HNT

What could add to the pleasure of having a drink and propping up one's feet at the end of a trying day?

Aficionados, please note the rare HNT appearance of my left foot.

HNT

Does this ass make my foot look fat?

HNT

I read a lot of sex blogs—heck, it’s my job—and there are certain features common to many that I find amusing. One is “Half-Naked Thursday” (or HNT), in which exhibitionists take the opportunity to show off some flesh.

I’ve never considered participating in that tradition. My life requires me to be guarded about my identity, and anyway, it’s probably more interesting that you don’t know what I look like when you imagine me having sex. I’m surely way hotter in your imagination.

But now and then, I think it’s a shame that I deny you my feet, because my feet are really all that and a bag of nail clippings. Look at those long prehensile toes, that abundant Hallux, that elegant Morton’s toe . . . how can I deny these to you?

If you would care to be photographed with such extraordinary feet, grab your pedicure kit and drop a line.

Gothic Sluts

Bella Vendetta

Sex and Submission

Derrick Pierce and Kayla Paige

Pearls

Two drinks in, I was thinking ahead to our second date.

Leah and I had met on a soft summer evening at Bethesda Fountain, perhaps the most romantic setting in this city of twinkling skyscrapers and horse-drawn carriages. We had talked at the higher levels of our individual acuities, chasing each other—cautiously a first, then, at each firm footfall, with mounting assuredness—ever upwards.

I had been reserved about her beauty. She made no fuss about my appearance.

Noel Coward was humming in my mind.

When our date might have ended with a kiss on the cheek, I had invited her over for drinks. Or had she invited herself? I couldn’t be sure, but at any rate, here she was in my living room, smiling.

It was after eleven.

I wasn’t going to rush anything.

“Are you comfortable?” I asked. “I just realized you’ve been in that dress all day. Should I turn on the air?”

“That would be nice,” she said, reaching for my coffee table. “Oh, you’ve got the catalogue for that show at MoMA. I’m seeing it this weekend. How was it?”

I thought for a moment as I shut a window. “You know how MoMA’s perfection slides at times to a certain sterility? Like the cleanliness of a hospital ward?”

“ICU,” she nodded, flipping pages. “Like that?”

“Precisely,” I said, turning a knob on the air conditioner. “Not a damn thing wrong with that show but for the filtered oxygen. Perfect can be rather stupefying at times.”

“Perfect is a little overrated,” she agreed closing the book. She reached for her glass. It was empty. She left it alone.

“I’m sorry, would you care for another drink?” I offered.

“Yes, please.” She took the glass and handed it to me. “I’m usually a vodka girl, but this is good.”

“I regret I have no vodka,” I said, standing. “Bourbon man.”

“It’s manly,” she shrugged, smiling.

I was not sleeping with her.

For all the sex I’ve had since my marriage collapsed, I’m not terribly experienced with what normally passes for a date. I don’t often meet women for drinks and conversation. I more often meet women who have read my blog and want some of what they read about. I more often meet women who are recommended to me by mutual friends who enjoy fucking me. I more often meet women who show up at my orgies and like me well enough to request private encounters.

Leah and I were on a date of a more traditional sort.

Yet we had met online. I had responded to her advertisement for a dominant man to help to fulfill her submissive desires.

We had met through the most uber-lumpen of online forums, Craig’s List. I can only imagine how many cock shots she had deleted before responding to me.

Having met through Craig’s List, we each knew what it was like to be pearls before swine. Now we were nestled into our respective oysters, eying one another.

She had read my blog. I had shared it by way of introduction, in the interest of honesty and potentially snaring her attention. She had read what she cared to read of my sexual exploits, but she expressed no special interest in talking about that.

We kept sex at arm’s length.

My mind came to wonder about our second date. Would we be so cool then? After she went home that night, would she write me a note slightly more heated than our previous correspondence? Would I reply with coy innuendo, hoping she would want a date as soon as possible, given that neither of us had any claim on the heft of one another’s schedules?

Or would she simply put me off?

We fell to talking politics. She told me that she had once contemplated entering politics as a candidate.

“It was student government,” she laughed at a memory. She took a sip of her drink. “I liked my odds, though. Like I could lose with my slogan.” She raised a fist into the air. “More caffeine and anal sex!”

