Sexy Briefs: Knickers in a Twist
Edited by Tessie L’Amour
Authors: Cecilia Tan, Sharazade, Tessie L’Amour, Sessha Batto, Nobilis Reed, Summer Daniels, Nan Allen, Ayoub Khote
* * * * *
Published by Wanton L’Amour Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by Tessie L’Amour and individual authors listed below
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
SMASHWORDS Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
Adult Content Warning
These stories contain sexually explicit acts involving consenting adults. They are not intended for minors under the age of eighteen.
“Thought So” Copyright © 2003 by Cecilia Tan (Originally appeared in Best Women’s Erotica 2003, edited by Marcy Sheiner and published by Cleis Press.), “Good Girl” Copyright © 2011 by Sharazade, “Banging the Bridesmaid” Copyright © 2011 by Tessie L’Amour, “Dream a Little Dream” Copyright © 2011 by Sessha Batto, “Ambassador” Copyright © 2010 by Nobilis Reed, “Same Time, Next Year?” Copyright © 2011 by Summer Daniels, “Fulfillment” Copyright © 2011 by Nan Allen, “Encounters” Copyright © 2011 by Ayoub Khote
Table of Contents
Foreword by Tessie L’Amour
Thought So by Cecilia Tan
Good Girl by Sharazade
Banging the Bridesmaid by Tessie L’Amour
Dream a Little Dream by Sessha Batto
Ambassador by Nobilis Reed
Same Time, Next Year? by Summer Daniels
Fulfillment by Nan Allen
Encounters by Ayoub Khote
Foreword by Tessie L’Amour (Editor)
The idea for the Sexy Briefs collections started with a few authors chatting on Google+ and quickly took on a life of its own. Erotica + Free = Win. There’s an equation everybody could understand. For the readers, it would be a gold mine of well written erotica by both well known authors and ones they might want to know better. For the authors, it would be a chance to introduce themselves and their work to the legions of readers out there.
These stories are brief, averaging about 2000 words, but their quality (and downright wanton naughtiness) should encourage you to seek out the longer works by the authors you enjoy. Below each author is a set of links, both to places where their books and writing are available, and links to social media sites, especially Google+ which is quickly becoming the place to be for authors of erotica.
One last thing. If you visit our Sexy Briefs Google+ page at http://bit.ly/MmmSexyBriefs and add the page to your circles or +1 it, or our Sexy Briefs Facebook page at http://facebook.com/MmmSexyBriefs and then Like the page, you will be eligible for our drawings for free eBooks and other prizes. Plus, you’ll make the authors feel warm and appreciated, and there’s no telling where that might lead!
Thought So by Cecilia Tan
I have news for you, boys: there are horny women out there. There are women walking the streets, in bookstore aisles, riding trains, who are practically crying inside because they want it so bad. Either that, or I’m the only one. But I would put money on the fact that I am not the only one. Especially given what Jason has told me. It’s because of Jason that I don’t have to prowl those aisles, those trains, anymore.
I first noticed him in Walpenny’s, in the cookbook section. I was thumbing through a spiral bound volume on Thai cookery when I caught him looking at me. Or maybe it was he who caught me. By that point, I was frustrated. It was a summer evening, cool and breezy, and though I wore a brief, swishy dress, and had arranged my hair suggestively, I had not had good luck. The only mild interest I’d gotten was from people I had no interest in. And while I was starting to think I’d hump an aardvark if I had to, I knew better.
I was biting my lip and trying to decide if I should give up and go home, the book open in my hands but my eyes unfocused, when Jason stepped out from behind a tall bookcase. My eyes flickered up and then back down to the book. He was tall, a little underfed, blue eyes, light brown hair... and was he looking at me?
He was. I gave him a longer look, and a smile. He returned the smile in a knowing way. Thank goodness. The hook was baited. I put the book down on the table, and let my head fall back, some of my curls brushing my bare shoulders. I saw him gulp--hook swallowed.
He came toward me and said “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, lowering my eyes with a shyness that wasn’t entirely unreal. I was accustomed to being the cute one, the desirable one--but Jason would have turned my head even if I hadn’t been having one of my horniest nights. Suddenly I wasn’t sure what to say to him.
He saved me by speaking first. “I’ve been following you for a while.”
“How long is a while?” He blushed, but kept talking.
“Since Alton Station.” He reached his hand toward mine, and brushed his fingertips against my arm. I had to stifle an audible intake of breath. “Would you like to go somewhere?” he asked.
I nodded. “My place, if that would be all right with you.”
There was that smile again. “Lead the way.”
He orbited me with a crooked arm as I turned toward the door, but he did not touch me.
He waited until we were sitting on a bench at the station to do that. I was almost shivering by then, fantasizing his arm around me, waiting for it to happen--and then he slid close, his blue-jeaned leg touching mine, and his arm slid across my shoulders. His breath was warm in my hair, against my ear, in the air conditioned coolness of the station. If I had an engine, it would have revved.
I didn’t want to wait until we got home. It would be twenty minutes on the train, and then a five minute walk, and I was so hot and ready that I was afraid I would slip off the peak and lose my edge. The frustration and need of the long evening made my jaw stiffen; the ache in my belly only intensified by the proximity of our bodies.
His lips nibbled at my ear and tears almost sprang to my eyes.
He smoothed my dress down over my legs. I wished I could just lie down on the concrete bench, put up my legs and let him root around to his heart’s content (and mine). Another pass with his hand.
