lowering my panties with deliberate patience, slowly revealing the round, white globes of my ass, then tugging the panties down my thighs.
She held my wrists tight and then gave my ass a resounding spank. “Why do you dirty girls always have to learn the hardest way how to behave?” She gave me another well-placed, stinging spank.
“I want you to tell Daddy exactly what you did; tell him why I’m so angry with you.” Another severe smack heated my cheeks, making me jump.
“Because I was watching,” I cried out.
“Watching what?” The smacks were coming more quickly now, stinging, landing relentlessly on the same spot. My ass burned. I tried to wriggle away from the aim of her blows, but it was to no avail. “Answer me; you were watching what?”
“I was watching Daddy fuck you.”
“And what else were you doing?”
She pulled gently but firmly on my hair, forcing me to look up into her face. “And what else were you doing?” she asked again, her eyes nearly glowing with lust.
“I was touching myself,” I said.
“Don’t tell me, tell Daddy.”
Daddy had gotten off the bed and come around in front of me. He was slowly jerking himself off in my face. I looked up at him, now, too. God, he looked hot. I confessed to him in my tiniest voice, “I was touching myself while I watched you fuck her.”
Daddy seemed to be in a swoon. He stuck the head of his cock between my lips. Arching my head back uncomfortably with one hand, he worked his thick tool in and out of my mouth.
Louise worked two fingers up my hole then, giving me a thorough finger-fucking while Daddy worked on my eager mouth. Within moments, Daddy had pulled a condom from his pocket.
“It’s Daddy’s turn to punish you now,” he explained. “I want you to kneel on the edge of the bed and lick Louise’s pussy.” He slathered some gooey lube on his sheathed dick. “You’re to lick her until she comes, you understand me? No fingers, just lick her. Lick her while Daddy punishes you.”
I understood. Louise was laying flat across the bed now and I knelt between her spread legs. I began licking her swollen pussy with gusto, centering on her tiny, erect clit.
But Daddy’s idea of punishment was sublime. As I knelt between Louise’s legs, my smarting red ass at the edge of the bed, my panties around my knees and my schoolgirl uniform shoved up around my waist, Daddy reamed my ass. He went at my hole aggressively, going in deep and pulling out slow, thoroughly opening the hole, giving me the fucking of my life.
It was my turn to moan into Louise’s snatch while she writhed around on my tongue. She kept my face pressed close to her mound while my tongue licked furiously at her clit, wiggled it and swirled it. It didn’t take much, really, to make her come. Daddy was grunting, seriously riding my ass in the depths of his own orgasm when Louise came in my mouth. I came just moments after she did, feeling positively delirious.
But the downside of it all was that shortly after this little explosion of mutual climaxes, they paid me my fee and told me I was free to go, even though it was obvious that they were in no hurry to leave. That’s when Mr Santos’s idea of what our relationship consisted of became brutally clear to me. I was still just a hooker to him, just one that he had an unusual amount of fun with.
It had been a rude awakening for me, one that made me less inclined to arrange many trysts with him afterward. I never let on to him that Mrs Hamilton had once been my high school teacher, or that it had been an unnerving liaison for me in a number of ways. I kept my thoughts to myself and went through the motions of earning my five hundred bucks. Eventually, I stopped seeing him altogether.
But yesterday, watching his casket disappear into the back of the hearse as I stood in the chill of the drizzling rain, I wished I’d spent just a little more time fucking him. I was going to miss that guy. I felt lucky I’d known him at all.
FOURTH DATE, FIRST FUCK by Dion Farquhar
BACK WHEN THEY were dating, before they were sure of each other, before they’d lived together for years and done just about every kind of fucking – positions, places, toys – and before they’d worried about money together, before they’d fought about who-should-have-done-what in the division-of-labor, back in their prehistory, there had been a first time.
Lying in bed alone and half awake, hand cupping her cunt, she enjoyed an orderly remembering of the extraordinary week that just ended. She was in love – again. Resilience has been her forte, and this time, like every other, she hoped she’d gotten it right and chosen a grown-up who could be a full-time partner and not just a weekend lover.
Things so often go slower these days, she thought, given AIDS and the age, not to mention their age. With an inadvertent smile, she tried to account for their not jumping into bed on the first or even the second date. Sex on the fourth date was something of a rarity in her experience as opposed to the more common variety – the slam- you-up-against-the-wall, I-could-fuck-you-right-here first date kind. With Josh, it was four dates before they got to bed. A week later, now that she was spending every night with him, it seemed both fast and slow. But what mattered, was that they got there at their own pace, and that was so right, she thought, feeling a ripple of desire course through her stomach.
Although an astute observer would have pointed to the awkwardness of their leave-takings, to the close timing of their dates, to their eagerness to be together and laugh and talk until workers shooed them out of closing cafes, and other indicators of mutual desire, she had only known for sure that he was interested in sex with her because of where he sat on his couch. The body always gives it away. On their third date, the first time she had been in his house, they had sat at opposite ends of his couch. They’d had a great time, and laughed and talked until she said, sensing sex was too much to take on that night, “Well, it’s getting late, I’d better get home.”
But on the fourth date, they’d watched a video of the incredibly sexy Carlos Saura film
Feeling more relaxed by the minute, she took her shoes off and swung a cushion around for her back so she could sit perpendicular towards him. “That was quite a movie,” she said, smiling. “Yah, it’s pretty intense,” he replied. They smiled at each other, allowing themselves to show their delight in each other’s company and savor their effervescing desire.
Although quite relaxed from a combination of the grass and the late hour, her head was racing. This was powerful stuff. As she shifted her position on the couch slightly, she realized that she was wet, a little surprised at the effect that the film and their unacknowledged desire for each other was having on her. Her body ahead of her, telling her she wanted him, even though the movie was just plain hot. This was more than mood. Regarding him, she remembered what good sex was like. Not having had any in months since her breakup with a French Department – Romance Studies they called it at his university – Don Juan who needed his space when he wasn’t telling her he’d never been more up for it.
But here she was – falling-in-love-again – in California, a continent and three time zones away from home, on this new man’s couch, turned on and happy.
She knew what she liked – both for herself and in her men. Hungry, sensitive, passionate. And she knew what she wanted. A man who wanted sex and intensity to go on. Not just the weekend/party model. She wanted a man who, like her, refused to trade off the domestic for passion. A future, a history. Now on their fourth date (ancient history, for Christ’s sake), she sat on the same side of his couch but perpendicular to him as he sat in the middle, only inches away from her. But this time, she noted, he sat closer to her, in roughly the middle of the couch. This feels completely different, she thought. Better. In every way. Emboldened, she ventured to tuck her toes under the