“You didn’t!” I laughed. “Are you serious?”

“No, I didn’t. But my slogan polled very well.”

That sealed it.

“You’re killing me,” I said. “Lean back.”

She set down her glass. She reclined on a pillow.

“Like this?” she asked. She extended a bare leg across my lap. I took a foot in my palm. It was perfectly manicured.

“Precisely like that,” I smiled.

Device Bondage

Calico

My friend Calico recently stopped over for drinks. She’s a pretty thing, this one: a twenty-one-year-old pro domme and fetish model with abs that would bounce a quarter to Weehawken.

God bless her, for a skinny gal, she can hold her bourbon.

She was still jetlagged from a trip to San Francisco for a kink photo shoot.

In my life, Calico is one of those people who sets my mind at ease. We let our hair down with each other. She doesn’t have to be Calico the kink vixen; I don’t have to be Jefferson the smutmonger.



We talked.

Somewhere around the second drink, she started showing me bruises.



“Holy smokes!” I exclaimed. “They really worked you hard.”

She smiled. “I had a very, very good time.”

Here are some examples of what Calico considers a “very, very good time,” courtesy of a brand-spanking new website at Kink.com, the exquisitely cruel Device Bondage.

I soon poured a third round.

I wanted to hear all about it.

Ron Harris

Tiffany

Assistant

“Hello, may I speak to Jonathan, please? This is Jefferson calling.”

“This is Jonathan. Good afternoon, Jefferson.”

“Good afternoon. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure, now is very good. I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Good, good.” I adjusted myself in my chair, taking care to crush her face with my bare feet. A sigh was muffled by the ball of my right foot.

I stroked her hair with my toes.

“Jonathan, as you know, I’ve been asked to help in the hiring of an assistant on this project. The hiring decision will not be made by myself alone, but it was felt that since this assistant will be working most closely with me, I should have a say in selecting the candidate.”

“Yes, of course.”

I stuffed her mouth with toes. I kicked her knees apart so that I could grind a heel into the flesh of her abdomen.

“Good. Now, I see that your undergraduate degree is from Amherst. They have a fine department there, don’t they? I actually know your adviser fairly well; she’s really top notch. Can you tell me a little about how your studies there led you to choose your current graduate program?”

Jonathan began to relate his academic career. I listened, absentmindedly flexing and relaxing my toes to clutch her labia.

I looked under my desk. Her eyes were closed as she contentedly licked my big toe.

She’s a good girl, I thought.

I kicked her in the tits. I ignored her grunt. “Great, Jonathan. That does seem to be the right program for you. Now, can you say a little about why you applied for this particular placement?”

Eden’s path to the space under my desk had begun with an email a few weeks before.

I’m sure you get this a lot, and I suppose this is kinda coming out of left field, but you only life once, right? I came across your blog a couple of months ago, and I noticed a trend: You have hot sex. And I would like to have hot sex, for once. I’m in the city on an almost daily basis, so if you are interested, drop me a line.

Take care,
Eden

She sent a photograph showing a smiling, fresh-faced young woman with long blonde hair.

I was interested.

I was interested, but it would be a while before I could see her. I proposed that we correspond, and asked that with each reply, she provide more photographs.

“Sure,” she wrote. “What do you want to see?”

I thanked her for offering to take instruction. I created a file for Eden. It filled with images of her modeling panties, of her wet body, of her tangled in bedclothes, of her laughing, of her masturbating. She was comfortable with her nudity, and so my eyes became familiar with every part of her body.

She was also comfortable in opening up her life. She told me about her past experiences with sex and kink. She described herself as bisexual, though she had never been with a woman. She had been with four men, three of whom were forgettable, one of whom she described as “the bad ex.”

(She would later amend this number upwards—she had been with five men. One had been so forgettable that she had actually forgotten him.)

Eden added that she had been experimenting with BDSM for two years. She considered herself a masochist.

Now, that was interesting. She said nothing about being submissive. She was all about the pain.

I set ground rules for meeting her. I don’t dom anyone I’m not fucking, I explained, so sex would be a given. I expected to have full, continuous access to her body. She was not to wear clothes in my home unless specifically instructed. I would look to her to tell me how much pain she could endure, and to tell me how she wanted it. As she was not in a relationship, I would not hesitate to leave marks.

