Herotica 6: A New Collection of Women's Erotica

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Editorial Reviews

Kirkus Reviews
The sixth anthology of erotic fiction edited by Sheiner continues the recent tradition of writing and evaluating pornography from a female perspective—welcome reading to anyone who finds such an approach interesting or important. This time out, Sheiner has chosen to concentrate on "partnerships," and in her introduction she explains that her concern was to provide an answer for the inevitable question: "So how do women keep sex alive in committed relationships?" All of the contributors are women, of course, but since a significant number are also lesbians, bisexuals, and sadomasochists, it should come as no surprise that many of the relationships portrayed herein are unusual. From "Lesbian Bed Death" (a comic medical diagnosis of a sexless gay marriage) to "Three Note Harmony" (ménage à trois with a rock band) to "Simple Gifts" ( a wife buys—and gives—her husband a strap-on dildo for their anniversary), most of the entries are written in a tone lighthearted enough to save them from pomposity. A few others (such as "Mourning the Peasant") plunge quickly into a deep pool of icy sobriety. There is basically something here for everyone, though, with one piece ("The Adventure of Marriage") even offering a paean to (standard) matrimony. .
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780940208254
  • Publisher: Down There Press
  • Publication date: 11/28/1998
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 240
  • Product dimensions: 5.30 (w) x 8.02 (h) x 0.73 (d)

Read an Excerpt



Chapter One


"The Album" by Kate Dominic

Kris and I keep a special photo album, one that's just the two of us together. No family, no friends, no professional accomplishments. Just us. Even the wedding pictures in there are strictly personal—me eating the cake from his fingers, him taking my garter off with his teeth, the two of us sleeping naked in each other's arms early the next morning. He actually got up and set the timer for that picture, cuddling back up against me just as the flash went off.

Over the years, we've made a habit of including everyday photos along with the special ones. It's our journal, although the album itself isn't particularly fancy—a plain leather binder with acid-free pages. Whole months can go by without our taking it down off the shelf. Other times, we keep it open on the dresser while we're deciding what to add next. But like any good book, it opens to some pages automatically.

The picture of us at the biker bar is one of my favorites. "Melissa and Her Pet," the caption reads. Just two leather dykes, dressed to kill in black and silver, sitting at a table with the end of a leash barely visible in my hand. It was our fifth anniversary, and the waitress took the picture. Kris' drag was perfect. Not that it doesn't seem strange to call cowhide and chains drag. But he was dressed to kill. The shot doesn't capture the smoky, sweaty ambiance of the bar. Not quite. But we'd met in a bar, and somehow that made the picture perfect.

We met in one of those dives down on Sunset Boulevard. Kris was fronting a gay punk band from D.C. that was opening for one of the local big names.I walked in the door with my actor friends. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness and my ears numbed to the assault from the speakers, I looked up into the glare of the stage lights—at the most gorgeous human being I'd ever seen. He was obviously a guy. He was dancing in his jockey shorts, and no fake parts ever moved the way his did when he thrust his hips forward. He wasn't hard, just hung.

His chest was very muscular, despite his slender build. I could see his nipple rings move beneath the glitter of his sleeveless Judy Garland T-shirt as he danced. It was his face that really drew me in, though. Kris was truly beautiful, in the classic artistic sense. Soft hazel eyes accented with a minimum of the black kohl outlining obligatory for a punk singer, vibrantly full lips, and delicate bones framed by a cloud of straight blonde hair that just brushed the edges of his shoulders. A thickly studded leather slave collar covered his Adams apple, and as he pranced around in his shiny combat boots, belting out one indecent song after another, his wicked smile sparkled in his eyes. I blushed when he bent over from the waist, knees locked straight and feet spread wider than his shoulders, and wiggled his ass up against the bassist. The other guy actually moved his guitar to one side so Kris could rub against his crotch. It was obscene and sexy, and I was in lust with Kris from the moment he stood up, vigorously rubbed his crotch, then looked at the audience in mock surprise as the front of his sweaty white jockeys swelled. Damn, that man is an exhibitionist!

Ed, one of the guys in our crowd, sputtered every time he looked at Kris. Now Ed is straight, straight, straight. But he kept shaking his head and saying, "I'm so glad I'm married! If that guy were in a dress, I'd chase his ass until I caught it! Damn, he's beautiful!" Then he'd shake his head and take another long swig of beer.

