Acme customer service? “You ran into a wall. It may be important to read the directions.” Yeah. Sure. Thanks. The ribbons that bind us are only smoke though. They are the wind blowing through the flowers of the universe. We are the flowers and sometimes the wind had blown over us, pushing us down so hard and long that we forget that it is only the wind. We are flowers that belong in this universe and petal soft caresses to our being are gifts that we already deserve. You are a beautiful gift of the universe, an expression of life. In a moment that's for you, sit in a comfortable position and let your fingers lightly caress down your cheeks, slowly, so

very light you're barely touching your skin, let them continue down your throat. Take a deep breath, feel your breath as it moves into you through your throat…breath and life. Imagine doubt falling away like silky black ribbons…so that you are open to sexual pleasure and touch. If your lover is with you, feel their fingers caress where your fingers have just been. Glide down from your throat to your breasts. So sensitive, full and round, small and pert, very flat, very full, this beautiful part of your body is not beautiful because so many others have been photographed for car ads. You are beautiful here because it is as close to touching your heart that you will want to come. Your heart beats with life, with the power to heal and grow, and as you caress your breasts, encourage that life, welcome it… Do your nipples grow hard? Do they long

for the sweet warmth of a lover's tongue, slowly circling, pulling in? Suckling? Circle your fingers around your nipples, slowly, with the rhythm of life. Open and welcome. Pleasure is safe and clean. You deserve to feel pleasure. It brings life to you, kindness, healing. Slowly, as you are ready, let your fingers glide down your belly. The shape of it is your life story that has been. Cherish the life that has brought you to this point, for if you were not here, you would not reach tomorrow and the wonderful rest of your story! Part your legs. Bend one knee. The energy and power in the silken flower, the soft skin and moist welcome there between your legs belongs only to you. No contract, no rule, no pronouncement can ever take what the universe has given to you. Stroke. Touch. Alone with the universe. With your lover watching, their fingers caressing your inner thighs, kissing near your knee

making a dotted line down, warm, tender, loving, down towards this rising sun of pleasure. Body tightening, kisses moving up the other leg, let passion rise with each stroke along the very heart of the flower. So silky, such easy gliding. It is your right, and at the peak of pleasure, toes pointed, you are at your most vulnerable, your most open, where for a moment time does not exist and you will live forever, where you can touch the face of the universe. Slowly come back into the life that is yours, into sharing an experience with your lover or resting on your pillows, listening to your music, being open to the lover who will know you one day. This is the art of love and its practice is a very good thing.

Sanchez Shake-Down Laura Bacchi “Step back, Ms. King. I need to pat you down.” Officer Rob Mendoza’s words stopped me cold. My keys had set off the metal detector—like they did every day—and every inmate within earshot laced their fingers through chain-link, waiting for my reaction to Mendoza’s latest taunt. I knew Rob wanted a piece of me. I’d caught him staring at my ass plenty of times as I traveled from the school shake-down gate to my library on the compound. But saying that kind of shit in front of the guys? My heart slammed inside my chest while I tried to think of some smart-ass comeback, because if I didn’t put him in his place in front of our little audience, every convicted felon on the

premises would be leaving love notes in the library or hollering at me from the rec yard. Or worse. I sauntered back to him with as much bravado as I could muster and got close enough to kiss him, had I wanted to. And I wanted to—ever since my first day at Sanchez County Correctional Center for Men. “In your dreams,” I said. “But not in the state of Arizona.” Behind the fence, the guys in orange howled with laughter and that only egged me on. I reached up and straightened his collar. “So if you ever go some place okay with opposite-sex pat downs, let me know,” I whispered. “Because I’d move cross-country to get felt up by you.” Rob’s eyes glazed over with lust. His mouth opened to respond, but a voice crackled over the radio at his hip and interrupted our conversation.

“What’s the hold-up at Gate 2? You jerking off for the boys?” Mendoza motioned me through with one hand and grabbed the mike with his other. “The librarian’s bringing too much stuff through the gate again, Sarge. The guys are coming now.” I narrowed my eyes at him for lying, but inside I was dying to know what he’d wanted to say back at the gate. On my way to the library, I imagined him running his hands all over me in search of contraband and hoped my hips didn’t sway too much while I walked. I’d taken this job several months ago. It paid well and took me away from the agony of academic libraries. Here, I was my own boss—no grant proposals to write, no meetings from hell that lasted all afternoon and accomplished nothing. It was gritty and glamorous at the same time, and friends either cringed when I talked about my day or squealed with delight about my being one

of twelve women in a city of men. The only real problem working here was my growing attraction to Rob. I loved his banter, the scent of his aftershave when I walked by his station, and the way his perfectly pressed uniform hugged the contours of his body. That afternoon, I began writing a report but never made any real progress. Instead I imagined his skin, kissed bronze by the Arizona summer, covering my darker flesh. Touching me in places needing touching. And I could almost feel his hands riding up my skirt… The whistle blew. When the last inmate left, I went to my office in the back and grabbed my things. The library door opened with a squeak and put my senses on alert. “The library’s closed. Who’s there?” “Just an officer making his rounds.” His large frame appeared at my office door, filling the space and reminding me how

goddamn buff he was. My fingers itched to slide over the tan skin of his arms, to sneak into the sleeves of his uniform and rip his shirt wide open. “Everything’s fine here.” I eyed him up and down. “Aren’t you due for another jack-off session with the guys?” He grinned, dazzling me with his quirky smile. One corner lifted higher than the other, revealing a chipped tooth in an otherwise flawless mouth. When his tongue darted out and moistened his full bottom lip, I licked mine, too. “I was hoping for a session with my favorite librarian.” Damn. I swallowed hard and shifted my feet on the concrete floor. One thigh mashed into the other and the sliver of fabric between my legs glided across the slick stuff underneath. The thought of him stroking his cock in the

middle of my office thrilled me to the core and I backed up slowly to the edge of my desk, bracing myself for whatever might happen next. The rise and fall of my chest, the heat in my eyes, the small o of my lips— he had to know I was game. My gaze shot to his zipper and waited. Rob chuckled. “No, honey. I plan to watch you.” He stepped closer. “I want you to hike up that little black skirt and drop your panties to the floor. Just for me.” My jaw dropped and I pushed off from my desk. “No way. No fucking way will I masturbate in my own office.” He sucked the air through his teeth in regret. “And I was even gonna help you get started.” He didn’t move and the look on his face told me he wasn’t all that convinced I would refuse. I couldn’t resist. “Help me get started how?” I asked. “I wanted to make good on my offer to pat

you down.” His panty-soaking amber eyes bored into mine without mercy. “But you probably couldn’t handle it.” I set my jaw and turned my head away. How many times had I wanted his hands feeling every part of my body while I watched him perform the task on countless inmates at the gate? Probably enough to know that my cat could stand to eat late tonight. Without warning, I raised my arms and gave him my back. His surprise reflected in my office window and I spread my legs wide. “I’m waiting, Officer.” I heard him rub his palms together, but I sensed his hesitation. “You mean it?” he asked. “You’re not gonna write me up or something, are you?” I got out of position. “This is your only shot, Mendoza. The question is, can you handle it?” “Hell, yeah,” he whispered.

He crept up behind me and put warm fingertips on my waist, then guided me to the wall. After he placed my hands high above my head on the cool painted cinderblocks, I waited for his touch. It didn’t come. I twisted my head to the side—I didn’t know how much time we had and I sure as hell didn’t want to get caught. He unbuckled his belt. My heart flip-flopped when he teased the gleaming length of leather from its loops, then placed it on my desk with a quiet thud. His hands made contact. They held one wrist and glided to the top of my arm with the perfect amount of pressure. Not too hard or too light, but with confidence and a slow burn that made my pussy hum. Then the heat of his palms molded to the underside of my breasts. His fingertips edged up to my nipples and lingered, sending a sweet jolt of sensation straight to my cunt. It clenched up tight and I lost my footing. Mendoza

caught me around the hips. His breath hit the sweat on the back of my neck and gave one part of me relief from the heat sweeping over me. Then one glossy black boot pressed against my modest pump and forced my legs farther apart. His hands clasped an ankle and slid up the length of my stocking. When he realized I had on thigh-highs, he let out a low whistle that blew through my skirt and teased my ass cheeks. He saved the best for last and inched my skirt up real slow to expose the drenched red thong between my legs. Each time he exhaled, the air set fire to my pussy and had me ready to beg him to bend me over my desk and fuck me blind. His thumbs caressed the lacy edge skimming each stocking, and I gasped when a tongue replaced one thumb and eased over onto bare skin. The smell of my pussy filled the small office and he swiped his

fingers over my thong-covered clit. I moaned with lips closed tight and my throat humming with need. Fingers kneaded my cunt, then slipped under the elastic to explore the juicy hole beneath. I wanted his hands everywhere. But since he was too busy probing my pussy to tend to anything else, I took the initiative and slid a hand down from the wall to pinch a nipple burning for attention. He noticed right away and stood up so suddenly that I jumped. “Did I say you could move, Ms. King?” Weakly, I shook my head. He stepped away. I wanted to scream, to yell at him to keep going, because if he didn’t bring me off soon, I’d grind my pussy into the wall or start humping the corner of my desk. He came back to me and undid my blouse, and then the front clasp of my bra. Strong hands cupped my breasts and I pressed my ass back into his erection.