I omitted my preference of receiving bourbon as a tribute. At twenty, she was too young to satisfy that requirement. That could wait.

She readily accepted my ground rules.

I invited her to my place. “Not so much kink on a first date,” I informed her. “I want to get my dick in you to see what you’re made of.”

She arrived precisely on time. She was neither one minute early nor one minute late.

Her eyes were lowered when I opened the door. She looked up when I greeted her. Her mouth was small and firmly set.

I closed the door behind her.

I drew her into a kiss. She gave her mouth easily. She had seemed so demure a moment before. Now she was aroused and passionate.

“Take off your clothes,” I commanded.

She stripped. I stood very close, constricting her movements to a small space. She handed me each article of clothing in turn. I dropped them each to the floor, one by one.

When she was nude, she stood erect, her eyes on mine. I kissed her again, taking her body in my hands. She was firm, with soft skin textured by fine invisible hairs raised to electric attention.

She was also very wet.

“Suck my dick,” I instructed.

She dropped her to her knees. I took out my cock. She examined me. “Are you clean?” she asked.

“Smart girl,” I said, petting her hair. “Yes, I am.”

She took my cock in her mouth.

It wasn’t an audition, but she appreciated that first impressions matter. She used her tongue liberally. She breathed quietly, as if to avoid using too much of my air. She took me deep into her throat.

I wanted more of that. I pulled out, tucked my cock away, and zipped up.

“Come with me,” I ordered, taking her hair in my fist. She complied, dropping her hands to crawl at my side to my bedroom.

I lead her to my chair. “Kneel.”

She knelt, waiting as I undressed.

I sat in the chair, offering her my cock. “Right. Now suck it.”

She blew me with no special urgency or ardor. This suited me well. I intended to take my time enjoying her mouth. She had skill. I wanted to see if she had stamina.

Twenty minutes later, I told her to stop.

She sat back on her haunches, erect.

“Get on the bed. I want to lick your pussy.”

She lay back on the pillows, spreading her legs for me.

“I never cum from this,” she warned.

“Doesn’t concern me,” I lied, shrugging. “I just want your taste.”

She soon came in shudders.

“That puts you in a very small club,” she laughed afterwards.

“I’m pleased to join such select company,” I smiled, reaching for a condom.

I looked into her eyes as I entered her. “Eden, you have a remarkably tight pussy.”

She nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

“Well, that’s very nice,” I said, taking her hair in my fist. I twisted her head to one side. She grunted as she followed my direction.

I leaned forward to kiss her neck as we fucked.

Here again, her stamina was impressive. It was clear that she was content to fuck for as long as I wanted—which can be a very long time.

At one point, I held her chin steady and slapped her.

She grunted, turning her head violently from side to side. She began to thrash her body.

“Eden, no!” I ordered. She calmed down.

I fucked her gently, kissing the offended cheek.

I slapped her again. She grunted and thrashed.

“Eden, no!” I repeated. “You are not to move like that. You could get hurt.”

She calmed herself.

The next time I slapped her, she did not move. She did not grunt. Her nostrils flared, her eyes shot darts, but she behaved.

“Good girl,” I commended. I kissed her ear. “You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you, Eden?”

“So I’ve been told,” she said through gritted teeth.

I pulled up to look at her. I pushed the hair from her face. “Shh, shh,” I consoled her. “No more slaps for now. Let’s just fuck.”

That evening, she went home with cane marks, bruised tits and an invitation to return soon.

I processed what I had learned about Eden on our first date. I wrote to ask that she tell me more about her desires and fantasies, instructing her to leave nothing out.

I also asked for daily photographs of her breasts, so I could monitor the progress of her bruises.

At our subsequent meetings, she started to understand that I had asked about her desires in order to guide our interactions. I wanted to be on target in giving her the pain she craved. I also wanted to allow her to submit, if that felt natural. We could take her time in realizing her fantasies, taking care to make a natural progression to each in turn.

She soon revealed her fondness for men’s feet.

In preparation for this date, I swept under my desk. I showered, scrubbing my feet and clipping my toenails. I put a blanket near my desk. I had reserved several hours for her.

She arrived precisely on time.

