Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 97 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  He’s hanging out in a club up the street; I’ve been instructed to drive into the alley and wait for him in the backseat. I send him a text to let him know I’ve arrived, and arrange myself to be ready for him. He leaves the club and approaches my car. I’m wearing a cream-colored knee-length A-line leather skirt. The material is so soft and buttery that most admirers don’t even recognize that it’s made out of leather—at first glance anyway. This skirt always gets a second glance. It’s not short, it’s not tight, and it’s not an eye-catching color. But it manages to exude a subtle sexiness. It’s a great skirt for a dominant woman to wear, because of its strict lines. But I’m a submissive, and I like to wear it to feel encased in it, bound by the leather, however loosely, as it falls around my thighs. There’s a rap at the window, and I reach over to unlock the door and let him in. Let him get in. Let him come in and fuck me. As requested, I’m not wearing any panties, although this time it’s not because of the length of my skirt, of course, but because of other constraints of the scene. Namely, he wants quick and easy access to my cunt; he wants to fuck me quickly and then leave me to go back to his friends at the club. It’s all been prearranged. We move like we’re dancing. Only there’s no music, just the sound of leather rubbing against vinyl, and breathing. His breath and mine—mostly mine as he’s fucking me hard and I’m struggling to endure it, to take it all in. He’s packing this time, all right, using one of his biggest cocks. The day was hot but the night is cold. The windows steam over, and, as I’m parked illegally in a one-way dimly lit alley, I’m beginning to worry if we’ll attract any unwanted attention. He doesn’t seem to be concerned. He was cavalier from the moment he entered the car. He hasn’t said a word to me, in fact. Just leapt in, closed and locked the door behind him, shoved me down onto my stomach, and used one hand to pull his cock out while the other pushed my skirt up. He’s gripping my skirt, the thin leather bunched into his fist. One of my arms is pinned under me, but with my other I start to reach out and run my hand along his pant leg. I discover he’s wearing leather chaps over his jeans, and that they fit nice and snug. I try to reach far enough to get to the edge of the leather, so I can stroke his crotch. But he’s not having any of this, doesn’t want me to move. He rams his cock into me to the hilt and uses both his arms to hold me down, immobilizing me.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  I sucked in a gulp of air and tried to will my body to stop shaking. This all was certainly different from the last time she’d driven me to my meetings, which had just been a few months ago, when I was still married and spent the majority of the time in her limo arguing with my ex-husband on my cell phone. She’d remained silent, but I’d seen her knowing smirks in the rearview mirror. At any rate, now it looked like she wanted to take me on a different kind of ride. She pushed me so my back was pressed flush against the leather seat and straddled my body. She didn’t even bother to kiss me as her lips seared the delicate skin of my throat and her hands kneaded my breasts over my wool peacoat. The sensations she was creating in me clouded my head, but I still managed to grab her thin wrists and choke out, “What are you doing?” “Anything you want,” she said, and added with a grin, “that I want, too.” She finally kissed me, and in that moment I was reminded of smoky bonfires, wild blooming orchids, and pristine white beaches at night. I moaned as her fingers slipped inside my coat to unbutton my silk shirt. “I know you need this,” she continued. “I can tell.” She pushed my bra upward on my chest, exposing my small breasts, and coaxed my tiny nipples to life. They hardened beneath her touch, and her mouth left mine to travel down to my left breast. Her teeth scraped at the sensitive skin there, and I whimpered, not knowing whether to beg her for more or to beg her to stop. I’d never been with a woman before, aside from kissing my high school best friend once during a game of spin the bottle. But that had been an attempt to show how sexually liberated we were at the ripe age of fifteen, as well as to seduce a roomful of teenage boys who couldn’t believe their good luck. This—with Sabra—was significantly different. To Sabra, it seemed like men didn’t exist. At least, that was the impression I’d gotten the last time I saw her. My meeting had ended early, and I’d headed back to the limo only to find her sandwiching a coat-check girl between her body and the vehicle, oblivious to the stunned and intrigued looks that the men passing by were shooting them. It was clear that Sabra didn’t want men, she didn’t need them, and she certainly didn’t feel compelled to seduce them. There was something exciting and free about that. Still, that meant her want for me was genuine, and that frightened me. “I don’t know about this,” I admitted. Her hand had drifted down to the top button of my pants.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  It was my pleasure.” “Oh. All right.” A deep crimson flush spread over my cheeks as I realized the implications of my actions. The tip had been intended for the driving portion of the evening, and she smiled, assuring me that she understood. “I hope you found everything to your liking, and that you’ll call on Valvani Limousine Service in the future,” she said, spicing up the requisite business script with her enigmatic grin. “I will,” I promised, and watched her walk down the path back to her limo. As she yanked open the driver’s side door, I blurted out, “Thanks for the ride.” Sabra gave me a wink and tipped her cap at me. “You know it, Ms. K.” She slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb, and I stood on the top step and stared long after the limo had glided down the street and out of sight, well aware that she’d not only changed my mind, but opened it as well. WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD Aimee Pearl We’re walking down the street and he’s fucking me. Everything’s slippery and delicious. This is all true. We’re at the Folsom Street Fair—the annual outdoor kinkfest—and it’s a hot San Francisco September day, hot in a way that only San Francisco can be, and only in September, a wet heat. There’s a swelling between my legs. He’s going to make me gush. We’re walking in broad daylight. The crowd is thick around us. He rubs a wet thumb against my clit. We move side by side in stride, no pauses. I wonder... If anyone looked down toward my crotch, they might see his right hand sneaking around the edge of my bright cherry red latex micromini. They might realize that he’s got a finger sliding between my lower lips. What would they think? What would they say? My skirt is so short that it doesn’t cover the full curve of my ass. You can see my cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the shiny rubber coating. I can’t wear panties in this, and I can’t sit. Can only stand. Can only keep on walking. While he fucks me. He’s devilishly handsome, this one. His skin is the color of a toasted hazelnut, and twice as tasty. We’ve fucked many times before, but never like this. Never outdoors, in the middle of the street, digits stretching wet rubber wide. The red of my skirt is polished to a gleam, and I love the way the color looks metallic against my velvet-soft brown skin. This was the first piece of latex I ever bought, the first one I ever tried on. Its tightness around my narrow waist, rounded hips, and plump ass makes me look and feel space-alien-exotic, and draws attention to the fullest part of my body.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  Right then, I wanted her more than ever. I wanted to be her. We reached the front door, and I snapped open my purse, looking for my wallet. Sabra held up her hand. “No need. It was my pleasure.” “Oh. All right.” A deep crimson flush spread over my cheeks as I realized the implications of my actions. The tip had been intended for the driving portion of the evening, and she smiled, assuring me that she understood. “I hope you found everything to your liking, and that you’ll call on Valvani Limousine Service in the future,” she said, spicing up the requisite business script with her enigmatic grin. “I will,” I promised, and watched her walk down the path back to her limo. As she yanked open the driver’s side door, I blurted out, “Thanks for the ride.” Sabra gave me a wink and tipped her cap at me. “You know it, Ms. K.” She slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb, and I stood on the top step and stared long after the limo had glided down the street and out of sight, well aware that she’d not only changed my mind, but opened it as well. WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD Aimee Pearl W e’re walking down the street and he’s fucking me. Everything’s slippery and delicious. This is all true. We’re at the Folsom Street Fair—the annual outdoor kinkfest—and it’s a hot San Francisco September day, hot in a way that only San Francisco can be, and only in September, a wet heat. There’s a swelling between my legs. He’s going to make me gush. We’re walking in broad daylight. The crowd is thick around us. He rubs a wet thumb against my clit. We move side by side in stride, no pauses. I wonder… If anyone looked down toward my crotch, they might see his right hand sneaking around the edge of my bright cherry red latex micromini. They might realize that he’s got a finger sliding between my lower lips. What would they think? What would they say? My skirt is so short that it doesn’t cover the full curve of my ass. You can see my cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the shiny rubber coating. I can’t wear panties in this, and I can’t sit. Can only stand. Can only keep on walking. While he fucks me. He’s devilishly handsome, this one. His skin is the color of a toasted hazelnut, and twice as tasty. We’ve fucked many times before, but never like this. Never outdoors, in the middle of the street, digits stretching wet rubber wide.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  I bang the door behind me and stroll down the hill from my apartment. I live in an ancient cathedral city where small, beautiful medieval churches cluster and old flint-faced walls run into each other. Beautiful, but it’s difficult to find the sex I need in this small, provincial place. I walk to the riverside, leaving little trails of iced breath in the dark air behind me. Dirty water slaps against the moorings and a line of grubby white cruising boats. I slouch my shoulders forward just a tiny bit and check that my jacket covers my small tits. It does. I step across the toll bridge and into the wooded park that marks the beginning of the local cruising area for gay men. I’ve become used to getting my kicks vicariously. I enjoy the ambiance. Strange men stalk between the trees, crunching leaves underfoot. Some of them walk dogs and feign nonchalance. I’ve even seen a few round here in business suits—no doubt, their wives are left waiting at home as they sully loafers in the mud and snag holes in pinstripe, rubbing against the rough bark of a tree as they’re taken brutally and swiftly by a faceless man they met twenty seconds ago. A whole new language of looks and come-ons develops. Rejection is as subtle as the tilt of a head. Tonight the air is spiced with the smoky tang of autumn and a sharp, slowly trickling sense of muted danger. Dark parkland, bushes, and trees lie ahead of me. Often I catch men fucking and stand and watch them—on their hands and knees, being shunted hard from behind, or half hidden by a bush having a thickening cock rammed into their warm mouths; even sitting on one of the forgotten park benches stroking each other’s dick.