Cynthia, his wife and my former roommate, just cuffed him on the shoulder and laughed. It takes a lot to faze Cyn. After three beers she took Ed's car keys, then we left the rest of our friends and went upstairs to sit down and watch the show. Cyn was thoroughly enjoying Ed's dilemma. She had her hand in his lap under the table but I could see her arm moving, and she had a really evil grin on her face. Every once in a while, Ed would close his eyes and groan, and Cyn would lean over and tongue his ear while she poured another drink down his throat. She kept telling him he was going to have sweet dreams that night. I figured he probably would if she kept that up.

They were so engrossed with each other I knew they wouldn't miss me if I found some action on my own, so I pretty much kept my eyes glued to the stage, and to Kris, for the rest of the set. Just watching him gave me a major case of the hots, which is frustrating as all hell when you know the guy is gay.

I almost didn't recognize him when I bumped into him, literally, a couple of hours later. The headlining band was setting up and I didn't see Kris come up in back of me to lean against the balcony rail. I heard Ed groan, and when I looked at my buddy, his eyes were somewhere over my shoulder. Cyn just laughed, put her hand over his eyes and pulled him down against her breasts.

"Drunk," she grinned up at the space in back of me.

I heard this really clear tenor laugh behind me. I turned around, bumping into a very solid thigh, and there was Kris. He looked different with clothes on. Same T-shirt, but pink spandex pants and a wide black leather belt. He'd shed most of the makeup, but damn, he was still gorgeous. It took me a second to get over my initial shock at seeing him up close. Then I managed to clear my throat and compliment him on his band's set.

"Cute song about the ice cube blow jobs," I smiled.

"You heard us?" he asked excitedly. Kris is one of those people whose whole face comes alive when he talks. "There weren't that many people here when we played. I was afraid that'd affect the CD sales, but they're really moving."

Cyn nodded him towards the chair where Ed's feet were resting; Ed was passed out, so Kris carefully pushed his feet onto the floor and sat down. The headlining act was starting, so Kris pulled his chair right up next to me and leaned over so we could talk, or at least try to, between songs. It was too loud to really hear, though. When it became obvious he was reading my lips, I raised my eyebrows at him and he just gave me this big grin and pulled back the edge of his hair. He'd put in earplugs. I grinned back and discreetly lifted my hair so he could see I had, too. I think Cyn must have thought we were nuts with how hard we started laughing. It was right then that one of his band's publicity guys snapped a picture of us. It was supposed to have been a pic of Kris enjoying the rest of the show, but the photo didn't fit quite with the band's image, so the guy gave Kris the picture. It's the first one in our album. Kris called it "Fate."

After the show, he asked me out for coffee. We helped Cyn drag Ed to the car and waved them off. Then we walked down a couple of blocks to a little diner and split a piece of pecan pie. Three cups of coffee later, Kris shocked the hell out of me. He was telling me about how the band had started when he stopped in mid-sentence. He leaned over and he kissed me, full on the lips. All I could do was stare at him, stunned.

Kris is straight.

I suppose I should qualify that a bit. Kris is at least as straight as I am. Neither one of us could claim to be a Kinsey 0. We're both young and horny and we work in entertainment. But our same-sex flings had usually been one-nighters. Anyway, we spent the weekend together, getting to know each other. Yes, biblically as much as anything else. Like I said, we were young and horny, and there's a whole lot of chemistry between us.

On Monday he flew back to D.C., and we started a long-distance romance. His band toured up and down the East Coast, and I landed a series of walk-ons as well as a few commercials, enough to pay the bills. Especially my phone bills, which by Fall were getting pretty impressive, even at night rates.

The band came back out a couple of times over the next eight months. By then, Kris and I were getting serious. That April we discovered that neither one of us had been sleeping with anyone else since we'd met. It's quite a shock to find out you've fallen in love with someone without even realizing it. That night he asked me to marry him. How old-fashioned, huh? And I said yes.

That summer the band moved out to L.A., and in August, a year after we met, Kris and I got married. Ed and Cyn stood up for us.

I have to admit, I'd never realized how much I'd like being married. We're both vegetarians and we can both cook, which probably kept us from starving that first year. But I really think I could have lived on the sex alone. We'd both tested negative, so I went on the pill, and we went crazy with a general frenzy of uninhibited fucking. We discovered we both loved missionary, and we spent hours with his hair and sweat falling down onto my face as he glided into me. There were times we went at it until we were so sore that the only thing that could soothe us was the thick, slippery cream of our orgasms.