She undressed at the door, presenting herself to me fully nude. I pulled her to the couch to kiss.

“Eden, you are doing everything just right,” I commended, fingering her clit. “I’m very pleased with how things are going with us.”

“Me too,” she grinned.

“So today, I have a special treat. I have to work for a few hours. I’m going to allow you to spend that time under my desk.” I kissed her cheek. “Today, you’re my foot stool.”

She turned to look at the space under my desk.

“Okay,” she replied. Her voice had lost its affect.

“I am also allowing you this blanket,” I said, pointing to the carefully folded bundle. “Make yourself a little bed under there while I get a few things together.”

“Okay,” she replied. Her voice lifted slightly. “Hey, can I listen to my iPod? Or is that against instruction?”

I kissed her cheek. “Always ask questions if you don’t know. Of course, you may listen to music, pretty girl.”

When I returned, Eden was reclining on comfortable bedding under my desk. Her knees were bent so that her feet were propped against the desk’s side.

The basketball that usually resides under my desk was pushed to one side.

“Oh no, Eden, the basketball must also stay under the desk,” I said, kicking it her way as I sat in my chair. “You are joining the basketball, not replacing it.”

“Oh, my bad,” she said, tucking it under her knees. “Why do you keep it here, anyway?”

“Because I do not always have so pretty a foot stool,” I smiled, covering her face with my feet. I rubbed them gently, squeezing her cheeks together.

“Mmmmph,” she muttered.

“Are you happy?” I asked.

“Mmmmph mmm,” she nodded.

“Good girl. Now be quiet while I make a few phone calls.”

I took my time interviewing Jonathan. He was an impressive candidate for the position as my assistant.

I learned that if I wedged a knee against the underside of my desk, I gained leverage to press hard into Eden’s belly.

I called another candidate, again impressed with the quality of applications.

Eden began to masturbate. I kicked her hand away. I pushed a toe against her asshole, pressing in and out.

I began to type notes from my interviews.

Eden wriggled with arousal, sucking intently on my feet. I willed myself to ignore her.

I immersed myself in copy editing another text. I cut a few paragraphs, making it more concise. I read it over a few times and found I had cut too much, so that one key point was lost. I reinstated a few sentences, trimming the excess.

I noticed the time. I had been working for a little over two hours.

I sat back and looked under the desk. Eden was napping, a toe dangling from her lower lip. She looked very peaceful with her ear buds in place, her hair tucked behind her ears. She was turned on her side, her arms nestled against her chest. I rubbed a foot gently along the curve of her hip.

I smiled at the scene. She looked so sweet and innocent.

I kicked her leg, hard.

“Eden? Pretty Eden?” I prodded her stomach.

She twitched and woke with a start. Her eyes opened, confused.

“Eden?” I held out a hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you fucked.”

She looked around, remembering where she was. “Okay,” she nodded, taking my hand.

Milk

Her skin was milky, I thought, just as Tess had said.

As Gina sat talking, I reflected on Tess’s description of her new girlfriend: “God, her skin—so pale and translucent, so milky!”

I sipped my bourbon, listening.

Gina sat very erect as we talked about books. She had browsed my bookcases and asked what I was reading. I pointed to my copy of Saul Bellow’s Adventures of Augie March. She reads my blog, so she knew that it had been recommended to me.

Gina told me she had just picked up a new book of erotica.

“Oh, right, of course you read erotica,” I smiled.

“That’s how I met you,” she nodded. “And Tess.”

“Tess is lovely,” I said. “She giggles if you look at her crooked, which is hot.”

Gina laughed. “She’s a good writer, too. So, what else do you read? Do you read science fiction at all?” she asked.

“No,” I said, hoping my eyelids didn’t flutter. “I mean, I used to love comics, but somehow, I never caught on with science fiction.” I searched my mind. “Ray Bradbury, you know, when I was a kid.” She nodded. I nodded in response and went on. “I liked that one about the time machine, you know, with the path and the squashed butterfly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she smiled.

I smiled. “Yeah, that blew my seventh-grade mind,” I grinned. I sipped my bourbon, glad that I had connected on a subject rather alien to me. As the bourbon stung my tongue, I suddenly regretted the comment about seventh grade.

“Mysteries?”

