Women in Lust (4 page)

Abruptly, and without warning, she pulls out. She pulls her pants down some and sits on the nasty toilet, without wiping it first. This turns me on even more, but I’m not sure what she wants from me. I start to pull up my pants.

“Why are you doing that?” she asks in a voice that is more instruction than question.

I pull them back down and, in one quick move, as she starts to pee, she tugs the string to the side again and shoves three fingers inside. Three is my magic number. She fucks me hard while she pees, and she pees for a long time.

My face is even closer to the mirror now, and I watch myself come, crying out loudly, as she curls those fingers inside me and coaxes at my spot.

I finish coming as the last of her drops hit the bowl.

She wipes, I don’t.

We both pull our pants up. “Ready?” she asks. I nod, and we walk back outside.

Soon after that, we leave the club and walk back to her house, holding hands. At her place, we get into bed. I am still dressed; she is down to her boxers.

“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” she asks.

“No, I want you to take them off of me.”

“No.”

We both pause. I lean over her like a cat.

“Take them off,” she orders.

Reluctantly, I comply, removing my pants and shirt. Now I am just in my G-string. I lie down beside her.

“Why are you still wearing this?” She plucks at the fabric, fingering the string along my hip. I don’t answer.

“What’s it for?” she asks. “Why do you need to wear it to sleep? I mean, it’s just a piece of string.”

I don’t answer.

“What’s it for?” she asks again, in a more exasperated tone.

On her breath intake, I half-interrupt, slowly asking, “Do you like it?”

Right on the tail of my question, but in a calmer voice, she replies, “Yes, I like it. I like it a lot.”

I whisper close, slow and low: “That’s what it’s for.”

In the darkness, she smiles and wraps her presence more tightly around me.

“You’re smart,” she says, forehead against mine. I curl into her arm and rub my leg along her thigh. She knows what I want.

“I’m going to sleep,” she says. “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

I protest with my body.

“No.”

“You’re mean,” I complain. I hear her chuckle, but her resolve continues. I pause, then whisper, “Please, I just want to show you one thing. Please.”

Very slowly and reluctantly, she gives me her hand and lets me lead it under the band of my panties, until her fingers are pressed flat against my lips. I am soaking wet, and she moans louder than I do upon this discovery. She caresses my lips, and we are both breathless. Her finger slips easily between the folds of my flesh, and I remember that she had told me the night before that she likes to fist women. I want her whole hand inside, and my body tenses and coils—greedy—around that one finger.

“How do you do that?” she asks of my wetness.

“You did it,” I reply.

She slides her finger out of me, then slides her hand out from under the fabric. I cling to her, moaning, and again she says, “No.”

“I’m going to sleep,” she says. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

My leg wraps around her thigh and her hand finds its way to my clavicle.

She whisper-growls, “I’m not going to fuck you. I’m not going to fuck you.”

“You’re already fucking me,” I tell her. “When you put your hand around my throat, you’re fucking me. When you let me ride your thigh like this, you’re fucking me.”

Her hand moves higher and tighter, higher and tighter, until I stop moving on her leg entirely, lost in the sounds of my breathing, sharp intakes.

Her hand gets tighter still, and even as I struggle against it, prying at it with my fingers, I have no fear.

When my breathing slows, she gradually moves her hand away and turns from me. I leave in the morning before she wakes up, feeling bittersweet and still hoping to find someone to take me there.

 

On our first date, he takes me for a walk on the pier. It is late at night, but there are fishermen everywhere, with their teenage sons, radios and bait. We walk to the far end of the pier and begin to kiss.

He is everywhere at once, grabbing at my tits and pinching my nipples through the sheer, silky fabric of my blouse. Our backs are to the fishermen, as he rubs and ruts his hips against my ass.

He comes around front. “Show me your tits,” he demands.

“I’m shy,” I lie.

He takes my tits out of my shirt for me; looks and likes what he sees.

A while later, we decide to go back to his place. Before we turn to go, he takes them out again, sliding the folds of material underneath my breasts. “Walk like this with me.”

