Posts Tagged ‘sugarbutch star’

Sugarbutch Star: Jefferson

November 27, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  8 Comments

This is an honorable mention Sugarbutch Star submission from Jefferson. I have to include his original submission with the story here, because he’s a wonderful writer, and it sets the scene.

You and I have been driving all day. We decide to wash off the road with a few bourbons, and stop at the next neon sign. We park well away from a long row of Harleys and head inside.

Hours later, we are feeling no pain. A very cute blonde has been flirting with us for a long time. She keeps asking us where we’re from, how we know each other, and so on. She’s fascinated by us. We’re fascinated by her bee-sting lips, her cut-off denims and her long, tan legs. She situates herself between us; you fondle her thighs as I finger her crooked teeth.

None of this sits well with her boyfriend. He watches, glowering by the jukebox at a table covered by empty long necks.

Much of what happens next is a blur.

We wind up in a local jail. You and I share a cell. Beyond the bars to one side is the blonde; beyond the bars to the other side is the boyfriend.

The only light is the moon from a single barred window.

Cross-Country Girl Adventures

Jefferson is pacing.

“Sit down,” I say. “Can’t you just calm down?” I have enough bourbon in me to keep me horizontal for days. The coil-spring mattress is the most uncomfortable thing on which my back has ever laid, and I won’t get up for anything, not even if the door to this jail cell was open.

Jefferson, too, has had bourbon. More than I have, in fact. “I can’t relax,” he says.

“You’re giving me a fucking headache,” the blonde in the next cell says, a little too loud. She’s sitting against the wall. We learned somewhere around the third drink that her name is Ella May.

“I can’t relax,” he says again, going over to the bars that separate our cell from hers. She lifts her head and sighs.

“Fine,” she says, rising and walking toward him. I hear them both moving but keep my eyes shut. “Unzip.”

He pauses. “Yeah?”

She glances back at her boyfriend, in the cell adjoining hers, passed out cold. “This offer’s gonna expire,” she says.

Jefferson unzips and meets the black bars with his bony hips, cock poking through.

“Might as well make this a good story,” she says, and licks the tip before guzzling the length of his dick down her throat.

His shoulders drop immediately and he leans against the bars, groaning. Relaxing into familiar territory. I peek through one eye and can’t see her through him, but can see her knees and bobbing elbows as she licks and sucks. He leans back into it. She makes a little mmm noise and brings her hand to her cut-off jean shorts, back pocket ripped out where her boyfriend had hold of her earlier tonight.

I can’t see her hand go inside her jeans, but by the way her elbow is moving, she has clearly taken hold of her clit and is working it. My internal butch cock awake and hard. My head pounds, but I find enough clarity to sit up.

I want to feel her cunt when she comes.

As soon as Jefferson and I entered the highway biker bar I noticed her, but it wasn’t until she pulled me onto the small space of empty floor near the pool table for a dance that I wanted to fuck her. A girl like her would usually be too straight for me – I like ‘em queer. But then she moved her hips against me, drew her long leg up mine, dipped her back low when I led it and didn’t pull away when I held her close. She responded so easily to my gentle, subtle suggestions of movement and twirl.

They say you know exactly how someone will be in bed based on how they dance. That, in my experience, tends to be true. And if it is true of Ella, she is bold, eager, receptive, subtle, and hungry.

I watch her suck Jefferson for a moment longer before I stagger over to the jail bars. I keep an eye on the passed-out boyfriend and watch the muscles in Ella’s jaw clench and move. Jefferson barely notices me, he is finally unwinding, forgetting his surroundings.

I crouch next to him. Ella watches me approach, approves with her eyes, soft, pushes her own shorts down on her hip bones to reveal a tiny patch of fine, soft light hair on her mound, downy, which seems even more blonde because of her tan skin.

She keeps his cock in her mouth. Expertly works it in and out. He wants to increase depth and speed but she isn’t letting him. One hand on his cock, she reaches for my hand and brings it in between her legs. I awkwardly sit sideways next to the bars and slide my hand inside her shorts. She isn’t wearing any panties.

Her skin is so soft, supple. She’s totally shaved except for that tiny patch, and my fingers explore her tight outer lips, all muscle, strong, and thin inner lips, so smooth and slick, luscious. Her cunt is dripping, sticky already. She likes sucking cock. She rocks a little against my fingers and I slide two inside her; she moans a little, muffled, and her eyes roll back as she gulps and sucks, one hand still twisting around Jefferson’s cock, one hand on my wrist.

My angle is awful, up underneath both of them, wrist upturned and restricted by her jean shorts. But she feels so damn good, she’s gripping my fingers with her cunt, forearm with her hand, I can’t exactly move. As I work my fingers in her, my thumb on her clit, she takes Jefferson deeper, faster, into her mouth and this gets him hotter, thrusting what little he can against the cell bars. He’s got a grip with both hands, leaning his head and torso back, hips pressing forward.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants under his breath. Ella moans into his cock, throaty. She glances at me, then up at Jefferson, back at me – a look that clearly says, he’s going to come. I bring my twi fingers to her clit and swirl. Watch her face for her reaction: she closes her eyes reluctantly, opens her mouth wide as Jefferson still pounds into it. Muffled noises in her throat like she’s swallowing. She is swallowing. Her clit swells and she rocks her pelvis against my hand.

Jefferson pops first. His panting stops and he holds his breath in, for just a second, then “uggghhh,” groans on an exhale, thrusts hard a few times, lets go of his grip and bangs his fist against the bars.

“Mmmm,” Ella licks and sucks, using the flat warm of her tongue to lap his cock with a few wide strokes, then she lets out a cry – “Ah!” – falls forward, lets go of Jefferson’s hips to bring one hand to the bars, holding herself up, cheek pressed against the gritty cell bars, gasping, her cunt contracting on my hand and she cries out.

“Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Please do it, do it harder, fuck, fuck!” her voice gets shrill and she starts whimpering as she rocks back and forth on my arm, the wrist of it feels like it’s about to snap, then she lets out a scream and I’m surprised whatever glass is nearby is not breaking, then I realize there is no glass, we’re in jail.

“What the fuck,” I hear, a grumble, low and mean, from the shadows back behind Ella. It’s the boyfriend. Awake. Witnessing.

Jefferson starts laughing, intently watching Ella’s orgasm and me, sprawled on the floor, but he’s stepped back and zipped, cleverly removing himself from incrimination. If only I was a little femmier, he’d think it was hot. It’s only because I’m so damn butch that he thinks I am a threat.

Ella lets the orgasm drain from her and gains enough movement to come to her hands and knees. “Just stop,” she scolds as she would a dog or child. “Knock it off.”

“Ella – baby – what the fuck!” he slams his palm against the bars as I scramble to my feet, attempt to steady myself. I am suddenly drunk again. I can smell Ella’s pussy on my fingers when I straighten my shirt, and notice that they’re all sticky. I want to lick them, suck them clean, just to spite him. But these bars will only separate us temporarily.

“Mr. Johnson!” A police officer calls, shoes clicking with his approach down the concrete hallway. He walks past us and continues to the far cell. “Turns out, you have a few outstanding blemishes on your record. As in, more than two, you little punk. Tricking and evading an officer. Doing 125 in a 50. Driving with a suspended license. Leaving the scene of an accident, a crime,” he’s reading out of a folder, face up against the bars. “Did you think that wouldn’t catch up with you?”

The boyfriend’s eyes get a little wild, wide, and he shrinks back from the bars, sneering.

“Mr. Jefferson! Mr. Sexsmith!” He turns to us. I don’t correct him on my gender. “You’re free to go, boys. Don’t you be getting in any more trouble. I expect I won’t hear see your faces in here again, ever.”

