Authors: Violet Blue
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors), #Erotica, #Romance, #Contemporary
Sweet Danger (6 page)
“That’s right, Al. Three. Not four—three. One of my leaves is missing. That’s not a good thing. Not a good thing at all. I asked you to do something and you didn’t do it. I’m afraid, Al, that you’ll have to be punished.”
Al’s face lit with a soft smile. “I understand.” He seemed to want to add something else (Ma’am, Sir, Mistress, something like that) but didn’t know what to say—yet.
“Good. Now strip.”
Al’s smile grew, took on a sweetness and a subtle
thank you,
and he did as he was told.
thank you,
and he did as he was told.
Next to one of the baskets went his hurriedly shed shirt, shoes, pants, socks, and underwear, until he stood in front of her, tall and lean, all long bones and tight muscles, and very, very hard.
Jeannine looked at his gently bobbing cock. It took a lot of control not to reach out and stroke it, suck it. “Very good,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. She doubted she’d ever seen him as hard. “Very, very good. Now, Al—” she tossed him the sheer panties “—put these on.”
At first Al didn’t do anything. He just stood in front of her, very hard, with a strange expression on his face. Later, when she had time to really think about it, Jeannine would realize that among the emotions that were zapping around inside her boyfriend’s mind—desire, suspicion, shame, fear, to name a few—the one that finally won out, that made him reach down and put one foot, then the other, into the satin undies and slowly, sensually draw them up his body, was relief.
“Very nice,” Jeannine said, surprising herself at her own sincerity. He really did look…not pretty, but definitely very sexy: his very hard cock tented the white material like he was trying to shoplift a javelin, and the sheer material was already growing damp at the end with pearly pre-come. Again, it took all of Jeannine’s control not to just lick the end, taste the salty bitterness. “Very sexy, Al—no, that’s not right. You’re not really Al, are you? Not right now.”
Al hung his head slightly, pulled his elbows and knees in, shrinking, getting younger, the rough and tumble Al fading away as Jeannine watched.
“Alice?” Jeannine said, the inspiration like a small shock. “Your name is Alice. Isn’t that right…Alice?”
Al—no, because her boyfriend was gone; Alice, her girlfriend with the white satin panties, very big clit, and very small boobs, nodded slowly, happily.
“You’re very pretty, Alice, in nothing but your white panties. Very sexy. Do you feel sexy, Alice?”
Alice smiled, radiantly, saying, but not with words:
Yes, very much so.
Yes, very much so.
“Turn around, Alice. Show me your sexy little body. Show me what you’ve got, slut.”
Alice chewed a thumbnail, eyes wide and moist.
“Do it, Alice—or do you want me to be upset?” Jeannine wanted to laugh, to cry at how excited they both seemed to feel. It wasn’t a game she’d played before—or would ever have thought about playing with Al—but with Alice it seemed right, natural, and most of all, way too much fun.
Alice’s eyes grew even wider. Then, slowly, shyly, she turned around, giving Jeannine a hesitant view of her boyish body.
“Very sexy,” Jeannine said, suddenly aware of her own wetness. “I really like you in my panties. In fact, I think you look even better in my panties than I do. They’re yours now.”
“T—thank you,” Alice said; even her voice was soft and almost innocent.
Jeannine leaned forward and grabbed hold of Alice’s huge clit in a powerful grip. Alice was startled, but Jeannine hung on and wouldn’t let her pull away. “You forget your place…Alice. Do you want me to be displeased?”
“N—no,” stammered Alice, hands falling to Jeannine’s. Touching, but not trying to pull them away.
“‘No,’ what? Who am I, Alice? What do you call me?”
Alice’s face burned bright red. Her lips quavered but no words came out.
“Say it, Alice—or I put you to bed without any supper.”
“Mistress…” whispered Alice. Then, with a bit more force: “Yes, Mistress,” like a weight had been lifted.
“That’s right. I’m your Mistress. Don’t you forget it, either.” She let go of Alice’s clit. The thin girl took a half step back in response.