I hadn’t felt so hungry-frustrated since junior high, when I used to sit backstage during drama club rehearsal, on Daniel Pera’s lap. We were too young for sex, and knew it I guess, because we never took our clothes off. But he used to trace every line or design on the cloth of my shirt, with just his fingertip, roaming feather-light over my chest and up and down my neck. Sometimes he would trace the seams of my jeans. We’d sit like that for hours, while rehearsals were going on, in the dark of the wings, until we were needed. Sometimes I went onstage flushed and dizzy, unsure of where my feet were, unsure even of who I was, which character I was to play, what words I was supposed to say. I went home every night dying to masturbate the minute I got to my room. Jason’s fingertip began to trace the flowery vines on my dress. I shuddered a breath in and out. I wanted to murmur sweet nothings in his ear, to give him a taste of the painful anticipation I was riding--, but I could not speak. His finger slid along the center seam of the dress and came to rest at the crook of my hip. Then he turned my chin toward him, and as I was about to say something, smothered my unspoken words with a kiss.
His fingers were drumming now, like a piano arpeggio, closer and closer to where my clit throbbed under layers of cloth. Yes, I wore panties, even when out on the prowl. The gentle tapping made the longing even worse. I didn’t dare open my eyes ,afraid people were staring at us. He kept his rhythm even, his touch light, as if there were no urgency in him at all. It was all inside me, making my shoulders tighten under his arm, my breath shallow, my jaw clench.
And then came the train. He held my hand and pulled me into the car. . There were only four or five other people within earshot and none of them paid us any attention. Jason pulled me down into a seat--onto his lap.
That finger was busy again, this time deep under my dress, pushing aside my cotton panties, then nosing back and forth in my wetness. More liquid was forthcoming, and I licked my mouth as if to match it.
When his finger slid into me, I started to cry. You ninny, I was thinking, you’re going to ruin it, he’s going to freak and run away on you. But I couldn’t help it. His slow, gentle touch was going somewhere deep inside of me, somewhere I needed to be touched so much, that the relief triggered tears. I clung to his neck and sobbed softly, my face hidden by drifts of my own hair, as his finger went in and out, soon joined by a second one. He could barely move his hand, jammed between my legs like that, but it was enough, just rocking. Then his thumb perked up and rubbed against my over lubricated clit, and my crying intensified.
“It’s okay,” he said into my ear. “I know.”
Like those moments of confusion, stumbling from the curtains in the wings, unsure where to stand or where to go, I found myself being carried from the train. He had me in his arms and whispered in my ear and nibbled my neck, and the next thing I knew we were at my door and he was asking for my keys. He set me down on my feet and I opened the apartment door and we climbed the dark stairs.
At the time I didn’t think it odd that he knew where to go. I was too grateful to be there, mere steps from the bedroom, where we soon were, me kneeling on the bed, him standing while I unbuttoned his white cotton shirt, unbuttoned his jeans, and revealed him. His silky red erection came free and I sighed. I cupped his balls with my hand and let my lips fall around him. Ahh. Mmm.
He sensed I didn’t want to waste much time, but let me swallow him deep a few times before he pushed forward onto the bed, flattening me in the process. The rest of our clothes were shed at that point, , while I pulled a condom out of the side table drawer. I kicked off my socks while he put it on. . I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled him into me.
With every thrust I felt like sparks flew down to my toes and from the tips of my fingers. I thought again of junior high, a trip to the beach--baking in the sun for an hour and then running headlong down the sand and plunging into the cool water. An intensely pleasurable shock. A shockingly intense pleasure. And Jason gave it to me again and again.
I thrust my hips up to meet him, trying to match rhythm to get an almost violent crash of bodies. It’s hard to admit, but I wanted him to fuck me so hard that it would hurt. It was one of the reasons I liked picking up strangers--they were unlikely to worry much about whether I was in pain or not. Anonymous encounters tended to fuck with abandon. Of course, sometimes that meant that I would end up abandoned, if he’d come before me or if he couldn’t keep it up. But somehow Jason was hanging in there, giving it to me and giving it to me.
When I’m that wet and when I’ve wanted it for so long, I can fuck for a long time. I started to worry that he wouldn’t last, but I didn’t want to say anything. Just when my worrying began to distract me from the pleasure, he whispered, “It’s okay. I can do it.” And he began to dunk harder, and I lost myself.
The orgasm was coming--but if I followed my usual pattern, I would need a tad more clit stimulation. I tried to slide my hand along my stomach, but bumped into his hand, beating me to it. He had turned his long arm partway over and slid his thumb down over the very slippery, sensitive bump. The ripples in my midsection started that instant. My legs shook and my heels drummed on his back as I quaked with the power of coming. I wondered if this would make him go off, too, but when I settled back into the bed, he was still lodged deep in me, fucking me slowly and contentedly
Wash, rinse, repeat. After a while, he sped up, my muscles started to contract, he would rub my clit, and... insert sound effects like Fourth of July fireworks here. And again. And maybe again... I can’t do math when I’m like that. I kept thinking, oh, this time he’ll go off, too. But he didn’t. And then I started to feel like I’d had enough and I feared that he hadn’t, and I was going to end up having to go through the ordeal of letting him fuck me when I didn’t want to anymore. It would not be fair, after all, to get what I wanted and leave him unsatisfied.
Suddenly he pulled out, and lay back next to me, and smiled.
“You didn’t come,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.” I put my hand on his chest and felt his heart beating hard. “I’m sure of it.”
“You’re right.”
“Do you want me to go down on you?” I could not move, at that point, as I lay there, thoroughly screwed, but I figured I’d be able to sit up in a few minutes.
“No, that’s okay,” he said, sounding sleepy, or maybe I was projecting my feelings onto him. “You just rest.”
We lay there in the semi-dark of the street light and after a short nap, my brain began to perk up. That’s when I realized that I had never told him where I lived, nor how to get there. He had been following me all evening, by his own admission. I didn’t think I would feel so comfortable snuggling up to a psycho. Did I have a stalker?
