“I could get used to this view of you, naked under me like this,” I say. She’s open, so open. All blushing and wanting.
She circles her hips and tries to remember that I asked her to be still. “I have wanted you to fuck me for a very long time,” she says slowly, choosing her words deliberately, making sure I hear every single one and all she’s not saying in between.
I start with my fingers, just barely touching her thighs, the
creases at her hips, her stomach; touching the hair between her legs but only so she can feel where my fingers are. I kiss her, soft, slow; moving against her, agonizingly tender. I move the other hand to her hair, so short now, and stroke the back of her neck.
She starts pressing up into me, whispering, “I want you.”
I pause, smile into her neck, kissing. “Yeah? How much?”
She moans. “So much,” she offers. “I haven’t been…like this…in so long. You’re softer than I imagined you’d be.”
I harden temporarily. “I don’t have to be soft,” I say, almost defensively.
“I know you don’t… I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll feel inside me… Please, I want to feel you, I can’t wait… I don’t know how much longer I can keep still.” Her eyes are pleading, her lips parting. Her skin is amazing, all cream and sugar. I’m sure the folds of her are, too. It’s so pale in places, stretched taut over muscle and curves, I sometimes expect to be able to see through it. My fingers are still between her legs, giving feathery touches, teasing. I slowly, slowly start letting my touch get firmer, cupping her cunt with my palm, feeling the heat of her in my hand.
“I’m asking you to,” I say again. “Just a little longer. I know you want to please me.”
She breathes and her body quiets. “Yes.” She focuses on my fingers, the sensation, my weight on her hips, pushing her legs open.
“Good,” I say. “That’s good. You deserve a reward.” I barely touch one finger between her lips, dip it in just a little, and wait for her to push against me, taking it inside. She does, immediately. Hard against me, pulling my index finger into her, the pulse of her around me, wet, slick and tight.
“This is beautiful,” she whispers, closing her eyes.
“I want more than one finger inside you,” I whisper. One of the few moments of explicit permission I’m going to pull from her.
She breathes out. “Yes please.” I love feeling as the muscles change and clench from inside. I leave my fingers still, let her move on them, two fingers, three. Moving inside, curling against the muscles, but not moving in and out.
She whispers yes. Yes. Her hips thrust against me. I can feel her, swollen, squeeze around my fingers. I raise myself above her, hold myself up; she knows why and unzips me, pulls out my cock; apparently this morning I had packed it just for her, yellow and solid and thick. She puts her fingers around it, feeling the length and girth of it. This wasn’t planned. She’s so open already, so expertly sliding her fingers along the shaft and head of it, pulling, tugging my hips toward her. I try not to think of what it would feel like sliding into her. It makes me wet and hard and sends my hips bucking without even trying.
Her mouth is open, legs open, arms reaching, eyes glazing and thick. “Please,” she says, fast, whispering, just a hint of desperation behind her tongue. “I need it inside me.”
I touch just the tip of it to her cunt and feel her pull me inside. Then I am still again, I let my weight rest on top of her, just feeling her around me. I slowly pull out, then press back inside, deeper. She feels amazing under me like that. She’s made for my cock, the exact contours of her were built for this moment, this motion, this cock inside of her, fitting perfectly.
“Take me, yes, I want you to take me,” she whispers, gasping. “Yes…oh yes, exactly. Like that.” She is so wet for me. Under me. She slides her fingers in my mouth and I suck. She
touches her clit and I can feel her shudder while I’m inside and holding her.
“Let me come around you,” she whispers into my neck, arms wrapped around my shoulders. I groan. God. I kiss her neck, her cheeks, her lips, her collarbone; press in and out of her, match her rhythm. I stay slow and soft and deep, over and over; look into her eyes, kiss her.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” I say.
“I’m so close…” she gasps, eyes tightly shut, fingers digging into my arms, then looking up at me, right into my gasping face, panting, thrusting against me. “Do you want me come now, like this?”
She’s under me, my cock in her, my weight on her, taking me in all the way, I can feel how tight her muscles are, pulling me in deep. I shudder, my eyes rolling. Fuck. Do I want her to come like this? Is there anything else I have ever wanted more? She could probably say anything and it would send me over the edge right now, but damn that was a good choice of words. The fucking nerve of her sometimes.
