Girl Fever (18 page)

“I'm going to start the purge cycle.”

Vacuum can be survived for about ninety seconds, but consciousness only lasts about ten. The biggest danger is bursting a lung trying to hold my breath, but that's a rookie move. I won't make that mistake.

I don't know this woman, really. We've worked on this ship together for six weeks and been dancing around the sexual tension since we met. Adrenaline rushes through my body. I'm alive and alert, brilliantly lit inside, and I want to do this with Cyfal. She could need an hour of stimulation to reach orgasm, but I have a feeling that she's actually very close.

She stares at me, intent on my reaction, and I say, “Set a five-minute delay.”

Cyfal punches the command buttons. I massage her breasts while sucking on her nipples. Her moans change to cries and I move down her body, biting and sucking as I go, panting with excitement I don't try to hide.

When I reach her pubic bone, Cyfal sighs and lets her legs flow up and part in front of my face. I move in and draw my tongue up her cunt lips from back to front. Licking and sucking, I gnaw on her thick outer lips and spread them. Her smell is salt water, but her texture is cream and I moan against her cunt. I want to exhibit some finesse, but Cyfal responds strongly when I burrow in, when I suck her clit into my mouth and move
my head in tight circles, nearly out of control.

The air lock opens.

Air rushes out, pulling us hard against the tethers, making my jumpsuit slide down my legs. It is replaced by silence and a pressure inside as we realize that we are full, stuffed with blood and guts, tight with need and desire. I release my breath and Cyfal makes one last gasp, but my mouth is still full of her taste and I do not stop.

Cyfal shivers, shakes. Her legs tense and she drums my back with her heels. I plunge two fingers into Cyfal's cunt, searching for the spot. When her belly jumps, I know I've found it. I pull down and press up against her clit with my tongue, as though licking my fingers. As my body begins to shake with its need for oxygen, I pull more and more desperately until, deep in fear and burning with arousal, I feel Cyfal freeze, then push.

Holding tightly against her muscle's spasms, I know only her cunt, her clit, her orgasm. It devours me and I feed on it.

The air lock closes.

Sweet air blows and we both gasp and cough. The spasms force us apart. I pull myself back to her by the tether and hold her close, thigh to thigh, cheek to cheek, our hearts pounding together. When I pull away, Cyfal is smiling. “Where is your jumpsuit?”

I look out the air-lock window and, sure enough, there it is: floating in space.

 

 

 

 

 

L
ate night on the freeway, headed home, tightening my thighs. I'm checking to see if my clit's still sore from last night. Yeah. Definitely feeling it. The sensation is closer to raw than painful. Nerve endings feel exposed so just the friction from my jeans makes me wet.

Or maybe that's the woman sitting next to me whose body I'm getting to know. She's got long, curly hair tied back, loose strands framing her face and one hand traveling lazily from my knee up toward my crotch. She is a little older, a little taller and a little more optimistic than I am. An ethnic mutt who looks black Irish. Yesterday she met my parents. Does that make us a couple? Two months ago I didn't know her name.

She stares ahead at the long stretch of road, her other hand draped casually over the steering wheel. The whole
posture screams nonchalance, slouched back in her seat, looking like another zoned-out driver. Which I might believe except for the creeping fingers unbuttoning my fly and sliding under the elastic band to my briefs. With a Cheshire cat grin, those fingers pry me open and jump inside.

I spread my legs wide and push against her, wanting to get fucked and knowing this is nowhere near the right position. She circles my clit, teasing me where I'm tender. Little shots of pain mix with the pleasure, mingled enough that I can't separate sensations into good and bad. Either way, I'm feeling something strong and my body's response is to drench the whole area with lube, along with my clothes and possibly the seat. She manages to get a good angle and slips farther inside my cunt, fingers curled to hit my G-spot. I lose my cool and start to gasp, interrupting the conversation we've kept up throughout, pretending I'm not getting fucked.

She left her license at home, so we're doubly screwed if we get pulled over.
Hello, officer. Nice evening, isn't it? What's this? Well, you see I lost something in there and needed help getting it out. Nothing to worry about, a couple quarters is all. We need them for the toll.
More likely she'd pull out real quick and we'd do our best to hold straight faces in a car reeking of lesbian sex.

