Got a Minute?, page 4
“Suck them,” Lana moaned. “Suck my nipples.”
Lana began to pant heavily, and Emma pictured her rubbing herself into a frenzy, ready to come at any moment. She knew what would get her there.
“I’m going to lick your cunt, Lana.”
She heard a sharp intake of breath.
“I climb off your lap and you watch me like a hawk, unsure of what I’m going to do, but hoping all the same. I spread your legs and lie between them, breathing lightly on your pussy. You tremble and tilt your head back. I start caressing you with my tongue, savoring your taste and silkiness.”
Emma paused to hear Lana’s breathing and the little moans that escaped her mouth without her realizing. Emma’s own breathing hammered in time with Lana’s, and she turned her back on the store to give herself as much privacy as possible.
“You writhe against me and I gather your clit in my mouth and suck it hard.”
“I’m gonna come!” Lana gasped, and immediately let out a series of moans. Emma could hear her thrashing on the bed. She waited, still with her back to the store, for Lana to recover.
“That was wonderful,” Lana murmured when she had her breath back.
Emma smiled. “Glad you enjoyed yourself. But I should go. I don’t want to get sprung for making personal calls during work time. Especially not this personal.”
Lana laughed and they said their good-byes. Emma hung up and stood leaning dizzily against the counter. Her cunt cried out for release. She licked her lips and ran her mind over the conversation, considering what tonight’s visit with Lana might bring.
Unconsciously, her hand moved to the front of her skirt and pressed in against herself. She could just manage to stimulate her clit. She let out a small moan.
“Excuse me?” said a voice behind her. She jumped and turned to see an impatient-looking woman at the counter. The woman’s gaze met hers knowingly as she asked to try some moisturizer.
Oh god, what had she heard?
THE VAGUE LANGUAGE OF SEX
Michael Hemmingson
Nick had been waiting for Shella to leave her husband all summer; now that she’d done so, and she had her own apartment, she called him on the phone and said, “Why don’t we go out?”
“How’s your new apartment?”
“Come over and take a look,” Shella said.
The place was spare when he arrived. There were a lot of unopened boxes.
Shella was wearing black jeans and a white tank top. Her hair was messy; she looked like she had just woken up.
“I took a short nap,” she said, pointing to the couch.
“Naps are good,” he said. “This is a nice apartment.”
A jet flew over, heading for the airport.
Shella winced. “Now you know why the rent is cheap.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Come see the view over here,” she said. She pulled at his sleeve. They went to the bedroom. She had a view of the airport and the bay. The sun was setting. It was the end of summer; the ends of summers were always good in San Diego.
They stood on the small balcony.
More jets landed at the airport. Some took off. Sailboats, yachts and cruise boats lingered in the bay.
“Nice,” Nick said.
They went back inside.
“And here’s the bed,” she said. The bed was unmade; there were three big pillows on it.
“Nice.”
She pushed some of her dark hair from her eyes and said, “Okay, Nick, look, we like each other, there’s chemistry, so why don’t we just get it over with? Why don’t we just fuck right now and get it out of the way?”
“All right.”
They didn’t kiss. She didn’t want to kiss. Shella took off her jeans and panties and lay down on her stomach. She put a pillow under her pussy and raised her ass in the air. Nick wondered if she wanted it in the ass but her asshole didn’t look like it had ever been fucked. Her asscheeks were round and skinny and pale. He took off his jeans and underwear, moved behind her, and slipped his cock into her cunt. She gasped and he grabbed some of her dark hair and yanked on it, pulling her neck back.
“Oh yeah,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck me,” she said.
“I’m fucking you.”
When they were done, they put their underwear and pants back on and went to dinner at a steakhouse downtown. They sat in a booth and sipped martinis and waited for their food.
“This is one of my favorite restaurants,” Shella said.
“It’s a nice place,” Nick said.
