Can't Get Enough (5 page)

“Um, tonight, at the show, I should mention… Well, just please keep in mind that audience participation is optional, not mandatory. If your hand gets anywhere near my…pelvic area while I'm performing, the hard part won't be taking my clothes off. The hard part will be not getting aroused.”

“On the contrary—the hard part will be getting aroused.”

Lou groans while I giggle. He takes a gulp of air, then a gulp of orange juice. “I loathe you,” he tells me.

“I love you,” I tell him.

“I love you, too.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“More.”

Lou's lips touch my thigh. His lips are sticky, but then, so are mine. We complement each other so well. “I don't have to come,” I murmur.

Lou snickers. He reaches for the bottle of syrup, holds it over me, squeezes until it squirts. The sap taps my belly, keeps flowing. “Sit up slowly,” Lou instructs. “Don't scrunch your stomach or you'll ruin it.”

I follow his instructions to the letter.

“I put an
L
on you,” Lou croons to the tune of the Screamin' Jay Hawkins ditty, “because you're mine.” He belts up. “Therefore,” he continues, fixing me with a look that's both austere and sincere, “you have to come.”

I laugh until my belly aches, then smile until my face hurts. “Okay,” I say. “I'll be there with
L
's on.”

I got a big bang out of the show. With a little luck, I'll get a big bang out of Lou after the show. I deserve one—I kept my hands to myself, made sure I didn't accidentally arouse any of the hard parts in his pelvic area. However, some women in the audience, with their hornier-than-thou attitudes and suggestive suggestions, would have done well to follow my example. Because unlike them, I was on my best behavior. And now I want Lou in the worst way.

I try to maintain some semblance of self-control when he emerges from the dressing room, but it isn't easy. He's beaming at me and his dolphin-gray eyes are shining and they're just as radiant as his smile. Now he's got me in his clutches, flush against his frame so that I'm clinging to him almost as tightly as the light-blue T-shirt he's wearing. His chest fleshes out the shirt quite nicely, molding the material to his muscles. My heart bumps his ribs.

“I saw you leading the standing
O
,” he murmurs into my hair.

“I'd like to see you leading me to a standing
O
,” I counter, hugging harder. “In fact, any kind of
O
will do. This is no time to be picky about positions.”

Lou loosens his grip. I don't have much of one on myself, either. “I take it you aren't bothered by my new sex-symbol status?” he asks, guiding me toward the door.

“Not at all.” I slip my hand into his as he starts to walk
me home, just like he did when we were teenagers. “On the contrary—I'm hot and bothered by it. I don't have to follow that pesky look-but-don't-touch rule that everyone else does.” To drive home my point, I pull my hand loose and goose him.

Lou looks gratified yet mortified.

“What?” I shrug. “Can I help it if I get handy when I'm randy? If you don't like it, then don't be so desirable.”

The blush is back with a vengeance. “Thanks, beautiful,” Lou says, always gracious when I'm salacious. My shy guy and I round the corner, approaching our favorite watering hole. “Would you care for a cocktail?” he offers.

“Are they a package deal?” I'd like to know.

Lou regards me as if I'm one garment short of a full monty. “The cock and the tail—are they a package deal?” I clarify. “Because the way I see it, they're kind of like Danny and Sandy in
Grease
: they go together.”

“Good grief,” Lou mutters, shaking his head at my persistent prurience. “You know, Blaire, I used to bring out the best in you. Now I just bring out the beast in you. I think I may be losing my touch.”

“You can have mine,” I propose, and press my palm against his abdomen.

Lou places his hand over mine, cups his so that our fingers are touching. “What in the world am I going to do with you?” he contemplates. “Besides the…well, you know, the obvious.”

I tickle his belly. “How about an encore? Is that something you would do with me?”

Lou leads me up the walkway. “You mean a private show?” he ponders, easing the key inside the lock. “I'm afraid that isn't included in the ticket price.”

“That's fine. Rest assured you'll get plenty of buck for your bang.”

“You're a beast, beautiful,” Lou says, and I can hear the affection—and the arousal—in his voice. He shuts the door behind us.

When one door closes, so does another. This time it's the door to our bedroom.

“Why do you do that?” I query, slipping off my flats.

“Do what?” he asks, and his innocence is genuine.

“Why do you shut the door? Ain't nobody here but us dickens.”

Lou pushes his hands into his pockets, making his pants bulge in all the wrong places. “I just don't want opportunity to knock while we're…knocking boots, that's all.”

“That's right,” I play along. “Opportunity had better find a more opportune time to come and knock on
our
door.”

Lou laughs. “It's just comforting, I guess. Reassuring. I like doing it, so that when we're…doing it, we're completely alone together. Stuck on each other, stuck in here. Stuck in a never-ending state of embarrassing statements. Blaire, shut me up, please.”

I trap him in a lip-lock, effectively shutting his trap. Lou responds with a trap of his own: his arms. They fit around me snugly, securely, like a bodice.

“Blaire, darling,” he addresses me upon release, “let me entertain you.” Lou bows. It is gallant and grandiose and I can't help but feel like a princess.

Lou smiles, kicks off his shoes. “Wish me luck,” he says.

I don't heed. “There's no need. You lucked out with me. You're going to get lucky with me. Better not push your luck.”

“I'll take your advice,” Lou agrees, “and give you a kiss.” So saying, he places a preperformance peck on my cheek.

Lights up. Showtime. I lean back on the bed, supporting myself on my hands as Lou's hips begin to gyrate like Pelvis Presley. There is no music, just me and my private dancer,
standing before me in his tight T-shirt and Herculean hubris. I can almost hear him humming, “Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” I used to bring out the best in him. Now I bring out the beast in him, too. I am definitely not losing my touch. Lou watches me watch him—or maybe it's the other way around.