Then I heard him pick up the belt. My head snapped back to search his face. He kissed my shoulder and waited. So I took a deep breath, smiled and tilted my ass up to get ready for the sting of leather on my skin. He laughed. “I take it you’ve done this before.” I managed a nod. The strip of black finally touched me, but not in the way I expected. It snaked around my hips and dropped down to capture my thighs. Cold metal went deep into my leg as he buckled it tight, then he helped me get closer to the wall, stopping only when my nipples brushed its clammy surface. He stroked the sides of my tits and watched while his movements dragged the tight dark tips over the dimples of the painted cinderblocks. Then his hands went south and caressed my ass. The first slap was loud. It echoed through the library and broke the silence I fought to

maintain on a daily basis. The next was muffled but solid, making me tingle and buzz with pleasure. The smacks came slowly, like he wanted to make sure I was okay. To know when he’d crossed the line between pleasing and hurting. Hot flickers of sweet pain grew into a flame. My pussy trembled with each new sting and wept with joy down the curves of my inner thighs. I whimpered. Sweat flushed through my pores and rolled down my breasts. He pulled my body away from the wall and bent me forward to make my cunt more available to his touch. When he eased a finger into my panties, the floor beneath me blurred and faded away. Small circles swept over my clit while his lips nipped and kissed my shoulder—a quick break before the next round of blows. Each new smack came quicker than the last. I groaned when he took his free hand away from my crotch—I was so goddamn

close. My hands slid along the wall as I came apart, shattering into an infinite number of pieces held together only by his belt. He pulled me upright, covered my hand with his and brought it to his cock. It was rocksolid, tenting the crisp trousers of his uniform away from his body in a huge, hot bulge. His fingers fumbled with the buckle of the belt that hobbled me and it hit the floor with a clank. My panties were history. He set me on my desk and pushed my knees far apart. I made a mental note to order a new blotter come Monday. He watched my quivering pussy and thrust two—then three—fingers deep inside. “I want your mouth on me.” I could barely get the words out. He grinned. “This is your show, baby.” His fingers slipped out. Then he plopped down in my chair and leaned back to enjoy the view. I looked straight into those golden brown

eyes and dipped a finger between my swollen pussy lips like he had moments ago. The sounds of my wetness made me bold and I brought the finger to my mouth and sucked. He groaned and unzipped, rocking back and forth in my squeaky chair to get out of his pants. One hand grabbed his balls while the other choked a prick that shimmered like satin in the dim room. It didn’t take much. I prodded my clit with a drenched middle finger, swirling it with a beat that matched his. It hit. Hard. My vision went black and I screamed into the dank prison air with the kind of bliss that shakes you to the bone. The mouth of my cunt pulsed for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t want it to end, but when I saw that man’s hand twisting around his cock, I forgot all about me. The muscles of his right arm twitched and tensed like a machine, and sections of his shaft appeared then disappeared as the purple head grew slick with pre-cum.

I got off the desk and dropped to my knees. The meaty head of his dick popped out through his fist and bobbed like a piece of succulent fruit I needed to taste. I inhaled the tip. He writhed and grunted then grabbed the back of my head, riding it with a firm hand while my mouth sucked him in to the balls. He was primed to come—I felt the spasms start—when he jerked my head back and grabbed his cock again. Then he shuddered and warm, ropey cum marked me from throat to belly. He panted and pulled me into his lap for our first mouth-to-mouth kiss. The taste of him was rich—it meshed with the flavor of his prick and took me back to the time when it filled my mouth. After wheeling us slowly to the other side of my office, he found some tissues and cleaned me up, then placed small, steamy kisses on my brow and the bridge of my nose. I smiled and repaid him with a few pecks on the jaw. “Now your dick will get hard every time I

walk past your gate,” I said. He nudged my chin in his direction. “It’s been hard since the first day you came to this place.” His knuckles brushed the tip of my left nipple then trailed down to tug on my pussy fur. “I want to fuck you there one day. Soon.” “We could do it tonight.” I grinned. “But you probably couldn’t handle it.” He called my bluff. “Get dressed. I live five minutes away.” * From the outside, Rob’s home looked like any other modest house in Sanchez County. The inside, however, took my breath away. Santos figures stared down from the tops of his kitchen cabinets and colorful masks lined the walls. I knelt on the black leather sofa and

studied the wooden faces of jaguars, devils and a few other animals I couldn’t figure out. Rob lifted a diablo mask off the wall to give me a closer look. I played with the devil’s long red tongue while he stood me up and unzipped my skirt. When all our clothing lay in a pile on the floor, he took the mask back and lowered me to the butter-soft cushions. Then he forced my legs wide open and stroked my clit with the mask’s wooden tongue. I could almost see the earth churning in the cemetery behind Holiness Church of Christ where my Grandma Hawkins lay rolling in her grave. Sorry, Grandma. “So how does it feel to be licked by Diablo?” he asked. I pushed aside my guilt. “Hmm.” It felt damned good, but I wasn’t gonna let him off that easy. I wanted his tongue on me, stirring up the juices flowing from my pussy and hitting my clit in that perfect spot. “I

think I know another devil who can do better.” He kissed the inside of my thigh. “Really?” His lips dipped lower. “Yeah. Really.” My eyes rolled back into my head as I pictured him eating me out. Slurping and sucking and watching me watching him. It would be heaven. “Plus you won’t give me splinters.” He laughed and dropped the mask, then licked me with the barest of touches. I raised my hips for more. His mouth took me. Latched onto me and made my body jerk like the victim of a first-rate voodoo curse. Hot liquid trickled past my asshole. “I’m gonna ruin your couch.” He was too busy to answer. Teeth and lips and his scruffy chin worked on my pussy ‘til I bucked like a freak. And when I was too tired to move, he slid along my body and filled me with cock.

I lost myself in the sweaty rhythm of his fuck. Of our fuck. We moved together like old lovers, but the rush surging through my brain reminded me this was new—and probably short-lived. I tried not to think about that and went back to lifting into his thrusts, fucking him with no inhibitions, no holding back. Together, we slicked his sofa and slid on the cushions. We laughed. We moaned. I prayed it would never end. He pulled out. I wrapped my hand around his prick. “Get back in there. Now.” “I got another idea.” He reached for my hand and I was too horny not to give it. We scrambled, naked and stumbling and kissing, to his tiny kitchen. In a flash, I was face-down on the counter watching him coat his dick with oil from under the sink. “Ever been fucked in the ass, Sandra?” The use of my first name sent my mind reeling— the roll of the r and the lilt of vowels. The

idea of him pumping hard in my virgin asshole? That sent me reeling, too. “Um, no.” His finger found my pucker and traced a spiral from the outer edges of it to dead center. I waited for him to push. He took his sweet time lubing my crack with his slippery hand. Finally, he knelt behind me. His breath, hot and fast against my cheeks, came closer. And then his tongue. It pierced my asshole like a brand and coiled around inside me. I groaned and held onto the edges of the counter for dear life. My clit grew needy again, but I couldn’t reach it. I sank to the floor with his hands at my hips, his thumbs spreading my ass cheeks wider and wider until I thought I’d split. Then he stopped. The tip of his cock pushed into my hole and I relaxed, waiting for him to pump into me good. To punish that greedy, untouched part of me dying to be fucked. By

him. I fumbled for my clit. He leaned forward. My ass muscles stretched and burned, then gave in to the feeling of fullness. He added more oil. I savored each stroke of his cock, every pulse of my taboo hole. And when he finally throbbed inside me, I strummed my clit harder to strangle every last drop of cum from his balls and explode right there with him. He stayed still, riding out my orgasm and holding me tight until we dropped to the floor in a tangled, breathless heap. He rolled me over and kissed me, but his stomach rumbled, and we broke the kiss to laugh. “Wanna get some food?” he asked. Food. “Oh, shit! My cat.” He gave me a funny look. “I need to go home and feed my poor cat.” “Where do you live?” he asked. “On the other side of town. Near Fifth and Main.” He

helped

me

up

and

led

me

to

the

bathroom. “First, we get a shower.” He tested the water, then pulled me into the steam. “Then we’ll go feed your cat.” I didn’t want this night to end. “And after that?” He soaped up his hands and washed between my legs. “My brother runs a bar near your neighborhood. Maybe you’ve heard of it. El Toro Loco?” I froze. “Rico’s your brother?” I should have known—they were both hot as hell. Rico was maybe an inch taller than Rob, with dark green eyes that made me squirm on my bar stool while downing one Tecate after another. Just last night, I’d had them both in my bed—well, in my head— while I overheated my vibrator. “Yeah,” he said. “But you probably couldn’t handle two Mendoza boys in one night.” Another dare, and if I was reading him right, it had nothing to do with sitting in a bar and talking. Of course, I was game.

I lathered up his chest and abs and the part that mattered most right now. His cock plumped in my hand and the tip poked through the bubbles. “I think I can handle just about anything—and anyone—after today.” He grinned. El Diablo twinkled in his eyes, and the sloppiness we’d washed away a minute ago covered my pussy lips again. He must have known. Two sudsy fingers found my hole and pumped into me. His other hand fingered my ass. “I’ll call my brother when we get out.” he said. “I’m sure he won’t mind helping me take care of your pussy tonight.” “And my ass?” “Your sweet ass…” he nipped my neck and feed his fingers deeper still, “…is all mine.”