“No,” he said, stroking my hair. “I can read your mind.”
“What do you mean, you can read my mind?” I guess I thought it was some mushy romantic thing he was trying to say. But I was wrong. He meant it in the most literal sense.
“In the bookstore, you picked up that cookbook because you thought the cover image looked phallic.”
“Spring rolls and bananas.”
“Then you watched that clerk, the one with the nose ring, walk by, and decided you really didn’t like the way he smelled.” His voice was soothing in the dark. “That’s the smell of patchouli, by the way.”
“And what was I thinking about when we were in the train station?”
“The Man Who Came To Dinner.”
“Holy shit.” That was the play we’d done in drama club. That convinced me that he really could read my mind.. “So you were following me around all night, and knew how horny I was the whole time.”
“Yes.”
I propped myself up on an elbow and slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s for making me wait so long.” Then I kissed him, long and deep, until we were both breathless.
He started to get up and I thought, aha, now he’ll want to come. But he made a quick trip to the bathroom, and when he returned, began to get dressed.
I asked him if he wanted to come and he smiled that sweet smile at me. “Yes, very much. But I’m going to wait.”
I wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Why?”
“You wanted me to experience the exquisite pain you had gone through. I figured I’d try it.” He leaned over me and kissed me on the lips, then on the forehead.
It struck me then that I couldn’t just let him walk away, like any other anonymous encounter. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
“If you want me to.”
“You have to.” I told him I wouldn’t feel complete until he came, too.
And he said: “I know.”
CECILIA TAN has been a leading erotica writer for 20 years. Her “Telepaths Don’t Need Safewords” combined erotica and science fiction long before that was hip.
Website www.ceciliatan.com
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Good Girl by Sharazade
“Can you be a good girl, Shar?”
Of course, lover. I promised.
It’s Sunday—it should be a day to sleep in and then fool around in bed all morning, but the agreement was, we could go wild on Saturday if I promised you uninterrupted time to work on Sunday. We slept in just a bit, now we’ll have a leisurely breakfast and read the paper, and then you’ll do your work. I’ll be good. I have work to do myself, you know.
You look so handsome, darling! Fresh from the shower, wrapped in a flannel robe that you haven’t bothered to tie (in fact, I can almost see… but no, the table is in the way). I’m already dressed, in a sundress I know is just your type of thing: royal blue with white polka dots, a low cut scoop neckline, a short swishy skirt. Not that you’ve said anything about it yet, since you’re eating and half-glancing at the headlines in the paper, not really looking at me.
I’d never fish for a compliment, would never be that crass, but I might just brush by you (more tea, lover?)… ah, yes, an affectionate pat on my behind. If you slipped your hand up under my skirt, you’d notice I’m wearing one of your favorite pairs of panties, the oh-so-thin cream-colored ones. You might, in fact, want to lift my skirt, have a peek at the almost translucent fabric stretched over my ass? Instead: a light smack! “You bad girl!” And then your hand is picking up a tea cup, so no more pats, I guess. I can’t resist a bit of a flounce, though, as I return to my seat.
Bad girl. Naughty girl. I hear that a lot from you. Last night you pulled me onto your lap, facing you, my legs to either side, and you kissed me deeply; then pressed up against my breasts from the bottom of their demi-cups so that my nipples rose above, rubbing on the thin fabric of my shirt. You bit one, then the other, through the cloth, hard enough to make me gasp and squirm and rub myself against you. “Naughty girl, Shar,” I heard as I ground myself down on the bulge in your pants, and felt your hands tighten on my hips.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how words with opposite meanings can express such similar thoughts. A hot outfit can be cool. And a bad girl… well, if you like it, then that’s good, right? Yet it seems to me that I hear what a “bad creature” or “naughty thing” I am far more often than I hear “Good girl.” Not that I mind. Of course not. Whatever gets you hot, lover, that’s what I want too.
As I clear the table and wash up the few dishes we used, you carry the paper over to the sofa. Right. First the paper, then work. I know better than to hang around you while you’re working (last time that got me tied up for an hour… though come to think of it, that was not without its own rewards), but at least we can read the paper together.
Look at you. You’ve claimed the entire sofa, haven’t you? Head against one end, feet up over the other. A fine sight to see you sprawled out there, your muscular frame just a bit too large for my furniture. I take a cushion from the armchair and arrange myself on the floor, below you, my right side resting against the sofa. I reach my hand up to your lap.
“What are you up to, you naughty thing?”
“I’m getting a section of the paper. Is that all right?” Well, it’s not my fault you’ve put the paper in your lap! Honestly. You move the paper down to the floor, right beside me. I notice the motion opened your robe a bit.
Yes, Sunday, so The New York Times, in that nice solid stack. Oh joy, you’ve left the Book Reviews for me—though if you’d wanted that first, of course I would have let you have it.
While we read, I surreptitiously check you out. Gravity is on my side—it has pulled one side of your robe completely off, spilling to the floor and affording me a nice view: strong thighs, leading up to… I raise my chin just a bit…
“Bad girl, Shar!”
Excuse me? Why? For looking at my lover on my sofa, in my own home? I can’t help just a bit of an indignant intake of breath. I’m just looking!
“A lady wears a brassiere.”
I glance down, and immediately pull my shoulders back to bring the front of my dress flush against my chest, covering my breasts.
“I don’t have a bra that I can wear with this dress. The straps always show.” And when I’m standing up, no one can see anything. Only in this position, seated below you, leaning over, could you see anything. It’s so hard to be a good girl from every angle!
I sneak another look at you, taking care to keep my shoulders back to avoid any gaping in my neckline.
