Got a Minute?, page 5
“Baby, I’m gonna come,” Gene moaned.
Without taking her lips off his cock, the nurse reached for a tube. Once Gene started to orgasm, she placed the tube on his hardness and finished jerking him off. He watched in fascination as his sperm began to fill the tube. Panting, Gene saw his cock was still hard. Before the nurse could leave, he pulled her onto his lap and fucked her.
A few days later, Gene was back at Dr. Parker’s clinic, anxious to find out the results of the tests.
“Hello, Mr. Douglas,” Dr. Parker said as she walked into the waiting room.
Gene’s eyes bulged out of their sockets the moment he saw Dr. Parker. She was bare naked.
“Hi, Dr. Parker,” Gene said shyly.
Gene couldn’t help checking out her voluptuous body as they walked to her office. Dr. Parker had a very nice ass that jiggled each time she took a step. Explicit thoughts began to run around in his mind and he began to get an aggressive erection.
“I checked out your test results, Mr. Douglas.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“It seems you have a severe case of the hornys.”
“I do?”
“It explains your excessive need for sexual pleasure as well as your experiencing unwanted erections. As of right now, I can only tell you that research is being conducted in search of a cure.”
“So I guess I’m stuck with this for a while,” Gene said, pouting.
“Yes, but in the meantime, I can help you out temporarily with some treatment.”
“Really? How?”
Dr. Parker stood up and walked toward Gene, who licked his lips in anticipation as his eyes roamed over her curvaceous body. She sat on his lap, causing him to groan in pleasure when he felt her pussy pressing down on his hard cock.
“I saw you fucking Nurse Kandi the last time you were here. Now it’s my turn,” she whispered in his ear.
Her manicured fingers grabbed his shaggy blond hair and pulled him forward for a passionate kiss. He kissed her back fiercely for a few moments before pushing her off his lap and quickly shoving down his pants.
Dr. Parker then bent over her desk, offering her round ass to Gene. He wasted no time in sliding his cock into her pulsing pussy. The sounds of hard fucking echoed throughout her office.
“I could definitely get used to this treatment,” Gene said, as he pounded into her.
Gene ended up fucking the doctor all over her office. It was the first of many fucks he and Dr. Parker shared. Currently, no cure has been discovered for patients who experience a case of the hornys. However, through the help of Dr. Parker and her various nurses, Gene has learned how to deal with his issue.
HUNGRY FOR LOVE
Saskia Walker
I’m so hungry for you. We flirt across the restaurant table and our food, while I sit there thinking about what we’re going to do when we’re finally alone. It’s a favorite pastime of mine, but you know that, don’t you? And you love every minute of it because it gets me so wet. In fact, you’ll find out just how wet it’s getting me when you touch me there, later.
You watch me eat—your direct, observant stare sending a shiver of anticipation under my skin. The electricity crackles between us. I idle over mental images of your naked body while I imagine how you’ll use it tonight. Your hand moves to your wineglass, and I watch and wonder if that hand will cup my naked buttock as you ease me onto your erect cock. I can almost feel your chest, pressed against my naked breasts. I’m very wet now; my panties are cleaving to the groove of my sex. If you could feel that, would you savor it, or ram your cock home? I rearrange myself on the chair, aching with need. The movement catches your attention. You look directly at me again, an accusing glint in your eye.
My pulse rate nudges higher. I speculate some more, knowing that you’re observing me even more closely. With one finger, I trace the line of my shirt where it dips into my cleavage, your eyes following. Will you suck my tits and explore my sex with your fingers? Will you undress me slowly, observantly, or barely bother to take anything off? What would you do if I said I wanted that?
I’ve given up eating. How hungry will I be for you by the time we get to each other? How loud will you moan when I go down on your cock?
You fold your napkin. You refuse the dessert menu, asking for the bill instead.
I’m thrilled.
You whisper that I look as if butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, but you’re willing to bet it’ll melt elsewhere.
I like your suggestion for dessert. I smile and stand up.
You grasp me against you as we leave, your hand sliding possessively around my hip.
My heart races as our time alone draws near. Will you beg me to sit on your face while I give you head? Will you lead me to bed, or have me fast and furious up against the wall, my skirt up around my waist, my panties hanging on one ankle? Or better still, will you turn me around and bend me over a chair, giving me your cock hard to quickly relieve this fast-growing tension between us? How will you react when I tell you what it’s doing to me? And you know that I will tell you, loud and dirty. I’ll ask you to fuck me harder, if I want it that way.
Outside the restaurant, you turn into a dark alleyway and snatch me against you, kissing me hot and hard, your tongue thrusting into my mouth, your hand under my skirt, backing me against the wall.
You groan and murmur admonishments when you feel my wetness, your fingers delving into my black lace panties to explore me.
God, that’s good.
Hauling your hand out, you taste me and then tell me to turn around and lean up against the wall. When I do, you nudge my legs further apart with one powerful knee.
I shudder, my legs weak with desire.
You tell me how dirty I am, you tell me that you could see what I was thinking a mile off. You ask me how you were supposed to enjoy your food with this horny slut creaming her seat in front of you.