During the course of the night, they were approached by two couples who said “Hi, how are you?” and gave Nick strange looks. Both couples were friends of her husband’s, she told him. “Soon to be ex-husband,” she said.
“Do they know that?”
“I don’t think they know Jeff and I are separated.”
“That’s why they’re looking at us—me—funny,” Nick said.
“The heck with them,” Shella giggled. She was enjoying the martinis.
They were fairly drunk when they returned to her apartment. They had some vodka tonics and got drunker. They sat in front of her TV and kissed, then she moved her head down and gave him a blow job.
It was a good, sloppy, wet blow job. “Your teeth,” he said a couple of times, and she giggled as he pushed her head back down. He came in her mouth and she sat up and smiled at him.
“Was that nice?” she asked.
“That was nice,” he said.
“We should do this again,” she said.
“I’d like that,” he said.
She didn’t want him to stay the night. She said she wasn’t ready for that. Nick understood.
They didn’t kiss goodnight.
They shook hands.
EVERY NIGHT
Jeremy Edwards
She calls them her “ass pajamas,” and they are identical—in every respect but one—to her other pair of pajamas. Each set consists of a skintight cotton jersey with matching bottoms—almost like long johns, but without ribbing. Each set is the same solid color, a vivid raspberry-sherbet pink.
But she has modified one pair—adroitly cut and hemmed it—so that the bottoms have no seat. From the front, I cannot tell which pajamas she’s wearing.
Every night, she goes upstairs and gets ready for bed, while I finish the dinner dishes. We both know that her sex drive is not as high as mine, and that whether or not she will be in the mood is a matter of chance.
Every night, I enter the room and find her sitting up in bed reading, in raspberry-sherbet pajamas, the covers pulled up to her waist. Every night, she gives me a tender smile, puts her book down, and scoots under the covers until she is lying flat, faceup, on the bed. She closes her eyes.
Every night, I greet her in bed and kiss the thick, smiling lips that echo, in more muted tones, the hue of her pajamas. Then I pull the covers down just beyond her bare feet. She looks good enough to eat in her sorbet-smooth second skin, her fresh, loving face framed by a page-boy shell of chestnut hair that sinks listlessly into her pillow.
We do not want her to have to tell me, in so many words, “I want to be fucked tonight,” or “I do not want to be fucked tonight.” And so, every night, I simply reach a hand under her ass. This is what she and I have arranged.
If I feel the seat of her ordinary pajama bottoms, then I kiss her again, I pull the covers up to her chin, I whisper goodnight… and I pad off to the bathroom to handle my own libido.
But if I feel the frank immediacy of her bare ass, then I know that she is inviting the squeezing of cheeks and the tickling of the space between them. That she is longing to be rolled over, so that her derriere may be attended to with fleshy kisses and gentle, delicate little slaps. That she is counting on me to caress and cajole her naked bottom until her raspberry-sherbet crotch darkens with moisture and her raspberry-sherbet legs spasm and kick with uncontainable delight.
That she wants to feel the taut rib within my own pajama bottoms, as I press down upon her radiant, jiggling cheeks, and flatten them ever so slightly with my weight.
And we both know that before we sleep we will merge, stripped and torrid. That we will fuck with a frenzy that makes the house seem to vibrate, as it does when the washing machine spins its ass off on a Sunday afternoon. That we will shriek our ecstasies like the enamel teakettle—which rests quietly now, downstairs, in the kitchen that I tidied up while she was choosing her pajamas.
TRUCK-STOP QUICKIE
Rakelle Valencia
A sharp but not unpleasant pain brought her senses into acute focus. Teeth bit her flesh at the crook between neck and shoulder. She knew her skin would brighten red under the nipping and suckling insistence. Her body shuddered, involuntarily pulling at her wrists. The hand around them tightened.
Their eyes had met in the parking lot. Usually, she never looked anyone in the eye. Out on the road a person had to be careful, especially at these rest stops. Especially alone. Women truckers weren’t that prevalent, and they weren’t that well liked by the men trucking, except as potential bed companions.