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  “Of course.” I tried to sound as casual as she did. We got dressed fairly quickly, and she opened the door for me to step out on my wobbly legs. “I’ll walk you up,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she offered me her arm. “You don’t have to.” “I insist.” “All right,” I said, suddenly feeling shy again. I held on to her elbow as we walked up the steps to the front door. I admired the way she moved, so unashamed and with no regrets. Right then, I wanted her more than ever. I wanted to be her. We reached the front door, and I snapped open my purse, looking for my wallet. Sabra held up her hand. “No need. It was my pleasure.” “Oh. All right.” A deep crimson flush spread over my cheeks as I realized the implications of my actions. The tip had been intended for the driving portion of the evening, and she smiled, assuring me that she understood. “I hope you found everything to your liking, and that you’ll call on Valvani Limousine Service in the future,” she said, spicing up the requisite business script with her enigmatic grin. “I will,” I promised, and watched her walk down the path back to her limo. As she yanked open the driver’s side door, I blurted out, “Thanks for the ride.” Sabra gave me a wink and tipped her cap at me. “You know it, Ms. K.” She slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb, and I stood on the top step and stared long after the limo had glided down the street and out of sight, well aware that she’d not only changed my mind, but opened it as well. WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD Aimee Pearl We’re walking down the street and he’s fucking me. Everything’s slippery and delicious. This is all true. We’re at the Folsom Street Fair—the annual outdoor kinkfest—and it’s a hot San Francisco September day, hot in a way that only San Francisco can be, and only in September, a wet heat. There’s a swelling between my legs. He’s going to make me gush. We’re walking in broad daylight. The crowd is thick around us. He rubs a wet thumb against my clit. We move side by side in stride, no pauses. I wonder… If anyone looked down toward my crotch, they might see his right hand sneaking around the edge of my bright cherry red latex micromini. They might realize that he’s got a finger sliding between my lower lips. What would they think? What would they say? My skirt is so short that it doesn’t cover the full curve of my ass. You can see my cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the shiny rubber coating. I can’t wear panties in this, and I can’t sit. Can only stand. Can only keep on walking. While he fucks me.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  This weekend.” “Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say, hoping she’d let me know what had been on her mind. We’d been so busy working, too tired and stretched to hook up, that we’d drifted apart. I didn’t like feeling like I was in this alone—the only one worried that our relationship was on its last legs. Friends had introduced us, knowing that both Kari and I had dated women before and knowing my preference for waiflike blondes. We shared a lot of the same interests, were close to the same age. I’d ended a long relationship and hadn’t really wanted to fall directly into another, but I did want companionship. We’d landed in bed together that same night, the attraction so hot and fast that it took my breath away. She was like that. A bolt of lightning not easily captured. Even from the start, I began preparing myself for it to end. I must have stared at the fire too long. A kiss landed on my shoulder. A hand slipped beneath the hem of my tank and glided upward to cup a breast. Kari moved closer and her body snuggled against my back. Again, that urgent desperation to connect filled me. I leaned away and drew the shirt over my head, then leaned back again, letting the fire warm my front, her supple body heat my back. I reached behind me and sank my fingers in her silky hair, waiting. Lips trailed along my neck. “Wanna fuck?” she whispered and bit my earlobe. I smiled, then shivered because her fingers plucked my nipple a little too hard. “So long as I get a taste and soon.” Soft laughter gusted against my skin, and she pulled away. I turned to watch as she stripped. She walked naked toward her backpack and drew out a long, thick dildo—one I hadn’t seen before. “I’ve been saving this.” I lay on my back and shimmied out of my jeans and panties. Watching her rub the gel-shaft around her lips as she walked to me made me wonder again whether she was seeing anyone—someone with a set of balls, because she did love cock. “Shall I?” I asked, rising on my elbows. Kari liked to be shafted while I sucked her clit. “Later. I’m going to play first.” She pressed her heel into my shoulder and shoved me to my back. Then she placed her feet on either side of my hips and squatted. “You have been way too uptight lately.” “I’ve missed you.” “You missed this, don’t you mean?” Her eyes narrowed into catlike slits. “Margot’s a grumpy girl when she doesn’t get some.” She dropped the dildo on the rug and leaned over me, the change of angle rubbing her wet pussy against my mound.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  Title : Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories Author: Algren, Alex [image file=image_8.jpg] [image file=image_19.jpg] Table of Contents Title Page JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH SABRA WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD THE WEEKEND CRUISING BUSTED ABOUT THE AUTHORS Copyright Page JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH Rachel Kramer Bussel It was the middle of summer, and my girlfriend Jill and I had taken a long weekend to relax and enjoy the sun, and each other. Our jobs don’t cut us much slack, so it was mid-August before we had our first real chance to get away. She’d never been to the beach with me so she had no clue what to expect. She probably thought she’d simply slather on some cocoa butter, indulge in a meaty paperback, and swim till she became exhausted. She’d be exhausted, all right, by the end of the day—but not from sitting around. We’d borrowed our friend’s keys to the secluded, members-only beach, so our privacy would be guaranteed. I settled into my chair and watched as she went through her elaborate beach ritual, her body snug in her new Pucci print bikini, pushing her tits out until you’d have to be blind not to see them. She slowly