Made For Sex (23 page)
Authors: Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
“I can do a dance for you,” Sally said, bouncing up from the couch. Anticipation was the best part of the game.
“That would be nice,” Gil said, disappointed that she had moved away.
Sally put a tape in the player and whirled around the living room, flipping her skirt so Gil could catch glimpses of her undies. “Sometimes,” she giggled, “I do this without my panties. The wind feels funny when I twirl. Wanna see?”
Gil could only nod, his fingers playing with a fold in the sofa's leather. Quickly Sally pulled off her panties and twirled. In her ten minutes upstairs, Carla had run an electric razor over her groin and now her crotch was clean as a baby's. “Wheee,” she said, landing on the couch as if dizzy. “It's all tickly.” Since Gil was silent, Carla continued to lead him through the fantasy. “If you give me another candy, I'll let you touch where it's tickly.”
A bit dazed, Gil handed Carla the dish and she selected a caramel. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth. As he watched, she chewed the sticky candy slowly, moving it around her mouth with her tongue. She inserted a finger into her mouth and pulled a glob of candy free. “Now I'm all sticky,” she said. “Wanna lick?” She pointed her finger at his mouth and reflexively he opened and sucked her finger inside. She pulled just hard enough to create suction, then allowed him to draw her finger back in.
He flicked his tongue around her nail, sucking at the sweetness. “Wanna touch my tickly part?” she asked as she withdrew her finger.
“Yes,” he groaned. She lifted her skirt, took his hand and brushed his fingertips over her freshly shaved and lotioned flesh. “Oh Jesus,” he moaned, rubbing his palm over her now-hairless mound.
“You moaned, Mr. Smith. That's too bad. You must be hurting.” She patted the bulge in his pants. “When I hurt, Mommy takes all my clothes off and puts me to bed. Like this.” She whisked her dress off over her head and pulled off her shoes and socks. She stood before Gil dressed only in a white cotton undershirt, stretched to its limit by her large, unrestrained breasts. “You should take your clothes off if you're sick.”
He stood and removed his shirt, folding it carefully and placing it on a chair. He pulled off his slacks and straightened the creases with quick, efficient motions. His shoes and socks followed, then his underwear until all his clothing was folded and stacked in a neat pile. He stood in the middle of the living room, naked, with his long, slender erection poking straight out from his body like a large thorn on a long, skinny branch. His fingers stretched across his flat abdomen, twisting and untwisting.
“Wow,” Sally said, “you look different from me. You've got that thing sticking out. Can I touch it?” Without waiting for Gil to answer she cupped his prick and slid it through her hands. “It's very long and very hard,” she said. She touched, examined, and stroked his cock and balls as though she'd never held one before. “What does it do, Mr. Smith?” she asked, her voice high pitched and a wide-eyed innocent expression on her face.
He pulled back, unsure of his ability to control his body for long. “I'll show you, if you want.”
“Can I have candy when you're done?”
“Of course,” he said, barely able to keep the quaking from his voice. He sat on the sofa and pulled the little girl so she stood between his knees. “But first I have to make you ready.” The insides of her thighs were like the softest silk as his fingers tickled their way from her knee to her smooth, hairless crotch. She was already wet and his cock and balls were on fire with his need for her.
“Come here.” He pulled her so that she was kneeling astride his lap, straddling his cock. “Sit down right here and you'll understand.”
She opened a foil package she'd taken from the end table and unrolled the condom over Gil's cock. “A little girl is always prepared.” Without any delay, she sat on his erect cock. “That way? Is this what that's for?”
Gil rubbed the sides of the cotton undershirt. Avoiding her large breasts, which would have ruined the fantasy, he bucked and arched as she bounced in his lap. “God, yes,” he cried as an orgasm deeper than any he ever remembered overtook him. “Sally!”
Ten minutes later they were still in the same position and his hands had been quiet for the entire time. “Can I see you again?” he whispered.
“You have my number,” Carla whispered, rising and handing Gil a wad of tissues. “Call me anytime.”
He dressed quickly and, reliving the evening over and over, he left. Carla gathered her props and walked upstairs, considering. She was pleased at how deeply Gil had gotten into his fantasy. She had given him a wonderful evening and had earned five hundred dollars as well. It's amazing, she thought. I become part of almost every fantasy I play and so far I've enjoyed them all. She pulled off the white cotton undershirt and threw it and the rest of Sally's clothes into the hamper.
In the bathtub, she held the massager hose and played the spray over her freshly shaved pussy, thinking about Sally and Gil. It took only a few moments for her to climax. Bathed and relaxed, Carla climbed into bed.
Ronnie had always called her customers friends and now Carla realized why. These men were her friends, if only for one evening. She liked all the men she had been with and got tremendous pleasure out of satisfying them and, in doing that, satisfying herself.