“No.” I needed to take care here; we were each readers, which is a connection, but not the same type of readers, which might prove awkward.

“No, not really. I mean, some Dashiell Hammett, some Raymond Chandler . . . but no, not really.” I looked into my hand. I swirled the bourbon. The ice tinkled against glass. “No P. D. James.” I looked up into her eyes. “I’ve never read Anne Rice.” I raised the glass to my lips and paused. I lowered it and looked back. I confessed my shame. “I’ve . . . I’ve never read Stephen King.”

She smiled. She looked over her shoulder. “You have a lot of books, though . . . ” she noted.

“I’ve read Harry Potter!” I interrupted. “You know, the first two books. I read them to my son when he was younger. But then . . . you know . . .” I sipped my bourbon and swallowed hard. I shrugged and came out with it. “Well, then he began to read them on his own, and well . . . I was bored with Harry Potter, so . . .”

She laughed. I put down my glass.

“God, I’m sorry, but that stuff reads like it was a checklist dictated into a tape recorder. ‘And here we have the talking paintings—check! And here are the giant chess pieces—check!’”

“Don’t forget the brooms,” she laughed. “Check!”

“And the capes,” I added. “Whatever, it was worth a few billion for someone who needed the money.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And you know, they were actually good books.”

“Sorry,” I grimaced. I reached for my drink. “I’m not really a snob. I just don’t read enough fiction, so I miss a few genres now and then.” I took a sip. “I should read erotica, eventually.”

She folded her hands and smiled. “Yeah, think about that—once you stop living it, maybe. So anyway, this book I’m reading . . .”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Tell me about it.”

I listened, taking her in. Her long red hair hung behind her, its ends resting on the couch behind her hips. Smart glasses framed her caramel eyes. Her tight jeans and blousy shirt revealed a lean figure; she had been trained as a dancer, she mentioned.

Her lips were pale and lovely. Tess had told me how youthful she seemed—she was twenty-seven, but could’ve passed for someone a decade younger.

As she talked, she mentioned her husband in passing.

“Oh yeah, that,” she said, recalling something. “I should tell you about him. See, we’re separated, recently . . .”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I clucked.

“Yeah, well, me too, but it’s okay,” She nodded. “It wasn’t my idea, but, you know . . .”

“That’s hard,” I commiserated.

“Yeah.” She caught my eye. “You want to hear the worst part?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“He told me he wanted a divorce while I was still pregnant with the baby.”

“Ouch!” I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s pretty low.”

“Yeah, right? But see, it’s not like that. He’s not a bad person. He just . . .” She looked up, thinking of the right words. “He just knows that he wants to be in love with someone else.”

“Oh, wow. So . . . there’s someone else . . .”

“No.” She shook her head. “There’s no one else. He just wants there to be.”

“He wants . . .” I repeated, not getting it.

“See, he realizes that while he loves me, and our two girls, very much, he doesn’t think this is the relationship he is meant to have. So he wants to be free to look for that relationship.”

“Oh, I guess that kind of makes sense.”

“Right? I mean, I said, ‘Why don’t we have an open relationship, then? You can date other women, and if you met someone, then . . . well, that’s what happened.’ But he’s not like that. He can’t date someone else while he’s with me. So, he has to be free to look.”

“Well, it sounds tough.” I said. “But kind of honorable, in a way.”

“Yeah, he’s very upright like that. And he’s so great with our girls.”

“You have two girls, you said?”

“Yes, four and eighteen months.”

“He’s with them tonight, while you’re here, right? Does he know that you’re seeing me, and . . .”

“Oh yes, he knows. He likes your blog, actually.”

I picked up my glass. “He reads my blog and he knows you’re here. Well . . . cheers.” I took a sip.

“I know, it’s unusual, but . . . well, it’s life.” She paused. “And man, the sex is so much better.”

I nodded and smiled. “Well, yeah, I hear that. I can’t say I miss being tied to my wife’s libido.”

“Right. Well, I meant that, yes, I like having new lovers. But I meant with him.”

“Oh, you still have sex?”

“Well, we live together,” she shrugged. “Different rooms, but . . . yeah. Only now, it’s different. We’re getting into kinkier stuff, dom/sub, and it’s really hot.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, flashing her eyes. “Really hot.”