oiled herself, moving up one arm, down the next, all over her exposed chest and cute stomach. She bent forward, treating me to a view of her perfect ass as she slathered the white liquid onto her toes, ankles, and calves. I had to shift in my seat as she kept going, her brow furrowed as she tried to get every last spot, contorting this way and that as her hand reached behind to get her back. Seeing her ass sticking right out in front of me, so perfect she could be a model, I sat on my hands in order not to reach out and squeeze those precious cheeks. Usually when she bends over like that, it’s so I can give her a nice, hard smack. I crossed my legs in the chair and felt my pussy contract. Watching her is my favorite spectator sport. She loves to tan, and often steals a few hours of sun on our roof in the mornings. In preparation for this outing, she’d tried on swimsuit after swimsuit, modeling the barely-there materials that accentuated every bulging, glistening curve.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  He’s devilishly handsome, this one. His skin is the color of a toasted hazelnut, and twice as tasty. We’ve fucked many times before, but never like this. Never outdoors, in the middle of the street, digits stretching wet rubber wide. The red of my skirt is polished to a gleam, and I love the way the color looks metallic against my velvet-soft brown skin. This was the first piece of latex I ever bought, the first one I ever tried on. Its tightness around my narrow waist, rounded hips, and plump ass makes me look and feel space-alien-exotic, and draws attention to the fullest part of my body. Yes, my butt has stopped traffic. Who doesn’t like to look at a black diva in red rubber? For now, though, we’re blending in, seeping into the throng around us. He’s giving me a teasing fuck and my cunt is starting to ache with desire. Pretty soon, I’ll want more fingers, I’ll want to swallow his fist whole. We’ve got to find a doorway to lean into. I can’t come while walking. I’m perched on spiked heels and might fall over. The orgasms he gives me have been known to cause great commotion. We find an alley and he pounds me quick and hard, leaves me wet and feeling dirty. This boy has a way with those hands of his. He once made me come while I prepared a cup of tea, holding the kettle, boiling hot and full, precariously. He came behind me at the stove and rammed four fingers into me. Undid me. Unraveled me. I don’t know how I managed to pour steady after that. But I did. We’re discovered in our crevice by onlookers, dykes from around town, smiling at the queer couple that is us. I wish he was packing, so that we could give ’em a real show. Unfortunately, he left his dick at home today. Who needs it, I guess, when you’ve got hands like his? Still, I do crave his cock sometimes. For a moment, as he fucks me roughly one more time for our audience, I imagine him, silicone in hand, rubbing his rubber-covered rubber dick against my rubber-covered rear. Rolling up latex for greater access. Sliding toy into tightness. A fetishistic ass-fuck on a city street, sweaty. I do it again. Come.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  She squirmed and tried to move but I knelt on top of her, straddling her as I brought the ice toward her skin, running it along her neck and over her breasts, lingering on her nipples until they stood out, hard and beaded. She whimpered, and I took advantage of her open mouth to slide the half-melted cube inside. I rubbed another cube over her bikini bottom, icing it up before sliding the ice all the way down one leg, then back up, doing the same with the other. I let her finish the cube in her mouth, sucking on it deliciously. “Are you still ready?” I teased her as I peeled off her bikini, slowly dragging it down her legs. In response, she spread her legs, showing me the pussy that never fails to elicit a raw, animalistic urge to fuck her. I moved so that my own cunt was balanced on my heel, grinding against my foot as I held open her lips with one hand and rubbed an ice cube against her opening with the other. She gasped and tried to squirm away, and when I removed the cube, she cried out. “Keep going, please, Alex, I need it,” she begged. I slid the cube up and down her already slippery slit, pressing it against her clit before sliding it lower and then pushing it inside. I played with the ice, rubbing it against her inner walls and watching as the water dripped out of her, feeling her squeeze my fingers on this frozen delight. “Good girl,” I told her, and that phrase, with my fingers slamming into her, was enough to set her off into a roaring orgasm, her whole body shaking as she clutched me for dear life. I rode it out with her, pressing my own heel against my tingling cunt, aroused beyond belief. Now I was getting her where I wanted her. The sun was making me feel delirious. “Okay, bathing beauty, now it’s time for a little contest. Well, you’re the only contestant—but I still expect you to do be an excellent performer.” I sat in the chair, mustering all the height and haughtiness I could. I looked her up and down like a sleazy judge at a cheap beauty contest. “Come over here and turn around for me.” She complied by strutting around, even bending over, showing off her curvy ass. I gave her butt a light squeeze, then made her put her bikini bottom back on and handed her a skimpy shirt. “We’re going to have a wet T-shirt contest now, so I need you to take off your top, put on this shirt, and then get in the water. You’ll be judged like in the Olympics, on a scale of one to ten, with points for clinginess, sex appeal, and originality. You can do whatever you want as long as you keep your T-shirt on.