No, she thought, a smile lighting her face. Although I like Bryce a lot and his offer is flattering, I don't want to give up the pleasures that I've found with my friends. At least not yet.
If Bryce could continue their relationship as it had been, that would be wonderful. And if he couldn't, then they would have to go their separate ways. She would miss him dreadfully, but not enough to make her give all this up.
She snuggled down, pulled the satin comforter up around her ears, and quickly fell asleep.
In Hopewell Junction, Ronnie sat in her living room with Jack, sipping a glass of diet Pepsi. She had just finished telling her husband about the lifestyle she, and now Carla, had established. “I enjoy helping my friends understand that their fantasies are not very different from the dreams that we all have at one time or another.”
“I know what you were involved in, of course,” Jack said, “but I had no real idea how much there was for men to experience.”
“It's fun, Jack,” Ronnie said, “and men pay me a great deal of money to share their fantasies with me.”
“Are you going to continue in the business?”
“How do you feel about it?”
“Now that I'm going to be in New York full time,” Jack said, “I guess I'd be upset if you spent time with other men. Of course, I'd love to meet Carla. You two seem to have become such good friends.”
“We certainly have. But if I gave up the business, what would I do all day to keep from being bored crazy?”
“I was thinking about the amount of writing that is connected with my job. There are going to be manuals and guides and scads of documentation. I'll hate that part and you'd be so good at it.”
“But what do I know about geological models?”
“Hey, babe. You've got a college degree in writing and you're very bright. I'll teach you how the model works and you can explain it on paper to the users. I know youâyou'd pick up what you needed to know very quickly.”
“You really think so?”
“I'd like you to give it a try.”
Ronnie winked at her husband. “I think I'd like that.”
“And you'd give up the business?”
“Only if I can play with you.”
“Play with me?”
“Men have been paying me a lot of money to play fantasy games. Wouldn't you like that? Some different ideas to spice up our sex life.”
“I guess we've never done much off-center stuff. But it's always been good just the way it is.”
“I know that. But variety is wonderful. Don't you have a fantasy that you'd like to act out with me?”
“I don't know. Like what?”
Ronnie reached into a paper bag she had put beside the couch and pulled out the black satin album. She slid over next to Jack, placed the book on his lap, and opened the front cover.
“Is that you?” Jack said. He turned the page. “That is you. Holy shit.”
Ronnie smiled and cuddled against her husband. “That's Marguerite, the stripper.” He turned the page. “And that's Nita, the harem girl, and on the next page is Miss Gilbert, who enjoys disciplining naughty students. And there are many more. Wanna play?”
“Holy shit,” Jack said, turning another page. “Holy shit.”
1
THE ROOM KEY
by Nichole St. Michelle
The party had been to honor his boss with a sales award and Rick had spent the evening talking with several witty, intelligent and engaging women. He had enough fodder for his fantasies to last for months. It was almost midnight when he finally walked into the elevator at the hotel, opened his tie and collar button and pulled the top stud from his shirt-front. As he dropped the stud into the pocket of his jacket, it clinked. He reached down and, in his right hand jacket pocket, he found a room key and a short note.
“I found you intriguing and exciting and thought you might enjoy a trip to my room. I'll be waiting for you. Room 207. If there's a red ribbon around the door handle, remove it and come in. If the ribbon's gone, then you're too late and I'll be very disappointed.”
No signature. No clue that would help him decide which of the women he had met that evening might be waiting for him. Nothing. As the elevator slowly rose, he pondered. This is ridiculous. Things like this don't happen to middleaged salesmen on a business trip to Palm Springs.
Rick wandered off the elevator at the third floor and walked toward his room, the woman's key and note still in his hand. He couldn't. He really couldn't. This was silly. It was probably some kind of weird practical joke. If he used the key he would discover some guy with a camera taking shots of dumb Midwesterners who were stupid enough to fall for this ploy.
Or worse, he would be knocked on the head and awake to find his wallet missing. Nah. He couldn't.
He looked at the key. Nondescript. Warm from the heat of his palm. Shaking his head, he returned to the elevator and pressed the second floor button. With resolute steps he walked toward 207, relieved to see the ribbon around the handle. She hadn't gone to sleep yet, he thought, and was amazed at his delight. He wanted this, bizarre though it might be. He untied the ribbon, stuffed it into his pocket and used the key to open the door.
The room was extremely dark, the light from behind him illuminating only a sofa and coffee table.
“Close it behind you,” a female voice said.
“What is this all about?” Rick asked.
“Close the door and I'll explain.” The voice was soft, melodious and totally nonthreatening. He closed the door behind him and the room was thrown into complete darkness.
