Hot Stories for Cold Nights (8 page)

Damn if I wasn't hard again in minutes. She leaned back and moved the spray until it was on her clit. “I'm going to come,” she shrieked. “I'm going to come.”

I grunted as I came again, and almost lost my hearing as she screamed, “Yes, yes, yes. Coming. Coming. Now, now.”

We dried off and she collapsed on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately. I waited for a few minutes, then decided I'd had enough so I dressed and went home.

The following day was Sunday, and I went out to pick up a newspaper and a bagel with cream cheese. There was a near riot in the bakery. Several women actually exchanged punches to see who would stand next to me in the long line. Two women handed me napkins with their phone numbers and email addresses. One actually kissed me, full on the mouth. It was like being some kind of famous rock star, and I suddenly had nothing but sympathy for the Mick Jaggers of the world. I scurried out of the shop without my bagel. Thankfully the newsstand was manned by a guy, so I could get my newspaper.

At home I had the entire day to think about all that had happened. The sex had been great, of course, but I had to admit that something had been missing. I know I should have been delighted, but mindless fucking was so—so empty. Neither Shari nor Iris had said more than a few syllables. I didn't know anything more about them than I had the week before, and they knew nothing about me.

I wondered why I wasn't thrilled. It was evident that I could have all the sex I wanted, but it was exhausting, both mentally and physically. My cock was actually sore from all the fucking I'd done in the past thirty-six hours. It should have been heaven, but it was closer to hell.

When my cell phone rang, I almost didn't answer, figuring it was some brainwashed bimbo wanting to fuck me, but I checked the caller ID, smiled, and flipped it open. “Hi, Marny,” I said. She and I had been seeing each other intermittently over the past month or so.

“Hi, Kevin. It's such a beautiful day, I thought we might go to the park and see whether we can get a tennis court.”

Tennis. Not sex. She wasn't panting or making lewd suggestions. She sounded normal. Maybe my “powers” only worked in person. But what would happen to her when we got together?

I knew what I had to do.

“I'd love to, Marny. How about I meet you at the courts in an hour?”

“Great, Kevin, see you then.”

I closed the phone, thought only for a moment, then booted up my computer and started Electric Pencil. I was tempted to compose a sentence to tweak things. I'd increase my bank account and ease off on the insatiable women thing.

No. The power was too enticing. I knew I didn't trust myself. I couldn't trust myself.

The cursor waited for me, blinking on a blank screen.

“Everything is back the way it was last Thursday.” I almost pushed the Enter key but then added, “And Electric Pencil is now just a word processor.”

I stared at my sentence for several minutes, then pushed Enter. The magic of Electric Pencil was gone.

Just to check, I typed, “There's a bagel with cream cheese on the counter in my kitchen.” I pressed Enter and printed the sentence. Slowly I walked into my kitchen. No bagel. I heaved a great sigh then smiled. No bagel. Thank heaven.

M
Y HUSBAND, DAVE, IS A PRETTY STRAIGHT GUY. HE'S an architect, used to putting things in organized diagrams, all the lines parallel or perpendicular. We've been married for six years with a very pleasant sex life, curtailed a bit by the birth of Cody, who's now almost five, and Lauren, eighteen months. Well, if I had to be honest, it's curtailed more than a little bit.

We'd put a hook-and-eye lock on the inside of our bedroom door, way up high so the kids couldn't play with it, to have some privacy when we want it. That gave us a little more freedom, but the closed door didn't stop sound. We're both noisy lovers, so we've had to force ourselves to be pretty quiet. Actually we'd talked about having the room soundproofed, but we couldn't do that with the chance that the kids might need us in the middle of the night.

Oh well.

Anyway, one afternoon Dave arrived home from work, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. “Dave and Bev are going out, going out, going out. Dave and Bev are going out, my fair lady,” he sang to the tune of “London Bridge.”

“What's up?”

“My parents are taking the kids to their house for the night. We have reservations at Chez Marcel.”

“You asked them?” We'd vowed not to burden Dave's elderly parents with our two rambunctious kids.

“They volunteered. My mom called me at work this afternoon and we got into a long discussion. They wondered why we never asked them to babysit. ‘You need to get out and have some fun,' my mom said, my dad agreeing in the background.”

“Wow. That's fabulous and I'm thrilled,” I said. “Is this a special occasion?”

“It is now. I need some time alone with you. No rug rats. No nothing.”

I was delighted. I packed a small overnight bag for Cody and Lauren, and Dave drove them over to his folks' house. At my husband's suggestion, I ran a leisurely bath and climbed in to soak, something I never had time to do.

A short while later, up to my neck in bubbles, I heard the front door close when he returned. Moments later, Dave walked into our large bathroom with a candle in each hand. After he wordlessly put them on the vanity, he lit them, then left again, only to return with one of the kids' pails filled with ice, a bottle of champagne inside. He put it on the floor and took the two fancy tulip glasses we'd used for the bridal toast at our wedding from his pockets.

“Oh, baby,” I said, my eyes filling. “We haven't used those since I found out I was pregnant the first time.”

“I know, and it's sad. I mean to remedy that, at least for tonight.” He winked at me. “May I join you?”