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  She thrust her chest out toward me, teasing me with her protruding nipples. I felt a throbbing in my cunt, but I let her go on with her show. She bent over and spread her legs so that I could see her pussy lips right in front of me, then turned around and used her yoga training to do a handstand. Then she walked over and planted herself between my legs, pushing her barely covered nipples right into my face before pulling the fabric apart with her hands. It tore straight down the middle so I was left facing her large breasts, the few drops of saltwater remaining on them quickly drying in the sun’s rays as she gave me the sexiest lap dance imaginable. “Wow,” was all I could say, looking up at her in awe. I’d underestimated my star girl, thinking she’d be too shy for this, but I should have known better. Jill never met a challenge, especially a sexy one, that she couldn’t beat. “Okay, you win. Ten out of ten. Are you ready for your reward?” She preened in front of me. “I don’t know. Are you?” she tossed back. So I grabbed her, lifting her up into my arms as she laughed hysterically. I brought her back to the chair and managed to lay her across my lap without both of us toppling over. “Your prize is a nice, hard spanking, one worthy of a girl who gets a perfect score. What do you think about that?” I asked as I squeezed her asscheeks, pinching them and spreading them apart, teasing her as I prolonged her spanking. I pretended to accidentally brush my knuckle across her exposed pussy, finding her deliciously wet. She moaned and I pushed two fingers into her mouth for her to suckle as I started spanking that perfect little ass. The sound was loud, a perfect echo. With only a few smacks I made her cheeks bright red. Her mouth was frantically sucking on my fingers, and then, as I increased the force of my smacks, she bared her teeth, and I knew I’d have marks on my fingers once we were done. I didn’t mind, though, for it gave me the chance to turn that gorgeous ass into my own personal easel. I raised my hand as high as I could and brought it down on her ass, almost toppling us as she moaned against my fingers. I pinched the part of her ass nearest her pussy, then tapped my fingers against her swollen lips.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  “Of course.” I tried to sound as casual as she did. We got dressed fairly quickly, and she opened the door for me to step out on my wobbly legs. “I’ll walk you up,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she offered me her arm. “You don’t have to.” “I insist.” “All right,” I said, suddenly feeling shy again. I held on to her elbow as we walked up the steps to the front door. I admired the way she moved, so unashamed and with no regrets. Right then, I wanted her more than ever. I wanted to be her. We reached the front door, and I snapped open my purse, looking for my wallet. Sabra held up her hand. “No need. It was my pleasure.” “Oh. All right.” A deep crimson flush spread over my cheeks as I realized the implications of my actions. The tip had been intended for the driving portion of the evening, and she smiled, assuring me that she understood. “I hope you found everything to your liking, and that you’ll call on Valvani Limousine Service in the future,” she said, spicing up the requisite business script with her enigmatic grin. “I will,” I promised, and watched her walk down the path back to her limo. As she yanked open the driver’s side door, I blurted out, “Thanks for the ride.” Sabra gave me a wink and tipped her cap at me. “You know it, Ms. K.” She slid behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb, and I stood on the top step and stared long after the limo had glided down the street and out of sight, well aware that she’d not only changed my mind, but opened it as well. WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD Aimee Pearl We’re walking down the street and he’s fucking me. Everything’s slippery and delicious. This is all true. We’re at the Folsom Street Fair—the annual outdoor kinkfest—and it’s a hot San Francisco September day, hot in a way that only San Francisco can be, and only in September, a wet heat. There’s a swelling between my legs. He’s going to make me gush. We’re walking in broad daylight. The crowd is thick around us. He rubs a wet thumb against my clit. We move side by side in stride, no pauses. I wonder… If anyone looked down toward my crotch, they might see his right hand sneaking around the edge of my bright cherry red latex micromini. They might realize that he’s got a finger sliding between my lower lips. What would they think? What would they say? My skirt is so short that it doesn’t cover the full curve of my ass. You can see my cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the shiny rubber coating. I can’t wear panties in this, and I can’t sit. Can only stand. Can only keep on walking. While he fucks me.

• From The Nasty Bits: Collected Varietal Cuts, Usable Trim, Scraps, and Bones (2006)

  I can see it in the disappointed faces of kids from Jersey, scouring Hell's Kitchen for a thirty-dollar whore and finding only Tweety and Goofy. "What happened?" they seem to say, their innocent expressions sagging as they put Dad's car back into gear, going home empty. What they came for is no longer there. UMAMI PURE AND UNCUT LUXURY As much as I love to espouse the "luxuriousness" of simple, often inexpensive things, the idea that a fifty-cent bowl of pho in Vietnam or a properly made bagel in New York can often be more satisfying than a fourteen-course tasting menu at Ducasse, sometimes you've just got to spend money. Lots of money. Sometimes, if you want the very best, you really do have to be the sort of person who can shrug off five hundred bucks for your dinner. Sometimes, a very high price tag does indeed translate directly into quality. Masa Takayama's tiny, thirteen-seat sushi bar-restaurant on the fourth floor of the unimpressive-looking shopping arcade at New York City's new Time Warner building is perhaps the best example of this principle. It's widely referred to as the most expensive dinner in the country. At Masa (as opposed to the less pricey Bar Masa next door) if you want to play, you've got to pay. And it's worth every dime. I'll go further. At three hundred fifty dollars per person as a starting point (that's before tax, tip, beverages, and any extras), it's a steal. It's the deal of the century. It's a completely over-the-top exercise in pure self-indulgence, like having sex with two five-thousand-dollar-a-night escorts at the same