“Okay,” he said, trying not to sound like a private detective from a cheap novel, “explain.”
“I watched you all evening and liked what I saw. You look like a man who would enjoy taking a chance, so I slipped that key into your pocket. Was I right? Do you enjoy taking a chance?”
Despite his scepticism, Rick found himself smiling. Audacious. Ridiculous. Nervy. And, he had to admit, fun. He chuckled. “Ten minutes ago I wouldn't have characterized myself as someone who takes chances, but I'm here, so I guess I am.”
“I want this to be totally anonymous, so I'll call you John and you can call me Mary. If it's all wonderful and we want to exchange true identities later, great. If not, you can leave with neither of us the wiser. Is that all right with you?”
Rick's grin widened. This was so outrageous. “It's great.”
“Tell me about you,” Mary said. “Are you married? Attached?”
“Hey, you're the one who said no details, no identities so let's just leave it at that.”
“Wonderful. I was hoping you'd say that. Come sit beside me.”
“I can't see my way around,” Rick said. “Where are you?”
“I've moved to the sofa you saw when you first arrived. Take five small steps forward and feel for the coffee table. Move around it to your left and sit down. I'll be beside you.
Slowly Rick moved forward, and cracked his shin on the table. “Ow. It's only three steps.”
Mary's laugh was throaty and warm. “Oh John, I'm so sorry.” He felt a hand on his hip, guiding him around the low table, and he dropped with a thud onto the sofa. The hand slipped down past his right knee and stroked his shin. “I'm really sorry about that.”
Enjoying the stroking, he waited a moment, then said, “It was the other leg.”
With more warm giggles, the hand moved to the other knee, then rubbed his left shin gently. “Better?” Mary said.
“Much.”
The hand slid up his leg and caressed his knee. “And this?”
“Oh, that's making everything much better.” Better? His cock had swelled until it was uncomfortable beneath his black tuxedo pants. The hand was rubbing his thigh, digging long nails into the flesh at the inside. He reached out, found the arm and slid his hand up to the shoulder. He encountered no clothing or jewelry. In silence, he rubbed across her shoulder to her neck. Cupping the back of Mary's head, he found her lips with his.
She leaned into the kiss, her tongue meeting his, thrusting, wanting, taking. It was like no kiss he had experienced. Brazen. Bold. It invited him to take more and he did. He tangled his fingers in short, wavy hair and moved his lips to her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, while her hands wrestled with his shirt studs. Finally, as he bit her earlobe, the studs were gone and Mary opened his shirt and scratched her nails down his bare chest. “Nice,” she purred. “Such soft hair.” She yanked.
“Ouch,” Rick yelled.
“That really doesn't hurt,” Mary said. “You feel like it should, but it's just very exciting. Isn't it, John? Tell me.”
Rick had to agree that his âouch' had been based on expectations, not reality. She was still pulling on a handful of chest hair and, rather than hurting, it was very erotic. “Two can play at that,” he said, grabbing a handful of her short hair.
“Yes,” she purred, “we can.” Suddenly the play got a bit rougher. It took only a moment for Rick to realize that Mary was naked. His hands rubbed over naked breasts, buttocks and thighs. They grabbed and took, rolling around on the sofa until they were panting, from both exertion and excitement.
“God, you're a sexy man,” Mary said. Rick felt her hands reaching for the waistband of his pants as he caressed her ribs. As she unbuttoned and unzipped, Rick fondled her breasts and pinched her nipples. He dipped his head and found a swollen bud with his mouth, nipping at the turgid tip with his teeth. As he sucked, hard, he felt her sharp in-take of breath, then her hand grasped the back of his neck, forcing his mouth even more tightly against her breast. “Umm,” she growled. “Yes. Do it!”
Rick's hand slid down Mary's belly and found her mound, hot, pressing against his questing fingers. He explored the folds and crevices, sliding easily over the wet slippery skin. “So hungry,” he said, finding her clit with his thumb.
“Yes,” she said, arching her back and pressing against his mouth and his hand. “Hungry for you.”
For long moments, he sucked and stroked, bit and invaded. Fingers filled her channel as her hands pulled off his pants and shorts. He released her long enough to pull off his socks and find his wallet. He unrolled a condom over his cock and, with her hands grasping his buttocks, filled her with his hard penis. It was more like two animals mating than two people making love. Hard, hot, driving, Rick found he had never felt more like an animal with a woman.
She held his ass and pounded her pussy upward onto his cock. Who was fucking whom? It was impossible to tell. Two people were taking pleasure. Taking and taking, while giving to each other as well.
Buried inside of her, his cock pulsed and drove. His mouth found her nipple and his finger found her clit. He could make her come. He
would
make her come. He would make her scream out her release before he came. He rubbed and sucked as she drove his cock into her. “Yes,” she yelled. “Yessssss.”
