Recess (2 page)

****

from THE NYMPHOMANIAC’S PILLOW BOOK

I can list every lover I’ve had. Their names are my poetry, my prayers. I can taste them on my tongue again when I whisper them in sequence. Jay, who tasted like Christmas and every birthday I’ve ever had, like rum and sugar. Thomas, who tasted like 3AM on a spring night when the streetlights had all gone out and the shadows kept their secrets. Joanna, sharp as honed metal and sour as the sea, but so very sweet when she came in a rush against my lips. Eddie, Safiyah, Christian and Miguel. Steve. Timothy. Jackson. Marie. Shelby. All of them and so many more, not all of them with names, but every one of them remembered by my senses.

Jay was my first.

He was as shy and quiet in school as I was. Because of that we were often paired together in our classes whenever group work was required. We’d talked, though only awkwardly. I knew he was an only child and that we almost shared a birthday. He knew my parents were strict and that I shared his taste in poetry.

I also knew that he had the nicest hands I’d ever seen. At eighteen, he had a man’s large hands and a piano player’s long, elegant fingers. He had calluses but I never asked why, just admired them quietly whenever I had opportunity to do so. His hands looked capable to me. They looked strong but also careful as Jay seemed to be both shy and sweet..

After my experience in my shower, I wanted very badly to see if a real person’s hands could feel as good on my body as the dream ones had. As the water ones had. And when I thought of hands, it was Jay who came to mind.

It wasn’t difficult to get him alone. At lunch, we would sometimes withdraw to the library; neither of us liked the cafeteria with its noise and the constant threat of some popular student targeting the less popular.

That day, the library seemed deserted at lunchtime. The librarian had disappeared into her office and we were left to our own devices. I asked him if he wanted to see something, something I’d found, something incredible. He agreed that he did. So I had him follow me into the deepest corner of the library, where the high shelves rose up all around us and the only witnesses would be the books we both enjoyed so much.

“
What is it?” he asked me, smiling. He was as curious as I was excited and it made me bold.

I took his hand, as much to keep him from running away as to guide him to my sweet spot. My parents insisted I swear skirts every day, long and frumpy looking things. I don’t think they realized how convenient I would find this. With my other hand I pulled up my skirt just enough that I could slide Jay’s hand beneath the bunched fabric.

I’d already taken the precaution of removing my panties in a stall in the bathroom; they were tucked safely away in my backpack.

So there was no obstruction, no barrier to his fingers brushing against my sex. I had been anticipating this moment and could feel the steaminess already there between my legs, as if I’d become a human version of a tropical rain forest. That humidity only increased when I felt the tips of his fingers, guided by mine as they stroked through the fuzz of down that dappled my nether lips. The angle was bad, my aim poor, but I thrilled to feel that touch all the same.

“
Here,” I whispered, looking up at him.

I’d never seen someone looking as shocked as he did in that moment. I could feel the way his arm locked, the muscles in it twisting like steel cables, and see the way his eyes had gone round, the way his mouth had opened in a circle of surprise. He stared at me, too stunned to pull away.

And then I felt his fingers twitch against me, compressing the softness of the flesh between my thighs and beneath his hand, and I knew it would be all right.

I let him go but he kept his hand against my sex. By backing into the corner, I was able to get my foot up against the edge of the shelf, the way I’d lifted it in the shower. I had the shelves to hang onto for balance and Jay’s support, besides. He was frozen there, leaning towards me with my skirt ruffled up and draped over his forearm and my pussy coating his fingers in thick, slippery oil.

It felt like my chest was going to burst and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I gasped for air and then spent it immediately in another whisper.

“
Rub me there, Jay. Right at the top. It feels so good when I’m touched there. Please.”

****

from THE ZODIAC CLUB

“
Isn’t she pretty?” Sage asked. “A little tall, maybe, but look at that figure. She’s a handful anywhere you grab, gentlemen. Give us a twirl, Jane.”