He unlocks the cell door. Jefferson steps through eagerly and blows a kiss to Ella.

“That was fucking hot, Ella,” I say, walking toward her briefly, holding onto the bars. “Thanks.”

She smiles and nods her head, once, a dismissive gesture. “Have fun on your cross-country girl adventures,” she says. “Tell that one to stop getting you in trouble.”

I laugh, and join Jefferson, already halfway down the hallway.

He claps me on the back. “There’s a motel just up there,” he says when we get to the door, gesturing down the parking lot that looks over some desolate road. “What say we get some rest before we hit another state. I think I can finally sleep.”

I yawn. “Yeah, me too,” I say, slinging my arm around his shoulder. “Man, what a night.”

Sugarbutch Star: Avah

November 26, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  4 Comments

This Sugarbutch Star submission comes from Avah of Designing Intimacy. Thanks Avah!

Fucking a Porn Star

The girl knew how to submit.

Even before Avah had her clothes off, even before they entered the hotel room, there was something, some lowering coyly of her eyes, some demure way she kept fluttering her wrists like dinner napkins, something in the way she would purse and slowly lick her lips that made Avah feel strong. Powerful. Wanted. Something that gave Avah permission to take.

With a girl like this, Avah knew how to dominate.

The girl knew what Avah brought along in her carefully packed bag. They had negotiated the contents cautiously, both clearly able to navigate the world of online NSA personals.

Avah’s ad read “ISO sweet, submissive girl that loves rope and flogging.” The girl was her only decent reply – and she was a redhead.

Once in the hotel room, lights still off, Avah told her to undress – revealing milky white, near translucent skin, thin and hiding nothing – then kneel in front of her. Avah parted her own pussy lips with her fingers, standing before the girl who, stripped nude and kneeling, began lapping and sucking tentatively at first, then eagerly, deeper, suckling, making small mmm noises like she was savoring some satisfying desert.

The night of subtle, easy communication at the bar, and the girl’s sweet eyes looking up at her, mouth full, made Avah so hot, and the girl’s expert tongue and pressure brought Avah surprisingly quickly to a thick state of desire and bliss. Coming in the girl’s mouth easily, Avah rewarded her accordingly: she unzipped her toy bag.

The date moved quickly. Avah took this sweet, submissive girl every way she could think of: bent over the coffee table. Against the wall. Elaborately hog tied on the bed, wrists and ankles pulling each other in separate directions (that was especially lovely). Wrists tied behind her back. Fingers in her cunt, then fist in her cunt, then fingers in her ass. Beautiful.

There was something Avah couldn’t pinpoint about this girl: some familiarity about the way her bones shift when she moves, the way her small, tight muscles pulse and ripple, that look in her eyes each time Avah turns to her, palm open, to bring a new sensation to her body. There was some way she led Avah, with tiny, subtle movements, to know exactly what to do next. So skilled at submitting.

Hours later, the two girls were flushed, skin sheened with sweat, exhausted and still wanting each other. The hotel room is dim with candles and the nighttime city lights filtering through the curtain. The bedspread, sheets, and pillows, have been torn from the bed and discarded on the floor. The couch too has been attacked, pillows strewn about, even knocking over a vase that they both ignored.

Avah’s rope proved to be the favorite accessory of the evening. Wrapped around both of the girl’s wrists, it was now tied to the hotel headboard, immobilizing the girl, face down, stretching her arms long above her head. Her ankles were tied, too, to the feet of the bed, but the rope had enough length that the girl could nearly raise to her hands and knees. Her ass was in the air, increasingly pink.

Raising her hand beyond her shoulder, Avah brought her cupped palm down onto the flesh her ass meets thigh: a delicate sound. The girl’s muscles clenched gently, then release.

Again, and again, Avah slapped and stung the girl’s ass and inner thighs, her hand hitting against her crack, swatting her clit and swollen labia, red and slick and smooth as glass, steady, and then faster, the blows coming closer together until the girl started whimpering and straining at the ropes, inching forward to escape, and Avah let up, soothed her hand over the girl’s reddened skin and cunt, fingers exploring the crevasses of her labia and hood, slow circles, slow lazy circles around her clit, and the girl relaxed again, leaned into it, moaned.

The girl’s back arched, knees and feet straining farther apart.

Avah pulled her flogger from her bag: deerskin. Long. She draped it easily over the girl on the bed and it tickled, massaged, gently caressed her skin.

Until – thud. Avah let it fall using only gravity. Again. Thud. A gentle sound. More like thhh. A shushing noise through the air like a librarian.

The girl arched her head back. It was a request. Four, five swats and Avah had her aim. Eight, nine and Avah had a comfortable build of pressure: each time she brought the leather down it hit a little harder, a little deeper into the muscles.

The girl squirmed and writhed against the bed.

Avah climbed between her knees, on the bed and, erect, brought her flogger down again. Onto her shoulder blades. Onto her sides. Onto her tiny ass. Finding a rhythm. One two thud. One two thud. Gathering the tails together over her shoulder, into the palm of her hand, then back down. Precise. Their breaths matching. Gasping when the tails hit skin, moaning when they leave.

“Oh god,” the girl whispered. “Oh god.” She cringes, cries out.

“You like that?” Avah growls, a little harsh, acutely aware of the ferociousness building in her stomach, under her ribcage, creeping up to her heart and throat and shoulders. She hit harder. Harder. The girl arched her back, nearly collapses on the bed.

“Relax,” Avah said, caressing the girl’s skin with her palm. The girl crushed into the bedspread and brought her arms under her, tensing her entire body briefly before releasing, opening again, looking up at Avah with soft eyes. Her limbs were all sinew and bone and skin, lanky and long, thin. She tilted her head but kept her eyes on Avah, responding to Avah’s soothing touch with arches of her body, breathing in. She relaxed onto the hotel sheets, then took her arms out from their tucked position under her and bent her knees, arms and torso laid out long on the bed, ass to ankles.

“Please, a few more?”

Avah grinned, stepped off the bed behind her to get a larger swing, then tightened her grip on the flogger’s thick handle and let more blows fall onto the girl’s back and ass and thighs, tips of the tails snapping at her skin, not fine enough to leave individual marks but turning her entire backside darker and darker pink, in some places flushed red. She may be bruised tomorrow.

Working her entire body into the blows, Avah swung and hit. Swung and hit. She is a true sadist: she is turned on by the witness of someone else’s pain. She knew her cunt was wet, could feel it between her thighs. The girl moaned and cringed and breathed with each contact. Avah worked up into a wonderful beat, so satisfying, a wrist turn that looked like a baton twirl and a rhythm like timpani, steady and slow, working the flesh and bones of this girl, this gorgeous girl, so willing to give over, so eager to receive.

Avah built up speed and the girl whimpered. Harder, and she yelled, pulled against the ropes, thighs cringing together. Avah gathered her strength and let a last few blows hit.

The girl cried out with the intensity. Screamed, then quieted.

Gently leaning into her, Avah floated her hands above the girl’s skin as she lay still with the aftermath of the flogging, writhing and cringing, body melting and settling back into its former shape. Avah softly began moving her hands, hovering just above the skin, not touching yet and then – until – just a fingertip, just the softest brush of the pads of her fingers over the girl’s smelting skin, red and stinging and sensitive to even the minute changes in the air. Avah set each finger, then her palm, oh so gently, barely even touching, like a paintbrush making the finest softest strokes against the exposed canvass of the girl’s back and ass and thighs.

The girl drew breath in hard with each brush. Arched her back. Strained against the ropes.