I shake my head, my body flushed with heat, my hips arching back, inviting you in. I hear your zipper; feel your cock nudging against me.
I’m on fire for it.
You strip my panties down my thighs. You ask me again, you want to hear me say it aloud.
I tell you that I was hungry most of all for love.
You lift my hips, feeding me a length of your cock, asking me yet again, knowing I’m desperate.
I cry out for your cock, begging you to give it to me.
You ram home, filling me to overflowing, quickly surging into me over and over again.
I come moments later, my body shoved up against the wall with the force of your attack. I cry out in sheer bliss, the sound echoing around the dark alley.
You whisper in my ear that this dessert option will have you coming back again. You say you intend to take a portion home.
I smile, clutch you against me and tell you I’m glad, because my hunger for this only seems to grow.
SWIM
Laura Marks
I watch the sun licking other bodies through the water. The light is like kisses trailing my body, covering my arms, discovering the curve of my neck, rolling over me as I arch my back, twining around my legs; patterns of light, lines of bright white against blue water, tumbling between my legs; tongues like flames exciting me, propelling me forward, then melting into memory as another stroke begins, the pattern repeating as long as I wish.
It is this I live for, that brief moment when we are bound so tightly, where it is impossible to distinguish body from light from water. A craving I can taste, a need that burns, a desire to submerge myself in eternity.
I slice through the water, my hair billows around me like Medusa’s snakes. The warmth of a first kiss excites me, my skin tingling in anticipation. My arms reach forward, my legs separate, hoping, begging for touch. First, a fluttering on the back of one leg, then the other, as tendrils slowly, excruciatingly wrap around each limb. A whisper at the crux of my knee, a tickling near my ankle, fingers tracing their way up the inside of each leg. Not in unison, one hand higher than the other, prolonging the sensation.
While fingers explore my skin, my neck feels first the coolness of the air, then warmth like waves breaking, pulling me back into their arms. My body comes alive, moisture flows from my sex, welcoming my lover. The light plays with me, teasing the insides of my thighs, exploring my skin, licking, tasting, kissing. I continue forward, binding myself tighter with each thrust. Sensation quickly runs down my back, hands firmly grasp my buttocks, pulling the cheeks apart as water flows through the crack, a tongue rimming my ass. I arch my back, trying to guide fingers toward my cunt that is aching with need. Soft laughter fills my ears as I realize I am too tightly bound to dictate touch or movement. I surrender, for the moment. As the last vestiges of control slip away I finally feel tongues and fingers envelop my pussy. I am in thrall to these wisps of light and the feel of water lapping at my very essence.
I respond to this panoply of lovers with every fiber of my being, relishing each taste, returning each touch, stroke for stroke. A cock enters me ever so slowly, my vagina expanding to accommodate the swelling. The geography of my inner walls kissing, sucking, fondling, marking its journey. My cunt muscles contract on withdrawal, memorizing shape and texture. The moment of loss that comes upon exit is balanced with the fullness of recurring penetration. The rocking motion of this exquisite fucking releases my clit from its hood. Tongues of light converge at its apex, lapping with great abandon.
My chest presses into the water, my nipples harden with passion. The water I displace surrounds me like a cocoon, soft, comforting. The air and light dance upon my body, faster and faster, their feet rippling with laughter, welcoming me. The intensity of it leading me to climax and a willingness to lock myself to only this, discarding all else.
With that comes panic. I lunge forward, breaking free, only to be bound again as the initial propulsion pales. My hands cup the water as one would a breast. My head breaks through the surface. With heaving breaths I gulp in air like a fish out of water. I descend again, then rise. I swim, breathing, denying breath, breathing, denying. The rhythm echoing in my ears, fear drumming into my soul.
I once saw, on television, whales mating. Moving effortlessly through water, side by side, the giant cock of one arcing across the other, following the curve of her body, covering nearly the circumference. They travel this way for days, fucking through hundreds of miles of water.
It is this scale of intimacy that drives me. To fuck like that, to savor, to explore, to taste and touch so completely, would bring us to orgasms of unfathomable intensity.
As I remember, my breathing steadies. My fears float away as if they had never bound me. I close my eyes, smiling as the light coils around me, holding me buoyant. My limbs reach out, gathering whispers of grace and beauty and love. I blanket myself within them. Once again I am caught in an intricate dance of light, water and life.
WHAT SHE HATH DESERVED
Alison Tyler
You have a twisted mind. You ought to be able to think of something suitable.”
I was facedown on Dean’s bed, and he was waiting, impatiently, for me to come up with my punishment, to name my poison. Just like in the Brothers Grimm’s version of “The Goose Girl,” in which an imposter princess is tricked into naming what ought to happen to someone who has behaved in the manner that she has. I knew better than to choose one of his regular toys of discipline because that would be too easy. A crop was fine for certain transgressions. But this was different. I’d asked his assistant, Marc, to lie to him. To lie for me. And Dean wouldn’t tolerate such disobedience.
“You write all day,” Dean said softly, bending now to be eye level with me.
