Saturday, November 29, 2008

French Kiss by Missy Lyons

It wasn’t long before the lights grew dim. The emcee came onto the raised dais dressed in an expensive suit with a silk button-down shirt. He explained the rules of the strippers, “You can look, but you can’t touch beneath the briefs without permission.” As if the women wouldn’t be able to control themselves. These men had to be some pretty hunky beefcakes to get those strict ‘no-touch’ rules.

The first male stripper did not disappoint. He was hotter than a five alarm fire. He was clearly enjoying himself, showing off with a few pelvic thrusts, and poses meant to show off his muscular frame. Teasing and torturing, he wiggled his round butt at the audience before sending everyone a wicked grin.

In one graceful motion, he ripped off his shirt, revealing his well-muscled chest. Damn, the man was big. He had to lift weights in his spare time. He flexed his pectorals, posing for the ladies, revealing just how large he was. Even with his pants on, everyone could see he was packing a hard-on.

Sarafina’s eyes were glued to his package. Mr. Fireman was exceptionally large. Everywhere.

Suddenly he was near naked after ripping his pants off, which left him standing in a set of red bikini briefs, a fireman’s hat, and a pair of black boots. Every move he made was to seduce, sexual in nature. Her breath caught in her throat as she imagined his body against hers, and a wave of heat knocked her temperature up a notch.

Every lady in the room was screaming for his attention, and he favored those who had dollar bills waving in the air. They took turns placing some bills in his bikini.

Another stripper joined him on stage. Dressed as a cop, he was dark skinned and handsome, waving a set of handcuffs in the air. Loud sirens overrode the music as he handcuffed the man. The announcer explained that the fireman was in trouble for indecent public exposure.

“Boo!” The ladies didn’t seem too pleased to watch the cop pick up the uniform and begin to mockingly cover up their sexy fireman. The fireman fought playfully, bumping and grinding against the cop. The crowd only grew rowdier, waving their hands in the air, and encouraging the display.

The fireman helped the cop to undress, undoing the buttons on his shirt, despite the cop’s hands slapping at him. The close to naked fireman stopped his struggling by putting his cuffed hands over his shoulders and kissing him. It was unexpected. Steamy. H.O.T. Just watching the two men French kiss was sending liquid fire through Sarafina’s veins.

That heated things up considerably. Within minutes, the cop was just as naked, dressed only in a black bikini with a gold star on the butt. Stealthy as a thief in the night, the fireman used the opportunity to steal the key from his uniform to unlock his cuffs.

Sarafina was content to watch the fun, but her friend Kristen had different ideas. Kristen waved a twenty over Sarafina’s head and by the time Sarafina caught on, it was too late. Mr. Fireman was right in front of her, aiming a seductive smile directly at Sarafina. The cop continued to dance for the rest of the crowd, keeping them all entertained.

Mr. Firefighter was even sexier up close. Shivers of awareness danced across her skin. He was practically in her lap, so close she could make out the fine trail of hair leading from his belly button to his treasure. Under the harsh light of the club, he had a light sheen of perspiration over his skin, a single drop rolled down his chest, and she was tempted to lick it off.

Lick? If she couldn’t touch him, how much trouble would she get in for tasting him? She had to suppress a giggle. Only inches from his manhood, she was tempted to do a little more than taste.

He treated her like every other woman in the room, giving her personal attention so long as her money lasted, until he seemed to notice the red flash of her garter belt.

She had to make a conscious effort to look up. Look at his face, not his body parts. He was still too male to ignore.

“First time here, huh?” It was a whisper meant only for her ears.

God. How embarrassing. He must have realized she was new because she couldn’t take her eyes off the package he sported. She tore her eyes off his red bikini, using an incredibly heroic effort to meet his eyes.

Stunned, she asked, “How’d you guess?”

With a wicked grin, he picked up one high-heeled foot and kissed the inset of her ankle. “You have something of mine. “ His fingers slipped down the length of her leg, and crept under the garter belt, pulling it away and then letting it snap back in place.

“It’s not my fault. The bouncer gave it to me.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take it back.” He teased her inner thigh, tracing tiny circles with the tips of his fingers.

Christmas Stalking by Selena Kitt

She woke up floating on a cloud, her body aching but resting on something so soft it was unimaginable. Her eyes focused and she realized she must be in someone’s home. She was lying on a sofa and there was a television, a coffee table, all the usual living room amenities, along with a Christmas tree in the corner and one stocking hung on the fireplace mantle. She could hear someone talking and, for a moment, couldn’t remember anything that had happened.

“Yeah, I have her here now. I’m gonna see if I can get her to come in without any hassle,” he was saying.

She sat bolt upright, suddenly remembering everything.

She scanned the room for her backpack and coat and found them in a corner. The world slipped a little as she stood. Steadying herself on the arm of a chair, she moved toward her things. She had to get out of here before Patrick showed up.

The stranger had moved further into the kitchen and his voice was muffled now. She strained to hear. Was he calling more cops? Worse, was he calling Patrick? She shivered, sure it was the latter as she shrugged on her coat and shouldered her backpack, easing toward the front door.

“Hey! Hey there! Hold on!”

She heard him call out as she turned the knob. She pulled, but found the deadbolt locked.

He caught up to her in three quick strides, and as she unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door, he pressed his hand flat against it and shut it again. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She moved around him, starting toward the kitchen. “Anywhere but here!”

“Listen, you have to stay.” He caught up to her again, moving in front of her and blocking the entryway with his body.

“Like hell I do!” She shoved at him, but it was like trying to move a brick wall, and her head and mouth throbbed with the effort. “What for? So you and Patrick can finish what those two started? I don’t think so, asshole! Now get out of my way!”