We're also supportive of each other's careers. Having two performers in the same family can be a real downfall for a lot of couples. We stuck it out, and during our second year we both started working more regularly, which helped a lot financially. But we also started spending less time in bed together, and more time sleeping when we were there. The sex was still good—comforting and fulfilling, and to this day, just thinking of Kris lying in bed with a hard-on is enough to make me wet. But some of the excitement was gone, along with the frequency, and every once in a while I missed the frantic edge we used to have.

I hadn't realized that Kris was missing it too. It took us a while to figure out that communication is something you have to work at in a marriage. But I remember to the minute when we started talking about our sex life. It was just after our second anniversary, the day Kris called up out of the blue to ask me to lunch. I'd taken a temp job as an administrative assistant at a recording studio so we'd have some extra money for vacation, and he'd been working down the street that morning. At noon, the receptionist called to say Kris was waiting for me in the lobby, and I walked up front to meet him.

I'd gone all the way into the room before I realized the person standing in front of me was my husband. Then, it was a good thing I was too stunned to move, because otherwise I probably would have fallen over from the shock. If I hadn't seen him with scarves tied around his neck so many times before on stage, I'd never have recognized him. Or should I say "her." Kris was wearing a demure Laura Ashley floral print sundress, matching espadrilles, and a stylishly floppy straw hat with a large pink ribbon that complemented the scarf tied loosely around his neck. His, or rather her, hair was impeccably styled, a froth of carefree waves through which she brushed her carefully manicured nails. In short, she was beautiful. And as she winked seductively, each and every one of those lechers I was working with gave her an appreciative once-over as they walked out the door to lunch.

Before I could collect myself enough to say anything, Kris swooped over and embraced me like a long-lost friend, carefully bussing my cheek so as not to mess up her makeup as she whispered in my ear, "Your girlfriend has the hots for you, babe. Play your part. I've got us a hotel room a couple of blocks away."

Linking her arm in mine, Kris turned us towards the door. "Thanks, Jenna honey. You're such a doll."

"Glad to help, Krissie." As usual, the vacuous young lady gracing the receptionist's desk giggled as she spoke. "I think its so neat when roommates stay in touch. Imagine, after three whole years, you only have one day in town."

Krissie hugged her breast to my arm. "You sure you don't mind covering for Melissa for a couple of hours? We have so much to catch up on."

"Oh, no problem," Jenna replied. "Everybody will be tied up at that finance meeting the rest of the afternoon anyway. Just have her back by 4:00 and they'll never know she was missing."

Jenna twittered, then blushed with pleasure as Krissie handed her a disposable "tourist" camera to take a couple of quick pictures of the two "roommates" together.

As we walked out into the sunlight, Krissie didn't give me much chance to talk. She linked her arm in mine, pressed her bosom against me, and kept up a running, steamy commentary about how nice it was to be back in L.A. where "grrrls" didn't have to worry about having their afternoons interrupted. Most of what she was saying was lost in the whir of the noon traffic, so I just let her lead me down the sidewalk, the light scent of her perfume tickling my nose. Ten minutes later, she swept me into a reasonably nice hotel room where there was a bucket of Chardonnay chilling on the nightstand, the covers were turned back on a queen-sized bed, and the sun streamed in through the gauze privacy curtains of a fifth-story picture window.

I'd gotten over my initial shock, so I turned to my erstwhile roommate and said, "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Krissie?"

Kris came up to me and gently drew the tip of his finger over my cheek and down the side of my face. "We're getting too complacent, Liss," he said quietly. His fingers were soft and silky as he stroked further along the edge of my neck, making me shiver. "We're too good for that." The finger dropped lower, tracing the outline of my breast, then rubbing slow circles over the nipple. "I want to see the sparkle back in your eyes when I touch you." I could feel my skin reach for him and he smiled as the tip hardened under his touch.

"Now I'm your girlfriend, Krissie, your former roommate who's back in town just for one day, and I want a slow afternoon of the kind of girl-to-girl sex you used to have." As Krissie spoke, she started softly milking my breasts with her enamel-tipped fingers. "I want to get lipstick on your nipples and lick your clit, maybe even make you come all over my face the way you do when I press your G-spot just right with a nice, thick dildo. I brought a couple with me, you know.