That cock. Is it
bragging to say about my own lover that he has a gorgeous cock? Well,
it’s true. It’s not that common to see an uncut cock; and
frankly, it’s not common for me to see yours like this—soft, with
the foreskin almost covering the tip. So much more
interesting to
take in this uncommon sight than to read the paper, actually, and I
lower my section.
Your paper rustles. I can feel your eyes on me, and I raise mine to meet them. What? I’m only looking! You seem as if you’re about to say something, but the moment passes. You return to your reading, and I return to my admiration of…
Oh. So much for my
opportunity to look at you while you’re soft. However, this is just
as good. No, in fact, it’s much, much better, to watch you stiffen
and swell. It’s fascinating; such a dramatic change, like those
time-lapse filmstrips we used to watch in class of the
flower
unfolding or the seed sprouting. I can’t help but rise up on my
knees and scoot just a little closer to watch. When I exhale, you
must feel my warm breath, because your cock gives a little twitch.
Oh… I just must kiss you. Is that bad? It can’t be, can it, or
you wouldn’t get so much harder under my lips... If you wanted to
stop me, you could do it with a glance or a word. I wait for a rustle
of the paper from you, but it doesn’t come.
You’re not quite fully erect, but it won’t be long now. My body responds with its own flush. Where you get hard, I get soft; soft and hot and wet. I cannot resist. I must have you at just this moment, and who knows when it will come again? I put my hand around the middle of your thickness to steady it and take the head into my mouth. I slide my hand up the shaft, pushing the foreskin to my eager mouth, and at the same time push my tongue down, nudge at the juncture of cockhead and foreskin, which I hold in place with my hand. I swirl my tongue around you, slowly. How does it feel, lover? Does that sort of groaning sound indicate something positive? I do believe it does.
Rustle, flap. Having some trouble with the paper, are you? I continue my slow circles around the head of your cock, your own skin still holding my tongue firmly on you. Another groan. Is that good, darling? Let’s find out. I take my mouth off you, and you inhale sharply. Disappointed, perhaps?
“Does that feel good, James?”
“Unnnnhhh.” I’ll take that as a yes.
I’m so turned on that
my wetness is practically running down my thighs, and I can’t
resist slipping the hand that’s not around you between my legs. I
stroke myself just a bit, then slip two fingers up inside me. I
withdraw them, coated with the evidence of my lust, and
reach my
hand towards your face. Parting your lips, you raise your head to
meet my hand, but I move away. It’s not for tasting this time. I
draw my finger down the length of your nose, then swipe each cheek
once, as if I were applying war paint, and finally dot your chin.
There. Now you can smell my desire as clearly as I can taste yours.
I grip your cock firmly in my hand and now move my mouth lower, kissing your balls, licking them, enjoying their movement under my tongue, drawing them into my mouth; oh, carefully, gently, but yes, completely into my mouth, while my hand continues to work your stiffness.
Again I let you go. “Is that good, James?” An indistinguishable sound. Sorry, that’s not clear enough. I give you a lick. “Is it good?” I repeat, more insistently. “Yes, good.” Lower I go, firmly tonguing your taint, firmly gripping your cock, firmly tugging you. You want my tongue on your ass, don’t you? I circle around it first, teasing you; will she or won’t she? We both know she will, but I’m going to take my time getting there. Impatiently you thrust your fingers into my hair, right up to the scalp, and pull downwards. Without even thinking I release your cock with my right hand and slap your wrist. But you want my tongue on you more than you care about any breach of protocol, and my hair is released. I reward you with a strong, slow, knowing lick.
Back between my legs goes my hand. A few strokes for me… oh, so good… and then I lift my wet fingers to you, to your ass, and hold my finger firmly against the opening. The heat-seeking missile of your cock finds its way to my mouth again. I press my finger just a bit, waiting for that moment when your muscle gives… oh, there it is, just a little, and I follow it, a little more pressure, waiting for you to give again.
My finger in your ass; my mouth around your cock; my tongue swirling around you, stroking up and down; my hand pulling at the base, as if feeding your cock deeper into my mouth. Is that good, James?
“Is that good?”
“Yes. Good.”
“And me? Am I good?”
My finger presses in further. Now who’s glad I keep my fingernails piano-player short? You are, lover. I twist my finger ever so slowly; not really pushing any further in, just playing where I am. And I suck firmly.
“Am I good?” A lick; but no answer, or at least not fast enough, so I move off you.
“Good, yes, it’s good.” OK, more licks for you.
“Am I a good girl?”
“Yes, Shar, you’re fucking amazing!”
Yes, I am. Thank you. That is what I wanted to hear.
My finger is inside you now up to the knuckle, and I don’t force it further, but move it forwards and back ever so slightly, so that my knuckle rubs against the ring of your muscle each time. In time with my finger I move my head now, up and down the length of your cock. I can’t take you all of the way inside my mouth, not at this angle, so I let my hand make up for the parts I can’t reach.
It must be a lot of sensation—squeezing, licking, sucking, swirling, pressing, tonguing, pulling, and still my finger moving in your ass. I almost wish I could climb on top of your stiff dick now and ride you to your orgasm and mine, but there’s no way I’d fit on the sofa, and actually, I would rather concentrate fully on you. There’s so much I can do!
Your hips now push against me; fall, and push again. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to speed me up. Are you getting closer? Well, it’s not your call, this time. I’m doing this. As you push more quickly, I slow down. Quicker from you; again slower from me. Keep it up, lover, and I’ll stop completely. There. You figured that out pretty fast, and your body rests back down again. That’s right. It’s my game today. I bet you’re waiting for me to at least resume the speed of my former rhythm. I don’t, though.