“Patrick? Who the hell is Patrick?” The genuine look of confusion on his face stopped her for a moment.

“Do they give you acting lessons in private dick school?” she snarled, turning away from him and running toward the front door.

“We can’t keep doing this running thing all night.” Exasperated, he caught up with her again, stepping in front of the door before she could reach it.

“Then get out of my way.”

“What are you running from? What are you running to?”

She swallowed hard, her throat burning, her voice shaking. “If you had any idea what I was running from, you never would’ve told him where I am. Now get out of my way, before I call the real cops!” She ducked under his arm, pulling at the door, but was no match for the weight of him pressed against it.

“Listen to me!” He grabbed her arms and pulled her toward him. “I’m trying to help you. That’s all I want to do!”

“If you want to help, then let me go,” she pleaded. “Please, whatever he’s told you, none of it is true. You can’t let him find me. I’m begging you.”

The tears were coming and she couldn’t stop them, although she tried hard. She even bit down on her bruised and swollen lip, hoping the pain might be a distraction.

He shook his head at her. “Who? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, you know who!” She pulled away from him and ran, she didn’t care anymore where to. “The guy you were just talking to on the phone!”

This time when he reached her, he enfolded her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, grabbing her wrists and crossing them over. He held her that way for some time, not speaking, just waiting for her to stop struggling. When her breath began to slow a little and she relaxed against his bulk, he spoke, “I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen. Then I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer me. Do you understand?”

He waited for her to nod, which she did reluctantly, before going on.

“My name is Nick Santos. I’m a real cop, not a private detective. The phone call was to the station about the assault I’d just witnessed. Did you see my badge? I assure you it’s quite real. You can call them back to check it out if you want to.”

She relaxed a little at these words, not sure what to believe.

Juicy, Melty, Fun to Share by Augusta Li

Nick passed the next four hours in Darren’s kitchen. To entertain himself he poked around, scrutinizing the appliances and cookware. Everything was top-of-the-line. The original turn-of-the-century cherry cabinetry blended seamlessly with the new marble countertops and island. Even the stainless steel refrigerator and range didn’t look out of place. The set-up was ideal for working, too, Nick noticed. He could imagine himself making breakfast in this room—omelets, roasted potatoes, Belgian waffles with strawberries and lots of fresh whipped cream. Beside the sink sat an espresso machine and a silver tray for carrying food, perhaps to someone waiting in bed.

Halfway through the party, Nick returned to the hall to see if any of the dishes needed to be refreshed. As he lined a plate with more tiny crystal bowls of plum pudding, he looked up to see Darren standing chest-to-chest with a stunning young man with a black ponytail, leather pants and a fishnet shirt. The black-haired man didn’t have the air of one of the slaves sitting at the feet of their masters or mistresses. He held his chin up as he looked at Darren, who was several inches taller, especially in his high-heeled boots. He also had a riding crop swinging from his studded belt. Nick pretended to move the bread cubes around as he waited to see what would happen. The others formed a loose circle around their host.

Darren, a glimmer of amusement in his pale eyes, placed his right hand on the man’s shoulder and pressed down, forcing the man to kneel. When the man didn’t lower his eyes respectfully, Darren yanked his face down by his hair. Next he sauntered around the man in a wide circle, twirling a pair of handcuffs he hadn’t had with him earlier. He crouched and clicked them into place around the man’s wrists, pausing to bite the man’s earlobe before he stood up again.

The cherry bullwhip that had been coiled on Darren’s hip all night was finally freed from the vinyl loop that held it, and unfurled. It dropped at Darren’s feet, forming a ring around him. He caressed the handle, gripped it in his right fist, and let his arm fall slack at his side, so that half of the length of red vinyl curled on the floor like a snake waiting to strike. Again he circled his genuflecting prey, letting the tip of the whip drag leisurely behind him. The room was as silent as the frozen night outside until Darren bent his arm, gripped the braided vinyl in his left hand, and jerked it taut. The crack echoed through the cavernous room, sending a shiver through Nick’s groin and making the man on the floor flinch.

Darren lifted his arm and brought the whip down only an inch from the man’s knee. The man inhaled sharply. It seemed cruel to Nick, like threatening to shoot someone with an empty gun. To prepare for it and have it not come had to be worse than receiving the expected outcome. Nick’s hands gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. Darren teased his reluctant slave a few more times before his implement actually cracked across the man’s shoulders. Darren was merciless after that, drawing his arm far back behind him and striking with all his might. The blows fell in rapid succession. The man slumped forward, his forehead almost dropping to his knees.

“Sit up,” Darren said. He neither raised his voice nor needed to. The man jolted his back straight, and maintained the position for a few more blows.

“Sit up,” Darren said again. The man tried, but seemed too weakened to straighten his spine.

“Sit up for me, and I’ll let you touch me,” Darren crooned. This made some of the guests gasp softly, and the black-haired man struggled upward. He held himself erect for several minutes more, though he looked like a sapling being battered by a hurricane. Nick saw tiny crimson droplets flying from Darren’s whip toward the ceiling when he arched his arm backward.

“Good boy,” Darren said. He took his time re-curling his whip and snapped the loop that held it by his side. Then he sauntered back around the man’s front, his groin level with the man’s lowered head. To Nick’s astonishment, Darren unzipped his vinyl pants and freed his erect cock. It was long, slender, and as pale as the rest of him. Nick’s body responded instantly. He was glad for the cover of the table.

“You may look,” Darren said. The man lifted his head, eyes wide. Darren stepped a few inches closer so his balls grazed the man’s chin. “Go on,” he said softly. “You’ve earned it.”