"When I'm done I'm going to give you my pussy to play with, Liss. Maybe if I'm really lucky, you'll suck my girly clit. You've never seemed to mind that it's bigger than most grrrls'." She sucked softly on my lower lip as I finally smiled. "What do you say, love?"

I could feel Krissie's "clit" pressing against my leg, and all of a sudden, even though I knew it was Kris, I mean I really knew that, the whole time we were there, suddenly he was Krissie. I was kissing another woman in a way I hadn't for a long, long time, and I wanted her. I mean, my pussy was sopping wet and I wanted grrrl sex like you wouldn't believe.

"Krissie," I moaned, just her name, and I melted into her arms. Then we were kissing, the soft, wet, tasting kisses that usually only two women can share. I took her hat off and buried my face in her neck so that her perfume made even her sweat seem feminine. Salty and sexy and so very, very sweet.

Every giggle was part of the foreplay. Krissie stripped me naked, then stood me in front of the mirror so I could watch her playing with my body. She left pink circles of lipstick around my areolas when she suckled me, her soft hands playing my pussy with her carefully manicured fingertips.

When I tried to touch her in return, she shook her head and touched her sticky fingers to my lips. "This first one's for you, sweetheart," she murmured, shivering slightly as I licked. "Just let me make you feel good."

So I did. I lay down on the bed with my legs spread and Krissie got between them. The soft cotton of her dress brushed against my naked thigh as she nuzzled my breasts, licking and sucking and teasing. When my skin was so sensitized I could hardly stand it anymore, she kissed her way down my belly. Then she settled herself between my legs, took my hips in her hands and lifted me to her lips. It was Kris' strength, yet now somehow feminine as she slowly kissed my labia like she was making love to my mouth. First the outer lips, then the inner ones. And when she reached my clit, she played it like it was my tongue. With infinite patience, she stroked and sucked and nibbled like we were kissing. My whole body relaxed, and slowly, tenderly, Krissie's wonderful, loving mouth drew a climax from deep in the pit of my belly. She laughed, her tongue working constantly as I thrashed beneath her, screaming out my pleasure. When I finally collapsed onto the bed, she lapped the cream of my orgasm off me with her suddenly sandpapery tongue.

When I recovered enough to move, Krissie finally let me undress her. I drew away each piece of her clothing slowly, revealing my lover's body bit by bit. Except for a small triangle above her crotch, she'd shaved her whole body. Everywhere, her skin smelled and tasted of silky, soft peaches.

Krissie insisted I leave her underwear on, though she finally acquiesced to my taking her bra off when I told her how much I wanted to suck on her nipple rings. I reassured her that several of my female lovers had been small-breasted, so she didn't need to be self-conscious. Then I took her nipples, first one, then the other, into my mouth and worked them until she was moaning.

Though she insisted on keeping her panties on, and her garter belt and stockings, I untied the ribbons that held the slit crotch of her panties closed, then worked my lips over her thoroughly engorged and extremely large clit. It didn't take long at all for Krissie to come. She shook in my arms as I sucked her with the same tender intensity she'd given to me.

When she'd recovered, Krissie got out a couple of curved dildos, and we lay side-by-side and brought each other to "G-spot" orgasms that left the sheets soaked. Sated, we curled up and napped, and when I awoke, Krissie was finger-fucking me, not quite fisting me, but almost. I was so hungry for her that I came all over her hand. Again.

At home that night, we started talking, and well, we learned to talk about sex. Not just idle talk, but real communication. We talked about our fantasies, both the things we wanted to do and the things that were best left in our heads. And we've kept on talking—and doing—ever since. We're performers, and, I admit, we're sort of exhibitionists. And we like variety. So we've acted out a lot of our fantasies. We've been girlfriends and boyfriends. We've traded genders. We've done bondage and S/M in exotic scenarios. But it's always been just the two of us. When we're brutally honest with each other, we need and want the security of monogamy. We want to be all the people the other one needs sexually. Luckily, we're good enough thespians that we've been able to pull it off. So far, at least.

I'd be lying if I said it was all easy. Mostly it has been; but the most difficult time for us was pretty much the year we both turned 30. Some people call it the seven-year-itch. All I know is that Kris suddenly got so hungry for man-sex that for the first time, we were afraid for our relationship.

