Face to Face

The self-imposed sabbatical had dragged on far longer than she had planned. Two months—three tops—she’d said.

It was now six.

She was more than a little depressed about it. She tried to recall the details of her last tryst, but the memories were fuzzy and not worth the effort. After all, he’d only made her come once.

Masturbating was beginning to lose its effect. Oh, sure, it relieved the pressure, but having a warm body on top of hers, calloused hands running over soft skin, a hot mouth clamped on her clit…

Jesus! She had to stop thinking about it. She’d already replaced her vibrator. Twice.

She didn’t want a relationship, she just wanted to get laid. And she knew exactly who to call.

She sat in her living room, talking to her laptop, drinking in the smiling face that filled the screen. The air in her apartment was sharp with the smell of sex. She felt somewhat relieved, but she needed more.

Steve leaned forward, his easy grin enhanced by a narrow white soul patch. She wondered how soft it was, whether it would tickle or scrape. She couldn’t decide which she wanted more.

“What are you doing this weekend?” It was a casual enough question, one she’d asked every time they spoke, every time they had cyber-sex.

“Just hanging with friends.” He popped open a can of beer. “You?”

“I was thinking I need a vacation.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, his cock now flaccid, though a few minutes ago, it was erect while he'd fisted it for her. She liked watching him come, liked that he talked dirty to her until she did.

He took a pull from his beer. “Good idea. Somewhere south?”

“No. I was thinking north.” Throbbing again, she sucked two fingers into her mouth then brought them down to her pussy, groaned. “I haven’t been to New York.”

Steve sat up then. “Here? You’re coming here?”

“Is that a problem?” Her fingers swirled around her clit and she imagined his tongue licking her, his greedy mouth sucking the swollen nub.

“Fuck no.” Steve sat back and stroked his cock, once-again ready. “This weekend?”

She increased the volume so she could hear the wet sucking sounds his hand made as it stroked.

“Saturday.” Her voice was breathy now and her hips pumped, greedy for more.

“Perfect,” he said, rotating his hand once around the head, then wrapping it around the shaft, he stroked with lightning speed. “What time are you coming?”

She opened her thighs wider, rammed two fingers into her cunt, pistoned like a jackhammer.

“Now!” She threw her head back as the orgasm shot through her, her hips thrusting up as she imagined Steve fucking her.

When she finally lifted her head, he was sitting in his chair, wiping himself down with a towel.

“That was fucking awesome,” he said.

She grinned at him. “Wait until Saturday.”

The NYC series continues here


Good Morning

I feel the tug of morning, just before sunrise, when he wraps a possessive arm around my waist, reaches up to cup my breast. Though I am not quite awake, my body responds, always ready for him, always wanting.

His hand travels down my hip, dips down between my legs. I spread them for him and he groans against my throat.

“You’re already wet.” His voice is slurred with sleep.

“I was dreaming of you.”

His finger swirls around my clit sending delicious shock waves through me. I press my ass against him and his cock slips easily between my legs, sliding against my slick pussy.

“Is this what you were dreaming of?”

“You were inside of me. Fucking me.”

“Like this?”

He presses into me, just the head, but it feels so good and I want more, need more.

“Deeper.” It was supposed to sound like a command, but it comes out more like a request, like begging.

He pushes all the way into me. “Like this?”

He fills me, slides in and out with slow easy strokes, and I shudder. He feels so fucking good.

“Faster.” Now it’s a command.

He pulls out, rolls over, trapping me beneath him, shifts up onto his knees. He grips my hips with both hands, yanks my ass up in the air and plunges, slamming his cock into me at a frenetic speed. Each slap brings me closer, teetering on the edge.

My fingers dig into the mattress, teeth bite into the pillow. The pressure is unbearable and I need release, need it from him. I groan when he brings his other hand to my cunt, saturates it—he knows what I want and it makes me even more wet just knowing what he’ll do.

He takes his wet thumb and teases my ass, circling the eager rosebud until I can do nothing but whimper. My hips have a mind of their own and rock; my cunt rides his cock and I press back against his thumb.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please.”

He presses his thumb into my ass and it sends me flying over the edge. Pain slams into pleasure and it is beyond my control. It’s what I was waiting for, what I needed. I convulse around him, panting his name, and I feel him release with me, his warmth filling me as he cums inside me.

We collapse onto the bed, his cock still inside me, not quite flaccid yet, but twitching with new life, already eager for more.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

Bedside Manners

She doesn’t just walk, she struts.

As her hips sway, the silk dressing gown flutters open, revealing golden skin and long, long legs. A casual shrug, and the gown slips off one shoulder, exposing one perky breast, the dark nipple already hard and hungry.

She stops next to the bed, tips her head then smiles, pulls her index finger into her mouth all the way to the palm. I know her tongue is circling the tip, like she does when she takes my cock, sucks the head while she fists the shaft.

The finger comes out, glistening with saliva, and takes an insidious path down her body, stopping to circle the exposed nipple. She kneads and pinches, her eyes glazing over with pleasure, then brings her hand down to her hip.

It dips behind the gown and I groan. She’s such a fucking tease!

“Show me.” She knows it’s a command, not a request, and she quickly drops the gown. The tiny triangle of dark fur points to treasure.

I nod my approval. “Better. Open up for me.”

She sets one foot on the bed, her thighs spread wide, exposing swollen lips, greasy with need.

“I need you inside me,” she begs.

I reach up, press my middle finger into her wet pussy. She sighs, clamps around me. “More,” she whispers.

I withdraw, return with two and she smiles. “Yes.” She rides my hand, an expression of pure ecstasy on her face, as she tugs her nipples. “Yes. Yes.”

When my thumb rubs against her clit, she cries out, spasms around my fingers. “Fuck, yes!”