Are you like me? Does a really slow rhythm just drive you crazy? Is it frustrating-sexy? Let’s see. All signs point to yes! But if you are like me, then when you do come, it will as hard and fast as a freight train. I lift my head just a bit so I can look you in the eyes. Do you like watching me suck you? Even though the angle is wrong, I force myself as far down your shaft as I possibly can, and roll my lips down onto you so that I leave a ring of red-brown lipstick on you. I know you can see that, and I know you like it. “Shar was here.”
Without the increased rhythm as my guide, your orgasm almost takes me by surprise. A throbbing from the vein on your underside, a sudden tightening, almost a clutching: these are my only cues, and it all happens so fast. A freight train indeed, and your violent buck almost throws me off you. I can’t catch all of your seed in my mouth; some splashes on my lips and cheeks, and as I hold you, more swells out of your tip and runs down the side, a volcano of cum. “About a tablespoon,” I’ve always read, but that can’t be accurate. I hold you without moving till your motions subside. Keeping my hand in place, I lick you slowly, cleaning every drop, with some stray licks besides, just because, my eyes on your face so I’ll catch the very moment your eyes open again. You don’t need to say a thing now, lover; your whole body is radiating a “good” at me and I feel as if I’ve come myself, even though I know I’ll need an actual release later.
I pull your robe back over you (I know how you can chill once the heat has passed), and—do you see how I keep my dress from gaping when I move?—I rise. I can’t suppress a satisfied smile. I know when I’ve done well. I know when I’ve been good.
It might sound downright boastful to hum, so I keep my song inside as I slip off to the bathroom to tidy up. But I’m still smiling when I come back. You go back to the paper, dearest. I can amuse myself in the other room.
I didn’t even hear you get up, but you’re behind me so swiftly, one arm around my waist, the other hand in my hair, your breath in my ear.
“Shar.” I breathe with you. “Bad girl. You know I have work to do.”
Bad. Good. I walk the line, as always. I keep silent, waiting. What will tip the balance in my favor? For that matter, which way would I choose it to fall?
Your hand on my throat, then: “Fetch me your brush.”
Oh… that way.
“Yes, James.”
I deliver it to your hand, not without a tremor. What else can I do?
“Bend over, Shar, and lift your skirt. Take your punishment like a good girl.”
Yes, I will, like a …
Only time for a small curl of my lip before the first stinging blow, hot and sore.
So good.
SHARAZADE - I’m a professional writer, editor, and consultant with more than 20 books published under another name. I divide my time among Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and the U.S. Not surprisingly, many of my stories tend to feature some aspect of travel--modes of transportation or exotic locales. I enjoy stories that are realistic enough that they might have happened and fanciful enough that they might not have. I values communication, adventure, exploration, passion, and love.
If you enjoyed this story, you are welcome to check out my collection of short stories: Transported: Erotic Travel Tales.
Website sharazade.fannypress.com
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Banging the Bridesmaid by Tessie L’Amour
“Damn it.” Tyler scratched his ear and wondered how he’d gotten roped into this. Behind him, he could hear a soft murmur which must be the catering people setting up for the reception. He wondered where Cheryl had gotten to, and how the hell he was going to make amends with a woman he barely knew. Make amends on behalf of Zach, who should be down here fixing his own problems for once. He sighed and shook his head.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done Zach’s dirty work. There’d been the time Zach had not shown up for the U.H.C. game, despite being captain. Their college soccer coach stormed around, threatening to throw Zach off the team, until Tyler made up some bullshit story about Zach’s brother being in accident and smoothed things over. When Zach showed up in their dorm room grinning about making it with Candy Donatello, Tyler didn’t yell, just warned him about the cover story. Then there’d been the time when Zach screwed up and accepted invitations from two different girls to the Sadie Hawkins dance. When they both showed up, one flew into a rage and left, while the other burst into tears. With Zach nowhere to be seen, Tyler had been the one to comfort the poor girl and feed her some lame excuse about the other girl being delusional. After almost an hour, she calmed down. Zach appeared and took her to the dance, while Tyler was left to find his date and apologize for being late.
Though they’d been close in college, Tyler hadn’t heard much from Zach in the past three years, and hadn’t made a lot of effort either. He had frankly been shocked when Zach called him up out of the blue and asked him to be best man at his wedding, though Tyler was starting to wonder if he hadn’t been a late replacement for somebody else. It figured if he was.
Tyler hadn’t even met the bride or the rest of the wedding party until the day before at the rehearsal dinner. Zach introduced him as “my best friend from college,” and Tyler didn’t argue, just smiled and said hello to everybody. The bride-to-be, Cheryl, greeted him warmly, but they didn’t have a chance to talk before the dinner started. She seemed very nice, though perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed. Of course, she couldn’t be and stay around Zach long enough to get married. A little chubby perhaps, and a little too small on top, but pretty enough. Still, she surprised Tyler. He wouldn’t have believed “pretty enough” would be enough to hold Zach, who spent most of the dinner chatting up Kate, Cheryl’s good friend and bridesmaid. Kate was a true knockout, and a lot more Zach’s style, but there was no accounting for love.
Unfortunately for Zach, Cheryl finally noticed how much attention Zach was spending on Kate and had flown into a snit this morning, threatening to call off the wedding. Zach begged Tyler to go after her, reassure her, and like a chump, Tyler agreed. One of these days, Zach was going to have to clean up his own messes, but Tyler would have to learn to say no first.
Turning a corner in the hallway, Tyler caught a glimpse of somebody ducking into the bridesmaid’s dressing room. It might be Kate, but she’d been upstairs when Tyler came down. He walked down the hall and stood outside the door listening. Sure enough, someone inside was sniffling. It had to be Cheryl.