Dark, Dangerous, and Menacing J.J. Massa You don't know why you came to the bar tonight. Maybe you were just tired of the TV. Not lonely, really, just tired of being alone. You give the bartender a half-smile when he slides your drink in front of you. He looks like a nice guy. That's the problem. He looks like a nice guy. Back in the shadows you see him. Yum, yum. Who's that you wonder? He's so dark— dark eyes, dark hair, dark looks. He's looking at you. You squirm around, trying not to look back—but he knows you were checking him out. You know it—he knows it. The skin at the back of your neck begins to tingle but you resist the urge. Someone laughs, a man. It’s a rich and deep whiskey chuckle and you know it’s him. You can’t

help it, you turn on your barstool. He’s moved into the poolroom a little, under the dim lights. As you watch, he strips off the old leather jacket he wore and you catch your breath. Is that T-shirt tight or is it painted on? What a physique. You can see the light caressing his deltoids, he turns and that tight butt keeps you riveted. Isn’t there a law about carrying a deadly weapon in a place that serves alcohol? Now which weapon is more dangerous, the one in the front or the back of his very faded jeans? Damn! He caught you again. You can’t see those dark eyes very well but that full mouth has a definite curve on one side. He’s laughing at you. You wish you could be indignant but he’s got a right to laugh. How pathetic you must look to him. You turn away, mad at yourself, and wave the bartender down. As the bartender sets

your drink in front of you, you feel an odd warmth behind you but you refuse to turn around. The very nice bartender’s smile goes megawatt and he holds a beer out to you. Or in front of you, anyway. A very warm, very muscular forearm peppered with dark hair reaches over your left shoulder. You hold yourself rigid, working hard not to react. It becomes even more difficult when the knuckles of that strong hand brush your cheek on the way by. You suck in your breath—you’re helpless not to. Your hair stirs as you feel his warm breath on your ear. “Pardon me, sweetheart,” he murmurs right into it. You feel the heat gush to the vee in your own jeans at that deep tenor. You clear your throat. When that does absolutely no good, you lift your drink for a sip. When you feel reasonably certain that you can interact without falling off the

barstool, you turn toward him but he’s not looking at you now. That’s fine. Now you have a close up view of his hard body and you can look to your heart’s content. What must he do for a living you wonder, looking at his solid shoulder, torso and, yum yum, that hard toned hip. He seems hard all over. He’s too still, the angle of his waist is wrong. Slowly you look up. You knew it! Shit! He’s looking at you again. Swallowing, you force your eyes to his. Black, black velvet. ”Lose something, sweetheart?” comes his rumbling murmur. “Um, I, sorry,” you blush. “I just thought I, I was…” you stammer, feeling like an idiot. “You were?” He turns fully toward you now and you swallow audibly. “You thought you were?” he prompts as he reaches between his long legs and pulls a barstool forward, settling that tight behind down on it. You want to curl up and blow away but then

again, there’s really no place else you’d rather be. You feel like a fool. Your mouth is dry, your throat is dry, and suddenly, he’s focused all of that hot, hard intensity completely on you. Blindly, you reach for your drink, noticing his nod to the bartender. As you gulp, another one slides in front of you. Your eyes widen when his hand comes toward you. He’s brushing your hair out of your face! Oh. My. God! How can you ever even function again? His finger traces your chin. “You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs. No, you scream inside. No, I’m not okay! I’m melting! He’s touching you—he’s stroking your face with those strong, calloused fingers. And, he’s leaning forward. What? You moan inside. “Don’t make me give you mouth to mouth, sweetheart,” he purrs. “I can’t promise you

I’ll stop there.” He leans closer still. Who knew beer breath could be an aphrodisiac? “In fact, baby, I can promise you I won’t.” Now you know what swooning is. You’ve always wondered. Did you have to swoon into him? As a matter of fact, Yes! That deep rich laugh flows over you like whiskey and caramel as you feel his hand stroke up your arm. “Oh, baby, we’re gonna get along just fine. In fact, I think we’re going to become very close.” His tenor voice vibrates along every nerve you have—some of which you definitely can’t ask your doctor about. Somewhere between the beer, his own musk and his cologne, you’re lost. All you can do is look into his deep black eyes and contemplate the meaning of life. “You still with me, sweetheart?” murmurs or was that a purr?

he

“Oh, yeah,” you moan. Shit! Did you say that out loud?

His bourbon chuckle flows over you, stroking like the fingers that are now resting against the side of your throat…ohhhhh God! “Lost your inner monologue, baby?” his black satin voice caresses you. “That’s okay, I wanna hear everything you’ve got.” He leans closer. “I want to hear you wrapped around me and begging for more. Can you do that for me?” “I, um, oh.” You feel his hand at your waist, under your shirt. Was it really a good idea to wear a crop-top? “Your skin is so soft, sweetheart, so warm,” he rumbles. Ohhhh gaaaa—tongue in your ear!!! “Okay,” you yip, leaning into his mouth. “You know what I like the most about you, baby?” his deep tenor hums into your warm and now moist ear. In fact, that’s not all that’s warm and moist on your body right now… You like that I’ll do anything you ask right

now if you just blow on me? you babble to yourself. Uh ohh, you hope you thought that to yourself. That question gets an undeniable answer when you feel his beer-scented breath blowing on your throat just below your ear. “Now, baby, you’ll do anything I ask?” his deep, deep, voice vibrates through you. Both hands cup your jaw and his thumbs move to caress your lips as he tilts your head up to look at his face. Once again you wonder why the earth never opens up to swallow you when you need it most. “Uhmmm, I, yeah. Yeah, I think so,” you choke, not even surprised you told him that. His thumb keeps sweeping across your lips, caressing as if he’s enjoying the feel of your mouth moving against his skin. Before you can form an opinion about that, his face comes toward yours. What’s he doing? What? He leans into your mouth and licks his thumb and your lips at

the same time. Your eyes drop closed as you feel his tongue pass over your bottom lip a second time. “You don’t mind, sweetheart?” he murmurs into his thumb and your mouth. “I got a drop of beer there and I had to lick it off. Like this,” he whispers against your mouth as he proceeds to demonstrate. “Mmmm,” you hear yourself moan as both hands move to grip his oh-so-buff shoulders. “Oh, yeah, baby,” he rumbles, pulling you closer so that you’re practically in his lap. Somehow, he’s edged his barstool up against yours and he drops his hands so you feel one cup your lower ribcage while the other pulls your leg over the top of his. What is pressing…no way! Well, now you know for sure. He really IS happy to see you. You pull back. Well, the upper part of you pulls back—your lower half wants to get to know him much better. Taking a deep breath, you glance over at Mr. Nice

Bartender, who’s got a sloppy voyeuristic grin on his face and your favorite drink in his hand. With a little twitch of his head, he urges you to lean toward him, so you do. “This drink’s on me, hon,” he whispers to you conspiratorially. “Just promise you’ll spill all next time.” You really need that drink. Of course that’s the only reason you nod and take it. “You can’t be leaving me already, baby. Come here,” his velvet tenor strokes over you, causing your skin to prickle. Somehow you find yourself flush against him, his arms tight around you and his very generous erection speaking volumes as he lets his lips travel silently across your cheek to your lips. His teeth sink into your lower lip and nip gently and you feel some part of you freefalling into your darkest dreams and desires. Yes, anything, leaving him, never—

at least not without a court order. The sweet pressure of his sucking mouth on your lip and his hand traveling up your ribs, so close, so close to… You pull back to the sound of his rich, deep chuckle. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his deep tenor melts into you, touching parts of you that are never seen in public. “We’ll make love, but not on this barstool.” You realize that you’re both occupying the same space. He may not plan to make love on the barstool but you are almost in the middle of doing just that. “Come here, baby,” he whispers, sending chills up and down your spine. “Let’s go for a little walk.” Walk? Walk? He wants to walk? “Um, but I…” All you want to do is more of what you were doing. “This way, baby, let’s look at the stars,” he growls into your ear.

“Ohhh,” you sound like an amazed threeyear-old now, “walk!” “Yeah,” he chuckles, taking your hand and tugging you toward the door. “Walk.” You don’t know what to expect as he leads you around the side of the bar. You have a pretty good idea about what you will do if he wants to continue where you left off inside. Anything. Uh-oh! You don’t want him anymore. You have eyes for another. Your heart is pounding in your chest when he lifts you and eases you, legs spread, over the sexiest piece of machinery you’ve ever been close to. “Is this yours?” you ask, voice cracking. “Mmm, just like you’re about to be,” his velvet voice rumbles in your ear. “Ever make love on a Harley, baby?” How did he tap into your deepest, darkest fantasies? Is he psychic? Should you answer him or just let him lead the way?

“Yes, please,” you mumble primly, lost in his eyes again. “Ohhh, baby, you’re such a good girl, such sweet manners. Say please again,” he rumbles, his mouth on your bare ribs as he pushes you flat onto the motorcycle seat, your shoulders resting on the wide handlebars. “Please. Yes. Yes, please,” you moan as his warm mouth covers your entire breast and nipple. “Good, very good,” he hums into you as your body begins to shake and tighten. You’re afraid to move but you can’t lay still. You plunge your hands into his thick black hair. He raises his head and his snapping black eyes trap you once again. “You know, baby,” he murmurs wickedly, “I could just turn this machine on. They don’t call it the most expensive vibrator on the planet for no reason.” His hips pump against yours and he purrs, “Or would you rather

have something else moving between your legs?” “No,” you yelp, reaching down. One arm goes around his back and both legs hook around his calves. “You, okay?” “I would turn it on, baby,” he rumbles, pushing your shirt and bra completely off now. “But I can only drive one thing at a time.” Arching against him and his hardness behind his jeans rubbing your own denim covered sex and making you ache, you have only one thing to say. “Me.” Apparently that was the magic word because he’s taking your entire breast in his mouth. Heat and electricity sizzle through you and pools right where you want the rest of him only without the denim. Your mind is firmly fixed on points south, but your hands are busy tugging on the black cotton covering his lean, well-toned

upper body. yes! Your fingers have begun the walking and wow—chest hair is severely underrated. Tugging, pulling, you finally get the T-shirt completely off, but you can’t think. He’s moved to the other breast now and you arch into his mouth. It’s time for some equality here. You grind your pelvis against his and blindly run a hand over his chest until you find a flat, pebbled nipple. One twist and he moans, sliding back up to you and covering your mouth with his. He’s dark, he’s hunky, he drives a Harley, and he can multi-task—oh yes, he can. You didn’t at first feel him unsnap your jeans, but the zipper coming down—that gets your attention. That and his big warm hand stroking over your abdomen and heading lower. Subtly is for sissies you decide, lifting your hips.