“No way! They’ll see,” I reply, incredulous, nodding toward the fishermen and their sons in the distance.

“Just two steps. Good girl. Such a good girl.”

I am throbbing wet and do as I am told. After a couple of steps, we are nearing the lamppost, and my breasts are visible to any man who might turn around from his fishing line toward
us. He lets me cover up with my jacket.

I am sizzling hot; the cool night breeze kisses my cheeks and makes me smile. Finally, I’m getting there.

 

Elias is a present from Him. He and I haven’t seen each other in a couple of weeks, so He’s ready and aching to fuck me. He brings his friend Elias to help. He’ll hold me down by the arms while Elias has his way with me.

I’m nervous that His friend won’t be my type, won’t be attractive to me. On the phone before they come over, I tell Him, “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do; I’ll use my safeword if I have to, but otherwise, you’re in charge.” I know it’ll be more fun for me that way.

He and Elias come over, and all my anxieties are relieved: Elias is gorgeous. They come in my kitchen, and He orders me to make tea for them. As I move around the room, He catches me and lifts my skirt. I have to show my ass and then, later, my pussy. He pulls my tits out of my shirt, for Elias to see. He bends me over his knee and spanks me, to show off.

As they have their tea, I’m instructed to kneel and remove their boots. I do so. He and Elias get up as I lean over the sink, washing up; they come behind me, grabbing me and forcing my hands behind my back. He traces my hands over the outline of Elias’s huge, hard cock, straining through his jeans. I can’t believe the size!

He and Elias are done with tea and ready to fuck me. We go into my bedroom. I strip on command and spend hours and hours servicing them, getting fucked by them, being held down, beaten, slapped, spit on, and violated by them. The condoms pile up on the floor by the bed; the lube bottle is almost empty by morning.

Elias has coarse fingertips at the ends of his strong hands, and he has day-old stubble that rubs my cheek, shoulders and back, everywhere he chooses to kiss, lick and bite. Every touch feels good, even when he grabs my ankles and roughly spreads my legs apart. Every time Elias’s cock enters me, with his fingers in my ass, I come hard. I’m satiated by these two men: soft skin taut over hard muscle, the push and pull of my lovers.

We three fuck for hours and hours and hours. Elias blazes beside me. I am heat and water at the same time. A goddess lying between two minions, I submit with more depth and grace than I would have imagined. They lift me.

In the early morning hours, Elias chokes me gently, with a soft, knowing strength. I have
never
let a man put his hand to my neck before in that way. Later in the morning, as He snores to my right, Elias and I caress on the left. Elias whispers to me, as his fingers trace lazy circles over my clit, “Your body makes me nervous.”

“My body makes you nervous? Why?”

“Because it’s so beautiful. You have the kind of body that, if someone wanted to trap me, this would be the bait. It’s gorgeous. I would be trapped.”

“What do you like about it?”

“This soft amber-colored skin, these tits with dark-brown nipples, your incredible ass, the way your pussy is neatly tucked into itself…I would be trapped.”

Later still that morning, with Him watching us, I trap Elias again, in the sticky web of my cunt, and we come together.

T
he heavy scent of river and sweet smell of flowers wafts into the open window, circling my silk robe around my body. I love this moment in the night; love the breeze from the fans, buffeting my skin with its soft caress.

I hear my lover behind me. The ice clinks in his glass. Scotch: I can smell it from here, but it never smells as good on the air as it does on his lips, from his breath. I let my white robe drift down from my shoulders, like a slow-floating cloud. It slips from my arms and down to show him the cleavage of my ass, the dark shadow meant to allure him.

His clothes shift, the chair creaks. His footfalls draw him nearer. I feel the heat of his body, the smell of his cologne. The stubble is hard on my shoulder as he looks out onto the Mississippi, his cheek against mine.

My building is so dilapidated, it’s crumbling from the inside. Bricks wake me in the night, loosening and falling down to the dusty floor.