On the night he came home shaken because he'd almost picked up some guy after a show, I figured I only had one card left to play. Now I'm not a man and I've never wanted to be, although I've played one—successfully—on stage. Usually its Kris who does the drag. But all I could think of was the day Krissie came to visit me at work. She'd been there for me. So I cut my hair really short, changed my clothes, and threw myself into a new character like I was playing for my life.

That's how we ended up in a gay leather bar near Modesto late one night about a week later, me with a slave collar on and Kris in a particularly nasty mood. We'd ridden into town on Ed's Harley, and after a quick stop to get a hotel room, we headed out for the evening. You can see the look on Kris' face in the picture the woman at the front desk took of us as we left on the bike. He was feeling mean and toppish and he was treating me the way he would some trick he'd picked up in an alley.

We were both wearing leather pants and jackets and our old but well-shined black boots, the ones we wear when we're doing heavy S/M. This time, though, beneath the jacket Kris was bare-chested except for a leather and nickel harness that gleamed like his nipple rings, and he had a diamond stud in his left ear. His hair was clubbed back with a leather bootlace and he hadn't been near a razor for three days, so his face seemed dirty as well as unshaven. Like I said, Kris looked mean, and I looked pissed. It's an unusual picture for us. Normally, we're smiling. But not that time. I'd become my husband's untrained little slave boy and was wearing the other earring in my right ear, just above where the leash clamped to the D-ring in my collar.

It was late when we got to the bar. Most everybody else there was at least half-drunk. As part of our characters, we looked pretty wasted too, although Kris had only been sipping at his bourbon and I'd just spilled some beer on my T-shirt to get the smell. I didn't want to get the shirt too wet, because although I'd bound my breasts, they'd still be noticeable if my nipples got too hard.

We were at a table in a dark corner, and I was starting to get more than a little annoyed at how often Kris was yanking on my leash. The room was crowded, and except for the occasional tug, he was ignoring me, trading crude comments with a group of guys around the table. I was getting even more uncomfortable from the rather sizeable butt plug he'd shoved up my ass when we first got to the hotel. He'd said he wanted his boy ready for him, and by midnight the "boy" was real convinced that the plug had stretched his anal muscles wide enough for a truck to drive through. The leather pants held the plug in tightly, and I was horny from squirming against it. Especially after the vibration of the bike ride.

Suddenly, Kris reached up and grabbed a handful of my hair, at least as much as he could of it, and shoved my face down hard against the wet, beer-covered table.

"What the fuck?!" I snapped, barely remembering to keep my voice low.

He yanked viciously on my hair. It didn't really hurt, it was more for show, but it startled me and I yelped. He'd never treated me like that before. He leaned over and growled in my ear, "You need some training, boy. I want your ass, and I want it now!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I felt his hand on my hip, then the slow slide of the zipper moving down the back of my leather pants. I panicked. Shit, we were in a gay leather bar way to hell and gone in the middle of nowhere, and those guys would have killed us if they'd found out I was a chick. I was struggling against Kris when suddenly, I felt a strange pair of hands grab my forearms and slam me down against the table.

"Stop fightin', boy!" the voice snapped. "Your daddy wants your ass, he gets it!"

"Bullshit!" I yelled back, my voice higher than it should have been, but no one seemed to notice.

I jumped and gasped as Kris slapped me hard across the ass. Then the cool air kissed my crack and asshole as the zipper came down the rest of the way, and, mortified, I froze as Kris yanked the butt plug out of my ass. I mean, right there in front of all those people he pulled that plug out and dumped it in his drink! The other guy was laughing so hard the table was shaking, and his friends crowded around to make sure no one would disturb us.

Then I heard the quick tear of a condom wrapper, and the next thing I knew, Kris was bending over me, his weight pressing me hard into the edge of the table, and his thick, hot cock slid up my ass. Right there in the bar, with a good dozen people watching us, he was fucking me over a dirty, wet table.

Now Kris knows how much I like having sex in public, when we act like we're alone but we really know people are watching us. But this was way beyond anything I'd bargained for. Fortunately, my ass was so loose that he slid right in. The others may have thought it was a rough fuck, but he used that butt plug specifically because it was just the right size to get me ready for his cock. And he'd stuffed half a tube of lube up me when he'd put the plug in, so I was slick inside. I still struggled, though. The other guy was holding me down and I was just mad enough that it felt good to fight, especially since by then I was pretty sure the other guy was strong enough to keep me from getting away.

