Chemical [se]X (5 page)

“I bet.” I could hardly imagine.

Sage continued, “Here’s what I suggest. Once we get back to the rink, I’m giving Allan an Afro-sleaziac to share with whomever he wants. Let’s split another one, and then I have two more to ration out. We’ll be fucking and sucking all night long on these.”

“Wow,” I exclaimed with a shake of my head, the long strands from the blond wig swooping across my eyes. “All this lust and sexual ecstasy after eating a tiny piece of chocolate shaped like a fucking duck.”

“Quack, quack,” joked Sage as we skated back to our friends and to a sexual experience that would change all of us.

Bittersweet

Malin James

It’s an anonymous room in a city I know well. The rooms are always anonymous. Seedy too, with the ghost of a thousand cigarettes clinging hard to yellowed paint. Not this time though. This time we’ve gone higher end—a luxury suite with satin sheets and expensive, perfumed air. There’s even a box of chocolates lying on the bed, a small golden box that Iain bought special. It’s their anniversary, you see—Iain’s and his wife’s. Of course, she’d been called out of town. Shame to waste the room….

I open the box of chocolates, and find an ivory card. It’s a weighty little thing engraved on thick, expensive stock.

Eat Me, it reads.

Of course it does.

Meanwhile, Iain checks his messages with his back to me. His shoulders are hunched as if as if he’s protecting national secrets. Probably placating his other mistress or whoever the hell it is. Pressure simmers in my temples. I’ve begun to hate that phone.

Adore you, gorgeous. xxx

Scraps to a hungry dog….

Of course, the texts had been lovely at first. Sexy. Fun. Proof of his attraction. Fresh off an ugly divorce, I had needed that so much. Recently, though, it’s begun to wear thin. The shifty, back-hunched lies have burned through me. Hollowed me out. Now I’m holding a box of expensive chocolates that were not bought for me, and I realize, quite suddenly, that I don’t want this anymore.

I study Iain’s strong, broad back and wonder if I should stay for one, last fuck. My head is all for leaving, but my cunt…my cunt wants a final go. Absentmindedly, I pop a truffle in my mouth. It’s smooth and dark with a spikey, citrus finish. Not at all what I’d expected—more bitter than sweet. Not really to my taste. And yet…each receptor in my mouth shivers. My body’s responding as if I’ve drunk too much champagne.

I barely notice when Iain pockets the phone and smiles. It’s the sort of smile that promises five minutes of his time. Then he kisses me hungrily, a preliminary kiss. Our kisses are often like that—his taking, mine giving, reminding him who he’s with. But he doesn’t want reminding, and his mouth goes hard and sharp. The chocolate’s barely melted when he takes it from my tongue.

I jerk my head back. The presumption’s wearing thin. Ignoring my reaction, he takes the box from me and holds a truffle to my lips.

“Here, greedy girl. Have another,” he says. “They’re aphrodisiacs. Not that you need one. Do you, little whore?”

I shake my head and turn away, but he forces it past my lips. I stiffen, offended by the way his fingertips bite into the back of my neck; then the chocolate melts and my shock gives way to bittersweet warmth. I smile despite Iain. It tastes like firelight and sex. Then he kisses me and ruins it with his hard, unhappy mouth. There is nothing sweet in his kiss.

Iain presses me back, unzipping my dress as he does. He pushes it down past my breasts, which are bare beneath my plum silk sheath. My thighs are slick and my nipples peak. My body is hungry for something…not quite this, but something very close.

Deep inside me, a lazy thing uncurls, something sweet and bitter like the chocolate on my teeth, something slow and warm and mean.

Let him try, it whispers. Let him push and take. Let him try, and then let me….

My heel snags in the carpet and I stumble, but he keeps pushing me back, nudging me with his hips until my back meets the glass. The curtains are open. We’re six floors above the street—just low enough to be seen by anyone who looks up.

A chill seeps through the window, cooling my skin. Iain smirks when I shudder, as if my reaction to the cold were a reaction to him. Then, with insinuating hands, he shoves my dress down the rest of the way, so that I’m standing in front of the window wearing nothing but panties and my ridiculous fuck-me heels. Sliding his knee between my legs, Iain grabs my lace-covered crotch.