“Oh, baby, I love your way of talking. Is this what you want?” “More,” you hiss, completely over shyness or anything that doesn’t equal further bodily contact. Both hands are wrist deep in your jeans now, one stroking between your legs, “that’s it, spread for me,” and the other cupping your left cheek as he works the pants down. As the denim slides down, you do your best to comply with his last instruction, spreading your legs wide and giving him the access you both want. On the subject of what you both want, your hand is working his zipper down. You’ve been intrigued by the long and welldefined ridge in his jeans and Hello! A man who drives a Harley, goes commando and yep, you agree with the Pontiac folks: Wider is better! “Wait,” he chokes out. “Condom!” You can deal with that. Condoms are good.

Before you can ponder that or anything else, he’s poised against your wet and hungry opening, looking deep into your eyes. He can do the deep and soulful connection thing later. You’re in bad need of another kind of connection and you wrap both legs around him, pulling his well-shaped tushie forward with your heels. At the same time, you buck up and yeah, buddy, that’s where the phrase “rock your world” came from. In! Your new favorite word. In. In deep. You groan, he groans. In and out. Yes, yes, yes. “Oh, yes, more! Faster,” you order, trying to move under him, wanting him to thrust, to push, to give more! “I think I’m gonna keep you,” he rumbles, his voice like caramel whisky pouring over you, warming you, filling you. He slides inside of you, a steady but increasing pace, burying himself inside of you to the hilt every single time. You cling tight, along for the ride, holding on.

And it’s a helluva ride, too. With a nudge, you flip him over, with his help, of course. You can’t help loving the bad boy grin on his face as you lean forward to take his shoulders and ride him like a bucking bronco. “Uh, uh, uh!” you grunt, coming down hard on the rigid pole filling you so wonderfully. “Yeah, shit, shit, uh!” He grabs your hips with both hands, pumping upward for all he’s worth. Yep, a helluva ride. You collapse against him, boneless. He holds you against him, lightly rubbing your back, your ribs, and your ass. You aren’t moving. Even if you had the energy, you aren’t doing a single thing that requires brain function. He shifts and pulls out of you. “Whaddaya say we crank up this other machine and ride it for a while?” he asks. Yeah, that’ll work.

Burn S. Desires Your face is softly illuminated by the pale light of the moon, and it enchants me. I step forward, pressing myself against you, and your eyes burn into mine. You lean in, capturing my lips, and fire begins to rage through my veins. And then your hands are on me, skimming down over my body from breast to naval, your fingers fanning across my belly and inching toward my waist until you’re framing my hips. Your hands slip lower to cup the soft swell of my ass and pull my lower body roughly against yours. I can feel your cock pressed against me through the soft material of your pants, and God, you’re so hot, so hard. It’s intoxicating. Your fingers flex restlessly against my ass and I can’t help but moan.

Your tongue, soft and wet, begins to trace the line of my jaw, and as you move up to tease my ear with the very tip of your tongue, you whisper, “I want you.” I slip my hand between us, cupping you, and press the curve of my palm against the rigid length of your cock. “Then take me.” You back away from me, inches only, but the loss of your heat leaves me cold, and I whimper in protest, but you lay your fingers softly across my lips. Bending slightly, you slip an arm around my waist and another underneath my knees, lifting me until I’m cradled in the shelter of your arms. And then your lips—so soft, so sure—find mine again, and you dip your tongue inside the warm, wet cavern of my mouth to intimately stroke mine as you make your way toward the bed. I bring my arms up to circle your neck and it feels surreal, as if time has been suspended, and there is nothing or no one outside of us and the pleasure we’re about to bring one another.

You stop, gently place me on my feet, and step back to look at me. Just look. The sharp blue of your irises singe my skin as your eyes begin to move, from top to bottom, the intensity in them stealing my breath. I lean into you, placing my hands on your chest and those beautifully expressive eyes melt into mine. I can feel the edge of the bed pressing against the backs of my legs, the pounding of your heart under my palm and the warmth of your breath trickling across my face and, God, I need you to… “Touch me. Please. I need—” You reach for me, threading your fingers through my thick mass of curls, and pull me roughly against you. Dipping your head slightly, you settle your mouth over mine and hungrily begin to devour me with lips, teeth and tongue. My hands flex restlessly against your chest before fisting the material of your shirt tightly in my palms, and I pull you closer. You drop your hands to

my hips, your fingers digging into the sensitive flesh there, and I moan brokenly, the sound getting lost in your mouth. “Please—” I beg, for what I’m not sure. I just know I need more. Your lips leave mine and you slide your hands up a bit, grasping the bottom of my top to slip it up and over my head before tossing it aside. You cup my breasts, trapping my nipples between the lacey material of my bra and the callused skin of your palms, and I drop my head back, relishing in the feeling of having your hands on me. You crouch down until you’re eye level with one of the smooth diamond pointed tips and, moving your hand aside, roll it between your lips before pulling it greedily into your mouth. “God.” Your tongue continues to tease my nipple through the thin material as you move down to unbutton my jeans. You work them over

my hips, letting them slide down my legs to pool around my ankles. I look down at you, watching the flat of your tongue slide lazily over my nipple as you hook your fingers on the tiny strings holding my panties in place and tug them down to join the puddle of material already at my feet. While your fingers move up, deftly unclasp my bra, your lips move down to skim over my belly, my hips, my thighs and my insides clutch in anticipation. God, I need you. Now. I slip my hands into your hair, and tug gently, forcing you up until we’re face-toface, heart to heart, sex-to-sex. And my hands move down, one curving over the line of your cock and the other moving in to nervously fumble with the buttons on your jeans, but you place your hands softly over mine, helping me, soothing me. With your hands still covering mine, you drag them up, placing them against the flat of your belly underneath your shirt and I slide them up, pushing your shirt up and over your head.

You pull me against you, fitting my body to yours, and slip your hands down underneath my ass, lifting me, and I wrap my legs tightly around your waist. I can feel the head of your cock sliding between the soft wet swollen lips of my pussy as you lower me, pressing my back firmly against the soft mattress and it feels incredible. I untwine my legs, spreading them slightly, and dig my heels into the very edge of the mattress as I trail my hand down over my tummy and slip it between my parted thighs to run my fingers over my aching clit. The backs of my fingers brush against your cock and I see your gaze move down to focus on my fingers. “Help me.” Your eye snap back to mine, unsure, and I grab your hand,and lay it over mine. ”Make me come.” Your fingers begin to move, stroking softly at first, and then faster harder until your rhythm matches my own and you slide your other hand down to press one, then two

fingers deep inside me. But it’s not enough. “Oh God, I need…” “What, baby? Tell me what you need.” “You. Inside me.” You pull your fingers from inside me and, grasping my hips tightly, slowly pressing into me, sheathing yourself completely within my warm, wet walls. “Ah, God, yes. That‘s it.” And it is. I arch my back until we’re pelvis to pelvis, and close my eyes as the orgasm slowly rolls through me.

The Waiting Game Laura Bacchi “Wait here. Like that,” she says. And she knows I will. It’s part of the game we play every weekend here at Villa di Dolore—the Villa of Pain— with me naked and shivering in her private courtyard. Me and all the others. Without my glasses, I can’t make out their faces, but their bodies awkwardly straddle mossy garden statuary or lie flat along the cobblestones. I wonder where they work, where they come from. Why they come—and go. Sometimes I wonder why I come, even though I know the reasons. I come for her. To receive the pain she’ll dish out when her tails mark my flesh. To endure the humiliation she’ll heap upon me while I suck

cock after cock or take it in the ass for one of her higher ranking boys. But in the end I come to come, because when all the weeping and moaning and grinding of molars is done, she’ll ask me to stroke myself. Slowly. Until she says I can spurt my juices on her boot and lick the leather clean. Today, I’m holding tight to the heavy iron rings of the doors to her private chamber. The metal is cold and a light rain sprinkles over my legs, teasing me with sensation. Every ping of water on my prick makes it stretch and flex until my cock-head points toward the clouds and releases its own trickle of moisture. Thoughts of her strapping me up for a caning run through my mind and the bead of cum at my cock’s slit grows and drips down to pool on my hairless balls. “Only real men have hair,” she’d told me that first day. “So come shaved or don’t come at all.” I go through razor blades like crazy the Fridays before I arrive, but I always pass inspection.

My dick leaks and throbs and leaks some more ‘til I’m a sticky mess. The puddle freezes my nuts in no time, and I’m about to shift my position to fend off a cramp in my back when she comes out onto her balcony. I look up. She showers me with bird seed. Fearless pigeons perch on my ankles and she’s watching. I hold still while tiny sharp talons grip me tight and bill after bill pecks at the kernels on my shins. Thankfully, the seed doesn’t last long, but the flutter of wings stirs the air with a chill that sets my teeth to rattling. They chatter so loudly I don’t hear the click click of her boot heels until her shadow appears at my side. “Thank you for waiting. Please come with me.” I scramble up and bow my head as instructed while she attaches my leash. She leads me down the hall to another corridor then another until I’m deep in the bowels of a basement labyrinth, its walls lit by torches, the smell musty and dank. My ass

tingles with anticipation. She opens the door to a large, round bed half-hidden by curtains and I make my first mistake. “But—” Her palms clap together with such speed that my poor cock-head, caught between them, doesn’t have a chance. A groan burns my throat, but somehow I manage to swallow it silent. “And to think I planned a special treat for you.” She clucks her tongue in mock remorse. “So sorry, Mistress.” She rubs my injured penis and smiles, a glorious thing. The flash of white in the dim room makes me happy because it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it, and I stand taller for having given her some small degree of pleasure. “I’m in a good mood today. You’re forgiven.”