time— while driving an Aston Martin. Imagine if you will: You are one of only thirteen customers sitting at a long, wide, blond hinoki wood counter of such warm, inviting loveliness that you want to curl up on it and go to sleep. You want to spend the rest of your life rubbing your cheek—if not your nether regions—against it. The nation's most highly regarded sushi master is standing directly in front of you with a knife, a plane grater, a hunk of fresh wasabi root. On both sides of him are casually deposited heaps of the sexiest looking fish you've ever conjured up in your wildest, soy- spattered dreams of sushi heaven. You catch your breath and gape in wonder at the thick hunks of pale, fat-rippled otoro tuna, flown in that morning from Tokyo. Two silent assistants with shaved heads help the chef, moving among the austere trunks of green bamboo and a simple Stone-Age grill. There's no menu and you don't order, so you have no idea what's coming. But already, as you sit there, blood rushing to your head, lips engorged, hands trembling slightly, saliva thickening, semitumescent, you are absolutely certain that no one, anywhere on the planet, is going to be eating better than you tonight. You are alone, in the nose cone of a rocket headed straight to the epicenter of gastro-culinary pleasure.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  “Why is that?” She smiled, flashing me a row of charming, semicrooked white teeth. She wasn’t taking me seriously—I could tell by the way she undid that top button and went for the second one. “Because.” My cheeks turned pink with shyness. “Look, I’m not—” “You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be,” she assured me as she undid the last button and pulled my pants down over my hips and off my legs, revealing my lace thong panties with the butterfly appliqué. “But one thing you are is horny. And no matter what you are or aren’t, you want me. I know that much.” How did she know? Did it even matter? She was right; more than right, in fact. I was feeling more excited than I ever had toward my ex-husband, a lawyer who had a mind for business and not a clue about a woman’s needs. I had a feeling that Sabra didn’t have his same problems. “Have you ever eaten pussy before, Mrs. B?” she whispered, her voice thick with amusement and sensuality as she slid off my lap and knelt on the floor of the limo. She lowered her head to dip her tongue inside my belly button. I swallowed hard. “It’s just Kent now. Rachel Kent. I’m not married anymore.” “Good to know,” she said, her voice still smiling. Her head moved lower, and her teeth scraped at my inner thighs. A moan of anticipation escaped my lips and intensified as her tongue slid inside the crotch of my panties. “These are very sexy panties, by the way. Too bad we have to get rid of them.” She dragged the thong off my legs, leaving me wearing only my coat, my unbuttoned shirt, and my bra up around my neck. I was still half-clothed, yet feeling more naked than I ever had in my life. My mouth opened to protest, but no sound came out. Sabra opened my legs, and the cool air of the car against my hot cunt made my legs shake. Then she bowed her head again and swept her tongue over my pussy. The feeling was so different from when Edward used to go down on me. He had been hesitant and insecure with his tongue—even a little disgusted. Sabra, however, lapped at me with the tongue of a tiger and sucked on my clit as if it were hard candy. I gripped the seat and felt the leather grow wet under my sweating hands as I writhed under her spell. But she pulled away, her face glistening with my juices. “It’s time you gave it a try, Ms. K.” Her dark eyes laughed at me, but I didn’t care; I wanted her so badly. “I don’t know how—”

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  Did it even matter? She was right; more than right, in fact. I was feeling more excited than I ever had toward my ex-husband, a lawyer who had a mind for business and not a clue about a woman’s needs. I had a feeling that Sabra didn’t have his same problems. “Have you ever eaten pussy before, Mrs. B?” she whispered, her voice thick with amusement and sensuality as she slid off my lap and knelt on the floor of the limo. She lowered her head to dip her tongue inside my belly button. I swallowed hard. “It’s just Kent now. Rachel Kent. I’m not married anymore.” “Good to know,” she said, her voice still smiling. Her head moved lower, and her teeth scraped at my inner thighs. A moan of anticipation escaped my lips and intensified as her tongue slid inside the crotch of my panties. “These are very sexy panties, by the way. Too bad we have to get rid of them.” She dragged the thong off my legs, leaving me wearing only my coat, my unbuttoned shirt, and my bra up around my neck. I was still half-clothed, yet feeling more naked than I ever had in my life. My mouth opened to protest, but no sound came out. Sabra opened my legs, and the cool air of the car against my hot cunt made my legs shake. Then she bowed her head again and swept her tongue over my pussy. The feeling was so different from when Edward used to go down on me. He had been hesitant and insecure with his tongue—even a little disgusted. Sabra, however, lapped at me with the tongue of a tiger and sucked on my clit as if it were hard candy. I gripped the seat and felt the leather grow wet under my sweating hands as I writhed under her spell. But she pulled away, her face glistening with my juices. “It’s time you gave it a try, Ms. K.” Her dark eyes laughed at me, but I didn’t care; I wanted her so badly. “I don’t know how—” “Follow my lead.” She grabbed my hands and pulled me onto the spacious floor of the limo with her. I tugged off the rest of my clothes and watched as she quickly unbuttoned her pants and kicked them off. Realizing that she’d been naked underneath her uniform all night sent a rush of heat straight to my cunt, but the sight of her naked, shaved mound made my mouth go dry with both fear and want. “I’ll show you what to do,” she said, clearly recognizing the panic in my eyes. She grinned and reached for me. “Just bring that fine ass of yours over here first.”