That’s true. But words come easier for me through my fingers than my lips.
“Untie me,” I said, my voice raw.
Dean just stared.
“Untie me,” I repeated. “Let me have my notebook.”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like this request, at all. Maybe because I didn’t phrase the statement as a request.
“Please,” I added. “Please, Dean. Let me get to my notebook. I’ll write down what I think you should do to me….”
“What you think you deserve.”
“Yes, Dean,” I answered, more meekly. “Yes, Sir.”
“A script?” he asked, and I knew he didn’t want to act out something that I had penned, as if he were an actor, and I the director. No matter what we did, he needed to be in charge.
“No, Sir,” I said quickly. “My penance.”
Finally, Dean nodded. And smiled. He liked the concept, I could tell. He let me loose and then sat on the edge of the bed while I slid into panties, jeans, and a T-shirt. Casual, easy clothes for writing.
“You can’t watch me work,” I told him.
“You have a lot of demands.” There was a warning in his tone.
“I won’t be able to write if you’re staring at me.”
He stood up and looked at the clock on the nightstand. “You have an hour,” he said. Like the witch in The Wizard of Oz with her nasty hourglass. Sixty minutes. I hadn’t expected that.
Dean left the room, and I could hear the front door open and shut. He’d left the apartment, as well. I sat down on the bed with my notebook, and I stared at the blank page.
Blank. That was the perfect description of how I felt. I didn’t have any idea what I should tell Dean to do to me. Finally, for inspiration, I opened the closet door and started to rifle through the contents. There was a variety of costume-style outfits: naughty nurse, prisoner of love, 1920s flapper girl. All sexy, sheer, short, and tight. And then I looked at the shelf at the top of the closet—the rows of boots, and high heels, and marabou-tipped slippers, and…
At the end of the row was a bag I hadn’t noticed before. A doctor’s bag. I stood on tiptoe to reach it. Dean had never pulled this out before, and it had been tucked in such a way that I had thought it was simply another one of my purses.
Inside the bag was a selection of realistic-looking medical devices. And suddenly I knew what to write about. I didn’t know if I could handle what I was saying. Didn’t know if Dean would even be into what I was writing. But the shame that filled me as I penned the words made me sure that I would at least get credit for effort. I wasn’t going to stick to the same old style of punishment we’d played with in the past. Not a caning—public or private. Not a session in that hateful puppy cage. I spread out the various scary-looking items and started to write. The stainless steel speculums. The rectal thermometer. The rubber gloves, the old-fashioned enema syringe…
“She must be ill,” Marc, the assistant, murmured to the doctor.
“Yes, definitely. If she were well, she’d never act in such a naughty fashion.” A deep sigh. “We’ll need to do a thorough exam to determine the cause. It would be against my judgment to punish her until we know the cause for her malfunction.”
“What are you planning?” Marc asked, fingering the different items on the sterile tray.
“You’ll take care of the preparations. The enema. The shower. Record her temperature in her chart. And then I want her spread out on the table and readied for me.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
My heart was pounding. I’d written stories that skirted this issue before, but never really delved into it. Naughty patient, strict doctor. That’s nothing new. But the thought of Marc assisting Dean made me wet. And the knowledge that Dean had simply been waiting to play with me like this—that bag up there, where I could find it at any moment—that let me know that I must be on the right track. I crossed my legs tight and tried to continue. But in my head, I could already see Marc stripping me of my clothes, handing me some flimsy little hospital gown. Caring for me intimately at the instruction of his—and I had to say it, at least in my mind—Master. Because Marc was as much a slave as I was.
That thought stopped me. Just because I said the words, it didn’t make them true. I had to consider the concept. But it rang right. Marc didn’t simply punch a clock. No normal job required an assistant to spank a boss’s girlfriend. My head swam, and I tried my best to return to my story. One that I knew would be less fiction and more reality in a matter of minutes. Could I handle that?
I realized that there was no me in the piece. Not yet, anyway.
“Call her in.”
The patient entered the room, head down, cheeks flushed pink.
“You know the rules,” the doctor said, his voice stern, but calm. “Lying is a serious offence. But before you’re properly caned, we’ll need to make sure that you’re fully capable of withstanding the punishment.”
Oh, shit. Properly caned? Where the fuck had that come from? I crumpled the page and tossed it on the floor, then repacked the devices in that black medical bag and tucked it away once more at the top of the closet. I had to work to make the shelf appear undisturbed, and I was sheened with sweat by the time I sat down on the bed and started again.
What if I simply said that Marc should spank me for asking him to lie to Dean? He could bend me over one of the chairs in the living room. He could use his belt. That would make us even, wouldn’t it?
I started to write once more. The clock was ticking. I’d wasted precious moments going through the closet for inspiration, wasted more time on that fucked-up Doctor fantasy. Now, I did my best to capture a scene Dean would appreciate. He’d never watched Marc spank me. He’d probably get a thrill out of that, right?
“Bend over the chair, Carla. Hold tight to the arms.”
“Lift her skirt,” Dean instructed. “And pull her knickers down.”