Then the smile dissipates and she claps her hands—thankfully no where near my cock. “On the bed.” And in a flash, I’m diving between the canopy curtains, slipping on silk as I land on the sheets. I’m not alone. The naked man relaxing against the sea of pillows grins. His prick is magnificent. I lick my lips. Mistress speaks. “Dante saw you outside today and asked to borrow you for a while.” She settles into a chair and hikes up her skirt. “I said, ‘Sure. As long as I can watch.’” I turn to him. “How can I please you, sir?” He merely smiles. There will be no beatings today, no pain—just me and this gorgeous man whose bronze skin begs to be touched. So I touch it. He touches me back, and suddenly, feathery exploration becomes frantic groping. His nails dig into my ass cheeks, his teeth feed on my shoulder. He pulls me closer and my sloppy cock drools

onto his. He doesn’t seem to mind. Mistress’s right hand is busy flicking her clit. Her left pumps hard into one of the holes below. I want this man inside me, punishing my asshole with the power only a male can deliver. But he beats me to the punch. “Will you fuck me?” he asks. “I-I could. If that’s what you want…” He nods before crawling down the length of me to lave my cock with a hot tongue. My balls disappear into his mouth. His fingers choke my shaft. Thank God he stops when I moan. Dante’s arm tunnels under the pillows and returns with lube. I reach out to take it, but he pours it into his own hand and oils up in a slow tease, coating first his cock and balls, then splaying wide to grease his ass. A finger vanishes into that tight hole. Then another. When he adds the third, I’m hypnotized by the sight of him stretching

himself, fucking himself, just for me. He adds more lube. It’s going to be a slick ride. When his fingers finally pull out, I wait for him to get on all fours. He doesn’t budge. “I want to kiss you while you fuck me,” he says. I palm his balls and lift them. I want to see it all. His hands grip the backs of his knees to pull himself up and open. My cock-head kisses his pucker. He twists in the sheets, impatient and ready. When I nudge my prick forward, his muscles go limp in welcome. I slide in further, then lean down for a kiss. The walls of his rectum pull me in and surround me with his body heat. I know I won’t last long. Mistress gasps. Her heels tap on the cement floor like gunshots in the distance. I do my own dance—a forbidden dance, old as Sodom and ancient Rome, with my cock buried deep inside a man’s ass, my thrusts

probing in and out and in again. My bald, sweaty sac crashes into his hairy crack. I relish the texture and taste of him, so right against my tongue. His hand works his prick and he breaks the kiss. “Fill me. I want a flood.” I pray I can give him one and allow myself to spill inside his tunnel. He strangles every fucking drop from my balls and then some until I can’t take any more. I pull out with a slurp and a sigh. He sprays my chest—and he’s sweet enough to lick it all off. I want to stay. To fall into his arms and sleep beside him. But Mistress calls out to me, makes me leave and get dressed. She even sends me out into the street through a door I’ve never seen. The storefronts I see are new, at least to me, and I turn around to get my bearings. That’s when I notice the sign on the villa door. Villa di Piacere. Villa of Pleasure.

I walk back up the stairs to read the small, handwritten sign in the window. Closed for business. I knock until my knuckles bleed, but no one answers. And I have a feeling no one ever will.

Behind the Hedge Beth Williamson Ryka was lost in the maze. Embarrassing really for a grown woman. Off in the distance she could hear the sounds of the party. Glasses clinking, music, the low murmur of voices. She just couldn’t bloody well find her way out of the hedge maze. Damn interfering Brenda! She had dragged Ryka to this estate in the middle of the country, when she’d rather be in London. Always trying to get her a man. As if being single and thirty-eight was a bad thing. Truth was, Ryka was lonely sometimes, but she was happy in her job as a technical writer. Happy with her life, if not her sex life. Brenda thought it would be funny to have Ryka go into the maze and see if the current

man o’ the hour, some engineer named Harold, would follow her. Ryka escaped from both of them. Only her plan worked too well and now she was hopelessly turned around. And she would be damned before she called out for help. It just wasn’t a Ryka-ish thing to do. The heat from the afternoon sun had been a welcome respite from the air-conditioned car, but now it was roasting her like a marshmallow on a campfire. Sweat trickled down between and under her breasts, drizzled its way down her back and along her hairline. Being a natural redhead had its drawbacks including easily burned skin, a plethora of freckles and the ability to look flushed at the drop of a hat. Ryka figured she didn’t look fresh as a daisy anymore, more like a wilted carnation. Her sexy, strappy heels were digging too far into the soft grass and making it difficult to walk. She slipped them off and sighed with relief as the grass tickled between her toes.

At least one part of her felt better. Listen and follow the sounds, woman! Okay, easier said than done. She couldn’t pinpoint the source of the sounds. Ryka was frustrated, hungry, hot and thirsty. She started stomping along when something caught her eye in one of the hedges. It was a hole. It was just as her eye level where she could see straight through it. Maybe caused by a cricket ball or something. No more than three inches wide, but it was clearly through the hedge. She stepped closer and looked through the hole, hopeful she would see the damn exit. Instead she saw a man. He was sprawled on a bench with his eyes closed and relaxed. He was probably her age, maybe a few years younger, with wavy dark brown hair, a lock of which had fallen over his forehead. His jaw had a slight shadow to it, as if he was a man that had to shave often to look like he’d shaved at all. He was wearing a pair of blue

jogging shorts and nothing else. His chest was absolutely scrumptious. Covered in whorls of dark hair, with nicely shaped pecs that led the way down to what looked like a six-pack of abs. His legs were also well muscled and tan. The sun was worshipping this man like Ra. My oh my. The things you find when you’re lost in a hedge maze. Ryka watched him for several minutes as he slept. He was a beautiful specimen of man. Too bad none of the stiffs at the party looked like him. He was a man that probably knew how to pleasure a woman. A serious lacking she’d found in nearly all of her dates in the last two years. She was sexually frustrated and consistently horny. This man made her body clench almost painfully with an instant arousal. She licked her lips, tasting the salt of her sweat. Her pussy pulsed as he flung his arm down and his hand landed on his thigh. He wiggled on the bench and his hand flexed. Sweet Lord,

she wanted to be that hand, creeping up his inner thigh. She felt her nipples harden into nubs, pushing against her sundress. She hadn’t worn a bra with it because it had a haltertop. Her hands crept up and lightly pinched her nipples. Her whole body began to hum a tune of hunger. She could see the clear outline of a very nice erection in his shorts. His hand slowly rubbed back and forth against his cock. Ryka moaned softly. Once, twice, three times. She circled her nipples to the rhythm of his hand, scraping them with her nails. His hand circled his cock and slid up and down. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him moan. Her pussy was now so wet, it stuck to her panties. Then his thumb hooked in the waistband of his shorts and began to pull them down… Ryka began to get lightheaded and realized she was holding her breath, waiting… Her

mons was throbbing anticipation and arousal.

now,

wet

with

It was as if he knew she was watching. His thumb was stuck in the waistband of his shorts and it moved back and forth like a metronome. Rubbing and touching the head of his cock over and over. Exciting him. Exciting her. The hand behind his head crept down to cup his balls. She imagined it was her hand. She could feel the weight of them, touching, caressing and tickling him where he was the most sensitive. He rubbed one then the other as his thumb continued to tease. She had to do something besides squeeze her thighs together as her body pulsed. She unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of her sundress in the front. A slight breeze blew cool on her heated skin. She was wearing her red satin thong panties, so they easily slipped aside for her questing fingers. The first swipe on her

swollen pussy made her bite her lip to hold back the moan. She even closed her eyes. Ah, but then Charming.

she

couldn’t

see

Prince

She forced her eyes open and her legs farther apart. As one hand continued to pinch and tweak her nipple, the other concentrated on finding a release. Fingernails lightly scraped her clit while another finger delved into the hot interior. The prince finally got tired of the shorts it seemed. While she was concentrating on fucking herself, he inched down his shorts so the top half of his cock was showing. And it was a beauty. He was circumcised so the head was deliciously in view. It was thick and strong, straining against confinement like a beast. While one of his hands continued to play with his balls, the other tiptoed up the staff to the top. One blunt finger ran along the tip of it. Then he brought that finger up to his

lips and tasted it. Ryka almost came. She pulled her hand back just in time to avoid the wave of pleasure that was hovering over her. Not yet, not yet. His hand moved back down to his cock. This time he took it in hand and squeezed it, just as she wanted to do. Lord in heaven, she wanted to get down on her knees and suck him dry, then fuck him until he couldn’t see straight. She started teasing herself. Running her fingers up and down the sides of her aching pussy without actually touching it. If she did, she knew she’d come in an instant. She wanted to prolong the pleasure. The prince swiped at his jism again and licked it. Ryka did the same. She brought her wet fingers up to her lips and gently lapped at her fingers. The musky taste of her arousal notched up her desperation. God, she wanted that man so badly her jaw

was clenched so she didn’t cry out. He pushed his shorts down even further until his entire package was showing. He was magnificent and shaved. His balls were completely shaved, although big and round. Ryka wanted to lick them too. As his hand slowly slid up and down his engorged staff, the bushes behind him rustled and another man stepped out. This one, a blond Adonis with a more slender yet still muscular build. He too was dressed in a pair of shorts and nothing else. He smiled when he saw his companion masturbating. Ryka half-hoped this man was his lover. She had never seen two men pleasure each other, but she always wanted to. He knelt down beside the bench and whispered in the prince’s ear. The prince smiled and whispered something back. When Adonis leaned down to kiss the prince open mouthed, a husky, feminine voice whispered in her ear.