But he is not crumbling, nor will he. He presses his highball glass to the lower part of my spine, and I whimper. My skin prickles with sensation, the fine hairs pointing upward to catch the wind as it blows over my body. From the front, I am an eyeful for anyone who might peer up through my window. My breasts are large and swing slowly with each movement. My hips are wide, giving ample definition to the line of my pubis.

At his grunt, I drop the fabric and it slides to the floor in a pool at my feet.

He pulls a piece of ice from his drink and slides it down my spine, starting at the nape. My hair is wound up in a loose bun on my head, giving him access.

It is so cold I can barely stand it, but then, it is so soothing on this sweltering night. The ice draws a line down my spine, tracing lightly at every groove on its way down.

His hand presses on the center of my back, urging me forward. I grip the windowsill. My reflection gazes back at me as I spread my legs for him, letting him see all he wants of me.

I don’t dare look back at him. It ruins the moment.

I must always look forward, stare into space.

He draws the line of the ice along my lower back, filling in the space with swirls, light touches. He repeats it long enough to hear me moan, to watch my spine rise trying to get more of the cold tip of the ice. My skin flinches, shrinking from his fingers as he strokes the ice along my body.

Just a sliver in his hand, he dips it between my asscheeks; I jump. I’ve never felt the chill of ice on my anus; never felt it swirling around my opening like that.

The confused sensations make me shiver; such a warm area suddenly flushing with cold. And he moves it down, down, down to that sensitive skin between.

My pussy clenches in anticipation.

I want to feel it there. I dread the absolute cold of the ice, but I want the pure sensation. I want to feel the chill of it on my hot opening. I want to take it inside of me and turn it into nothing but water.

He stands above me, leaning over me so that his warm chest is pressed to my back, which is slick from the heat and sensations prickling through my body. He reaches between my legs from behind, fucking me with the sliver of ice—swirling it around the opening, teasing the clenching muscles, making it shrink back. He pulls it away until my pussy throbs for it.

Each time the ice gets near me, my sex clenches, trying to capture it.

His other hand kneads my breast, massaging it as he whispers how beautiful I am. Picking up a new cube from the drink, he pushes it halfway inside my cunt.

Once it’s through the hole, I can barely feel it unless it touches the hot, pulsing walls inside of me. I squeeze around it, tilting my hips back trying to get more. I want the ice deeper inside of me. I want more.

He pulls away to walk to the old fridge. It whirs at the edge of my loft. He keeps things in there, things I don’t look at because I like the surprise. It is a long, glass dildo that he fishes from his long, black box.

Condensation forms the moment he pulls it from the freezer.

I watch how he moves toward me in his suit. The top few buttons are undone, his tie hangs loosely around his neck. His dark hair is neatly combed, a bare stubble on his face.

He moves behind me, holding the tip of the chilled dildo at my opening. He teases my clit with it; circles my anus; but finally settles on my open, wet pussy, pressing it slowly inside.

At first, it feels like everything has gone numb in reaction to
the ice-cold spike being driven through me. But my body warms it or becomes accustomed to it. Either way, all of my nerves are alive, on edge.

He kisses my back, fucking me slowly with the glass dildo as I moan and push back against it for more, the edges of my opening relishing the new cold as it goes deeper.

I hear his zipper, the rustle of fabric. I hear the liquid sound of the tube of lubricant spitting and the slick of a condom sliding on. The blunt weight of his cock pressures my ass.

I inhale.

As I exhale, he thrusts smoothly inside of me.

We rest there as we both adjust to the sensation.

His lips softly caress my ear with a swirl of breath. “I can feel the cold inside of you. I can feel it inside the walls of your body.”

I rest my forehead on the windowsill, luxuriating in being so full, in the contrast of the cold dildo and the thick heat of his cock. They move inside of me, each radiating its own energy, trying to touch each other through the wall of my body. I shift on my feet, angling myself to get him where I want him, to that spot where his cock and the dildo move together, scratching an itch so deep inside that it’s never been touched.