The reverberation of every contact rippled through her body like a firework exploding, another touch in another spot would simply further illuminate the smoky leftover of the first, still hanging on her skin.

“You feel amazing,” Avah said, completely caught up in the buzz of energy between them.

The girl whispered something, groaned, into the pillow.

“Uh sorry?” Avah said, both hands on the girl’s hip bones, leaning forward to hear her better.

Fuck me,” the girl said again, clearly this time, turning her head to the side, red hair falling over her face. “Please, oh god please.”

“Mmm,” Avah agreed, drawing back down the girl’s body to her ass and exposed cunt, two fingers running over her lips and clit, swollen from the long night of sex, from the sensory overload, from the submission.

The girl moaned deliciously with each touch.

Avah grinned and kept her grip on the girl’s hip bones, slid two fingers inside her slick cunt easily. The girl sighed, heavy, and opened deeper. Avah slid out and added another finger, a little tighter with three, the girl inhaled and squirmed a little, so eager, so open.

“Damn, that’s good,” Avah mumbled, fingers sliding in and out easily, thumb on the girl’s hard clit. Avah felt her opening deeper still, pushing back onto Avah’s hand, gripping the rope that held her wrists to the headboard, rocking on her knees. Avah added her fourth finger.

The girl’s clit swelled, g-spot swelled – Avah could feel it from where her hand hit inside, the upper wall thick and juicy and swollen and she fingered it, pressed against it tenderly, pet it with little laps of the pads of her four fingers.

Cries from the girl’s mouth, directly in a line connected to her cunt. Pressure here and she cried out. Pressure there and she gasped. A little harder, a little faster, and her knees shook, thighs pressed apart, ass pressed back, back arched, head bent and her cunt opened to swallow everything, to take it all inside her, hard, to suck Avah’s hand in, to the palm. Then she burst: it started in her cunt and then radiated out in waves, in ripples, thick quakes of bone and muscle and the girl made such delicious low moans, oh-oh-oh god, oh-oh-oh god, and Avah slowed, changed pressure to let up, and the girl folded back into herself, collapsed forward on the bed, and Avah’s fingers slid out as her body calmed.

Avah unties the ropes and they collapse together on the bed, the girl holding Avah close against her, sharing caresses, giggles, as they came down from their bodies’ highs. They lay eye to eye on the pillows.

“You just look so familiar, I can’t shake it,” Avah said. “It’s weird. We haven’t met before, you’re sure?”

The girl grinned. “Well, I told you my name. I figured if you knew my work you’d recognize that.”

Avah, embarrassed, couldn’t remember it. Michelle. Marilyn. Something with an M.

“Madison,” the girl said. “Madison Young.”

“Oh,” said Avah, and then she realized: she’d just fucked a porn star.

Sugarbutch Star: Madeline

November 9, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  2 Comments

Madeline was the very first Sugarbutch Star, I could argue, when she made a lovely appearance in the post let go, just let go in October 2006. This honorable mention submission comes from her.

Her Mouth on My Cock

That’s all I really wanted, all night long, in those moments when we touched fingertips and knees sitting next to each other, the one time when I took her slender body into the circle of my arms and wrapped around her, cock tight against her and she could feel it, surely she could, moved her thigh against me and pulled her face away from the nuzzle of the nape of my neck to give me those eyes, those eyes, those pretty eyes and my hand at the back of her neck where her hair is short and thin, delicate, dancing when she shakes her head or laughs which of course she does all night, mouth wide and open, lips pulled over teeth and oh I want to remember what that feels like, a girl on her knees, this girl, this girl on her knees in front of me with that tongue, that suckling throat of hers and she is so good at it, she has turned cocksucking into an art and somehow mine seems that much more real when a girl like this, a girl like her, who treats it as real, she doesn’t care it is silicone, doesn’t care I can’t really feel it, not really, because she knows how I can feel it in my mind, knows that I know how it feels behind her teeth and it’s Debbie Does Dallas and Deep Throat as if her g-spot is at the roof of her mouth, as if she can actually orgasm from my cock, my blue plastic cock, in just the right spot and she’s moaning, god, she’s moaning and her vocal chords vibrate and I can feel it all the way through to my clit and the slick lips of my own cunt, buried, burrowed for a moment underneath this, this way my sex becomes outside my body, this way I become exposed and vulnerable and tender, revealing something of me, unpacking it all, taking it outside and asking to be seen, to be looked at, asking her to acknowledge my inability to do this for myself, to really have this body, to have this real cock, I am without, am not enough on my own, but I want to be this so badly I can create it in my mind, I can create it on my body, I can move within genders and beyond my own birth-assigned limitations to explore whatever it is I want to feel, and right now I want to feel my cock down her throat, I want to come in her mouth and feel her suck me dry, feel her suck the juice from me, shoot into her open throat and she takes me deeper, all the way to the base and her hands on my hips and ass to steady us both and I can barely stand up, my knees are buckling, hips bucking, she’s looking up at me with those eyes again, those eyes, those pretty eyes, and I can hear her plead let go, let go like I’ve heard her say before, and she’s so good at this, so fucking good, that I do, I do, I thrust against her, inside her, within her, and I am shriveled, rendered useless, spent.

I whimper; whisper, Madeline, Madeline, Madeline, again and again, and she wraps her arms around me, says shhh into the nape of my neck, and holds me close.

Sugarbutch Star: Bad Bad Girl

October 17, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  15 Comments

I know, I’m extremely late on this. I’m attempting to breathe some new life into the end of the Sugarbutch Star contest, so I can finally end it and hold a poll for the reader’s favorite!

This honorable mention submission comes from Bad Bad Girl … thank you. (Featured in Sugasm #102 in the top three!) 

The Straight Girl at the Dyke Bar

I was out back, in the alley behind the dive dyke bar, when she found me. Busted through the door with a fruity indulgent mixed drink in her hand and I feared for her balance.

“There you are,” she said. “I thought I saw you come this way.”

I was puzzled. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes flashed and she let the back door close on its hinge with a bang. “Yes,” she said. “Clearly.”

I took one last drag of my American Spirit and flicked the butt into the dumpster. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she slurred, just a little. “I’m trying to seduce you.” She was right next to me, my height, but she kept her eyes low and looked up at me with submission. My internal butch cock stirred.

“You’re drunk,” I said.

“Yeah.” She stepped closer and bit her lips, looking at mine.

“Are you here with friends? Maybe they should take you home.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not ready to go home.”

“You’re drunk,” I said again.

“Not so drunk that I don’t know what I want,” she snapped. “Only drunk enough that I can go after it.”

She inched closer to me. My mouth watered. I wanted my hands on the curves of her waist, her hips, her ribcage. I struggled to keep control. “What are you doing … here?” I almost said in a gay bar.

She sneered. “I know, I’m the only straight girl. I usually am. Well. Whatever.” Her tone changed. “I know how this sex thing works,” she purred, palm of her hand against my crotch where my cock was hard, straining against my zipper. The pressure of her fingers felt exquisite.

I knocked her hand away. “Hey.”

She withdrew and then slowly moved her fingers up my arm, felt the muscles, tendons. Circled her fingers around my wrist. “Come on,” she whispered. “I saw you watching me.”

Her neck was dangerously close to my mouth and I could smell her, sweet and thick. I wanted a mouthful of her perfume. Teeth on her skin. My hands moved – practically involuntarily – to the curves she laid out for me, the precise placement of her body next to mine inviting my touches.

She tilted her face toward mine. Half-closed her eyes. I didn’t even know her name. My friends were still inside, probably waiting for me. It was getting late. The alley was filthy. She smelled so delicious. The desire between us was pooling and tangible.