“Do you like to watch?” Ryka’s breath caught in her throat. She recognized the voice as a woman she’d met at the party. Marina something or another. Pretty with curly blonde hair and deep brown eyes. Friendly girl, but with a simmering quality of sensuality about her that was obvious to everyone around her. “Well, do you?” Marina’s warm breath tickled across her ear and a shiver worked its way up her spine. “Yes,” she whispered back. “Chandler and his boy toy are beautiful, aren’t they?” Marina’s hands caressed her shoulders lightly. Ryka realized her dress was unbuttoned; she had one hand on her throbbing clit and the other on a peaked nipple. The addition of Marina’s unsettling, yet…exciting.

hands

was

Ryka watched Chandler, she was sure he was the brunette she’d spotted first, the one that had been happily stroking himself in the sun as his lover kissed him slowly, deeply. Their tongues meshed with each other as their hands roamed up and down shoulders and arms. She could almost see the sex in the air. It was heavy and electric. Adonis whispered something as he kneeled beside the bench. He started to bite at Chandler’s chest, tongue darting out to lick when he nibbled. Chandler put his hand on the back of Adonis’ head and urged him down farther, she was sure toward his pulsing cock—the head of it clearly visible and hungry. Adonis smiled and continued his little feast of the flesh. “Would you like me to touch you?” Ryka’s pussy clenched as one of her secret fantasies came to life. She’d always wanted to see what sex would be like with a woman, but never had the courage to try it.

But this, this was anonymous. Behind the hedge. “Yes.” Marina had long fingers that trailed down her bare arms and left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Just as her hands reached around to Ryka’s open dress and touched the skin of her belly, Adonis reached Chandler’s belly. He played with the arrow of hair leading down to his nether regions as Marina’s finger circled her belly button. Ah, God, so incredibly arousing. “Your skin is very soft, cherie.” Marina’s fingers made circles up her rib cage until they reached her hungry nipples. Adonis cupped Chandler’s balls through the fabric and lightly pinched them until Chandler swatted him playfully. As his shorts were pulled off by his boy toy, Ryka’s breathing grew ragged. Marina tested the weight of Ryka’s breasts

in her hands, then pinched each nipple between her thumb and forefinger. The answering pulse in Ryka’s pussy almost made her come immediately. “You are very sensitive.” Chandler’s magnificent cock was finally free of its cloth prison and Ryka’s mouth watered with the urge to join Adonis in his explorations. His tongue reached out and lapped at the head of it over and over while Adonis’ hand continued to play with his balls. She could hear Chandler groan as his boy toy took a nibble of the sensitive underside. Adonis’s other hand reached down and started pumping his own cock, bringing himself pleasure as he pleasured his man. Suck it. One of Marina’s hands slid down Ryka’s belly to her damp curls. As a slender digit slipped into her moist heat, Ryka felt herself sway. Marina stopped her by pressing her

breasts against Ryka’s back and anchoring her. So good. Adonis finally put the head of Chandler’s cock in his mouth and the blond bobbed up and down, sucking and licking. He squeezed the base of it as his mouth slid lower and lower with each pass. Marina pinched Ryka’s clit while she pinched her own nipple. Ryka was close, so close. She’d never been so aroused in her life. The sweet scent of Marina’s perfume and the musky scent of their combined arousal tickled her nose as her body built up tension. Adonis put Chandler’s entire cock in his mouth and sucked deeply, hungrily. He took it all the way out and slammed it back into his mouth again. He bit the base of it until Chandler gasped, then licked his way back to the top. Marina’s fingers increased their rhythm as

another finger made its way up Ryka’s clenching pussy. She was moments away from an intense orgasm. Adonis pumped and sucked Chandler’s cock. The hedges were scratching at her as Ryka reached back to find Marina’s dress hiked up and a hot pussy behind her. She stuck her fingers up inside Marina and thrust in turn with Marina’s and with Adonis’. Together they sucked, fucked and licked. Again and again. Building, building, building until suddenly Chandler cried out. Ryka saw Adonis’ body tense as an orgasm must have ripped through him. Marina gasped and bucked against her. Ryka came so hard she thought she broke Marina’s fingers with the force of it. Moments passed as Ryka recovered from her earthly pleasure. Ryka was shocked when Chandler opened his eyes looked straight at her through the hedge and winked. Marina turned her

around, kissed her full on the mouth and smiled. “Let’s button up and go back to the party.” Ryka grinned. Life’s funny. She was glad she’d gotten lost in the hedge maze. Without it, she’d never have known she had obviously been looking for a relationship in the wrong aisle of the market.

The Gym Sasha White I’ve been watching him for a while. He is the motivation that keeps me going back to the gym. Exercising isn’t something I enjoy, but when I can watch him in the mirror as I run on the treadmill, it’s not only sweat that dampens my body. The sight of his sleek muscles straining as he adds more weight to the barbells and lays back on the bench to do more presses gives me ideas on other ways we could work out together on that very same bench. I fantasize that we’re the only people in the gym and I use his safety straps to restrain his hands on the barbell above him. Then I stand next to the bench and strip off my sweaty workout clothes, slowly revealing

myself to him. The tent in his shorts caused by his straining erection encourages me to take total control of his body. Walking to the end of the bench, I lean over his body, just close enough to brush the hard tips of my breasts against his bare stomach. I let my head fall so that my long hair brushes against his firm chest, tickling him as I lightly swing my head back and forth. Then I lower my body closer so that my tits now hug his cock through his shorts and he feels my hot breath on his chest. I open my mouth and my tongue darts out to tease his nipple to erectness. When it’s sticking up like a miniature cock, I take the hard nub into my wet mouth and nibble teasingly with my teeth. Then I lave it better with firm strokes of my tongue. I shift slightly for better access to the other nipple and the shift of pressure on his cock causes him to lift his hips against me and groan softly. He doesn’t want to speak any more than I want to hear him, his groans and

sighs are message enough. When both nipples are standing proud, wet and shiny from my ministrations, I slide my body back so I am on my knees between his. Leaning back, I quickly divest him of his shorts so that his throbbing cock is bare and only inches from my hungry lips. Liking the power I feel with him laid out before me, I tease a little more. I lean forward and nip at his inner thigh with my sharp teeth, knowing that as I do this all he really feels is the inching of my fingers through the nest of curls at the base of his cock. To get his focus where I want it, I push his thighs further apart and place a long, wet lick with firm pressure on that soft skin between his puckered asshole and his heavy balls. He tries to lift his hips and increase the pressure, but I deny him that. After sucking his balls into my hot mouth for a brief taste, I decide I’m done teasing. I can feel my own juices starting to run from my swollen pussy lips down my thighs as I

pull his cock away from his belly and surround it with my lips. After a minute of adjustment, I start a slow rhythm of bobbing with my mouth giving firm suction. He tastes delicious, salty and sweet. The sounds coming from his throat as I speed up slightly are causing my quim to quiver in anticipation. One of my hands leaves his thigh to reach between mine to play with myself. As I slip a finger deep inside, I realize it isn’t enough so I add another. This isn’t what I want. I want to be filled and that’s for him to do. Abandoning all my ministrations, I stand up and quickly straddle him on the bench. I don’t move until he opens his eyes and is watching me. With gazes locked, I reach between my spread legs and guide him into my wet hole. I lower myself and we both let out a groan of satisfaction as his hard, rigid cock fills me. I start to roll my hips gently and notice that his grip on the barbell above him has

become white-knuckled. I lean forward and place my hands next to his on the barbell and start to pump my hips faster. With feet flat on the floor, I have total control and ease with shifting tempo and pressure on him. The air is still around us, only disturbed by our panting breath and the occasional grunt and groan from him. I squeeze him tight inside and know that he can’t hold back much longer. I pump a little faster. The end is near for us both. I tilt my hips to that angle I know will get him deeper and give my throbbing clit the pressure I need to get off. A quick thrust and our hips grind together and I feel myself slip into oblivion. My inner walls clench around his throbbing cock and his cum shoots into me hotly, filling me the way I’ve fantasized about. With no strength left in my body, I release my grip on the barbell, undo the ties that bind his wrists and cuddle up on the chest I’ve admired for so long as his arms

surround me. He is the inspiration that keeps me going to the gym.