He lifts his shirt, curtain rising until the stage is bare. His chest is impeccable: a landscape of crimps and grooves and sinewy delights. I admire the undulation of his muscles as he moves. He is awkward yet graceful, confident yet modest.

Liquid lust soaks my panties. Each tingle mingles with the next, until my body starts to vibrate and my hips begin to roll.

“Are you trying to upstage me, Blaire?” he teases.

“Lou, button your lip and unbutton your pants.”

Lou buttons his lip and unbuttons his pants, and when they come off, he looks like the Michelangelo's
David
but with all the naughty bits covered.

“Now we know who wears the pants in this relationship,” Lou remarks, looking pointedly at my black slacks.

“Yes, we do. And it isn't you.” I take off my trousers. “And it certainly isn't me.”

Lou approaches the bed and I sit up as his body enters my space, right where it belongs. I love him—with my eyes, my heart, my hands. I touch the decadent dents in his abs. I touch the sculpted silhouette of his legs, and the thighs that could squeeze the juice out of lemons. I touch the contours of his cock, that hefty bump tucked inside his briefs, which are bright yellow and terribly tacky.

“I hate it when you wear those. It looks like Pac-Man is eating your package.”

“Everyone's a critic,” Lou grumbles. “And that includes me, by the way. Blaire, my love, your underwear is an obscene shade of blue. You look like a tropical fish.”

I glance down. “They are all wet, aren't they?”

Lou nods. He rids himself of his dreadful drawers and then rids me of mine.

I take a moment to marvel at my unclad lad. His cock is rather…spirited, with its stiff stem and rosy hue. “I can see why they cast you in the show.”

“Because I've got spunk?” he speculates.

“Yes, although technically it's your Mary Tyler Moornament that's got spunk.”

A slight spout emerges when I tap the shaft. Ah, wood that I could. And I can. So I shall.

We exchange positions and now he's seated on the bed and I'm seated on his lap. Our lips unite, stick together for a while.

Lou's cock knocks at the entrance.

“Come on in.”

There's a snug tug and he's inside, feeling right at home. His hands scale my breasts and his lips caress my ear, sharing wishes and kisses and words like
Blaire
and
love
and
beautiful
and others that I can't decipher.

“I never understood why they call them sweet nothings,” Lou ponders. “I think they should be called sweet somethings.”

You got to love a man who wears his hard-on his sleeve.

Our hips move in harmony, my body thriving on the driving force of his cock. But it isn't frantic. Bodies bumping, blood pumping, hearts thumping, we make love, not haste.

His eyes meet mine, and I notice the way he blinks in time with his thrusts, which are restrained yet restless.

I grind my groin against his—mildly at first, wildly at last.

He bursts inside me, a hot shot of spunk that causes my body to twist and turn, like the funnel of a tornado.

I let Lou slip out, but not away. A part of him stays with me—it is thick and clingy and makes me think of maple syrup.

In its pursuit of sappiness, my hand wanders between my thighs, then to his midsection, where my digits loop and dip and draw Lou's initial.

Lou laughs, admiring my amorous artwork. “It's beautiful, beautiful.”

“Thanks, Lou.” My smile stretches all the way from my soul to his, where they mate, just like we did. “Coming from you, that's one
L
of a compliment.”

ROCKET FUEL

Jacqueline Applebee

I
t's simple really: I can't get enough of cock. I love blow jobs, hand jobs, taking it up my arse or my cunt. I love the feel, the look and the smell of cock. But I absolutely, positively, adore everything about cum. Precum is a shiny, salty drop of promise. Spurts of cum feel like a champagne explosion. The rarest ejaculate of them all, postcum is like a precious essence that has to be treasured on the tip of my tongue.

People like to call me easy, like there's some merit in being difficult. I'm a friend, a lover and a good time all in one. I know what I want. I don't hurt anybody. When I get with a guy, everyone's a winner. And I do love getting with guys. My fuckbuddies included Steve, a cabdriver who worked erratic hours. There was Lester, a hospital orderly who liked to dress as his favourite comic-book characters at the weekend. And then there was Mukesh Singh, a librarian who hated his job, but refused to leave because it kept his parents from making him work in his uncle's restaurant.

I'd started to notice that my obsession with cock resulted in some strange side effects. I'd been seeing Mukesh more than my other buddies lately. Mukesh had long black hair and broad happy lips. His cock was a lovely length; not so long as to set off my gag reflex, but big enough to make me feel like I could suck him forever.

On one particular evening, I'd swallowed gush after gush of Mukesh's ejaculate. I couldn't keep it all in, but he kept on spouting forth the good stuff. We'd kissed after. That was when I felt a tingle deep inside me. My heart beat strong and fast. As I left his apartment, I saw my bus some way down the road. I started running, although I knew there was no way I'd catch it. The world whizzed by as my feet carried me at a dizzying speed. Much to my surprise, I ran straight past the bus. I had to double back to the bus stop so I could board it. I looked down at my feet and then back to Mukesh's home far in the distance. I was amazed.

I suppose everyone dreams of gaining superpowers at some stage of their lives. When I was a little girl, I'd watch colorful butterflies flitter around my garden. I used to wish I could join them in their dance. Well, I wasn't about to start flying anytime soon, but I was still exhilarated at the thought of what cum could do to me. I decided more experimentation was needed.

I turned up at Mukesh's workplace the next day. It was a small reference library with just enough rare books to make it a going concern. Mukesh was just about to go into the copy room when I caught him.

“Hey, Kim. I didn't expect to see you so soon.” He patted his pockets, and then checked his mobile phone. “Did you send me a text?”