She sneaks a glance from the highway and plants a kiss on my throat. Her eyes are hazel, playful. Sometimes they look black. Lashes dark like natural mascara. My hips are bucking against her touch, sparks from my
cunt making me jump. She settles back into her relaxed pose, this time looking cocky, getting as butch as she ever does. The smile says:
Yeah. I can fuck my girl in the car and outside the park and all over your house, if I want. Got a problem with it?

We're talking about her job but I'm having trouble concentrating because the pressure's building inside, getting faster and stronger along with her strokes. I really want to come. It won't happen in this position, but I don't care. I want her. I want last night again with one of her hands pumping me from behind and the other one playing steadily rougher with my clit. I want her naked with my hands running over every piece of flesh, tracing the tattoo stretched along her side, showing what's inside. I want us filling each other at once and getting off on the reactions. These images stream through my mind: a mix of memory, hope and porn. She's bitching about her manager when I lose those last shreds of focus and all thought gives way to the action in my cunt. With final jolting, beautiful motions, she's done. I'm not, but that's okay.

She pulls out and wipes the excess lube against my thigh, squeezes. I shudder. It's a sweet gesture, but I'm so turned on that every touch feels electric, pushing toward one end. Orgasm, for me, is rare, but I feel myself getting closer. Reaching the edges, even starting to come, but unable to finish. Getting this near, even, is strange.

Blue and yellow patches of light play across her face, illuminating pieces before passing back into shadow.
Nose, eyes, chin, chest. I run the tips of my fingers along her skin, so light they barely touch. Gentle teasing drives her wild. I cup her pubis and travel east, unbuckling the seat belt for a better hold. She puts it back on—“This part's harder”—but straps it over my hand so I can touch her. Her vulva's soaked and it's easy for me to slide into a sweet spot.

The car's gotten slow and careful. “The faster we get home the faster we can do this for real,” she says.

“I'm having fun now.” She feels hot against me, hot and smooth. Easy to get lost in.

She switches lanes so we're barely pushing sixty behind a big rig. “Besides, it's illegal to drive without a seat belt. They're a vital part of any car.”

“Is that so?” Subtle spasms erupt around my hand, the tremors growing steady into a full-blown quake. She's trying hard to tell me why seat belts are important, but her voice cracks and the monologue fades into deep-throated noise.

“What was that again?” I ask.

“They're important because—because, I, um, mmmm.” I go faster, vibrating one finger over her clit. “Okay,” she says. “Yeah.” Her hips buck against me, jerky. Straining against the car's built-in bondage. “See, I can feel that in my feet, and one of my feet is on the accelerator.”

“Should I come out?”

“Probably.”

I do, reluctant to let her go. I run along her labia,
exiting so she moans and shudders one last time.

“Cigarette?” she asks.

I light one up and hand it to her. She rolls down her window. The smoke curls out and gets sucked behind us into freeway. There's something sexy about that cigarette clamped between her hand and the steering wheel. About her distracted puffs. She looks like a woman contrasted against my perpetual adolescent boy. My stick takes longer to light, but I get it and inhale. In a funny way, smoking in the car feels more forbidden than screwing did. I lean over and let my head rest on her shoulder. Kiss the tender skin connecting neck to head. She ruffles my hair. The scents of tobacco and sex linger all around.

Outside, other cars zip past. Moonlight bounces off their hoods, blending with the stars and taillights. Everything glows. It's late at night and we're driving toward bed in her dark, persistent little Honda. Soon we'll be naked, pressed into heated curves, bodies debating between sleep and play.

 

 

 

 

 

E
lla put her thumb between two pages of
In Cold Blood
and looked across the aisle at her mother. The mother-daughter Vegas vacation had been the most fun they'd had since Ella came out to her on New Year's Eve; so much so that her mother had fallen asleep within minutes of them reaching cruising altitude. So, apparently, had most passengers of the dimly lit late flight, including the cute Japanese girl to Ella's left. Ella had been seated on the two-seat side of the plane and figured being next to this Asian cutie the whole way home was a nice cap to a nice getaway. Ella tried to flirt with her as they both curled up under blankets and exchanged pleasantries, but the Japanese girl snuggled into sleep before the first beverage service.