“No—no, Mistress, I won’t forget,” Alice said, composing herself.
“You’d better not.” Jeannine reached out and ran her fingers up the length of Alice’s very hard, rhythmically flexing clit. “So beautiful—” she said, almost whispering. Shaking her head slowly, as if to clear it, she said in a louder voice, “Now then, slut. Where were we? Oh, yes, that’s right. You were giving me a show. I like a good show.”
Jeannine leaned back as if to inspect her new plaything. “Why don’t you show me how hard that clit of yours really is. Rub it for me, stroke it through your new panties. Do it. Do it now.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Alice said, her voice honey and all manner of sweetness. Palm down, she dropped one hand to the front of her panties and slowly started to rub herself.
“That’s it,” Jeannine said, gently parting her own legs in response, as if Alice’s clit was somehow connected directly to her own. “That’s it.”
“Thank you, Mistress, ” Alice said, her eyes glazing over in pleasure. As she rubbed, stroked herself, the front of her panties got wetter and wetter. Soon, the pale material was almost transparent, giving Jeannine a perfect view of the thin girl’s monstrous clit. “Thank you…” said Alice.
“Oh, yes, you slut. You love this, don’t you, slut? You love it, being the nasty little girl, putting on a show just for me. Yeah, that’s it; rub it, rub that sweet clit for me. Make those panties nice and hot and wet and sticky. Stroke it for me, stroke it….”
Alice bit down on her lip, her breath coming in shorter and shorter hisses until, finally, she didn’t make any sound at all but her body tensed as if a kind of wonderful voltage slammed through her. Rigid, locked tight in a shuddering orgasm, the front of her panties were suddenly soaked with her sticky juices.
In a barely controlled fall, Alice dropped down first to her knees and then face-first onto the carpet. She lay there for a long time, her body quivering and quaking with release, breaths now heavy and slow.
“Very, very good, slut,” Jeannine said reaching up under her simple skirt to hook a thumb into the waistband of her own everyday panties. “That was quite a show. Quite a
nice
show. I’m very impressed.” The panties came off, soaked through. She tossed them aside. “In fact, come here, Alice,” she said, her voice a husky whisper, “and taste how impressed I am.”
nice
show. I’m very impressed.” The panties came off, soaked through. She tossed them aside. “In fact, come here, Alice,” she said, her voice a husky whisper, “and taste how impressed I am.”
Slowly, weak only in body, Alice got to her knees and moved over to Jeannine until her face was parallel with Jeannine’s downy pubic hairs.
Now it was Jeannine’s turn to really smile, as the game got even better for her. Leaning down, she parted her plush lips, giving Alice a view of her very wet folds and pulsing clit. “Taste,” she managed to get out before her voice got completely caught in her throat.
Alice did. Alice did, indeed. Nuzzling up between Jeannine’s strong thighs she flicked her tongue over her clit. Hard and fast, slow and soft, Alice licked. Jeannine, standing above her but at that instant miles way, moaned and bucked, dipped and swayed in response.
Finally, the pressure that Alice had been applying to her peaked and she cried—her version short and sharp and loud compared to Alice’s almost silent and long one—and slid down to sit, hard, on the floor at Alice’s feet.
While her body was still working, she threw her hands around Alice, her girlfriend, and Al, her boyfriend, and cried hot tears of pleasure and wonderful discovery.
Some stories really do have happy endings. Al’s comic work continued to do well, receiving both critical and financial success. Jeannine’s store became a hallmark of the neighborhood. Al and Jeannine, and Alice and Jeannine were very happy together—and their whites were whiter, their colors brighter than ever before.
Full Body
SIMON TORRIO
After a long soak in the tub, I’m ready for a hand job. I climb out of the tub, towel off, and pass from the small hot tub area into the massage room. Even though there’s a door between them, the massage room still stinks of chlorine; it also smells vaguely of male sweat and more than a hint of mildew. I stretch out on the massage table with its threadbare sheet, dark blue so the stains won’t show. I pull the second sheet over my hard-on and flip the switch next to the table.