Her body was small, my hands with fingers spread covered her back. I brought them up under her hair, pulled her toward me, took hold of the back of her skull and neck. She leaned into me.

“Okay,” I said, watching her face as our lips barely brushed while I spoke. “But we’re going to do this my way.”

I brought my lips down on hers hard, crushing, devouring, insistent. She whimpered, back curving. I held her body at the precise angle and distance that I wanted, and she went limp in my arms, gave over, arms and shoulders falling back, on her toes.

Pulling away, I grinned. Took a step back. Kept my eyes on her, touched my lower lip with my thumb and felt that stirring in my stomach, that desire, that power. Her eyes got a little frightened and she attempted to keep her tough look, but it was a mask I would unpeel.

I closed the distance between us. Traced my fingers down her left arm until I reached her hand, still holding that delicate glass of fruity alcohol, and took it from her, tossed it hard, overhand, arm flexing, at the blank space where the building met the concrete in the alley. It shattered brilliantly, a cascade of glass, the sound filling the narrow space between the buildings.

She watched my arm, the glass, the crash. We turned our eyes back to each other, hers open, mouth open, small of her back arched. Her mouth watered and she moved her jaw, I could see it. Subtle. She wanted to lunge for me. Good girl, she stayed still.

Hardening my glance, I moved toward her, thick, keeping distance between us, and she stumbled back, her low heels catching on the uneven pavement, thrusting her hands out behind her but I kept her eyes, kept two fingers on her waist and led her back, back, until she was against the dumpster. She swallowed. It was wider at the top than the bottom, slanting out; she cowered under it a little.

I lifted my chin, once. “Hold that.”

She did. Lifted her arms to grip the edge of the dumpster. Made a face. “It feels gross.”

“Mmm.” You’re getting fucked in an alley behind a dive bar. What do you expect? I thrust my hand between her legs. She wore a tight skirt – I pulled at it, shoved it up her thighs to expose her. Pulled tight against the lacy fabric of her panties and pressed two fingers inside. Smooth. She inhaled, moaned.

“So wet,” I said, mouth against her cheek. She kept hold of the edge with her hands, arms raised. My body perpendicular to hers, cock against her hip. I worked my fingers inside, slick and slow and deep, thumb on her clit, on that spot below her clit, my hand gripping her pubic bone.

She moaned, knees weakening, hips dipping down to take in more of me. I added a third finger. “You know how to get fucked, don’t you.”

Mouth gaping, she breathed heavily, turning her head and biting her lower lip. I could feel my fingers working a good spot inside her and she was increasingly sensitive, reactive to my pressing and curling, thumb flicking a little lighter and faster on her clit. Her thighs shook and she lifted one leg off the ground, bent her knee, pressed her legs apart and against me, body shaking, pressed against me, until she gasped hard and I felt the ring of muscles grip my fingers, grip hard, her clit fat and sensitive and pressing against my thumb, throbbing, until she shuddered hard, bucked her hips, began to lose her balance and leaned against me, gasping, little moans coming from her throat.

She looked up at me, arms around my neck now. “I don’t usually come so fast,” she said, a little apologetically.

I shook my head, don’t worry about it. “I’m not done with you yet.” I didn’t wait, but took her wrists in my hands and put them back up onto the dumpster’s edge, then twisted her body so she faced away from me, pulled her skirt up over her ass, and unzipped my fly. Pulled my cock out. Sheathed it quickly with a condom from my back pocket.

With one hand I pushed aside her panties, slightly stretched now anyway; with the other I pressed her ass apart, then guided my cock into her wet hole. Stretched her lips as I pumped in and out, smooth slow long strokes, hips in circles, working the cock against my clit as much as inside her.

My release built easily in me after the way she came and it didn’t take long for me to grip her hips like handles and begin pounding, shifting my feet to stabilize my movement, muscles in my thighs hard and contracted, groaning and grunting with the physical effort of it all. She pressed hard with her hands against the disgusting dumpster, arching her back and pushed against me, receiving me as I fucked harder, hard, pulling almost all the way out and then slickly entering her again, the length of my cock, pressed tight against her ass and hips in rocking little thrusts, until I found that sweet spot and my clit contracts and I see myself exploding in her, which made me come harder, muscles thick and shuddering, gasping, slowing my pace against her until I came to stillness and peeled myself off her back.

She watched me over her shoulder, all eyes and hair, desire still in her face, painted over her cheeks, then rose and straightened her skirt, smoothed her hair. I tucked my cock back into my briefs and zipped my jeans.

She smiled at me, then started giggling, then laughing hard, full-bodied from her stomach, eyes sparkling. I was amused, and puzzled. “What’s so funny?”

“So,” she giggled, wrapping her arms around my neck and tossing her hair, “you’re awfully cute. Come here often? Can I buy you a drink?”

I laughed, pulled myself out of her embrace. “Sure. Why not.” I stepped up the three low rickety back stairs and opened the back door to the bar, let her step in first. Jukebox tunes and pool cues and women’s laughter spilled out.

I saw a few of my buddies at a table in the corner, they watched me come back in with my hand on the back of the girl. They made faces and gestures and raised their eyebrows. I shushed them with a look, turned my attention back to her.

“I, uh, I didn’t get your name,” I said.

“That’s cause I didn’t say,” she answered, hips switching as she dodged through the crowd and stepped up to the bar and immediately had the bartender’s attention. She ordered, glancing at me sideways: “Jameson rocks, for Sinclair.”

Sugarbutch Star: Bird

September 9, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  6 Comments

Thanks to bird for this Sugarbutch Star scenario submission. I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now, it proved harder than I expected because I was determined to not ever use gendered pronouns for the driver. Worth a try, though now I know better than to do that again.This story was featured on Fleshbot‘s sex blog roundup. Thanks Jefferson!

The Hitchhiker

“Get in,” the driver said, after flipping the dial on the stereo of the small blue pickup truck, quieting Big Black’s “He’s a Whore.”

Alice leaned her elbows on the window, made her legs into an A frame, tipped her ass to one side, and flipped her wheat-colored hair over her shoulder. She took a long look at the driver, the blond fauxhawk, messy overalls, lean defined arms in a life-partner beater, dark tribal tattoos peeking out from the collarbone. A dark, worn-in cowboy hat sat on the passenger’s seat. The driver flashed a nice smile. Simple, a little mischievous.

The scent of grass and sod wafted from the back of the truck. Alice spied power tools, a lawnmower, some rakes and shovels secured to the racks in the back. She gripped the handle, opened the door, and slid onto the vinyl bench seat, taking the cowboy hat into one hand and easily sliding it over the crown of her head.

“My friends call me Jack.”

“I’m Alice.” She slid her eyes sideways to watch Jack maneuver the stick shift as the pickup pulled back onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Where you heading?” Alice asked.

Jack watched as she adjusted her long legs and ran one ankle against the opposite calf. “Wherever.” South on the PCH was good enough for now. Alice wanted to end up in the city somewhere, it didn’t matter where. Cliffs and beach rolled by their windows. This was as good of a direction as any.

The cab smelled like grass, too. Grass and dirt, but in a clean, organic earthy kind of way. “You been working in the sun all day?” Alice asked, tossing the hat onto the dash, then flipping her hair again and strategically placing her elbow over the back of the bench seat between them. Her fingers were dangerously close to the overall buckles. The skin beneath was tan, a little pinkish.

“Yep.”

“It was nice today. Not too hot for August.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re a gardener?”

Jack downshifted through a tight curve and held the clutch in a moment too long. “Landscape architect.” Pressure on the engine.