So she rarely looked up while rushing to or from the ladies’ room. But this time she had. And when their eyes had met, there was an electric energy; an excitement through her entire body. She couldn’t stop staring. The woman was tall and lanky and handsome. Her own short, quick steps had unintentionally caught up to the woman’s long, moseying strides across the back lot where the big rigs were parked. Their eyes had met and held, too long. That’s how they both ended up in her sleeper cab.
Her shirt had been discarded along with her bra, and her wrists were now being held in a tight one-handed grip behind her back. The position of kneeling on her bed with her hands low behind her had thrust her chest forward and upward. Her skin tingled with life; a walking shell just awakened.
A hand cupped one of her breasts as a mouth descended on her nipple. The mouth was hungry, and she knew this one nipple of hers would never be enough. The woman’s hand left her breast to slide flat along her stomach, resting a moment in the middle, warm and erotic. When the woman continued downward with her hand, it was to release the snap on her jeans and draw the zipper open so slowly, too slowly. Then long, lanky fingers slid under the waistband of her panties. And she gasped.
Wetness had already dampened the crotch of her panties; wetness she hadn’t expected. Even during masturbation she would always resort to using lube. But those lanky fingers had found her soaked and wanting. They stroked the crease between her lips, up and down, excruciatingly slowly, drawing moisture over her clit, which made her jump and writhe. The handsome woman said nothing. Her mouth roamed between breasts and stomach, then to her collarbone again, her shoulder and her neck, before taking her lips prisoner, much like her wrists.
At first, the stranger had teased her mouth, plucking her lower lip, sucking it in to release it, nipping it slightly, then encouraging her tongue into play, all before the woman devoured her mouth. Tongues tangled and twisted, touching lightly and tentatively before aggressively taking what each needed. Lips smashed against each other, pinched by teeth. And all the while, two long slow stroking fingers strummed her to exquisite heights.
Her hips shoved forward, pleading in a carnal fashion. But the slow-moving fingers continued at their own maddening pace. She bucked a few times because the flesh was taut and eager and wanton.
The woman then penetrated her with those two fingers, using the thumb to continue the slow stroking. Their mouths came apart. She halfheartedly made an attempt to free her wrists without success. Then she felt the assault to her nipples. Lips pulled at each in turn. Teeth nipped, then bit. A tiny squeal was released from her throat, making the woman cover her mouth once again in a dance of tongues.
Fingers inside her pounded a harder rhythm. The woman’s thumb moved into the motion of rough little circles, first over the clit shaft then down the clit, back up, then down again, never breaking from perfect circles.
She cried out. The sound caught in her mouth and in her throat as if smothered by the handsome woman’s mouth, her lips, her tongue. She cried out until her throat filled with screams that went unheard outside of her cab. And her screams came in spasms. They came in the same spasms that racked her body in undulating waves, clenching and unclenching on the woman’s two fingers while pushing and shoving harder against that circling thumb.
Tears escaped her closed eyes. Rivulets ran the length of her cheeks in their own abandonment. Her screams turned to cries then to a soft mewling as her body wanted to collapse but was held upright by her imprisoned wrists.
When she awoke to find herself alone, she didn’t remember quite how that had happened. Her body lay crumpled in a half-naked heap on her bed. Leopard spots dotted her torso, and she rubbed at the redness of her wrists. But the lanky, handsome woman was gone.
She quickly ran fingers through her rumpled, shoulder-length hair, yanked on a T-shirt and fought her way from the sleeper cab into the darkening evening. Briskly, she walked to the middle of the lot and turned a full circle, looking, hoping.
But the woman was nowhere to be seen.
CASE OF THE HORNYS
Jocelyn Bringas
Gene Douglas stared at his cock and groaned in frustration. He had been hard the whole day and it was beginning to irritate him. Nothing he did could make it go down. Earlier he had fucked a chick he met at Club Element and come three times. He already tried jerking off but it only made him harder.