About the Author Secret Thoughts: Erotique is a collection of erotic stories compiled by Sasha White. To learn more about Sasha and the contributors of this anthology, please visit their websites. Sasha White ~ www.sashawhite.net. Laura Bacchi ~ www.laurabacchi.com S. Desires ~ salaciousdesires.blogspot.com/ J.J. Massa ~ www.jjmassa.com Beth Williamson ~ www.bethwilliamson.com Nix Winter ~ www.inkdancing.com Look for these titles by Sasha White Now Available: Gypsy Heart Coming Soon: Rogue Heart

Look for these titles by Beth Williamson Now Available: The Bounty The Prize The Reward The Treasure The Gift Coming Soon: The Tribute The Legacy Nate

Can a man bent on settling down convince a free-spirited woman that doesn’t believe in “happily ever after” to risk her Gypsy Heart? Gypsy Heart © 2006 Sasha White Available now in digital and paperback from Samhain Publishing Reformed bad boy Gage Dougherty wants to settle down. Free spirited bartender Sable Castle wants to live up to her bad girl image. When Gage steps into Sable’s bar there’s an instant attraction that has her throwing traditional roles out the window and chasing him down. But when she finally catches him, can he convince her to give up her freespirited ways and trust him with her Gypsy

Heart? Enjoy the following excerpt for Gypsy Heart. “Zodiac Pub, Sable speaking, how can I help you?” “Just the woman I wanted to talk to.” Gage’s deep voice vibrated over the lines and down Sable’s spine. She dropped into the cushioned chair behind the desk and felt instantly better. He’d called her! A spark of sassiness came to life inside and she smiled naughtily. “Talk to? Is that all you want to do with me?” A moment of silence, then a soft chuckle. “I would love to do more, but unfortunately all we can do on the phone is talk.” A little voice reminded her that she’d wanted to talk to him. To ask him out and see if he really did want to get to know her as more than a bed mate, but she brushed it aside and laughed seductively. “All we can

do to each other on the phone is talk.” Sable could almost see the light bulb go on over Gage’s head when he let out a loud guffaw. “You are such a tease!” “What can I say? I love to tease.” She paused for a brief second. “And to be teased.” “Really?” Gage said in a pleased voice. “Uh-huh.” He laughed and Sable imagined him shaking his head at her impudence. “You do realize that, while I loved every minute of you exploring my body the other night, I still want my chance at yours.” “You can have your chance at my body whenever you want it.” Languorous pleasure seeped over Sable at his words. “I hope you’re prepared to be teased.” “Greedy, aren’t you?” His voice dropped an octave and Sable knew she was getting to

him. “Only for certain things.” She chuckled deeply. “Right now you are at the top of the list of things I hunger for.” His soft groan echoed across the phone lines. “Don’t say things like that.” “Why not? I’ve never played head games before, Gage, and I see no reason to start now.” She twirled a finger in her hair while she waited for his response. “I don’t play head games either, Sable. But when you say things like that, I want to come down there, bend you over the bar, and fuck you until you can’t walk.” Wow! Sable’s whole body flushed at his words and she squeezed her thighs together. “As much as I would enjoy that, it’s not quite possible at the moment.” “Too bad.” Sable’s deep sigh of agreement broke the

silence. Yeah, too bad. She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes, and let her mind fill with images of herself and Gage. “Where are you right now?” “In the front room at my place. In my favorite overstuffed chair.” “Turn the lights down low for me. Then settle back into the chair.” She heard some rustling sounds and knew he was following her lead. “Done,” he said. She lowered her voice and spoke softly into the phone. “I want you to imagine me standing in front of you. Our eyes are locked as I slowly peel my clothes off for you. I’m in the mood to play and you are my newest toy. But I’m not quite sure what makes my new toy tick so it’s time to find out.” She stopped for a moment when she heard him chuckle softly at that. Keeping her eyes closed, she lowered her voice a bit more and continued. “I stop when

I get to my bra and panties. Do you like my lacy underwear?” “Very nice. Red is one of my favorite colors, but I like what’s in them even more.” Sable smiled to hear him put a color to her panties. Good to know he was getting into this as well. Her body warmed, and her nipples hardened. Gathering her courage, she ventured on. “Using my hands, I lift my hair off my neck, arching my back and thrusting my breasts out for you. Posing for you. I can feel the heat of your eyes roaming over my body and I let my hands follow their path. My hands trail down from my neck to the swell of my breasts. Your eyes are getting darker as you watch me do this.” She chuckled softly into the phone. “Wanting to tease you some more, I cup my breasts and let my fingertips flirt over the tips. My nipples harden and I know you can see the points sticking out through my bra.” A low groan came over the phone and Sable smiled devilishly. She felt wicked and sexy,

and completely comfortable being naughty for Gage. It was amazing; she’d never felt this at ease with another person before. “I’m tired of playing by myself. Will you help me?” “Oh, yeah.” “I want you to pretend your hand is my hand. Slide it down your chest and over your belly. It should be resting over your groin now. Are you hard?” “Uh-huh.” “Good. Now press down with the palm of your hand. I want to feel you through your jeans.” Another groan echoed over the phone line, this one a bit louder, and Sable felt her own juices flow south. She glanced at the clock; she’d been in the office for almost fifteen minutes already. “Follow me now, Gage. I want you to touch yourself and imagine it’s me. Imagine I’m

undoing the snap on your jeans and slowly pulling the zipper down. I’m on my knees in front of you now and my body is leaning against you. You can feel the pressure of my breasts against your thighs. Now that I have your zipper undone, I lean forward and kiss you through your briefs. My hands travel up to your chest, under your T-shirt, combing through the fine hairs there and playing with your nipples while I keep teasing your cock through the material of your briefs.” The sound of his heavy breathing echoed over the phone line and Sable’s belly tightened, her hand drifting over her stomach toward her pussy. She touched herself through her clothing, teasing. A glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time for that, and she was surprised to realize that at this point she didn’t really want to either. She’d rather make sure Gage enjoyed the experience, than physically please herself. “Pulling away slightly, I look into your eyes

while my hands reach for the waistband of your jeans and try to pull them down. You lift your hips so I can tug them off. I pull them right off and snuggle back in between your legs. I can feel the hair on your thighs brushing against my sensitive skin as my hand circles your cock.” “Ahhh,” Gage practically growled into the phone line. Sable licked her lips and kept talking, too intent on the fantasy to stop. “So hot and hard in my hand. I lick my lips as my hand strokes up and down your shaft. My thumb plays over the head and you fight not to close your eyes in pleasure. I can see the excitement in your eyes when I lean forward and you feel my breath on your bare skin.” She paused for a moment to calm her own breathing before continuing in a quite whisper. “Then I stick out my tongue and slowly lick up the underside of your cock.” A long low, groan came over the phone line.

“Oh, yeah.” “You like that?” “Very much.” “You want more?” “Please,” he pleaded quietly. “You said the magic word.” Sable took a deep breath and closed her eyes again, bringing forth the mental image of her fantasy. Her heartbeat picked up and she felt a sense of togetherness that was almost surreal. “I continue to tease you for a bit. Running my tongue up and down the underside of your cock, flicking it over the head. Licking you like a lollipop.” Another groan echoed in her ear and Sable’s inner muscles clenched in eager response. “I stop with my hand circling the base of your cock and hold you still while I take just the tip of you into my mouth. Then slowly I slide you all the way in until my nose brushes against your groin and you’re filling

me up.” She stopped talking, and the only sound that could be heard was the mixture of their excited breathing. Gage’s deep and heavy, and hers light and fast. “I love the feel of you in my mouth. The slightly salty taste of you, the scent of your skin, your lust. Keeping one hand on your cock, I sneak the other between your thighs and cup your heavy balls as I start to slide you in and out of my mouth. At first I start with a bit of gentle suction, relying on the feel of my lips surrounding you and my tongue running up and down the underside of your cock to keep you on the edge. But then I feel your hands creep into my hair and I know you need more. I suck a bit harder and pick up the pace. I love the feel of your hands tangling in my hair. I can feel your tension as you cup my head and try not to force me to go at your pace. You know that if you try to take over, I’ll stop completely. You are my toy, and we’re going to play the

way I want to play.” “Don’t stop,” Gage pleaded. “Please.” When a clumsy governess from New York meets a lonely, bitter rancher, more than her heart will fall. The Treasure © 2006 Beth Williamson Available now in digital and paperback from Samhain Publishing Ray Malloy is a single father in an age when every child has two parents. Abandoned by his shallow wife, he struggles to find the balance between being a father and being a successful rancher. At the end of his rope with his wild child daughter, he hires a governess from New York to teach his daughter, Melody, to be a lady. Lillian Wickham is desperate for a job, poor as a church mouse, and determined as a

bulldog. Arriving in Wyoming to a chilly reception, and saddled with a five-year-old girl that could be mistaken for an incredibly, dirty little boy does not daunt her. Ray is determined to avoid women completely, to ignore Lillian’s luscious figure, ruby red lips, and husky voice. Lillian is determined to turn Melody into a lady, come hell or high water, and avoid the hellion’s devastatingly attractive father at the same time. Until one night when Lillian’s clumsiness drops her right into Ray’s arms and their passion takes on a life of its own. When unexpected danger steals into their lives, and threatens the stubborn child they both love, will their passion be strong enough to survive, or will it tear their world apart? Enjoy the Treasure:

following

excerpt

for

The

The mood had grown somber again with

Melody quiet as a mouse, and Lily very pensive. Ray didn’t talk much anyway so it was no stretch for him to not speak. As they rolled along the snowy road with the sunshine warming them, Lily suddenly turned and looked at Melody. “Do you know any songs?” “No.” He couldn’t see Melody, but he could practically feel her shaking her head no. There wasn’t much music in their house. “Do you want me to teach you any?” “No.” “Do you mind if I sing one?” “I don’t care.” Such enthusiasm. He really needed to get Melody to work on her manners. All thought was knocked from his head when Lily started singing “Amazing Grace”. The absolute perfection of her notes, of her

voice, nearly made his heart weep. It had been so long, so long, since he had seen, heard or felt anything so beautiful. When she launched into the second chorus, he found himself humming along in tune with her. His bass blended perfectly with her soprano. When the last note echoed into the winter sky, he felt a loss. He wanted her to sing again, but didn’t know how to ask. Melody saved him. “That one was okay. Do you know any more?” She did. In fact, she knew a lot of songs. She sang all the way home, everything from hymns to ballads to “O Susanna”. It was the most relaxing two hours Ray had spent in many years…at least six. He was surprised to see the ranch house come into view. “Home already?” said Lily. As soon as the wagon stopped in front of the house, Melody jumped out and took off. Ray grimaced and then sighed.

