Can't Get Enough (24 page)

She didn't need a man's money. She had her job at the bookstore for that. She didn't need his dick. She had an impressive collection of vibrators for that. She didn't even need the company.

Macy was just fine, and she had every intention of remaining that way.

For emphasis, Macy pushed the door closed with all her
might so that it slammed hard behind him, then she flung her tired, bare ass onto the sofa.

And it was in that moment between the door swinging shut and Macy hearing that telltale click and her ass making contact with the firm pillows of her chair that she realized that Ralph had forgotten something.

And she had forgotten something.

They
had forgotten something. And it rested just inside the shallow cavity of her curvy, white ass.

It wasn't foreign to Macy to fuck on the last day of the relationship. It was simply breakup sex. But she hadn't actually planned to dump Ralph today, which was why she let him do that…that
thing
in the first place.

Sure she had been curious, too, and she had rather enjoyed it, but Ralph had made the mistake of talking before they were completely finished and before she knew it, Macy had blown her top and asked him to leave.

Now she was stuck in her apartment alone, with a ten-inch string of pearls tucked inside her ass.

It was funny how the pearls weren't that uncomfortable until now; she wasn't as blatantly aware of their presence until she was stuck alone with them.

Macy knew the beads were harmless enough, but suddenly she felt as if she were sitting on a stick of dynamite. One tug and they'd explode.

Which meant she couldn't exactly run down the stairs and chase after him. She couldn't even imagine walking the ten or so feet to her bedroom to try to do it herself.

Of course, if she
could
do it herself, she could do so right here in her own living room, but she couldn't. They were wedged pretty far. Macy knew, because she had specifically asked for it that way.

She had been looking forward to the sensation of having them pulled from between her cheeks, the feeling of each bead popping through her anus as Ralph gently tugged.

Macy had to do something. She was getting worried now.

So she picked up the telephone and dialed Ralph's number.

“What?” Ralph asked.

And his voice was cold, colder than Macy had ever had ever heard it before. She was tempted to hang up the phone, but she was reminded by the tingling at the base of her anus that she couldn't do that just yet.

“Hi,” Macy said. “I just wanted to call and apologize.”

Ralph sighed. “Fuck that, Macy, you never apologize. Not for shit. Now, what in the hell do you want? I left your key on the fucking counter, if that's the reason.”

“No, it's not that, Ralph. I…”

“I'm hanging up now, Macy.”

“No!” Macy screamed into the phone. “Ralph, we forgot about the goddamned beads!”

“This was supposed to be fun.”

Macy said this as she got into position, leaning over the back of her love seat.

“It is fun, for me. Well, funny, that is,” Ralph said.

There Macy was biting her tongue again. She couldn't say what she wanted to say, not until these beads were out of her ass and Ralph was out of her apartment.

She was only naked from the waist down, but she felt as if her tanned body were fully exposed to her newly ex-boyfriend.

“Spread your legs,” Ralph said.

Macy looked back over her shoulder at Ralph. “What?”

Ralph sucked his teeth. “You have to spread 'em. You know how this works, Macy.”

Macy pushed her legs apart, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Now try and relax, because since you hate me now, it probably won't feel as good as it would have.”

She knew Ralph was relishing standing there over her, knowing he had the power and all the control over her. She didn't have many friends, and especially none that she trusted enough to pull anything out of her ass.

So Macy had to stifle it all just this once, until Ralph did what she needed.

Ralph started with the first two beads, which gave Macy such a sense of relief that her exhale blew the hair away from her face.

“Is it wrong of me to want to know how it feels?” Ralph asked.

Macy could have sworn his voice had gone soft, as if he was trying to sound sexy or something.

Her patience was wearing thin, but she was in a rather compromising…
position
. “No, Ralph, I suppose it wouldn't be so wrong.”

“Well, then,” Ralph said, “tell me.”

Macy thought for a while. Then she answered, “It feels relieving and relaxing.”

“And what else?'

“And painful and pleasant.”

“And?”

“And I want it to be over, but I don't.” Macy was mindlessly grinding now, her elbows and knees digging into the cushions.

Ralph gently tugged, releasing one bead at a time.

“I can tell you what it looks like, if you want to know,” Ralph said, still tugging.

“Go on. Tell me.”

“They look small and shiny slipping from between your cheeks. Your ass looks round and perfect holding on to the dangling string.”

“You always did exaggerate. And for the record, no one will ever mistake you for a poet.”

“Duly noted,” Ralph said and he added, “We're almost there.”

Macy briefly questioned the word “we,” but when Ralph accidentally brushed up against her thigh, she suddenly realized what he meant.

Macy was wet and Ralph was hard.

And coinciding with this realization came the exit of the final bead from Macy's anus. Her knees buckled in an unfamiliar mixture of pleasure and relief.

Ralph handed her the wet, white strand of pearls. Macy looked at them strangely before she took them from him and tossed them on the cushion.

“What?” Macy asked when she noticed him lingering.

“One for the road?” Ralph asked, while reaching up to pull her damp hair away from her freckled face.

Macy shrugged as nonchalantly as she could and said, “Sure, why not?”

After all it was just breakup sex, just Ralph stripping off his clothes and lying her across the love seat facedown to fuck her from behind.

However, it was no ordinary fuck. It was no doggy-style romp. From the feel of things, Ralph was going to fuck Macy in the ass.

She found herself biting into the velvety material when he entered her, and clenching her eyes shut as she tried not to tighten up around his cock.