For the past few weeks, Gene had felt more sexually charged than normal. It was fun at first because he felt he had gained more stamina. The women he fucked appreciated his willingness and were amazed at how many times he could come.
Gene thought he was on top of the world and that no porn star could match his sexual power. It wasn’t until he noticed people pointing and staring at him that Gene realized something was wrong. He’d looked down and seen a huge tent in the crotch of his pants. He hadn’t even been aware that he had an erection. It was very embarrassing to have an erection in public. He didn’t want to walk around being classified as a pervert. He thought the solution would be to have more sex. Every night after work, he would head over to Club Element and pick up random chicks to fuck. Still, later that evening, he would find himself lying in bed with a throbbing cock craving more stimulation.
It was time for Gene to seek professional help, he realized. Logging onto the Internet, he searched for the perfect doctor to help him. He stumbled across the website for Dr. Cadence Parker, a board-certified sex therapist, and decided to arrange an appointment.
Dr. Parker’s clinic was not like any other clinic Gene had visited before. On the outside it looked to be a very conservative place, but the interior revealed a drastic change in setting. The walls were covered with explicit pictures of different people in various sex positions. The chairs had certain parts shaped out of sex organs. Various sex toys were scattered around as decoration. On the waiting room tables were stacks of hard-core porn magazines. A porn movie was playing on the TV, from which loud moans were echoing throughout the office.
“May I help you?” a soft female voice said.
Looking in the direction of the voice, Gene saw a woman sitting behind a desk.
“I’m Gene Douglas. I have an appointment with Dr. Parker,” Gene said hesitantly.
“She’ll be right with you in a few minutes, feel free to have a seat.”
As he sat down, Gene noted without surprise that he had an erection. He picked up a magazine and flipped through it. His cock throbbed even more as he gazed at the obscene images. Since Gene was the only person in the waiting room and the secretary was busy typing away on the computer, he nonchalantly placed the palm of his hand over his crotch. He gently rubbed himself as he imagined fucking all the women on the page he was looking at.
“Gene Douglas?”
He quickly closed the magazine. A blush crept to his cheeks and he stood up.
“That’s me,” Gene said.
“Mr. Douglas, I’m Dr. Parker. Right this way,” Dr. Parker said, gesturing ahead as they walked toward her office. Dr. Parker was dressed extremely conservatively in a pantsuit.
“Have a seat right there,” Dr. Parker said as she went to sit behind her desk.
Gene looked around and noticed she had an extensive book collection. On the wall behind her, he saw her various university diplomas.
“What brings you here, Mr. Douglas?” Dr. Parker asked.
“I think I have a problem.”
“A problem with what?”
“My penis. It gets hard when I don’t want it to.”
“That’s normal.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be out in public and then BAM! It’s just up. People point and stare.”
“Is that why your hands are on the front of your pants now?”
Gene blushed.
“Are you currently taking any medication?”
“None at all. All this started a few weeks ago and I thought it was cool, you know? I was fucking all these women and lasting longer. It was awesome until recently. Now I’m just hard all the time and it’s not fun anymore.”
“Well, what I’m going to do is obtain a sperm sample from you and run some tests. I should be able to make a diagnosis when I see the results.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to ask you to go into the room across the hall and one of my nurses will be with you shortly to help.”
While Gene was in the room waiting for the nurse, he couldn’t resist starting to masturbate. Turning on the TV, he watched as the porno began to unfold. He thought he could conceal his masturbating with the long shirt he was wearing if the nurse walked in.
Unfortunately, the nurse walked in quite abruptly, without so much as knocking. The busty young brunette seemed to be immediately hypnotized by his cock. After closing the door behind her, she dropped to her knees and engulfed his stiff cock between her cherry-red lips. Leaning his head back, Gene relished the pleasure the nurse was giving him.