“Always ready, aren’t you, Em?”

Oh, I’m ready. I’m more than ready—but not for what he has in mind. I give him a bratty shrug and lick the chocolate from my teeth.

Iain’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t like the shrug.

Making a show of his disappointment, he catches my wrists in one hand and holds up another truffle. I want it. I like what it’s doing—the chocolates are waking me up. Cocking his head thoughtfully, Iain waves it under my nose and then pops it in his mouth.

“Sorry, Em. I don’t think so. No more until you beg.”

Then, belying his textbook alpha nature, his eyes widen cartoonishly as he gets the truffle’s full effect.

His pupils dilate, turning his brown eyes black. We look at each other, assessing. We’re both breathing hard and fast. He recovers first and grabs me by the shoulders before turning me around and shoving me into the glass. I’m so dizzy I can’t think.

Wait. Just wait.

“Slutty little Em,” Iain croons into my ear.

Hours before I’d have lapped it up. I’d have glut myself on his voice. Now, I lick my lips and wait my turn.

“Just think what they’d say if they saw you,” he goes on. “Your ex, your family, the strangers on the street. You’re a filthy little whore. Suck my cock so everyone can see.”

Filthy whore. Blah, blah, blah. All that silliness is part of the old game. I laugh, reveling in my impulse to take a swipe.

“Oh, honey,” I say, laughing. “You’re assuming I care what anyone thinks.”

I reach up and remove his hand from the back of my neck. He’s so surprised he lets me go. Despite the nature of our play, he’s never been much of a Dom. A tourist really. Just like me. I’m just a tourist sub. This though…this feels different. The strength in my arms pushing back against the glass—this feels like me.

“Do you think,” I say, turning to face him, “that I care what anyone fucking thinks?”

I’m casually conversational as I cup his dick in my palm. His pulse is pounding, filling his cock. I can feel it despite the shield of his well-tailored slacks. I have him by the balls, and he’s loving it.

“Suck my cock,” he says again, but the command is less than commanding. His lack of conviction makes me grin.

“Really,” I say. “No.”

He looks at me confounded, arms limp at his side. Those arms, those hands, and the man they’re attached to need to be told what to do.

“Em—”

“No,” I say again, leaning back against the window, leggy and loose in my needle-like heels. “Strip.”

“Em, I—”

“Strip, or I walk out the door.”

My mouth still tastes like chocolate, more sweet than bitter now, sweet and warm and strong. I saunter over to the pretty gold box where it lies abandoned on the bed. Meanwhile, Iain starts to strip. He’s awkward and clumsy. The blush of humiliation crawls all the way up to his scalp.

“Slow down, baby,” I say. “Slow down and I’ll give you a treat.”

He nods and tries to obey.

I choose a chocolate from the box and take a tiny bite. More smoky, gorgeous warmth. I smile and slant him a look. His fingers are trembling as he unbuttons his shirt and reluctantly unzips his slacks. One after the other, they drop to the floor.

“Boxers too. But leave your socks on.”

He hates leaving his socks on for sex.

His dick is so hard it’s straining against his shorts. God, I love his cock. I fucking love his cock… My lips know every angle and sweet spot he has, and I’ll admit that part of me wants to gobble him up. But not tonight. That’s not what we’re doing tonight, a fact that I embrace as his boxers hit the floor.

He looks down at his socks and then at me, flushed and ashamed.

“Good,” I say. “Here’s your treat.”

I toss the half-eaten truffle across the room. He reaches out and tries to catch it.

“No,” I say. “Hands and knees.”

“Em…?”

“If you don’t want to play, I’ll leave,” I say, throwing the chocolates on the bed and retrieving my dress.

“No. It’s not that,” he mumbles.

“Then what?”

“I just…I like you this way.”

He’s flushed and fidgety, but behind the blown pupils, his eyes are sincere. Apparently, whatever is in those chocolates is having the same effect on him.

“Good,” I say. “Get your treat.”

Iain crawls across the room. Bending awkwardly, he snags the chocolate with his teeth.

“Excellent. Be a good boy and come here.”

He nods, working the chocolate in his mouth. He’s barely halfway across the room when he moans and reaches for his dick.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Happy to have an excuse, I circle behind him and give his ass a smack. He yelps. It feels so good I do it again.