“Was it something I said?” Ray shook his head. “She’s probably still upset about what happened in town.” “Perhaps I should talk to her?” “No. She just needs time to herself.” He paused, then wrapped the reins on the brake handle and turned to look at her. Lily was beautiful. Her silly blue hat some nun had knitted for her covered her hair, but it made her face that much more incredible. Long, lustrous lashes framed her whiskeycolored eyes. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her lips, oh God those lips, were as red as berries. He was in trouble and sinking fast. “What did they say?” he blurted. “What did who say?” “Those boys at the store. What did they say that was so rude?” Lily lowered her gaze to her matching mittens and fiddled with them a bit. “I’d

rather not say.” “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’d rather not. Tell me what they said.” She looked at remained silent.

him

and

scowled,

but

“Don’t push me, Lily. I can make you tell me.” He swore he saw a shudder slide through her body. “You’re a bully.” “Get used to it. Tell me. Now.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, they called her an Indian bastard, then one of them pointed at me and called me a whore.” Ray’s fists clenched so hard, he swore his knuckles went out of joint. Those little fucking bastards. He hadn’t realized he said it out loud until she spoke.

“That may very well be, but I believe I handled them okay.” “Don’t expect me to apologize for cursing.” “I won’t.” He leaned back, cocked his head to one side and looked at her. She hadn’t even flinched when he’d cursed. “Aren’t you a nun?” She laughed, a tinkling sound that tickled over him like a feathery caress. “No, I just lived with nuns. They were my teachers.” He grunted. “So you’re not a nun, but you lived with them. Yet cursing doesn’t bother you.” “I’ve heard worse than that. I became somewhat…immune to it.” Now he was really intrigued. “I thought you grew up with nuns?” “I didn’t always live at the orphanage with the nuns. I arrived there when I was eleven.”

He pictured Lily at eleven, awkward and scared, with her bright eyes trying to adjust to living with a bunch of nuns. Probably even clumsier at that age if it were possible. “Where did you live before that?” It wasn’t usually like him to be so curious, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Ray wanted to know more. “I’m getting cold now. Could we unload the wagon and go inside?” Oh, so that was her game. Obviously she didn’t want to answer the question. “Don’t think I’m going to forget about this conversation,” he warned. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He scowled then jumped from the wagon into the hard-packed snow. His boots squeaked as he walked around to the other side to help her down. The minute his hands touched her, another jolt of awareness hit him. It was as if his body smelled her, like a dog scenting his bitch.

He removed possible.

his

hands

as

quickly

as

“I’m sorry they called you a whore.” She shrugged and walked past him. “I’ve been called worse than that.” She took her basket full of small goods and her new boots from the back of the wagon and went toward the house. Ray stared at her retreating back. She’d heard worse cursing. She’d been called worse than a whore. She lived with nuns as a young woman. Where was she as a child? Who was calling her worse names than a whore? And why? A sensual cornucopia anthology from the Master of erotica. Sensual Magic © 2006 Emy Naso Available now at Samhain Publishing

From the late Emy Naso at his expansive best. The sensual anthology ranges from a Romeo and Juliet space odyssey with love truly conquering all, a gripping and extremely violent short on an Irish and Viking battle where the captive survives and outwits her captors against all odds. Find humor in the naughty going-ons in a dusty wild west town, and revel in the sexual antics amongst the English lords and ladies in the late 1800s. Then go along for a day in the life of a slave girl and her many lovers in the harem. Enjoy the following excerpt for Sensual Magic: Waygone got to love its Bathhouse. After a few suspicious days, folk started to come around and see the sense, and luxury, in wallowing in a beautifully tiled bathroom, or taking a shower and washing the hot

summer dust away. Then there were the added benefits. It was free. You could use as much scented soaps and powders as you liked, and lastly there were the assistants. Depending on your choice, and sexual orientation, there were a selection of gorgeous men and women to attend your needs. Brindle Yancy came into town when news of the Bathhouse reached him. He was a very eligible bachelor. That’s if you went on looks for this twenty-four-year-old man, tall, muscular, fine dark hair and deep voice. If you wanted money, sense, reliability, a nice home, more than six brain cells to hold a conversation, then forget it. The fine-looking man walked up and down outside the Bathhouse for a while, trying to get the courage to enter. Eventually curiosity got him by the balls and pushed him through the door. Luckily he managed to open it just before. “Why, good day, sir.” The greeter was a five-

foot-five-inch blonde, wearing a short toweling robe, stiletto heels and a welcoming grin. “I hear the Bathhouse is free,” was Brindle’s first remark. “Everything’s free.” The blonde pouted and touched his arm in a way that sent a two thousand volt of lightning down to his groin and made his cock oscillate about like a pinball machine. “My name is Breckie, and I am your provider,” the blonde said. “What can we do for you?” Brindle consulted his six brain cells, came up with an answer he thought it better to stow for a while, and blurted out. “I hear your bath is a mighty splendid thing.” “Your desire is my command.” Breckie wiggled over to a side table, picked up a large towel, and turning to Brindle said, “Follow me.” Like the iron filings attracted to the magnet,

Brindle was drawn after Breckie, captivated by the rolling rear cheeks in his view. “The red bathroom okay with you, Brindle?” Breckie asked as she looked back over her shoulder. He nodded in and ushered certainly red. carpeting and deepest red to

a trance. She stepped aside him into a room. It was The hue of the tiles, soft enormous bath shaded from vivid scarlet, to pale crimson.

Breckie fussed about, running and testing the water. Brindle sat awkwardly on a stool and watched the young woman. He was hoping to see a little bit more of her delightful thighs as she leaned over the bath. Never did he realize what a view he would receive. The blonde finished pouring in adorable smelling lotions and in one action, turned, undid the cord to her towel robe, let it slip to the carpet, stood eye-popping nude and said to Brindle, “Do you like it very hot or

just warm?” His glance flashed back and forth from her upright nipples, down to the blonde wispy triangle barely covering her slit. “Hot or warm,” he mechanically repeated. She moved forward and started to undress him. “Your bath, sir. What did you think I meant?” Breckie smirked as she peeled his shirt away and started to unzip his pants. Brindle stood rigid—body and cock— knowing any minute the blonde would discover just how excited he was. With dexterous and unabashed action, she slid his pants down, got him to step out of them and, kneeling down, wiggled his shorts off. Once released, his cock sprang up and was hard, gorged with lustful veins and begging for attention. Breckie lightly touched his erection, working his foreskin gently back over the dome inflamed head with its onethought eye. She looked up, grinned and holding the shaft lightly, leaned forward and

took it into her mouth. Brindle took a deep breath and thought it must be his birthday. He was hardly conscious of the door opening and the majestic figure of Silva McKeith standing, watching, dressed in the smallest thong and matching bra ever to be called underwear. With eyes bulging, Brindle slowly looked over at Silva. There wasn’t a lot he could say. He’d never seen her before and being given a blowjob by a blonde assistant didn’t seem to put him in an ideal situation to exchange small talk. Silva produced a riding crop from behind her back and tapped Breckie on her blonde head. “And what time do you call this, Breckie?” Silva admonished the young woman. “I’ve told you not to eat before lunch. Spoils your appetite. Now leave that man’s cock alone and come and be punished.” The domineering, large-breasted figure of Silva McKeith slapped Brindle’s erection and ordered him to sit on a chair.

“Now, Breckie, over here,” she commanded and indicated Brindle’s lap. The Blonde spread over him, ass up, and wriggled around. “If his stiff dick is in the way, let it slide between your legs, honey.” Breckie did as instructed, and up popped Brindle’s red top, set like a glowing half-ripe apple between two lovely peach cheeks. Silva McKeith walked to the side of Breckie’s prone body, seductively slipped her bra undone and let it fall. Instantly she raised her arm and whacked down on the rounded, protruding rear of her assistant. Brindle was mesmerized. The movement was from raised arm, to flowing breasts, then a coordinated flow as those gorgeous tits swung with the force of the stroke. Then the final thud across the pliant flesh of Breckie’s buttocks added a certain piquancy to the action. He watched one, then two and a third time. Each crack made Breckie jump and her

upward jolt rubbed his cock violently between her thighs. Brindle knew a few more whacks and he’d lose control and come all over Breckie’s rear. The chastisement finished. Silva McKeith leaned over, grabbed the blonde hair of Breckie and pulled her off Brindle’s knee. “Well, Brindle, she’s yours now. How would you like her?” As Silva spoke she tapped the riding crop on her thigh, still holding Breckie by her golden mane. “What about tying her up on the table over there?” She laughed and pointed with the whip to the marble slab along one wall. “Don’t look so dumb, Brindle. You can handle a woman with a cock like that, can’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, Silva dragged Breckie over to the slab, pushed her back down and got up over her, pinning her arms down by kneeling on them. “Come on, Brindle, grab her ankles and bind them to the supports of the table. Make sure you spread her legs.” The

sexual

frisson

pumped

adrenalin

through Brindle’s body as he wrestled her flailing legs and secured them to opposite legs on the end of the slab. He stood for a moment gazing at her sex, shaved clean and the lips curled and sweet, tempting him to run his hand over the smoothness of Breckie’s cunt. “You’ll have plenty of time to enter her with your fingers and cock. First tie her hands, the girl is getting stronger.” Coming around to Breckie’s head, Brindle seized first her right arm and stretched it above her head, binding her wrist to a hook under the slab, then he did the same with her left arm and hand. The way her breasts stretched and tightened the skin made the shape taut and invitingly seductive. Silva McKeith climbed down from the recumbent body of Breckie, moving close to Brindle, fondling his erection as she half stood behind him, pressing her naked breasts into his back.

“Let me watch you take Breckie first, Brindle. Then as a reward you can have me in any way you want.” Silva’s hot words burnt his skin, making his hardness twitch in lust. He went to Breckie, running his thumbs down the edge of her sex, opening her lips, toying with her as he massaged her clitoris with the head of his bulging cock. “Enter her, Brindle,” Silva urged. “Fuck the woman while I press my naked body against your rear. Go deep in Breckie and think of me waiting to give myself to you.”