“Of course. You enjoy that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Alice let her fingers drift onto the muscles of Jack’s upper arm. Soft skin. “You look like you’re good at it.” She let herself picture Jack shoveling, digging, big bags of fertilizer slung over these broad shoulders, squinting in the sun.

Jack didn’t answer, just smiled softly, looking out at the road. The silence was comfortable. Alice lifted her small satchel bag from her shoulder. “Do you smoke?” she asked.

“No.”

“Mind if I do?”

“Go right ahead.” Such a gentleman. She rolled the window down a crack, lit an unfiltered Lucky Strike from a soft pack. Only a few more left. The small cylinder felt good between her fingers, on her lips. She slipped her slender tan feet out of her white beach sandals and brought them up onto the seat, exposing her creamy caramel inner thighs. They rode in silence as Alice smoked, Big Black still soft on the stereo. Jack watched her from a sideways glance, one hand on the stick shift, palm starting to sweat. Alice’s tank top exposed her toned navel and hip bones peeking out from the top of her tiny jean shorts. She brought the cigarette to her lips deliberately.

Jack took a breath, still not looking at her. “I like the way you do that.”

“Yeah?” Alice leaned against the door, moved one leg further up onto the seat between them. “I like the way you drive.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth curled. “Thanks, darlin’.” Her toes shuffled toward the exposed side of the overalls, the thin, thin fabric of the undershirt. Jack shifted in place, thighs adjusting.

Alice watched, considering Jack’s hard body, the sweet smell of sweat and physicality. She flicked her cigarette out the truck window and rolled the window back up, pulled her knees up underneath her, leaned in close to Jack’s ear.

“Any interest in a fuck?”

“Uh,” Jack’s eyes flashed. Alice already had her hand on the bulge in the crotch of Jack’s overalls.

“I’d like to see what you’ve got under there.” Jack unsnapped the shoulder buckles. Alice pulled a thick, marble-blue colored strap-on from soft gray Calvin Klein briefs. Bigger around than her hand would fit. She milked it with her fingers. Jack’s eyes never left the road.

“Looks good,” said Alice. “Big and hard already.”

“Gave me quite the boner, you on side of the road like that.”

“Oh yeah? Little ol’ me?”

“Soon as I saw those legs, I wanted them wrapped around me.” Alice bobbed her hand in Jack’s lap, dipping her face nearer to the cock. Small murmurs coming from her mouth. Jack left one hand on the wheel and didn’t slow down, hugging the curves of the road with precision. Her lips grazed the head. Licked it like an ice cream cone with her long tongue. Sucked it into her mouth while she left her hand pushing into the base of the silicone.

Jack groaned. “Damn, you’re good at that.”

Alice smiled and sucked. Swirled her tongue. Worked the head against the ridge at the back of her mouth. Applied pressure.

Jack moaned again, deep, from the gut, hips thrusting a little. Heavy foot on the gas pedal, not slowing, eyes on the road. Jack took a blind curve around a cliff, suddenly swerved into the dirt pull-off overlooking the beach, and cut the engine. Alice didn’t stop, head bobbing on the blue cock. Jack leaned back, feet on the floor, hips lifting, hands gripping the steering wheel and then the ceiling of the cab. Pressing against the truck at every angle to get the cock farther down Alice’s throat.

“Fuck.” Jack shuddered, bringing a hand to Alice’s long hair and pulling her off of the cock. She wiped saliva off her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes wide, lips swollen.

“Come with me.” Jack threw open the door to the cab and half-guided, half-dragged Alice out of the driver’s side door. The sun hit them both, insistent and thick on its fall into the ocean. Jack pulled the tailgate down and hopped into the back of the truck with one quick leap, then leaned and offered a hand to Alice. Barefoot, she climbed in.

Not much room with all the tools. The lawnmower was covered in flecks of grass and a dark petroleum lubricant for its rusty engine, and sat next to a red gas can, a strong pungent smell. Dirt under Alice’s bare feet. She made her way up to the cab of the truck and pressed her stomach to it, lifted one leg at the knee and stared out into the beach and setting sun. Waves lapping. Pretty much deserted this far out of the city. A sporty two-door car zipped past, then it was quiet again.

Jack let go of the overalls and they fell. Alice had her hands on the waist of her shorts, twisted around to face Jack. “You’re gonna fuck me with that big thing of yours, aren’t you?”

Jack’s mouth watered. “Yes.”

“Do it then.” She bent over the cab of the truck, slithered the shorts down over her ass and left them at her knees, creamy tan beach skin exposed, cunt exposed, neck twisted to watch Jack approaching.

Jack slid the cock into her in a swift gasp, stretching her taut. Alice lifted onto her tiptoes to tilt her pelvis, curve her back. Jack took hold of her hips and thrust, hard, and again, and again, thick inside her.

“Tight little pussy,” Jack murmured, one hand on her ass, spreading her cheeks. “Feels so good to open you with my big cock.”

Jack thrust harder, grunting. “Aw yeah, aw god yeah.” Alice gasped with each hard thrust, impaled, in a bit of pain but also exquisite sensation, hips pressing apart, back arching deeper, mouth open and gasping. She lifted one foot up onto the three piled bags of garden dirt in the corner of the truck and spread her legs for Jack.

“You like that, don’t you. Dirty girl. You’ve been waiting for someone like me to come along and fuck you right, haven’t you. Haven’t you.” Jack thrust harder, slower, then sharp.

“Yes, oh god, Jack, fuck me,” Alice moaned. Jack slid one arm around her waist and twisted, pulled out and shoved her onto the fertilizer, dropping her on her ass harshly and she reached down to catch herself with her hands, her legs slightly tangled in the fabric of her tiny shorts.

Alice reached up and gripped the bar of the lawnmower next to her, lifting her feet off the ground, legs together, balancing on her ass. Jack slid the shorts down her tanned, slender legs and stepped between them, squatting, pushing her knees back against her chest, their faces inches apart.

Her big blue eyes were wide open.

Jack slid the cock insider her eager cunt again and tried to keep looking at Alice, tried not to miss a minute of this, sun and surf behind Alice’s head, California traffic zooming by on the PCH, Alice’s face flushed, neck arched, hands gripping, pulling, steadying. The lawnmower shook as Jack thrust and thrust, harder, gaining speed, getting faster.

“Your pussy feels so good,” Jack mumbled. “So tight around my cock. Squeeze me, oh god yeah just like that, feels so good, feels so fucken good.”

“Oh yeah, fuck me,” Alice breathed. “Come inside me, oh yeah, you can do that, can’t you, big boy? Fuck me hard until you come inside. I’ll pump that come from your cock with my tight pussy. You like that? You can feel that, can’t you, Jack?”

Jack bucked against Alice, tight and hard, shoving into her over and over until Jack came, swearing, and softened, slowed. Alice caressed the back of Jack’s head, the short short hairs and longer ‘hawk in the middle, until tentatively Jack met her eyes and stood.

“Strip.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“We’re going in.” Jack nodded toward the beach and lifted the A-shirt up and off, revealing toned chest muscles, the swirls of dark tribal tattoos, California brown skin. Hopping out of the truck, Jack jogged toward the cliff’s edge and found a path down, through the beach grass and lines of rocks against the road. Another car zipped past, an old sedan, then the sound faded around the corner of the PCH.

Alice followed reluctantly, watching as Jack awkwardly stripped off the CK briefs while attempting to run in the sand toward the water. Alice nearly laughed. She let her body pick up speed while gravity pulled her down the path of the cliff’s edge and broke into a run when she hit the sand. Her shorts were still in the back of the pickup somewhere, legs bare, feet bare, only her cut off tank top remained, and she pulled it over her head, dropped it near an obvious large boulder.