Tyler rubbed his forehead. How did he get himself into these situations? He must be a pushover. He started to walk away. Zach could take care of his own issues. Then he stopped, and looked back at the door. Hmm. Walking back, Tyler swallowed hard and then knocked on the door. Could he pull this off?
“Go away!”
“Kate, I know you’re in there,” Tyler said earnestly. “Open up. It’s really important.”
“I’m not… go away. I’m busy.”
“Kate, you have to help me.” Tyler opened the door a crack and flipped off the light.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
Cheryl’s voice was confused and scared, and Tyler knew he only had a moment to convince her. “It’s okay, Kate. It’s me, Tyler, the best man.”
“Um, what is it, Tyler? Why did you turn off the lights?”
Tyler grinned. This just might work. “I didn’t want anybody to catch us,” he said, slipping inside and closing the door. The only light was a dim flicker from a modem incongruously sitting on the floor in the back of the dressing room.
“What do you mean, catch us?” Cheryl asked in a guarded tone.
“Kate, I’m in a bad way, I really am. You’ve just got to help me.” Tyler stepped closer.
“Help with what?” Cheryl asked, curiosity winning over her caution.
“I didn’t think I’d need to. I mean, this is really awkward, but you see, I hadn’t met the bride before.”
“Tyler, what are you talking about?”
“Kate,” Tyler went on. Every time he called her that and she didn’t correct him made it more likely she would keep pretending. “I have to ask you, beg you really, for the Bridesmaid’s Boon. I’m sorry to ask, but the bride. Oh my god.”
“Slow down. What is the Bridesmaid’s thingie, and what do you mean about the bride?” Cheryl sounded confused but very curious, and Tyler grinned to himself.
“You don’t know about the Bridesmaid’s Boon? How could they not tell you? I mean, it’s not official or anything of course, but I thought… Oh, never mind. Forget I asked.”
“No, really, I want to know,” Cheryl pleaded. “Tell me what it is, and what it has to do with m- with the bride.”
Tyler cleared his throat and sat down on the chair. His eyes were adjusting, and he could see Cheryl’s silhouette leaning toward him. “It’s, oh gosh. It’s kind of awkward to talk about. Are you sure you want to know? We can just forget it.”
“No, go on. Really, it’s okay.”
“See, it’s tradition that when the best man, that’s me, has to be around the bride, but only if she’s really attractive you know, he… I can’t say it.”
“You, you think the bride, Cheryl, you think she’s attractive?”
“Are you kidding? When Zach introduced us, I couldn’t figure out what to say. I practically came in my pants. Sorry, that was crude.”
“No, it’s okay,” said Cheryl shyly. “You don’t think she’s, you know, a little heavy?”
Tyler laughed. “I’m sorry, I know you’re her friend and all, Kate, and it must be hard to be around someone that gorgeous and not feel a little insecure, but you’ve got to be kidding.”
There was silence, and Tyler could almost hear Cheryl disbelieving, but wanting to believe.
“Anyway,” Tyler went on quickly, “when that happens, it’s kind of traditional, customary, for the bridesmaid to… to help out,” he finished lamely.
“Help out?” Cheryl said, then gasped. “You mean, distract him?”
Tyler nodded, and said, “I’m sorry, it’s pretty embarrassing. If Cheryl were an ordinary girl, I could just jerk off in the bathroom, but she’s got that amazing ass. I’m afraid of making a fool of myself.”
There was another long pause, broken by a small giggle. “So, you want me to what, help out?”
“Oh, Kate, if you would. Maybe just a blow job would… I’d be able to stand there with her and not have everybody in the audience staring at me.”
“That seems awfully, I mean, we couldn’t,” Cheryl said, sounding both offended and amused.
“No, I understand.” Tyler stood up. He was sporting quite a hard-on just from the conversation, and he made sure he pressed against Cheryl accidentally so that her hand bumped it in the dark.
“Oh, gosh, Tyler, is that your…?”
“I’m sorry, Kate. I can’t help it.”
Cheryl reached out her hand tentatively and felt the hardness in his trousers. “Wow, you’ve got it bad,” she said.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry to bother you,” Tyler said, moving past her toward the door.
He had his hand on the doorknob when she said, “Okay, I’ll help.”
“Oh, Kate, that would be awesome,” Tyler said, scarcely believing his ears. He hurried back to the chair, stumbling against a table in the darkened room.
“Somebody is eager,” Cheryl said, and giggled. “But Tyler, you can’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t.”
“No, I mean nobody. Once we’re upstairs, you have to act like we haven’t even met each other.”
“Kate, I promise. Nobody will know. You are the best.” Tyler stopped as he felt Cheryl’s hands on his chest, gently pushing him into the chair. He sat back, seriously hard and relishing what was about to happen.
Cheryl ran her hands down his sides until she reached his waist. Kneeling, she reached out, then hesitated. Finally, she moved her hand slowly to his pants and unbuttoned the tuxedo pants. Tyler’s erection pressed against her hand, rock hard and urgent. Slowly, she unzipped his zipper, and then caressed his cock through his underwear.
Tyler groaned. Her touch, though feather soft, felt agonizing in his current state. He shifted, pushing himself against her hand.
“You are eager,” Cheryl said, and slid the underwear down, releasing Tyler’s erection which popped out and strained at her as if it had a mind of its own. Cheryl purred and stroked his shaft gently. “It’s lovely,” she said, her hand caressing him softly.
“Oh, god, uh thanks,” panted Tyler, his body tensed and focused on her silky touch.