I grinned. I reached to touch her hair. She leaned slightly to my touch.

Talking about her husband and children led her to speak about renovations they were doing to the house in light of the recent change in their relationship. She focused on the kitchen, speaking in some detail about additions. She was talking at length as I listened, allowing the familiarity of her own voice to still her nerves. She was, after all, meeting a new person for sex.

“ . . . and a new coffee pot,” she went on. “Weirdest thing, lately, I’ve developed a lactose intolerance, which is sad, really, because I always like milk in my coffee, and the substitutes are just . . . not good. Bleh.”

She paused and looked at me.

“I like half and half,” I offered.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “I’m just going on and on.”

“It’s fine, really. You’re nervous. May I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” she said, her body slumping.

I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go have some really hot sex.”

“That’s a good suggestion,” she laughed. “Whew. Yes. Let’s do that.”

She looked around my bedroom. “So, this is where it all goes down?”

I stood next to her. “Yes.” I took her face in my hands. “It goes down here.” I touched my lips to hers. Her mouth parted for mine.

I rested a hand on the small of her back, under her hair, pressing lightly to feel her muscle tone. I pulled back and smiled. I took her glasses and placed them on a nightstand. “Clothes off, Gina,” I said softly.

Gina’s eyes dropped. She raised the shirt over her breasts and shoulders. I touched her belly.

She handed me the shirt. I tossed it aside.

She reached behind her back. Her bra fell forward. I took it, throwing it to land near her shirt.

I caressed her left breast, admiring its pale areola and its nipples like pencil erasers.

“Pretty,” I said, leaning to kiss her neck. My mouth grazed her clavicle, her chest, a nipple. My lips returned to hers, barely touching. Her eyes closed in expectation.

I fell back abruptly, landing on the bed. She laughed.

“The pants, the pants!” I motioned impatiently. “Let’s see all of you—now, now!”

“Okay, okay,” she said. She stood on her toes and turned in place, giggling slightly. She stood still to unfasten her jeans. “You can undress too, you know.”

“Pshhh,” I said, waving a hand dismissively.

She was wearing pink panties, probably “date panties.” I stood to remove them.

“Now,” I said, kneeling before her. “Now, I can touch you.” I traced fingers up the back of her dancer’s legs, lightly nuzzling her bare pudendum with my nose. I inhaled deeply, carrying her fragrance with me as my face traveled over her navel to her hips, up to her breasts and finally, to rest with her face.

We kissed.

I took her hand and lay her back on the bed. She watched as I slowly undressed by the lamp’s light.

She suddenly looked around. “Wait, what time is it? I need to call my kids to tuck them in at eight.”

“We have about an hour before bedtime,” I said, crawling over her. “You let me mind the hour.” I kissed her eyelids. “You just relax.”

My lips moved around her face and back down her body. I paid attention, savoring these first moments together.

My lips moved around her breast. She sighed as her nipple grew hard in my mouth. I caressed her breast in slow, deep circles, sucking with steady rhythm.

I was rewarded as her milk streamed into me.

I moaned in appreciation. She ran her fingers though my hair, quietly, as her back arched.

I licked her inside my mouth, tasting her warm sweetness. My hands massaged as she let down into me. I’m here, I thought. Give yourself to me.

I drank her slowly, licking and nibbling, making my suckling erotic and arousing. My fingers confirmed the wetness between her legs. I found her clit and massaged as I sucked.

She sighed deeply. I licked again. Just cum, I thought. Cum as I drink you.

I moved to nurse from her other breast. A finger entered her. Another followed.

I drank more intently, more selfishly, slurping and gulping noisily.

I swallowed a draught and edged up her neck. I kissed her deeply.

“So sweet,” I smiled. Her gentle face was beatific in lamplight, her long red hair splayed across the pillows. I leaned into her neck. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I whispered.

She nodded.

After so much talk, she was now so quiet.

I entered her easily, holding her close under me. I fucked her fully, getting to know her responses as filled her, rocked back, and filled her again.

We fucked quietly, intently.

“Nicole was right,” she whispered, breaking the silence.

“Nicole?” I asked. “You mean Tess?”

“Well, yeah, Tess was right, too.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “I meant Nicole, the teenager . . .”

“Oh, Nicole,” I kissed her neck.