I narrowed my eyes at Sage. This wasn’t our game and she knew it. But it wasn’t wise to cross the leader of your house, not if you wanted to stay in the Zodiac Club. If Sagittarius cut me loose, I might still be sponsored by one of the other leaders, but that almost never happened. Why would they, when there were always pretty young things begging to be part of the city’s wet dream? Pretty young things who came without the baggage of a house leader’s ire. No, without Sage I would go back to a life of dirty dishes and American Idol on the television. Morning radio. One bland day after the next.

I spread my arms a little, palms down, and spun on one toe. The gown fluttered around my calves. When I turned away, I heard a murmur of appreciation; I realized that the Oettinger children were admiring the bare curve of my back, the taut flare of skin just above my bottom. It was humiliating, and I flushed with anger.

“
Lovely,” Sage confirmed. I wasn’t sure that she’d even looked. Then she said, “Come and sit down,” and when I moved towards an empty chair, she nudged the underside of the table with her knee. It brought me up short.

“
No, Jane. Right up here.”

I stood still for a moment, fighting to keep the color from my cheeks. My jaw clenched. Then I turned and carefully slid my rear up onto the table. It was crowded with the lunch dishes, so I had to perch on the very edge. I fused my knees together and let my feet dangle.

Sage smiled at me with her fierce white teeth. “Come on, don’t be coy. We know you’re not coy. Make a space.” She glanced at the plates, then back at me.

My heart beat faster. Sage spoke lightly, but there was something dangerous in that lightness; I would have preferred a growl. Looking down, trying to ignore the boys who still watched me with evident pleasure, I wriggled my ass until I’d cleared a space to sit with my knees at the table’s edge. Plates and glasses chimed around me as I moved.

Sage said, “That’s better. You see, gentlemen, Jane recently revealed to me her taste for fooling around in public. And since I know you’ve been curious about our little club…” She shrugged helplessly. “The steaks here are amazing, but the dessert is terrible.”

I inhaled softly and studied my hands, layered in my lap. I was appalled but unsurprised when Sage said, “Jane, pull up your skirt.”

I glared at her. Damned if I was going to show those man-children the parts of myself that even my lovers had worked to reach. Then Sage’s eyes met mine, black and boiling thickly like oil. She kept her seat, but in those eyes she’d crawled across the table and seized me by the throat. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

Slowly at first, watching Sage, I gathered my skirt into my hands. The silk whispered up from ankles to calves, then puddled between my knees on the table. Raising one knee and then the other, I laid bare the creamy flesh of my thighs, and finally— my last humiliation— the trimmed red hair of my sex.

Sage’s eyes never seemed to leave mine, but I saw her moisten her lips. I realized that in her way, she was as intent on my sordid display as Eliot and Adam, who smirked and whispered together like schoolboys. Being watched by those molten, hungry eyes did something to me. The skin around my nipples prickled, and I felt the first wash of slickness between my legs. I hoped to God the Oettingers couldn’t see how ready I was to be touched.

“
You like to have your pussy licked, don’t you Jane? Ask our guests to lick your pussy.”

I swallowed, then murmured, “Please lick my pussy. Please.” But I was saying it to Sage.

The twins needed no further invitation to come and enjoy their dessert. Adam knelt in front of me, put his hands on my thighs and pushed my legs apart. I wasn’t angled right, so he grasped my bare buttocks under my dress and tugged me to the edge of the table, forcing me to throw my hands out behind myself in order to keep my balance. That posture presented the plump lips of my sex to him; he grinned, then leaned in and put his mouth on me.

####

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About the Author:

Corinna Parr has a taste for erotica and a knack for words. She lives in Canada, where she daydreams about the day when she can give up her 9 to 5 job and take up writing naughty things full-time. Until then, she stays warm and inspired by pouring her free time into “research” with her muse, the man she calls Sir.

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With Thanks to:

My Sir. Without your love, support and encouragement (and the occasional spanking), I would be living in a sad, grey world. Thank you for loving me, for keeping me writing and for providing endless inspiration for new naughty tales.

My family, who believed full bookshelves were the best way to decorate a home, and who taught me how to read quickly for fear of having the latest library find or bookstore discovery swiped when it was set down.

You, sweet reader. There is no finer thing for a writer than to know there is an audience out there, waiting with bated breath for the next installment. Thank you for your support.