You come into the massage room a moment later. I look you up and down approvingly. You’re wearing skintight red hot pants, very low cut, top button unbuttoned. Your almost see-through white halter shows off the curves of your large breasts, and the slight peaks of your nipples stretch the fabric. Your long legs are perched on gold high heels. The gold doesn’t quite match your shoulder-length hair, a badly-bleached shade of yellow slightly messed up from the last client—I guess.
“Hi, I’m April,” you tell me, smiling.
“Hi, April,” I say, smiling at you as I let my eyes linger over your tits and the top button of your hot pants where the low waist shows off your hips. Your tattoo of stylized green and black ivy hovers around the top of the shorts, accenting the glint of your navel ring. I wonder if I’ll find anything else pierced down below.
You purse your full, garishly red lips, making them as kissable as possible. “A rubdown is included in the price,” you tell me, businesslike. “But if you’d like me to take off my top, it’s another fifty dollars.”
“How much for full service?” I ask.
“We don’t do that here,” you say, as if you’ve fielded the question a thousand times. “For me to take off my shorts, it’s seventy-five, and to see me totally nude it’s a hundred.”
“And how much is it to fuck you?” I ask.
“That’s not allowed,” you say. “Would you like me as I am, topless, shorts off, or fully nude?”
“That depends,” I say. “What are you wearing under those shorts?”
“Why don’t you pay me the seventy-five, and you can decide if you want the shorts off after you see.”
“What if I want to fuck you?”
“I don’t do that,” you say irritably.
I sigh in disappointment. “The money’s on the table,” I tell you. “That should be enough to let me fuck you.”
“I told you,” you say. “We don’t do that here.”
“Oral? I’d love to fuck that pretty mouth of yours,” I tell you, staring hungrily.
“No, I don’t do that, either.”
“Then at least give me a hand job,” I smile at you innocently. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“That’s not allowed either,” you tell me. “But if you’d like to finish yourself, that’s all right.”
“Take off your clothes,” I tell you.
You prance over to the tip table, tottering in your tacky high heels. You pick up the wad of money and count the twenty-dollar bills.
“This is way too much,” you say.
“I figured that’d be enough if I wanted to fuck you.”
“I told you, I don’t do that,” you say. “But this’ll get you fully nude. And full body.”
“Full body?”
“I’ll climb on top of you,” you say. “Only while you’re lying on your stomach.”
“And a hand job?”
You look down, guiltily. Your eyes flicker up and linger for a moment on the bulge under the sheet, the hard-on I’ve had since before you walked in the room.
“Yeah,” you say. “I can give you a release at the end.”
“Sold,” I tell you, and you roll the three hundred dollars up tight and put it in the pocket of your shorts. You come over to me and turn your back, leaning back to show me the tie of your white halter top.
“Will you untie me?” you ask.
I quickly curl my arm around you, move my hand up your belly and cup your breast, squeezing the nipple gently. It’s very hard.
“I’d rather rip it off of you,” I say.
“That’s not allowed,” you say, pulling away. You reach behind your back and untie the halter. Stretched tight, it pops forward around your tits. As I watch, you unfasten the tie at the back of your neck and let the halter slip away from your breasts. They’re big and round, gorgeous, with nipples that are much harder than when you walked in.
“Nice,” I say. “Now the shorts.”
You unbutton your fly and wriggle out of your shorts, sliding them down your long legs to show me perfect hips and a crotch covered only by a tiny, cheap red lace thong. You fold the halter and shorts together and place them on the table. You stand there for me to look at, and I smile.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask you. “Lose the thong.”
You peel the thong away from your pussy, and I discover that you’re shaved—smooth. You’ve got a ring in your clit and a heart-shaped tattoo just above your pussy, in the shaved patch. The name across it says
DADDY.
I can smell your cunt in the small room, musky and sweet. My cock pulses under the sheet.
DADDY.
I can smell your cunt in the small room, musky and sweet. My cock pulses under the sheet.
“Roll over,” you say, edging toward the table.
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