His eyes half-closed with the exquisite sensation, Tyler didn’t see but rather felt as Cheryl took the head of his cock into her warm, willing mouth. He felt her tongue circle around the tip, and he squirmed. It was almost too much sensation, but then Cheryl slid him in deeper, her mouth engulfing him and playing with him. God damn, she was good at this. Tyler suddenly had an idea why the pretty enough girl had captured Zach’s affections. Any girl who sucked cock this well was worth a dozen bimbos.
Using her mouth as an instrument of exquisite torture, Cheryl slid him in and out, raking the sensitive skin with her teeth one moment, sucking and creating a vacuum the next. In no time, Tyler felt his penis constricting. He knew he would blow soon, and a glorious explosion it would be.
Then she slid him out, and he whimpered, raising his hips to try to reach her mouth. She laughed softly. “I’m not sure this is helping, Tyler. You seem very stiff.”
Tyler looked down at her. By the light of the modem, he could just see her pouty lips inches from his raging erection. He thought about where Zach might be, and how he’d feel if he saw his pretty little bride, due to stand at the altar with him in just an hour or two, with her lips around another man’s cock, and not just any man, but the best man. “May the best man win,” he murmured to himself.
“What’s that?” Cheryl asked, looking up at him.
“God, Kate, you are good. Damn good, but I don’t know.”
She stopped moving. “You don’t know what?”
Tyler went on, trying to speak calmly though everything in him wanted to be back in her mouth. “This feels so good, but I’m going to be in that chapel, and the bride, Cheryl, is going to be standing there so close. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about another girl when you’re…”
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “What about, um, Cheryl?”
“She’s going to be so close and with that low-cut wedding dress, she’s going to be, they’re going to be, right there.”
Cheryl stood slowly. “Her breasts, you mean?”
Tyler groaned again, though this time on purpose. “Oh, those breasts. I’m afraid I’ll just reach out, have to touch them right there in church.”
“Would it help to touch mine?”
“I don’t know, Kate. I guess I could try.” Tyler watched in disbelief as Cheryl slipped off her shift. He wondered when she should be getting her gown on, but lost the thought as Cheryl unsnapped her bra and let her breasts swing freely.
Even in the low light, Tyler could see that they were small, but well formed. Without saying anything, he reached up one hand, then the other, and gently touched the sides of Cheryl’s breasts. Tentatively, gently, he caressed them until his hands cupped her tenderly. When his fingertips grazed her nipples, puckered and stiff with excitement, Cheryl let out a moan, almost a mew. Tyler let his warm breath blow on Cheryl’s nipple and she moaned again, then leaned toward him so that his lips touched her. He kissed around one breast, then moved to the other, as her breathing became more rapid.
“Kate,” he said, a little breathlessly, “you’ve got to get a better dress designer.”
“What?” Cheryl said, pulling away from him.
“Last night, at the dinner, Zach and I were talking about you…” He trailed off and waited.
“What did Zach say about… about me?” Cheryl said angrily.
“Oh, it was nothing. You know guys, we talk.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t mean anything, I’m sure, but he thought your breasts were fake. He said if a guy wanted to play with beach balls, he should go to the beach. I’m sorry, because these aren’t fake. They’re so damn real, and so beautiful.”
“He didn’t. He wasn’t attracted to K- to me.” Cheryl said, a quaver in her voice.
“I’m sorry,” Tyler said, squeezing all the sincerity he could into his words. “He’s so totally smitten with Cheryl. I mean, I’m attracted to you, but Zach? I can hardly believe he looked at you long enough to notice… you know.”
Cheryl said nothing, but pulled his face back down and let him suckle on her breasts. He could almost feel her smiling. Feeling brave, Tyler slid his hands down Cheryl’s side and stroked her ass while he kissed and nibbled her. Cheryl’s breathing grew louder, and he could feel her heart pounding.
Suddenly, she pulled away, her breathing ragged and quick. She stared at him, examining his face in the tiny light. Tyler held still, hardly daring to move, wondering what she would do.
Without a word, Cheryl pulled back further, but only to get access to her panties. In one quick move, she pushed them down to her ankles, and stepped away from them. Tyler could smell her sweet, musky aroma and breathed in deeply, but still said nothing.
Cheryl moved closer, putting one hand on his chest and sliding it across until she touched his nipple. Tyler gasped at the sensation, more sensitive than he would have expected. Cheryl pushed him down and climbed over him, straddling him. Tyler let her take the lead as she reached down and guided his cock against her warm, sopping cunt. She rubbed the head against her opening, and Tyler had trouble stopping himself from cumming. Not now. Not yet.
Cheryl panted harder and harder, rubbing her clitoris against the head of his cock until she let out a guttural cry, her body jerking with the orgasm that ripped through her. Tyler waited until she settled down, then pulled her forward. Cheryl slid onto his cock, and he could feel the contractions as her orgasm subsided.
Slowly, Cheryl started to move up and down, impaling herself more fully on him. Tyler squeezed her ass, gritted his teeth and tried to hold off, but the feeling was too strong, and he came in torrents, deep inside her. Both gasping for air, they clung together.
At last, Cheryl pushed away. “Oh, God, I’ve got to get ready,” she said, pulling her clothes back on. “How late is it? Zach is going to be frantic. I mean, somebody has to help the bride get ready.” She got her clothes on while Tyler watched her silently. “Did that help?” she said suddenly, and with a surprising note of tenderness.
“More than you’ll ever know, Kate,” Tyler said. “You are one of a kind”
* * *
“There you are,” Zach said with an irritated scowl. “What happened? Is Cheryl going through with it?”
“Absolutely,” Tyler said, grinning.
“What did you say? She makes such a big fucking deal out of every little thing. Do you think I’m making a mistake here? Do you think she’s right for me?” Zach asked, a genuine note of anxiety in his voice.