“Yes, god yes, I want you to come, just like this.” Her legs are squeezing around me, her slick pussy lips around my cock, and she’s kissing me until she can’t and her mouth opens in a quiet scream, pushing against her muscles, against her body, against the edges. I feel her stomach curl and pulse. Her muscles tense, she gasps for air, the smallest smile on her lips. I keep my mouth on hers, hold her close to me, the weight of me on her, between her hips, still thrusting in her, steady and hard, until she shudders against me and makes me stop.
I hold her after, curl around her; feel her skin where her scars are, where she’s bruised, where she’s ticklish. But I have to go. I’m going to be behind already, will have to rush the rest of the afternoon. I pick up the thin white robe and slip it over her skin, then button my shirt, buckle my belt, tuck my shirt back in.
She walks me toward the door, hands me my clipboard with the florist orders on it, her signature bouncy in the middle of the top sheet. “So,” I say, “who really sent the flowers?”
She shrugs, dismisses the question. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Come on, admit it. You sent them yourself. You knew I’d show up to deliver them.”
“Are you kidding?” she asks. “As though I have time to hunt down every hot dyke I’ve crushed on.” But she wouldn’t have had to hunt me down. I’ve worked at this same place for years.
Rachel kisses me once more, and closes the door behind me. I believe her, almost.
A TASTE OF SIN
Fiona Zedde
Dez sat on her bike outside the bar smoking a cigarette and waiting for her best friend to show. The night’s entertainment seemed promising. Women walked past, darting their eyes over her even as they clutched the hands of the men by their sides. Dez’s tank top stretched taut over her chest, cleaving to the tight body, the small high breasts and flat stomach. Worn blue jeans, a thick leather belt and Timberlands completed a package that Dez knew was fuck-worthy. She didn’t have to see the want in these women’s eyes to know that. But it didn’t hurt.
“When you’re done posing, you want to come into the bar with me?” It was Rémi, who’d just ridden up on her bike, the laughter rich in her voice even under the dark helmet. She wore all black today. And spurs on her motorcycle boots.
Inside, they turned their helmets over to the bartender and parked themselves at the bar with two shots of tequila, a pitcher of beer, an ashtray, and a pack of cigarettes between them. The crowd was hot tonight—affluent, beautiful, a nice mix of races and cultures. A conversation in Spanish tickled Dez’s ear from halfway across the room and from somewhere else a hint of Jamaican Patois rubbed up against Haitian-accented French. Rémi knocked back her tequila.
“Nice.” Her glance traveled around the bar, taking in the view.
It didn’t take long for the festivities to begin. A silverbangled arm nudged Rémi’s, then the accompanying body did the same.
“Excuse me,” the stranger said. “I didn’t see you sitting there.”
Liar. The brown-skinned
mami
licked her gaze up and down Rémi’s body, taking her time at the highlights—breasts, hips, ass. She wasn’t bad either, with her curvaceous form poured into a Donna Karan dress of the same luscious tone as her skin. But she had on too much makeup.
“Please, excuse
me
,” Rémi said, moving neatly back and out of her way. Reaching to ash her cigarette in the heavy silver disc in front of her friend, she turned to Dez. “I wonder what’s keeping Ricky. You can’t trust boyfriends for shit, huh?”
The pretty stranger almost swallowed her tongue in surprise. She ordered a drink she probably didn’t even want and fled.
“That wasn’t nice.”
“What do you want me to do, give her a pity fuck just for trying?” Rémi snorted and took a sip of her beer, balancing
her cigarette between her fuck-fingers and the glass. “I didn’t see you offering your pretty little self in my place.”
“It was you she wanted, not me.”
“These days I’m not settling for just anything.”
“When have you ever had to settle?”
“You’d be surprised.” Smoke spiraled up from Rémi’s cigarette and she squinted against its bite. “Nowadays any pussy that comes to me has to be good pussy, or at least interesting pussy. It can’t just be any old shit.”
“I still don’t know when the hell you’ve ever had to take just whatever.”
“Two years is a long time, isn’t it?” Rémi put down her drink and looked at Dez. “There’s actually someone—”
“Baby, you must be a model,” a voice interrupted. “That body of yours is just
too
fine.”