Something brushed Ella's foot. She looked down to
see if her bag had shifted out from under the seat in front of her. It had not. It was the Japanese girl's foot. She had kicked off her shoes and turned in her seat to rest the left half of her back against the window. She appeared sound asleep, except for the fact that her cotton-socked foot was rubbing Ella's.

Perhaps she's dreaming
, Ella thought, but then the girl's eyes opened and locked with hers. She smiled.

A rush of heat walloped Ella's body as the girl's hand slithered from under her blanket to hers. Ella gasped as fingertips brushed her hip. She noticed she was shaking hard enough to rattle the pages of her book, so she put it into the pocket on the seat in front of her to keep the fragile quiet around them. The girl reached up and turned off Ella's reading light, and then pushed up the armrest between their seats. Ella didn't stop her.

The girl took Ella's left hand and pulled it under her own blanket. Ella's thighs clenched at the first touch of her knee. She looked across the aisle to her mother. She was still asleep. The woman to her mother's right was asleep. The man to her mother's left was absorbed with sitcoms playing on his laptop computer. The two people in front of Ella and the girl were watching “Today Show” highlights.

Ella was shocked and delighted to find the girl's sweatpants pushed down to her thighs. The girl had a soft, small patch and held herself open for her. She was soaked, and Ella wondered how long she'd been fucking herself before she decided to invite her neighbor to the party.

She was hot, and her muscles seemed to pull Ella's fingers into her. She smiled and squirmed. She rubbed her clit and spread her knees as best she could in the small space. She slid one finger in with Ella's, the two of them sliding back and forth and filling up her sweet cunt. She pulled her finger out, and Ella put in another to take its place. She grinned and put her slippery finger in Ella's mouth. A small orgasm rushed through Ella, but she caught herself before she made too much noise. The girl was sweet, almost like fruit juice, and Ella hoped her own wet pussy would taste just as good for her.

The girl pulled Ella's hand to her mouth. Her tongue darted between Ella's sticky fingers, cleaning her sweetness from them. She put Ella's hand between her breasts so she could rub them through her sweatshirt. She leaned over a bit to look across the aisle. Ella shot a quick look, wondering if they'd been caught.

Everyone was still asleep or engaged with sitcom DVDs. The girl smiled again and lifted her sweatshirt to her neck, exposing her little tits. Ella's hand was all over them. She wanted them in her mouth, rubbing against hers, and slippery with her come. The girl's eyelids fluttered, and she pushed Ella's hand back to her pussy.

Ella rocked two fingers inside her while the girl pinched her nipples and bit her lip. She washed Ella's hand with come and then sat up, surprising Ella with her speed. She got shoulder-to-shoulder with her and yanked her shirt back down. The girl's right hand rubbed Ella's pussy through her wet pants. Ella fumbled
open the button and pulled down the zipper. The girl's hand scurried inside. Ella's thighs clenched as the girl rubbed her clit. Ella wanted to slip her fingers inside too, but the girl held Ella's left hand to her spread cunt. Ella didn't want to risk using her right hand and having someone on the aisle realize what they were doing.

They sat back, arms crossed and fingers playing with each other's pussies under the blankets. Being against the window gave the girl an advantage. No one could see her left hand playing with her breasts under her shirt or rubbing her clit under her blanket.

She leaned over, sticking out her tongue. Ella leaned in, snaking out hers. The tips touched, shooting lightning through their bodies and making their hands wetter than they already were. The girl pawed at Ella's left breast with her free hand, pinching her nipple through her shirt and making her squirm. She put her fingers in Ella's mouth, getting them wet so she could rub her spit on her nipples. Ella clenched on the girl's fingers once, twice, and then shifted in her seat as she came. She slid forward a bit so the girl's fingers could push all the way into her. Ella bit down on her fist to keep from screaming.