Jack splashed into the water, tossed the words over his shoulder: “Come on!”

Alice hovered near the edge of the surf, ankle deep in lolling waves and wet sand, kicking at the water. She watched Jack immerse and surface, strapped blue cock and leather harness wet and becoming looser around Jack’s hips, hands running through the wet ‘hawk falling in both eyes, and Alice dove into the surf, slid through the water, cool and soothing against the heat of the day. She surfaced and couldn’t see Jack, then let her body float, weightless, on the rolling waves, until something abruptly pulled her under.

She opened her mouth with a startled “oh!” and then it was full of salt water. Her arms and legs flailed as she struggled back to the surface, gasping at the air.

Jack was smiling, stifling laughter, next to her.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”

Jack’s laughter stopped suddenly and changed to a falsely serious playful face. Alice closed the distance between them quickly and, smirking, grabbed for the strapon, pulled hard, forced Jack under the water, both of them struggling, Jack grabbing onto Alice for support as they were both pulled deeper under the water.

They detangled, emerged, gasping and laughing. Jack lunged for Alice in a taildive, took hold of her waist, lifted her legs. She leaned back into the water as Jack found her clit, slid fingers inside, held her hips up.

“Ohh, that’s good,” she crooned. “Oh god. Damn. That’s perfect … oh fuck, your fingers inside me feels so good. I can’t – I want –” she had no leverage. She could feel the sandy ocean floor with her toes, but wanted her ankles up on Jack’s broad shoulders.

Jack pulled-pushed her further toward shore, half walking, half swimming, bodies touching everywhere, Alice being pushed backward as Jack walked along the sand, holding each other’s eyes and bodies up in the water, Jack’s cock bobbing against her leg. She bit her lip to keep from sucking her tongue in her mouth, remembering how that blue cock tasted and felt.

The ocean rocked around them, then she hit sand with her butt first, soft, sand, ground, then Alice was laid out as the wave receded, kissing, nude, Jack’s hands between her legs, greedy, pushing her thighs apart, thick fingers entering her and she gasped.

“I think it’s time you came for me,” Jack whispered gruffly, mouth rough on her cheek, pressing Alice against the sand, pushing her legs apart. “Come on, pretty girl, open up that cunt for me, squeeze my fingers. You feel me deep inside you?”

Alice gasped, body balanced on every sensation. Heels in the air, thighs pressed back against the wet sand. Jack worked her clit with expert precision, slow circles, a slick thrumming, and another wave broke at their feet.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard,” Jack breathed into her neck, fingers moving harder, faster, between her legs, pulsing over her clit. “You’re going to come just for me, just for me, pretty girl. Feel my fingers workin’ your pussy? You’re gonna do it for me, aren’t you? Let go, pretty girl, just let it all go, and come for me, come on girl, fuck yeah, do it.”

Alice, gasping, toes curling, swollen cunt pressed hard against Jack’s hand, felt her muscles tighten and vibrate, swell and then explode, thick and fast and deep, Jack’s fingers thrusting, pressing hard against her hard clit, as her stomach contracted and body shook. She screamed a string of profanities and gripped Jack’s wrists, clawed at the muscles of Jack’s shoulders. She moaned and yelled, eyes open and suddenly aware of the darkening sky, the bright stars beginning to be visible outside of the city, twilight fading fast to blackness.

Jack touched her thighs and stomach for a minute as her body calmed. Alice became suddenly aware of her wet feet, bare body, cool breeze coming from over the ocean, the sound of the water, waves still tickling her calves and knees, cooler than the air and soothing.

“I, uh,” Jack stammered, suddenly shy again. “Guess we should get back on the road.”

Alice nodded. She wanted another Lucky Strike, was beginning to feel chilly. And she wanted to blow Jack behind the wheel again.

Jack offered her a hand up and they both brushed sand from their bare skin. Alice watched the toned muscles of Jack’s chest and arms, the dark curly tattoos. Jack began making his way in the sand, and Alice stood for a moment, watching the shimmering reflection of the rising new moon in the surface of the water, listening to the crash and rush and whoosh of the waves, when she saw something break the surface, a fin, and another, then a tail, the dramatic swoop of the back arch of a dolphin.

“Jack!” Alice called. “Did you see those dolphins?”

Jack turned and looked, then laughed. “That’s so gay.”

Alice smiled, then couldn’t help but giggle. She turned away from the water and watched Jack’s firm ass and thighs moving along the path ahead of her, wondering how long Jack would resist before she could get fucked again.

Sugarbutch Star: Jennifer

August 21, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  12 Comments

Sugarbutch Star honorable mention submission from Jennifer

Popsicle in the Library

“You know there’s no food allowed in the library,” I growl in her ear, pressing her stomach against the concrete stairwell wall. I’m speaking quietly but it still echoes.

“Unh,” she groans, not able to form words, mouth open.

“Not very polite of you, breaking the rules like that.” I lift her dress and shove my hands under the edge of her panties. She’s wet.

“Oh, you like this, do you? You’re enjoying this?” I flick my fingers over her cunt, then pull my hand away. She wimpers, echoing in the stairwell.

“You want something to suck on, girl, you take this,” and I let up on the pressure against her. She peels her cheek away from the concrete. I take my hand from her hair and unzip my fly, pull out my packing cock, bend it straight. “Go on, suck it.”

She drops to her knees, lips red from the cherry popsicle she’d been sucking lewdly when I walked up to her. And here I’d thought we’d had a study date. Her legs were all long in the windowsill, summery dress light and airy and when she moved her knees I could see the thin cream fabric covering her pussy, the outline of her lips, plump, thick.

She offered the sweet, bright red popsicle to me. “Want some?” Eyes all sly and sparkly, playful smile on her mouth.

I shook my head no. Crossed my arms over my chest. Raised one eybrow and nod for her to continue.

She does. Slides the whole thing into her mouth and cherry juice gets on her chin.

And now she sucks me just like she was working that sticky treat, sucking it like she could pull the juice from me too, like she could use the muscles in her cheeks to draw the cum from me and swallow it all.

Fuck. I want her to make me shoot in her mouth like that. Oh I wish I could.

I groan. “Enough.” I say and pull her to her feet. I don’t take her panties off, just lift her dress and finger the fleshy parts of her ass with my hand, then give it a good smack.

Not too hard. I cup my palm a little bit and it echoes perfectly, which makes the slight sting more impressive because it sounds so loud. I smack again. She cries out a little. Again, harder, and she yelps, I hear it floors away. My cock is still out and I shove it into her. Hard. Slide it in all the way. She whimpers, presses her hands into the concrete, the side of her face, presses her ass into me, spreads her legs.

She actually shouts, my thrusts pounding the noise out of her.

“Quiet.” I say, harsh, in her ear.

She is still wimpering. Trying to be quiet and she whispers, “I’m gonna spew if you keep fucking me like that.”

“Oh yeah? You’re a messy one, eh? Bring it on, bitch. Come on, come for me.” My mouth at her ear and my hands on her hips, head of my cock hitting her g-spot, I can feel it, and she comes hard, wet, dripping, soaking my cock, her thighs, the floor, my shoes. Her body shudders but that’s not all I can get out of her and I pull out and twist her around before she’s regained her composure, slide my fingers in, slide my hand in, reach up and inside her and I can feel the spots to press and I do.

I growl, “Do it again,” and she shakes her head no but she’s gasping, legs wide and on her tiptoes on the wet floor. She grabs for my wrist to pull me back, embarrasment in her eyes and she can feel her own cum dripping down her legs, but I don’t let up.