Dez looked past Rémi to the guy with the midnight skin, beautiful teeth, and asshole leer. His eyes eagerly drank Rémi in, while next to him, his friend smiled quickly at Dez.
“You play ball?” the second one asked.
Rémi turned to look at the two men. That was an original question. What else would two six-foot-tall black women do for a living or for fun?
“We don’t play with balls.” Her amused eyes flickered over them, then turned away in dismissal.
The friend eyed Dez and tried a leer of his own. “How about you? Can I buy you a drink?”
Whenever they were out together and straight boys saw Rémi first they always asked if the women were models, trying to lure them into some vanity trap because of Rémi’s pretty skin, quiet self-confidence, and devil’s mouth. But when they saw Dez first the lead-in was usually about basketball or some other height-requiring sport. Never mind that the two women were the same height.
“No thanks, I already got what I’m drinking,” Dez said.
“What about you, baby?”
“Same thing,” Rémi said, holding up her beer.
Admittedly, most men often saw what they wanted to where women were concerned, but wasn’t it obvious that she and Rémi were dykes? Or was this about the challenge and a potential foursome? The men looked expectantly at them.
“We’re not interested,” Rémi said firmly.
“You sure?” the first one asked, looking her up and down.
“Very.”
The two women found something much more interesting to look at when a dark-skinned honey slid up to the bar, insinuating her body between Rémi’s and the interloping men.
“Hey, handsome,” she murmured, leaning in even closer to Rémi. “I would
love
to eat your pussy.”
The silence in the immediate area was deafening. Dez and Rémi sized her up—striking features, including pillowy lips touched by a hint of lip gloss. Close-cut hair and long silver earrings dangling to her shoulders. Short skirt showing off lean legs and a juicy ass. Very nice.
The two women exchanged looks. Very, very nice.
“Want to make it a threesome?” Rémi looked her over again. “My friend here really loves your ass.”
The woman glanced from one to the other. This was probably the best two-for-one deal she’d ever been offered. “Sure. My place is just up the street.”
“Damn! It’s like that?” The cocky boy who’d hit on Rémi first was the first to speak. A domino effect of speculative murmurs sped around the bar.
Dez and Rémi quickly settled up with the bartender, grabbed their helmets, and followed the woman out the door. They rode the short five blocks behind the woman’s black Infiniti truck. All they knew was that her name was Jeanne and she lived in a townhouse near the beach. No roommate, boyfriend or girlfriend at home.
The two women parked their bikes in her driveway, refusing the use of the space behind her in the garage. They weren’t going to stay that long. Once they were all in the house, Jeanne’s cool composure melted.
“You are so fucking hot.” She grabbed Rémi, touching her through her clothes and kneading the solid muscles with wonder.
The tall woman let Jeanne caress her, chuckling while the slim hands burrowed beneath the leather and cotton. She grinned at Dez over the woman’s head. Rémi lived for moments like this, when a woman appreciated how much time she spent making her body look perfect.
Jeanne reached back and tangled her fingers in Dez’s shirt, pulling her up hard and rubbing the sleek, denim-covered thighs as she angled her head up to sample Rémi’s mouth. She leaned back into Dez and purred.
The woman felt hot against Dez’s breasts. Dez nuzzled the back of Jeanne’s neck and reached around to cup the heavy breasts in her hands.
Oh. What’s this?
She fumbled to unbutton Jeanne’s blouse, but the woman eluded her, pulling back from Rémi and Dez to watch their faces as she tugged off her blouse and tiny skirt. She wore no panties.
Oh, yeah?
Jeanne wore nipple clamps, silver beauties pinched tight to her fat nipples with a chain dangling low on her belly and attached to the matching clamp on her clit. Rémi’s eyes became megawatt bright.
Jeanne stood posing in the middle of the spacious living room, the light bouncing off the
Y
-shaped chain attached to the clamps. “Would you two like a drink?”
“We don’t want anything to drink,” Rémi said. “We want to fuck. Isn’t that what you brought us here for?” She took off her jacket, then pulled a pair of latex gloves from her back pocket, put them on, and coated them with lube. “Come here.”