Gina pulled me close. “She was right to see you.”

I put my lips to her ear. “I’ll be sure to tell her you think so,” I whispered. “When next I kiss her.” I brought my mouth to hers.

I sat back, keeping my cock inside her as I pulled her legs up to rest on my chest and shoulders. I lowered myself again, bringing her legs down as my face moved to hers.

I kissed her as her calves framed her face.

“Impressive,” I said.

“Dancer,” she smiled.

“Yeah, well, my dancer,” I smiled in response. “The fact that you can do this allows me to do this.” I pivoted back on my hips and thrust upwards.

“Unh,” she gasped. “God.”

I fucked into her forcefully, pressing up just inside her body.

Her face glowed. Her eyes were inward, leaving me.

I kept a deep, steady rhythm. I noticed the time. Ten minutes.

I fucked her closer.

Five minutes.

I fell close to kiss her. “Gina?”

“Hmmm?”

“Call your babies, mama.”

She snapped alert. “Is it eight?”

I nodded to the clock. “Yeah. Make your call. We have things to do.”

I pulled out and kissed her forehead. She reached for her phone. I went to the bathroom to wash up as she made her call.

She shut her phone as I returned to the room. I set a glass of water on the nightstand. “Babies all tucked?” I sipped from a second water glass.

“No,” she put down the phone, exacerbated. “There’s no answer. Maybe he has them out or something.”

“Do you need to keep calling, or . . .”

“No, it’s fine. I just hate to miss talking to them at bedtime.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “So, if you’re done with the call, it’s time for me to fuck you up the ass.”

“You’re so direct!” she laughed.

I opened a cabinet and took down a bottle of lube. “I find it works best to be direct.” I opened the bottle and poured lube into my palm. I closed my hand to warm the liquid before applying it to her hole.

“I guess that’s best if you want to get your way.”

“It’s best for me to give you what you want,” I replied, massaging her hole. “Besides, I’m increasingly convinced that anal sex should be a part of any first date. Just sorta gets it out of the way, you know?”

I slid a finger into her.

“Unh.” She closed her eyes. “Hmm, well, it’s going to be a tight fit. It’s been a long time.”

“I don’t mind a tight fit.” I reached for a condom. “Anyway, stick with me, and it won’t be a long time anymore.”

“Hmm, nice. So, do you want me on my knees or on my back, like this?”

“On your back. You’re pretty so I want to look at you.” I raised her thighs, bringing her ass up. “Now, if you were homely, I’d have to flip you over.”

She laughed ass I entered her cunt.

“Hmmmm,” she nodded. “That’s not my ass, you know.”

“I know. It’s just so hard to tear myself away from your pussy.”

“I don’t mind at all . . .” She fell back into the silence that envelops her as she’s fucked.

Wordlessly, I took my cock from her and gave it back to another hole.

Her head turned as she moaned lightly.

“Shhh,” I said, caressing the legs on my shoulders. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She reached to touch my forearm.

I let my cock rest I her body, moving slowly to take in the contrast of between the lushness of her pussy and the tight grip of her sphincter.

As she faded again, I fucked into her harder.

I pounded and pounded, wiping the sweat that dripped from my brow.

I reached down to take a breast in hand. I squeezed firmly. A long arc of milk shot up.

“Hot damn,” I admired as the fountain splashed on her flesh.

She opened her eyes and grinned. “Not every girl you fuck can do that trick.”

“No, they can’t,” I said, taking both breasts in hand. “You are a girl with many unusual attributes.” I turned the stream to face me, never giving up my pace on her ass. I opened my mouth as milk splashed on my face and waiting tongue.

She laughed out loud.

“Oh, fuck you’re hot,” I exclaimed. I pulled out and licked her from my lips. “Bend the hell over, mama. I’m spanking your ass.”

She kept laughing as she turned over.

The next day, I wrote to thank Tess for inviting me to Gina. “Thanks for sharing your bitch, girlfriend,” I wrote. “She’s a solid-gold keeper.”

I also said as much to Gina, letting her know that I very much looked forward to second date.

“Me too!” she replied. “That was incredible. Thanks." She told her bottom still smarted, which she enjoyed.

“I told my husband how hot it was," she went on. "He wants to know if he can watch next time.”

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