I take hold of her hair with my other hand and pull her head back, press my mouth to her jaw saying, “Come on, I’m gonna make you. You’re going to come just for me. Fuck yeah, do it. I’m gonna make you, fuck yeah, fuck yeah.”

And she wraps her arms around my neck and comes, and comes, and comes.

Sugarbutch Star: the femme top

August 16, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  7 Comments

This is an honorable mention Sugarbutch Star submission from the femme top. And yes I know I never posted about our second date … consider it on the way.

I can feel everything. Every breath every movement every inch where my skin is bound with leather. Wrists, ankles. I can hear my heart beat. Can see my chest moving up and down, the skin thin and flushed. I swallow. Focus on the ceiling; you are kneeling, strapping on. Hand on the thick of it, slick with lube. I am exposed. Open to you and you want me here, this way.

My hips are cramping, pulled back like this. Even my underarms are exposed. I don’t want to struggle but my body can’t stop. A twist of my wrist and my ankle is pulled up further, I feel it in my thigh. Everything is connected.

I don’t want to want it like I do. Don’t want to need, to crave to be filled when I’m like this. To be reduced to something empty, inadequate, unwhole.

Make me whole.

Make me scream.

You have your eyes on me and I blink back tears. You slap my cunt. I cringe, cry out. I don’t want to say please. I don’t want to need the sting of your fingers which are wet now, from me. I don’t want you to know how much I crave: touch me again. Twist the bar so I can’t keep struggling, and make me feel. Make me feel even the places I refuse to let you in. Make me.

Your eyes are shining wet like your cock. Your hand is on it. I want to be closed to you but you have me open, unlocked already and spilling my secrets. I need to hide my every imperfection. Need to hide my want. You can have me. My body is all nerve endings and convulses at every touch: your hands on the backs of my thighs. No need to open me further, this is all there is, this is all there is. Take me so I can only ever be taken by you. Take me so I wake inside myself screaming your name. Take me to where I feel again, where I feel anything, all of it, open, receptive, receiving, submitting.

You can have me. I give in, I give in.

It is agonizingly slow, a steady slide, all the way in, tip to base, and I can feel it, feel it, feel it, all the way up to the back of my throat, and I loosen, lose my grip, lose myself, but you keep hold of me, and I am only a vessel, something to hold you, cradle you, something to take it in, to receive, and I become only energy, light, lightning, and I am made whole.

Sugarbutch Star: Grey

August 15, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  5 Comments

This is an honorable mention from the Sugarbutch Star contest, from Grey. Written from her perspective. I plan to post a few more honorable mentions as well – I am attempting to keep them short, little snippets of a scene rather than the entire build-up and tear-down that I usually include in my stories. I’m doing this to challenge myself and my writing, but it’s also because there were so many great submissions, but I don’t have time to write them all for the contest, unfortunately.

Charcoal Portrait in the Art Studio

There is only the light scratching of my charcoal on paper. Thick and cream, deckled edges on plyboard. Held in my lap. An indication of shadow here. Of hip, of thigh.

She’s posing for me, only a black tie around her neck, black leather harness around her hips, black strap-on eagerly poised. She’s draped on the white studio couch. She’s calm and steady. She’s watching me.

A flick of my wrist and a line for her jaw, her left breast. The angles of her come to life. I recreate her. She lets me.

I fill in details. Impressions of her, sultry, on paper, fall around me like winter is coming. I tear off another sheet and she is moving toward me, all eyes and hips, that cocky swagger.

I drop my charcoal. My fingers are blackened with it. Her lips are at my ear: “Which curves are you still missing?” She takes my hand, sets it on her hip. “This one?” On her stomach. “This?” On her thigh. “Here?”

I swallow the hesitation in my throat.

“Come on,” she says. “You can do better than that.” And I can.

She shows me. Her tongue sketches curves and I am recreated by her from the inside when she slides.

Her lips are charcoal, and my skin is perfect paper.

Sugarbutch Star: Lady Brett Ashley

August 14, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  2 Comments

Thanks to Lady Brett Ashley for this submission, the second of the five finalists in the Sugarbtuch Star contest.

Threesome and a Purple Tie

Brett reaches up with one hand and peels off my purple tie, her blindfold, sticky against her forehead. Her mouth is full of her girlfriend’s cock. I watch her hesitate momentarily until she wiggles her hips a little, which is my acknowledgement. If her girlfriend is in her mouth, I must be the one fucking her from behind.

I hadn’t expected the evening to go this way. I had hoped to take Brett back to my place, sure, but as soon as her handsome and clearly doting soft butch girlfriend showed up as I easily fingered Brett’s jean-clad knee, I altered my evening expectations.

“Oh, you’re … spoken for,” I said, frowning, exaggerating my disappointment in order to hide it. “Too bad. Unless … I don’t suppose you’d want to share?” I look to the girlfriend. Eli. She sizes me up, then looks at Brett. Brett’s eyes sparkle and she gets this cheeky half-smile. I think Eli’s about to punch me, and they’ll have a fun night of what-if sex, then I think Brett might ditch Eli by the way she’s already devouring me with these smoldering looks, then I think Eli left Brett alone for just this reason: to find a third. I consider making a joke to Brett about feeling used, how I’d been on my very best charming pick-up behavior, but decide against it.

“Yeah, alright,” Eli shifts her weight, digs her hands into her pockets, also with a slight half-smile. She has nice arms: strong, defined muscles under her white tee shirt. She’s more girly than I am, but still more boyish than Brett, who is what I’d call subtle femme. May take a second glance, but it’s there.

Brett caught my eye as soon as I walked into the club. Nice ass, graceful legs. Pretty eyes behind her thick, long curly hair. Cute glasses that enhance the curves of her jaw and cheeks. I took the barstool next to hers and watched her laugh before I said hello.

I drain what’s left of my melted ice and Jameson. Their hotel is on the corner.

I untie my purple silk tie in the elevator. “Kiss her,” I say to Eli. She’s not sure she wants to take orders from me, but she wants to kiss Brett and she’s glad I didn’t move in to kiss her myself. Brett is curled against the corner of the elevator, watching us both interacting. She sometimes raises a finger to her mouth as if to bite her nail.

Eli carefully places each hand on the elevator wall behind Brett and leans in to kiss her. Brett watches me, still unslipping my tie, carefully undoing the knots, mouth moving against Eli, eyes open. I undo the top button of my silver shirt and hold one side of the tie in each hand.

And so it began.

The elevator doors open, I step through and wait for them to lead the way. A cute couple, attractive. Brett has a great ass.

Eli slides her keycard in and the trio of us enters the bland hotel room. Two beds, small table with an ice bucket and glasses, a chair that is a cheap knock-off of something comfortable. Their suitcases are on one bed. The other is perfectly made.

I toss the tie to Eli. “Care to blindfold her?” Brett turns to me, eyes wide, still quiet. Eli smiles and tosses it back to me. “You do it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s smiling but also challenging me. I don’t understand this game yet.

I take two steps to Brett, who has saught protection from a wall again. I take her glasses and set them on the bed with the open suitcases. Her hair falls in her face, chin tipped down. Curls everywhere. I want handfuls of it. Fistfuls and to use it as rope, as something by which to pull her. It is long, past her shoulders. It would splay out everywhere. I finger her jaw, her cheekbone.

We have a moment. Eye contact, connecting. “Can I kiss you?” I ask. I’m asking her if she’s okay with this. She’s stealing sipping glances at me, looking down at my hands on her waist, looking back up, body language telling me she loves it, is just a little shy, but she likes to be told what to do.