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  The humid heat seeped into my skin; the scent of her, musky and pungent, lured my fingers down to play. Kari groaned as I slid my thumb over her clit. “No fair. I’m supposed to be the one in charge.” “You are.” I grinned. “I wouldn’t be tempted if you would quit rubbing your pussy there.” Her laugh was sharp and pained. “Fffuck!” Her eyes closed and she jerked her hips forward and back, grinding her clit on my finger while her moisture dribbled through my own pulsing lips. She gave one last sexy slide and then pushed down my body. “Did I ever tell you I love a bald pussy?” “A time or two,” I gasped. Two fingers stroked inside me, swirling and stretching my entrance. I cupped my breasts and began to rock my hips, trying to lure her deeper or seduce her into putting her mouth where I needed it most. The flat of her tongue lapped the swelling folds. “I like it almost as much as I like you.” I glanced down and caught her gaze. Her nose wrinkled. “I know I haven’t been around much. I needed to think.” “You get things figured out?” “Almost.” Her fingers slid away and she reached for the dildo. She tucked the first four inches in her mouth and twirled it, then pulled it away. A string of spit, stretching from her lips to the tip of the soft lifelike cap, had me thinking for the first time that I might like to watch her going down on a man. She’d be insatiable. Her hungry little mouth would gobble him up and have him cramming deep into her throat. “Yeah, hold that thought,” she said, her expression smug. “Now you can read my mind?” “Your tits are spiking.” Her wide mouth stretched. “You wanna see me do a dude.” “What I wanna see is you doing something with that dildo besides teasing me.” Her laughter tinkled. No other way to describe it or her. Kari was elflike—small, slender, her frame so narrow she looked like a prepubescent teen from the rear. I was anything but petite. And I liked the fact I could subdue her with just my weight. Liked the way her eyes would darken when I rolled on top and began to pump my hips. Sometimes, I wore a strap-on, because I knew she liked it. But I’d left it at home, wanting nothing but our mouths and hands this weekend, nothing but ourselves. I should have known she wouldn’t leave home without one of her own toys. The cock kicked to life, humming loudly. The first glide landed on my clit, and she held the dildo there until the vibrations made the sensitive knot swell. She pulled the toy away, bent and latched on to me with her lips and sucked, drawing hard twice, then releasing with a succulent pop. My heartbeats slowed to a deep, rhythmic thrum.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  “You liked being caught by cops? Well, sweetheart, you’ve been busted this time! Don’t stop on my account.” The flashlight went out. I heard the sound of zippers, fabric rustling. I clicked on the lamp next to me to give her a better view. We hesitated. I don’t know what was going through her head, but I know I was torn between heat and desperate self-consciousness. Should I pretend I didn’t know she was there? Or that she didn’t know I knew? When my blood has rushed between my legs, my brain does not function well. Then Elle whispered, “I’m watching you, Des.” She sounded like a dirty old man in a peep-show booth, and I felt a thrill shoot through me. “I’m looking at your gorgeous little breasts and your pussy, which is all swollen and wet and just the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, and I’m watching it twitch because it knows it’s being stared at and it likes the attention.” I heard a noise, and guessed that she was stroking her clit. Getting off by watching me. Oh, Christ, this was good. This was really, really good. “Make yourself come for me, babe,” she murmured. “Just like you came on my hand the other day with MacIntyre watching. Because you know what? I couldn’t get a really good look at you then and I just hate the idea that he might have had a better view than I did.” The combination of her voice and the mental picture of her fingers making a lazy circle on her wet button mesmerized me. With one hand I opened my labia. With the other, I slid the dildo into my very slick opening. “So now I get to watch,” she said. “Remember that, babe: A cop is watching you play with yourself. You’ve been busted. “Just like MacIntyre busted us. But I’m watching you now. I get to see your perfect breasts, and that intent look you get on your face when you’re about to scream. You’re going to come for me any second now, aren’t you?” I heard the change in her voice. My eyes had adjusted enough that I could see her face, dimly, through the window. I saw her flushed face, the look of urgent concentration, the slightly crinkled brow. She was close herself. I could also see my own reflection in the glass: spread-legged, a fat dildo stuffed inside me. “Do it,” I begged. “Come with me.”