She pulls my hand to her mouth, sucks her juices from my fingers.

Keeping her eyes on mine, she straddles my hips, lowers her wet pussy over my cock. As she rides up and down, her mouth imitates her hips, fucking my fingers while she fucks my cock.

Blackout

Rain sliced through the darkness, pummeled the windows as though it would shatter the double-pane glass. Inside the cottage, a fire blazed in the great room—the only source of light, save for the big-screen television.

A heavy quilt covered the wood floor where Amanda and Frank lay sprawled watching television. Half-empty wine glasses lay within reach, the popcorn bowl was emptied long ago. With the thunder and lightning outside, it seemed appropriate to watch a slasher film.

Amanda shook her head, snorted in disgust. “Why do they stop running and turn back? Have they never watched a horror film? It’s disgusting. An embarrassment to all womankind.”

Frank angled his head. “At least she has big tits.”

“Please! If big tits were your thing, we wouldn’t have made it past the first date.”

“Good thing I like them small and sensitive.” He yanked her over to him, cupped her right breast. He grinned when she moaned.

“Stop it,” she said, though she arched against him. “The blonde’s about to get killed.”

As if on cue, a knife-wielding sociopath ran out from the trees as the music rose to a deafening pitch.

Frank nibbled on Amanda’s neck. “There she goes.”

With a crack of thunder, the room went into complete darkness. The only light came from the fireplace; the only sound was the crackling fire.

“Uh oh.” Amanda went still. She had never outgrown her fear of thunderstorms and, by consequence, the dark. “Now what?”

“I’ll keep you safe.” Frank’s voice was deep and breathy next to her ear. His hand moved under her shirt, flicked open the front clasp of her bra, then kneaded her breast. His thumb and forefinger pinched the hungry nipple.

Amanda turned into him. “Oh. Well. In that case.”

She reached down to cup his cock, but he pushed her back. “Not yet.”

Frank pulled up her shirt, flicked aside the open bra and clamped onto an eager breast. Amanda arched as need rushed through her. “Yes!”

Frank’s hand skimmed down her belly, beneath the elastic of her cotton shorts, under the silk panties. His fingers made small circles on her clit, matching the circles he made with his tongue on her nipple.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he said.

The pressure was unbearable. She needed to wrap around him, needed him inside her.

“Now!” she panted.

Frank rammed two fingers into her, and she convulsed around him as his fingers pistoned in and out, dragging her back up for another.

Bar Scene

Eric sits in the hotel bar, his back to the polished mahogany counter, and watches the crowd of nubile bodies bump against one another in a timeless ritual. He considers trolling the room, finding someone to pass the time, but then he sees her.

It was worth the wait.

She walks across the room with an easy gait that has many men—and more than a few women—turning to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the gods. Auburn hair cascades down her back in waves. Hips—barely covered in a short black dress—sway in invitation. Long, bare legs that seem to go on for miles, look even longer in three-inch stilettos. He knows too well how it feels to have those strong legs wrapped around him.

She takes the stool next to him, orders a dry martini. He bites back a smile when a man—can’t be more than twenty-five, Eric figures—wearing an expensive suit, positions himself next to her. This should be good, he thinks.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the Suit asks.

She cups her martini—red lacquered nails contrast against the clear glass—and lifts skewered olives to her lips. Her tongue darts out, circles the rim of the pimento, then plump lips suckle the green mound. She holds it for a moment, allows the olive to peek out once, then sucks it in, rolling it in her mouth as she keeps her eyes locked with the Suit’s.

Eric can’t help but pity the boy, who’s Adam’s apple goes into convulsions.

The woman tips her head. “That’s very kind of you.” Her voice all but purrs. She offers her mega-watt smile and Eric is certain the kid will fall over. “But I’m with someone.”

The kid’s face falls, he stammers an apology, then walks away.

“That was cruel.” Eric continues to scan the room.

“How so?” she asks.

“Come on. That poor kid’s dick is hard as rock right now.”

She grins, sucks another olive into her mouth. She reaches over, glides her hand up Eric’s thigh, cups the bulge in his pants. She smiles. “So is yours.”

He reaches over in what appears to be a casual gesture, yanks her thighs apart and pushes his hand under her skirt. She gasps when his fingers press against the thin silk of her panties, already wet with anticipation and greed.

With his thumb, he tears the fabric and rams two fingers into her wet cunt.

“I’m not the only one who’s ready.”

He pistons once, twice, then grins when she convulses around him. He keeps his eyes on hers as he puts his dripping fingers into his mouth, sucks noisily.

“Shall we carry on in our room?” he asks.

“Oh, god, yes.”

Living Room Sex

He dropped onto the sofa, pulled her down with him, shifted her until she was straddling him. He yanked her hips, pressed his erection against her clit, sending shock waves through her.

Oh yes, this is what she wanted, what she needed.

She cupped his face with both hands, pressed her mouth against his. Her tongue pushed through his lips, searched out his. His hands clamped around her waist and she rocked, ground her cunt against his hard cock, let that familiar heat coil between her legs, spread throughout her body. He matched her tempo, thrusting up to meet her. As she rocked, her hands skimmed over his shoulders, enjoyed how his muscles flexed beneath her touch.

Heat within her grew to an inferno and she skimmed her lips along his throat, nibbled just below his ear. She moaned as the pressure built.

“Don’t stop, Simon, don’t stop. Yes! Yes!”

With one hand holding her waist, Simon tilted her back, yanked up her tee, shoved aside the lacy cup of her bra, clamped onto the erect nipple. The moment he sucked on the hard nub, the fire that burned inside her exploded.

"Fuck, yes!" She bowed back as the orgasm ripped through her.