She nods. Murmurs please or yes or okay or maybe just mmm. Her body goes soft against me and her hands find my waist, then lower back, then fingers dig into my shoulders as I kiss her. I like the way Brett lets go, trusts, lets me push her by my energy and intention. She picks up on the subtleties fast.

I draw her thin tee shirt over her head, a mess of dark curls spilling out. Eli Is at her back now, unhooking her bra, hands on her skin, her stomach, her shoulders, kissing her neck, rolling her nipples between her fingers and Brett leans back into her, one arm up, hand in Eli’s short cropped hair.

Topless, I slide my wide purple tie over Brett’s eyes, tie it behind her head.

Eli has her strapon in one fist and the vinyl harness dangles from her hand.

“You may not be able to tell who is doing what,” Eli says, still at Brett’s neck, watching me as I unbutton the rest of my silver shirt, slipping it off of my shoulders. “But I’ll be here the whole time,” she promises, still holding Brett close. I’m already strapped, she needs a minute to prep. I take Eli’s hand from Brett’s shoulder and we both step back, stand and watch Brett reaching for us by listening to where we are moving. I keep Eli’s hand a moment and kiss her fingers, suck her first finger onto my tongue, flick it with my tongue ring.

“Butch on butch,” she says, laughing, her eyes soft, “that’s practically faggotry.”

“Best kind of faggotry, in my opinion,” I say, and lightly wap the ass of her jeans as I step back to Brett.

“Tell her to get on her knees,” I say to Eli.

“Get on your knees,” Eli says, unbuttoning and sliding her jeans off, pulling the harness on.

Brett sinks. She brings her hands behind her back and I put my hands in her hair, then move one to my fly and cock. I finger her lips, pretty mouth, and she takes two of my fingers between her teeth, sucks them onto her tongue. Soft.

Actions become blurred. My cock. Brett’s jeans pulled off and on the ground. Eli fingering Brett while she sucks me, the lovely noises from her throat as she tries not to come, not yet. Eli clearly knows what to do and doesn’t let up, Brett arches her back like a cat and nearly hangs from my legs, gripping my thighs with her hands as she sucks my cock, pulling on my jeans until they come down with my briefs and she slides two fingers under my favorite harness to find my clit. She works it like a cock, strokes it and rolls it gently between her fingers. I groan, hips buck. Lord.

Eli’s got one hand on her left hip, still working her right hand between Brett’s legs.

Brett starts shuddering and panting and she’s going to come, I don’t know if I should pull out of her mouth or stay. She stops sucking but keeps leaning forward into my cock, breathing heavy around it, big gasps of air mouth open and I let her work herself against it, and she does, god she does, until she’s writhing and rocking against me, my hips and cock, against Eli and her hands, shuddering, convulsing at the stomach in small pulses of muscle and breath and she groans, hard, gasps for air, whimpers a little, and is still.

Eli holds her hips for a minute, letting her rest in her crumpled state on the beige hotel carpet, then twirls her finger at me, meaning time to switch.

My mouth waters.

Eli still doesn’t have her cock on. Her harness is loose but won’t fall off her hips; she’s stripped her white tee shirt and jeans. I remove my jeans and watch as Eli guides Brett from the floor onto the bed, onto her back, Brett’s knees hanging off the end, legs parted but together, thighs pressing.

Kneeling on the bed, Eli slowly draws one knee to either side of Brett’s shoulders, then lowers her cunt gently down over Brett’s mouth. I realize my jeans are stuck at my ankles and try to tear my eyes away long enough to pull them all the way off.

Eli has hold of the wall-mounted headboard and her head is thrown back a little, spine already arching, body moving eagerly. Brett’s knees are contracting off the bed and she runs one foot over the other, up her calf. She has hold of Eli’s thigh and her body is curling off the bed like a wet piece of paper.

I leave my a-shirt on and move to the foot of the bed, touch Brett’s knees, caress her thighs, her calves as much as I can reach, her hipbones, the gentle hair over her pussy, her labia, swollen and sensitive. I ease her left knee off the bed into the grip of my elbow and step closer, use my right knee to press her legs open. She’s slick, wet and supple, muscles pliable, she lets me move her where I want her. Her hands reach for me a second then back to Eli’s lower back and thighs. Eli is quietly moaning.

I feel her cunt with two fingers and slide in slow to get the angle, feel how deep she is. My packing cock isn’t huge but it is enough. She is slick and smooth and she parts her thighs a little farther, offering herself a little more.

I let my fingers wander over her labia and clit as the head of my dick finds her opening and slides in. A little too fast and she gasps. Her whole body responds, she groans, a sound that starts deep in her belly, somewhere my cock is hitting. Her sounds are muffled vibrations against Eli’s cunt.

Eli is working harder against Brett, increasingly faster, pressing her hips down into Brett’s face, balancing herself against the headboard and wall. She is practically on all fours, kneeling, working her clit in Brett’s mouth.

I match Eli’s rhythm and pace and speed. Slow strokes in and out, then faster, shallow. Sometimes a little rotation, a side-to-side motion. I copy her precisely.

They are both moaning. I tighten my grip on Brett’s hips and find a sweet spot, start thrusting harder. I hear Eli’s orgasm building, she’s gasping now and moaning in longer drawn-out sounds. Eli’s whole body begins to shiver and I barely notice, I am occupied, Brett has her legs wrapped around my waist and she’s puling me in, hard and deep.

Eli swings one leg over and half slides off the bed. Her legs are a little weak.

“Turn,” Eli says, pushing at Brett from the side. Brett turns to her stomach. Eli grabs her cock from the foot of the other bed as I don’t wait, but slide right back in, tip to balls, and begin fucking Brett again like I never stopped. She has one knee on the bed, one leg over the edge, toes on the floor, pelvis tilted up and back to take me in. Her hands are grabbing fistfuls of blankets and peeling the sheets from the bed. Her hair falls in a mess of curls around her head, only slightly restrained by my purple tie still around her forehead.

My head leans back, shoulders back, holding onto Brett’s hips, sometimes the flesh of her ass, round and a nice handful. Eli slides back onto the bed, sits with her back against the headboard and pulls Brett to her, sliding her cock Brett’s mouth.

I’m close to coming and feel pressure building, the muscles contracting with new force and urgency, when Brett lifts her hand off the bed and removes the blindfold. I see Eli smile at her, hands in her hair, then look at me. We lock eyes for just a moment, until Brett presses her hips back and wiggles against me, and the sensation is overwhelming, throwing me off balance and sounds escape my throat with every exhale until I’m pounding, pumping hard against her and Brett is gasping into Eli’s cock, muffled, and it all builds, hard, until I swear I can feel her cunt contracting around my cock, squeezing, and I explode inside her, coming hard, rocking against her, shaking.

My lower back is wet with sweat and I stagger a little, knees weak, joints not holding me up, and both Brett and Eli are looking at me, biting back grins, giggling, ecstatic. I swallow embarrassment and clear my throat, which makes them laugh more. I laugh too. We’re all a bit high. I lay myself down next to Brett, awkwardly, not able to quite be all the way on the bed but the support feels good, and I’m breathing hard, still catching my breath.

Eli laces her fingers through Brett’s and kisses her. “That was fun,” she says between kisses. “Sharing you. So … when is it not rude to kick her out?”

I laugh, ruffle Brett’s hair, kiss her, kiss Eli gently on the lips, cupping her chin, then pull on my jeans. I can take a hint.

file under: things to look forward to

August 13, 2007  |  miscellany  |  No Comments
Tomorrow will bring the second in the series of five Sugarbutch Star contest entries, and this one will feature a threesome scene from Lady Brett Ashley.