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  Making out in a car is never easy, but when you’re young and in lust and have been dating only three months, you make do and don’t care about pretzeled limbs. You pretty much don’t complain unless something cramps and you have to shake it out or scream. I wasn’t complaining. The briny air mingled with the tea tree scent of Elle’s shampoo as she kissed me, leaning across the console to where I sat in the driver’s seat. She had this ability to point her tongue and flick strongly, and when she did that against mine, I felt it all the way to my clit—where, sooner or later tonight, I’d feel her tongue for real. She scraped her fingernails across my nipple and it rose to hard, aching attention. I moaned against her talented mouth and, encouraged, she used her nails to pinch. Some of my friends laughed when granola-dyke me started dating a police officer, saying it was an obvious case of opposites attracting. But we really do have more in common than base physical urges. I like Elle’s taste in old movies and her ability to create a gourmet meal out of my poor excuse of a pantry; she confessed she was intrigued by my obsessions for Swedish heraldry and Italian greyhounds. So let ’em laugh. At least I was getting some. And I wanted more. Needed more. I climbed over into her seat to straddle her, whacking my knee against the gearshift and almost elbowing her in the eye in the process. The bruises (for me, at least) didn’t matter. It seemed like her hands were everywhere, encouraging me: first on my breasts, then running up and down my back; high on my thighs, tangled in my hair. I was getting so wet, so hot. I managed to insinuate one of my legs between hers, which meant that one of hers was between mine, and I ground against it as best I could in the confines. I’m a tiny thing, but she’s tall and lanky and mostly leg—which helped. She pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it somewhere, then rained a line of tiny nips along my collarbone as I gasped from the sudden sensations. She roughly pulled the bra cups down so she had direct access to my breasts. I moaned as she suckled one, kneaded the other. Her cardigan separated as I pulled on it, and at least one button popped, disappearing between the seats to be lost forever. Oops. Beneath it, she was braless, which was no doubt why all the men had been staring at her tonight. Her luscious breasts were pale in the darkness, and although I couldn’t get my mouth down on them, I did my best with my hands to return the favors she was giving me.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  “Almost.” Her fingers slid away and she reached for the dildo. She tucked the first four inches in her mouth and twirled it, then pulled it away. A string of spit, stretching from her lips to the tip of the soft lifelike cap, had me thinking for the first time that I might like to watch her going down on a man. She’d be insatiable. Her hungry little mouth would gobble him up and have him cramming deep into her throat. “Yeah, hold that thought,” she said, her expression smug. “Now you can read my mind?” “Your tits are spiking.” Her wide mouth stretched. “You wanna see me do a dude.” “What I wanna see is you doing something with that dildo besides teasing me.” Her laughter tinkled. No other way to describe it or her. Kari was elflike—small, slender, her frame so narrow she looked like a prepubescent teen from the rear. I was anything but petite. And I liked the fact I could subdue her with just my weight. Liked the way her eyes would darken when I rolled on top and began to pump my hips. Sometimes, I wore a strap-on, because I knew she liked it. But I’d left it at home, wanting nothing but our mouths and hands this weekend, nothing but ourselves. I should have known she wouldn’t leave home without one of her own toys. The cock kicked to life, humming loudly. The first glide landed on my clit, and she held the dildo there until the vibrations made the sensitive knot swell. She pulled the toy away, bent and latched on to me with her lips and sucked, drawing hard twice, then releasing with a succulent pop. My heartbeats slowed to a deep, rhythmic thrum. I raised my knees and planted my feet wide apart, opening to her, nestling into the furry rug at my back and resting my head on both my arms so that I could watch. She stretched my folds and tugged them upward, then leaned closer so that I could feel the warm gusts of her shortening breaths against me. Her tongue trailed along the edges of the outer lips, up and down. The tip of the dildo pushed inside me, just past the flanged ridge surrounding the cap, but no deeper. The humming tantalized and a gentle convulsion rippled up my channel. It wasn’t enough, and I growled to tell her so. A smile kicked up one corner of her mouth, and she twisted the cock inside me. My pussy clasped noisily around it, trying to trap it, but she pulled it out again. I slipped one hand from under my head and thrust my fingers into her soft, straight hair, tugging hard to punish her. “What do you want, Margot?” she asked, her voice filled with teasing laughter. “Gotta tell me. Gotta make me hot.”

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  I feel like I’m actually going to split down the middle but, despite myself, I can’t help trying to push against her insistent, plunging dick. “Oh, do you want some more?” She grabs me by the halfinch of hair on my head. “I’ll give you what you want.” Slicked wet from my cunt she pulls her dick back and then pushes it into my virgin arse. It hurts like hell, more than sherbet up your nose. This is definitely a boundary. I feel like I’m going to dissolve, that I can’t possibly bear her plunging in and out with long, hard strokes, or that I’ll explode. But my sphincter tightens around every move she makes. “That’s right. Milk my good, big dick.” I’m just about to start screaming when her hand works its way round and insinuates itself against my clit. The cool leather strokes against my hard clit as she fills my arse again and again. I can’t hold back and with my arse and clit being worked hard and my cunt empty and swollen to the night air I come so hard that all I can see is the rushing of red blood tissue before my eyes. It feels like she’s come inside me, violating me further, flooding my walls, but I know this can’t be true as it’s only her silicone dick that is now being edged slowly out of me. I sag against the tree as she plays the point of a knife up and down, up and down over my exposed flesh, before placing the handle in my hand. With difficulty I saw through the binding holding my wrists. Freed, I turn quickly round, rearranging my clothes. There is nothing but shadows and trees and bushes, a severed piece of leather and the rushing of the cold night air. BUSTED Sophie Mouette After the movie, Elle and I parked at the edge of the beach. It was too dark to see much except a hint of paler darknes where the surf hit the sand, but we cracked the windows so we could hear the crash of the waves and the murmur of the wind without getting too cold. I don’t think we intended for things to go as far as they did. I certainly hadn’t planned on it, but when her warm tongue entered my mouth and her warm hand crept beneath my shirt and found my lace-encased nipple, all rational thought fled, except for a momentary flash of pleased surprise. It seemed extra-naughty to be fooling around in a semipublic place with my girlfriend the cop. Making out in a car is never easy, but when you’re young and in lust and have been dating only three months, you make do and don’t care about pretzeled limbs. You pretty much don’t complain unless something cramps and you have to shake it out or scream. I wasn’t complaining.