Although he couldn't feel her orgasm through the violence of their movements, he knew, and he came, roaring, “Oh, God, good.”
Panting, they lay together on the sofa, sweat trickling down his back and covering her chest under his hands. It was long minutes until she stirred. “I knew you'd be wonderful,” she purred softly.
“How did you know?”
“I just did,” Mary whispered. “But it's time to go now.”
“Go?” Rick said, totally puzzled. “I thought you said it was wonderful.”
“It was, but now it's over.”
“But you said that if we hit it off, we wouldn't have to remain anonymous. You know who I am, but I know nothing about you.”
Mary slithered from beneath Rick's body. “John, I know as little about you as you know about me.”
He heard the sounds of clothing rustling. She was dressing. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Mary in a big bed, doze and make love all night. Now she was leaving. “But⦔
“No buts,” she said. The door opened a crack and Rick closed his eyes against the sudden light. “This isn't my room. I just took it for this. And I put the key into the pockets of about a dozen men so I don't even know which one you are. The ribbon was to assure that only the first man to arrive would get in. You were very prompt.”
“So you don't know who I am and I don't know who you are.” His eyes were slowly becoming adjusted to the light so he squinted and made out the silhouette of a woman in a long dress standing beside the door.
“No, and I don't want to. Totally anonymous sex has always been a fantasy of mine, so it will stay anonymous. Good night, John.”
Rick smiled. Making love to a fantastic yet nameless and faceless woman had always been a fantasy of his as well. She had arranged it and it had been wonderful. He would return home tomorrow with a magic memory, untarnished by any trace of reality. “Yeah,” he said. “Good night, Mary.”
The woman left, closing the door behind her. Rick fumbled, found a lamp and flipped on the light. He blinked and, when his eyes adjusted, he gazed around the small sitting room, memorizing the furniture, the colors, the smells. Slowly he gathered his clothes and dressed. Unable to find his tie, he searched for several minutes. Unsuccessful in his search, he realized that she must have kept it. He had thought that he had seen something hanging from her hand as she left. And on the coffee table was a sheer light blue scarf. It was hers and she had left it for him. He pressed it against his nose, inhaling her fragrance.
With a sigh, he tucked the scarf into his pocket with the red ribbon, his souvenirs of an amazing evening. Then he turned off the lights, and left.
Fran Caputo sat back on her chair and reflexively tightened the scrunchy on her ponytail. Rotating her shoulders to relieve the tension, she clicked the mouse-pointer on the spellcheck icon and worked her way through the story, fixing typos and correcting her usually atrocious spelling. When she reached the end of the document, she clicked on the print icon and, while the printer turned out its pages, went into her tiny kitchen and poured herself a Caffeine-Free Diet Pepsi. Slugging down the entire glass, she realized it was long past dinnertime and she was ravenous. Quickly she slathered peanut butter on one slice of white bread, topped it with another and took a healthy bite.
She looked at the clock on the front of the microwave oven. 8:26. I have to stop doing this, she thought. I get a story banging around inside my head and I can't rest until it's on paper. She refilled her glass, wandered back to the spare bedroom she had set up as her office and picked the pages off the printer tray. As she rearranged them with the title page on top she reread the beginning.
The Room Key
by Nichole St. Michelle. “Nicki,” she said out loud, “you do write the most delicious stuff. You devil you.”
Grinning, she stuffed the sandwich into her mouth and washed it down with the second glass of Pepsi. Finished, she dropped the pack of pages onto her desk chair. Tomorrow she would do some final editing, although her writing seldom needed much, then go through the list of erotic publications to which she had become a semi-regular contributor and decide who would get the first chance at
The Room Key.
The money was small but nice and it was a thrill to have her efforts rewarded. She had to be constantly reminded that she could write a good erotic tale.
She rubbed the back of her neck. Where had the evening gone? It had been partly gone before she had left work. Jenny, who was supposed to relieve her, had been almost an hour late for her shift at the video store again. She had called, of course. “Hon,” she had said, “cover for me until I get there. Brad got the afternoon off and we, well, you know. Well, maybe you don't, but you understand. Please, hon?”
Jenny's husband drove a long-haul truck and it seemed that whenever they had a moment they were in bed together. Had her own short-lived marriage ever been like that? Fran wondered. Not really. Sex had been something they did sometimes. They did it because it was Tuesday night and they hadn't done it in a while. Eric would grab her breast, fondle her for a while, rub her crotch and, when she got damp, stuff his cock into her. Sometimes she really enjoyed it and a few times, when Eric climaxed, she had found herself disappointed that things were over. At other times, she merely endured and masturbated in private.
“But Jenny,” Fran had said into the phone, “it's already past four.”