Macy might have let herself be more vulnerable if she didn't
detest him so much in this moment. She became angry again thinking about the way he spoke to her and the ugly words he used.

The angrier Macy became, the harder she pushed her ass against Ralph's cock. She pushed back so hard on her knees that she knocked Ralph nearly off balance and he reached out to hold on to the back of the chair.

Ralph smacked her on the side of her hip. “Still mad, eh?”

“Fuck you,” Macy managed as her body began to vibrate.

“No, fuck you,” Ralph said, and pushed his cock in farther.

Macy couldn't recall a sweeter pain. She couldn't remember a time when she wanted to come so bad and had to work so hard to hold it back.

Following some sort of twisted instinct, Ralph reached down and around and placed his fingers on Macy's cunt. He began viciously pressing and rubbing against her clit while he continued to ass-fuck her.

Macy bit down on her pillow, her expensive pillow that she had almost thrown at Ralph before he walked out the door.

She was coming and she couldn't wait. She grabbed on to the arm of the love seat, pressing her fingers so firmly into the material that her knuckles turned red.

Ralph laughed that stupid laugh of his.

“I feel you all over my fingers,” he said. Then, “It's okay because here I come, too….”

Ralph burst steaming lava inside of her ass. There was so much that it leaked onto her cheeks and streamed slowly down the backs of her thighs.

“What a fuck of a lay,” Ralph exhaled, and got up to get dressed.

“By the way,” Macy said. “If you did want to kiss my ass, that would have been your one and only chance because you'll
never see it again.”

Ralph shook his head slowly as he opened the door.

He said, “You've got the best ass I've ever seen in my life, Macy. But, I swear, it's not worth the trouble.”

“Go to hell!” Macy said, and slammed the door shut in his face.

OBJECTS OF DESIRE

Annabeth Leong

S
amantha talked about shoving household objects up her cunt when she needed to get Brandon off quickly. When they fucked late at night, blurry and achy in the eyes, her made-up account of sticking a rolling pin inside herself could transform his dutiful, habitual motions to urgent, explosive thrusts.

She thought she was merely inventing those stories for him, until she noticed the world changing around her. Everywhere she went, everything she touched became a cock. In doctors' waiting rooms, she speculated about whether she could fuck herself with rolled-up magazines. In the hardware store, thick-handled tools left her weak in the knees. In the grocery store, she measured vegetables with hands and eyes, her mind wandering far outside the relative norm of cucumbers into the dangerous, prickly territory of brussels sprouts still attached to the branch and unpeeled artichokes.

She took these thoughts home for Brandon, of course, but they rumbled around inside Samantha as well.

Then she caught herself remembering. In college, when she felt too ashamed to buy a vibrator, she used to attempt to satisfy herself with a brush handle or a bottle of shampoo, squatting furtively in the dormitory shower to avoid gasping her pleasure where her roommate could hear. Once, her cunt had swallowed a new bar of soap whole with one smooth, alarming ripple of muscle. Samantha's heart had pounded then as she stuck fingers inside herself, desperate to fish it out. Still, if she was honest, the thought of being caught, of having to waddle to a phone to call for help with her cunt stuffed full, had thrilled her as much as it mortified her.

Not long after the soap incident, fear of hurting herself with improvised dildos forced Samantha to summon the courage to purchase a Magic Wand. She had forgotten the delicious shame she felt when she got desperate enough to fuck herself with whatever was available.

Now, trembling with the fantasies she'd reawakened by whispering to Brandon, Samantha realized she missed the dirty risks she used to take. She missed seeing if something could fit, if she could force it in despite an odd texture or protrusion. She missed being surprised, whether by pleasure or pain or both.

“I want to do it for real,” she told Brandon late one night, while he worked his cock in and out of her. “You can watch.” His ass jerked hard on his next thrust. His angular, shadowed face clenched tight, and he came.

Brandon collapsed against Samantha's neck, spouting apologies. She held up a hand to stop the flood of guilt. No time for that in the face of practical considerations. “Thank god tomorrow is Saturday,” she said. “I'm going to need a while. I'm going to fuck the whole damn kitchen.”

It didn't matter then that Brandon had a few beers in him from the bar they'd visited that night. As Samantha described
what she planned to do, his cock snaked longer inside her and got hard again. Samantha rolled them over so she could ride him. She listed kitchen utensils until they both came.

The next afternoon, Samantha sat Brandon in a chair in the corner of the kitchen and told him to stay still and be quiet. He frowned, the sharpness of his handsome features growing more pronounced. She kissed him rather than saying more, letting her mouth linger against his. She traced the shape of his jaw with her fingers. When she stood back, he gave her a lazy, heavy-lidded smile that absolved her of selfishness.

She had been more open with Brandon than with anyone, but this thing had to be wordless. He might think she wanted to do this for him, and she could let him. Really, she allowed him to watch as a thank-you for reawakening this old desire of hers. And she wanted a witness. Then, later, she could think about how someone else had seen her horny for the strangest cock of all, and shiver with shame. She didn't want to deal with him right now—not with his feelings, or whatever he might desire.

Samantha began by setting lube and condoms on the kitchen table. Older and wiser than her college self, she planned to mitigate the risks of shoving random objects up her pussy. She turned the lights down low and started up a mellow, bluesy playlist. Right now, she wanted to make herself forget Brandon was even in the room.

She stripped down to a camisole, no bra, and a pair of panties. Then she scanned the kitchen. Her eye first fell on a container full of cooking tools—spatulas, a potato masher, a whisk and a meat tenderizer.