The tub was big enough for two, as we'd discovered when we first moved in a few months after Cody's birth. Dave quickly stripped and climbed in. It took a bit of arranging to get our legs in just the right places but once he was settled, he poured us two glasses of beautiful, golden, bubbly wine.

As he handed one to me, he said, “One promise. No talk about work, the kids, or the house. I want this to be for us.”

We hadn't just talked in so long that it took a moment for me to come up with another topic. We sipped and began with the weather then slowly relaxed and moved on to local politics and a TV show we'd seen the weekend before. After my second glass of champagne, Dave added more hot water. “How about the Jacuzzi? Let's turn it on.”

I reached behind me and flipped the switch. Jets of water pounded against our backs and sides and froth began to rise around us. I felt Dave's foot slide up the back of my thigh and his fingers play with my toes. I purred, but I'm sure he didn't hear me over the din of the jets. When his big toe found my slit and began to massage my slick flesh, a shudder ran through me.

Two can play,
I thought, finding his balls with my foot. We played, teasing and sipping, for several minutes. Then Dave turned me slightly so my breasts were in the direct path of one of the water jets. It was exciting and soon there was water all over the floor.

We were both a little tipsy, so when I urged him to spread his knees in the path of another jet he threw his head back and just enjoyed. I'm sure we're not the first people to use those jets as a sex toy, but it was a first for us. After only a moment, Dave turned me so I was sitting on his lap, facing his feet. He lifted me, buoyed by the water, and lowered me onto his erection.

As he moved, I squeezed my vaginal muscles to tighten my passage. He grabbed my boobs and filled his hands with my flesh. Our mutual orgasm was quick and satisfying.

What a great start to our evening.

An hour later we were dressed in our best and seated at Chez Marcel. We feasted on steak and lobster, our conversation filled with erotic innuendos and double entendres. My dessert turned out to be a very gooey chocolate cake, while his was crème brûlée.

I scooped some icing on one finger and rubbed it over his lips. He sucked my finger, ostensibly to lick off the fudge. He returned the favor with a dollop of pudding. After all the teasing, we were in no mood to prolong our meal, so Dave paid quickly and we rushed home.

“I'm so hot I could explode,” he told me, “but I want to play a little. Are you willing?”

“Sure,” I said, not really convinced that I wanted to wait to make love to him.

“All that gooey stuff gave me ideas. Come into the kitchen.” Once there, he patted the counter. “Pull off your panties and sit up here,” he said.

I'm no shrinking violet, and our sex life had been adventurous—before the kids. I did as he asked and settled on the counter. From one cabinet, Dave pulled out a bottle of maple syrup. My smile widened when I realized what he had in mind.

“Lean back,” he said, and I propped myself on my elbows. He dribbled syrup on my pussy, then rubbed it into my folds. “Okay, the object of the game is for me to find every last drop.” He paused. “With my tongue.”

Sounded like a plan to me, so I spread my thighs wider.

Leaning over, his tongue explored, delving into every crevice, driving me totally crazy. Eventually he licked the insides of my pussy lips and dug deeply into my channel with his tongue. “All gone,” he said and I was disappointed he was going to stop.

Not so. He stood, opened the refrigerator door, and withdrew a bottle of maraschino cherries. “With a cherry on top.” He giggled. “Or inside.”

As I watched, he pulled out one fruit and touched my clit with the icy globe. “Youch,” I said.

“Well, let's warm it up.” He pushed it into me, leaving the stem sticking out of my pussy. “Now I'll see whether I can find it.”

He did and I climaxed. Hard. Hot. Screaming.

When I calmed, I said, “Okay, my turn.”

We switched places, Dave now seated on the counter without his pants and shorts, his hard dick sticking straight up. I thought a minute, then got a jar of chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream from the fridge. “I'm going to totally blow my diet,” I said, “and you, too, of course.”

I covered his cock and balls with fudge, then squirted whipped cream all over, topping the end of his cock with a cherry. I licked off every drop, and then sucked his cock until he came. He tasted like all the gooey sundae-makings and of his salty, tangy come.

We ended the evening in the shower and made love again, eventually collapsing into bed. “Do you think we can ask your parents for one evening a month?” I suggested.

“I'm sure we can. I just wonder why we didn't do it sooner.”

“S
HOW ME,” HE SAID.

“Show you what?” I said, not really having any doubts about what he meant.

“Show me how you pleasure yourself when you're alone.”

“I don't—” I lied.

“Of course you do,” he said, calm and factual. “Every woman does and I don't doubt for a moment that you do as well. I want to see.”

Okay, let me back up. My name is Sherri and I'm twenty-four. I've been dating Connor for about four months and the sex has been pretty good. Although it's predictable, both of us usually climax, and what more is there than that?

Connor's a really nice guy who I met at the office. We started dating and it was maybe five dates before we ended up in bed. Our evenings usually begin with a movie or bowling or time at a watering hole with a few friends. We get home afterward, hold each other, kiss, and press our bodies together. Hands wander and quite quickly we end up on my bed, naked, making love. By the time he penetrates me, I'm wet and ready. We fuck, doze, then he goes back to his place.