“Kneel.”

He kneels, looking chagrined.

I stand before him, naked except for a thin scrap of lace. His dick is obscenely huge. I’ve never seen it so big, not when he’s fucking me or making me beg or putting me through the same fucking paces that I’m putting him through now. I press my thighs together and almost come. Power is so much sexier than plain old simple sex. At least, it is tonight.

“Take my panties off.”

He reaches for me hungrily, but I swat away his hands.

“Teeth.”

Licking his lips, Iain bites the ribbons that hold my panties on. Then he clumsily pulls them down. They fall in a sodden little heap. Iain’s fingers twitch. I can practically see him scenting me like some kind of starving hound. Taking a play from his book, I grab the nape of his neck.

“Up you go, handsome.”

He struggles to his feet. Then I propel him forward to the window, and push him up against the glass.

“Look at those people down there,” I whisper in his ear, mimicking the tone he’d just used on me. “What do you think they would say? What would your wife say? Or your boss? Or whoever else you’re fucking? Because darling, let’s be honest—you’ll fuck anything that moves. What do you think they would say if they saw you right now?”

Light fills dozens of windows up and down the street. Coyly, I take a step closer and fit my hips against his ass.

“Please, Em,” he says, grinding back against me.

“Please…what?”

“Please, I need to come.”

“No,” I murmur. “Not yet. You’re going to go down on me. Here, in the window. Where everyone can see. Maybe afterwards…if you do a good job.”

“Okay, Em.”

“Good. Filthy little slut.”

I turn him around to face me. He’s framed by the skyline, needy and small despite his muscled frame. I have never felt so good.

“I’m going to lean against the window,” I say, pushing him down to his knees. “Let’s see how you do.”

He nods and kneels before me. Then his tongue finds my clit, and I sigh as I glance at the bed. The pretty gold box is exactly where I’d tossed it. Slowly, hungrily, he laps and sucks my clit. Maybe we’re not done quite yet….

The Dinner Guest

Tabitha Rayne

There comes a point in a long term relationship where if you haven’t exposed your kinky desires to your partner, it might be too late. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past couple of years. After all, what would I think if Luca suddenly told me he had a penchant for wearing stockings or had always fantasized about taking a male lover? Actually, that’s probably my secret wants coming out. The other night when we were making love in the good old missionary position, I had an image of him being done by some guy we’d picked up at the same time, so I could see both their faces. It was such a hot scene that I came hard, just like that. I can’t usually get to the magic moment through missionary alone but, boy-oh-boy, that fleeting thought had done it.

We’ve been together for nine years, Luca and me. Totally and mind numbingly boring-for-my-friends in love from the second we first met.

I asked him a while ago when we were pretty tipsy on champagne if there was anything he’d like to do – deepest darkest secret vice. I told him no matter what it was, I’d help him do it.

“Well, I always fancied trying snowboarding,” was his innocent reply. I think I drank the rest of the champers straight from the bottle.

So why is this all being stirred up? Well, I’ll tell you. At uni, before I met my beloved, there was a guy, you know, we were just friends but all the girls loved him. Jasper. Hot to look at, hot to be with, hot to talk to, no subject was out of bounds, no subject too esoteric, taboo or banal to dissect to the end of time – or at least the end of a bottle of Jack Daniels. We would lie on the hill drinking and smoking until the morning dew soaked us. I never grew cold, (perhaps a little damp…) our conversation kept me heated through and through. We shared our most secret fantasies. I told him how I sometimes smacked my own arse with a ruler to get off. He said that if I hadn’t found a dominant other by the time I was thirty, he’d happily oblige. It was the strangest thing – the safety net of the never ending now of youth made the merest idea of ever being thirty as impossible as some of our discussions on philosophy. We had chemistry, we definitely did, but neither one of us seemed capable of making a move. I wondered sometimes if was just imagining the electricity between us or even if he was gay. I knew he loved the idea of trying every sexual thing at least once and with many different people, just not me it seemed.

All my youthful heartache surrounding Jasper disappeared as if it had never existed when I first set eyes on Luca. Chemistry. What a strange thing. To be completely at its mercy. Is that all we are? Just a bunch of chemical reactions?