“I think she’s perfect for you,” Tyler said earnestly. “But I still want to know, why didn’t you go find her yourself?”
Zach looked away. “I was busy, you know, getting ready. It’s my wedding, for god sakes. There are a lot of things to do.”
Tyler looked him up and down. He straightened Zach’s collar and brushed lint off his shoulder. He looked at Zach and shook his head slightly, though Zach clearly didn’t notice. “As I said, you two are perfectly suited. But, Zach…”
Zach looked up expectantly, waiting for him to finish.
Tyler paused, then gestured at Zach’s pants. “A word to the wise, buddy. You might want to zip up before the ceremony.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.
TESSIE L’AMOUR - There is nothing I like more than to lounge on the sofa near a blazing fire, reading my fantasies aloud to my husband until he can’t take it any more. Sometimes, I wait until he has a friend or two over, and I talk them into role-playing my sexier stories. I can get very carried away, but my husband doesn’t mind... and neither do his friends.
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Dream a Little Dream by Sessha Batto
Arthur considered suicide. He hummed tonelessly, turning the various options over in his mind as he sought the perfect one. Gas was too uncertain, a gun too messy. As he was mulling the pros and cons of a simple overdose, it came to him.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” His brother’s voice burst the bubble of Arthur’s near epiphany.
“Why are we doing this? Fishing has got to be the most boring activity on the planet. I doubt there’s even any fish in this lake.” After deftly parrying Martin’s question with one of his own he didn’t wait around for the answer, picking up his rod and meandering down the bank.
“Where are you going?” His brother’s anxious call prickled the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck. The man had eyes, it should be obvious. Instead of replying he merely shrugged, tilting his head in the direction he was heading. “Well, don’t go far,” the relentless voice continued. “We need to leave soon.”
He breathed a sigh of relief when he made it far enough around the curve of the lake’s edge to be unseen and unheard. The constant, none-too-secret, surveillance his family and friends had him under left him struggling to breathe. He continued pushing his way through the tangled deadfall that lay just shy of the water until he was certain he hadn’t been followed.
Arthur stretched out on a flat rock, pulling out the sketchbook he’d stuffed in his pants and digging in the bottom of his tackle box for a stick of charcoal. For the thousandth time his hand began to trace lines more familiar than his own face.
“You have to stop this.” The tenuous whisper brushed his cheek, a wavering touch like a moth taking flight.
“You know I’ve tried.” Arthur also knew his words fell on jaded ears. “Just one last time.”
“You keep saying that.” The voice was stronger now, the smudges on the page dancing in sympathy. “You need to let me go.”
His fingers caressed the contours of a sharp cheekbone, translating the velvety nap of the well-worked paper into silky flesh. “How can I possibly do that? Without this, I have nothing.”
“I am nothing. You and I both know I’m not real.” The mournful tone was in sharp contrast to the hand rubbing a soothing circle between Arthur’s shoulder blades. “I know you’re planning something. Are you going to fill me in?”
“No, it isn’t important.” It wasn’t really a lie. The sensation of his desire made flesh was enough to override his urge for self-destruction. “I just want to enjoy our time together.”
“You need a living, breathing, lover, not some smeary lines on a torn piece of paper.” Shadowed hands slid over Arthur’s arms, goose flesh rising in their wake. “This is a fantasy.”
“Mmhmmm,” he hummed idly, turning to capture plump, velvety lips with his own. The kiss was warm and deep, sending electric sparks tumbling down his spine in his own personal fireworks display. The urge to deepen the connection was irresistible, and so their tongues slid against each other, neither willing to yield. Arthur had never before felt such an irresistible yearning- the taste was addictive, overwhelming, and marked him as clearly as the graphite streaks darkening his lips and winding their way across his torso.
His breath caught, time slowing to a crawl as a gossamer hand wrapped around his burgeoning erection. Two rough strokes, hot silk and electricity spiraling up his spine and tearing loose a rough groan. “Oh gods, yes.”
A needy moan escaped his throat when a hard cock pressed urgently against his, and that maddening hand returned to wrap around them both. A hot mouth latched onto his nipple as his lover began to stroke, hand squeezing slightly as they thrust together. Their mouths mated, swallowing twin gasps as a thumb swiped through pearly drops of precum. A slick finger pushed through his tight pucker and all coherent thought dissolved into a ragged prayer to a deity Arthur had been certain he didn’t believe in.
The slow slide of his lover’s cock seemed to go on forever, impossibly deep, and he wondered if, perhaps, the shadowy figure would disappear inside him completely. After what seemed an eternity it reversed, taunting him with an achingly slow rhythm. No matter how he squirmed and begged, the measured pace never faltered. Each brush to his prostate tightened the hot coil inside of him, and he felt his balls drawing up tighter and tighter, like a spring ready for flight.
A ghostly hand wrapped loosely around his erection, the light teasing strokes matching the pace of the tongue ruthlessly mapping his mouth. Even now, Arthur spared a moment for his obsession, deciding that forgetting to breathe due to pleasure might, indeed, be the best way to die.
A hard thrust to his prostate pushed him over the edge, molten lightning surging up from his balls as the world greyed out around him. When his eyes fluttered open they met with the heart-stopping sight of his lover daintily licking the seed from his chest.
“Arthur, it’s time to go.” His brother’s strident call broke through the spell he was under.
“Five more minutes. I’ll meet you at the car.” Another whirlwind of kisses and then he was stumbling back through the brush, marks of his transgression starkly dappling pale flesh.
He watched the judgment settle on Martin’s normally placid features, yet shrugged it off. The meddling concerns of his so-called loved ones were of no regard in this. “What?”
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