It was odd. I'd never had any rape fantasies. I sure as hell never wanted to be raped in reality. But suddenly, being held helpless while Kris pounded into me brought out a wildness I'd never felt before. I was scared to death those guys would discover I was a chick, and yet all I could think about was how hot it was for Kris to be fucking me in front of all those people. I climaxed from the anal stimulation alone. It was rough and fast, and when Kris was done he just pulled out, stuffed the icy plug back up my ass, and zipped my pants closed again.

I was still gasping when the other guy let go of me and Kris dragged my head up off the table, kissing me so hard his teeth drew blood. I could taste the copper on my lips as he said, "Your ass is mine again, boy, as soon as we get back to the hotel. Now move it!"

The people standing around were still laughing as Kris tossed a twenty on the table for a round of beer. Then he dragged me out the door, threw me on the bike, and took me back to the our room.

It was the most violent night we've ever spent together, and it turned me on incredibly: I knew, at a very fundamental level, that all I had to do was say "stop" and he would.

But I didn't say it. I stayed in character. I argued with him and mouthed off, telling him I'd never submit to him. I wasn't the least bit surprised when he stuffed my shirt in my mouth, threw me over the end of the bed, and whipped my bare ass with his belt until I was screaming. I knew I'd have bruises. It hurt like hell, and he was swinging the belt full out, with the buckle wrapped around his fist and the strap burning into my ass cheeks. But I wouldn't say "stop." I'd never played the part of an untrained biker boy before, of Kris' boy, and I wanted to do it. When he fucked me again, this time without a rubber, he put me on all fours doggy style so he was banging against my sore ass with each stroke, then he reached around and pulled on my clit, "jacking off my little slave boy cock," he called it. And he waited to come until he felt my orgasm shudder through my body.

I cried myself to sleep on his shoulder. My ass hurt, but that wasn't why I was crying. It was just so intense. So raw and violent. We'd brought out parts of ourselves we'd never let each other see before. When I brushed my hand across Kris' cheek, I felt tears running down into his hair. We clung to each other with the strength of those who have fought a war together and won, but now had to live with the knowledge of the demons that lived inside us.

The next morning, our actual anniversary, I fucked Kris with a strap-on. I woke up to find him spooned in front of me, pressing his ass back against me in his sleep. I cuddled against him for a while, listening to the soft purr of his snoring. Then I carefully disentangled myself, slipped out of bed, and got out the harness. I hadn't told him I'd brought it. I just put it on, along with my leather jacket and a motorcycle cap, and splashed on some of the male cologne I'd been wearing on the trip. Then I climbed back into bed, pulled Kris' top leg up towards his chest, and started playing with his asshole.

It didn't take long before he was moaning in his sleep. He was relaxed and loose as I stretched him, stuffing lube up his butt. He didn't wake up until the head of the dildo slipped into him, but then he woke up fast.

"What the fuck?" he grumbled, trying to lower his leg. He stopped only when he felt my fingernails digging into his thigh.

"I'm fucking you, boy," I said, low and mean. I slid my hand over his hip, slapping him sharply when he jumped as I slid further into him. "You're my little pussy boy this morning."

"Dammit, Lissa! How big is that thing? It's splitting me in two!" Kris can be grumpy in the morning, and he was tense as a bowstring. But my butt was still sore from the night before, so even though I stopped moving, I was in no mood to back out.

"Shut up and hold still," I growled. It was hard keeping my voice that low, but I felt I needed to stay in character. "If you fight, its going to hurt. And I don't want to hurt you. But I am going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck your tight little ass until you shoot all over the bed. So relax, boy." On the word "relax," I pushed in a tiny bit further, hearing him hiss.

Finally, I felt his hips give and he moaned into the pillow. Then his shoulders twitched as his whole body untightened and he shook his head, laughing softly, "Whatever you say, sir. But may I please roll over and stick my ass in the air so I'm at the right angle to take your hard, hot cock? Sir?"

"Okay, boy," I said gruffly, trying to keep from smiling as I slapped his ass again. I let go of his leg, but I didn't pull out. I made him roll over with me in him, and I didn't back up when he lifted his pelvis to put a pillow underneath, just listened to him grunt as the fake dick slid in a little bit further. To tell you the truth, I didn't want him to see how big that latex cock was. If he'd had any idea what I was fucking him with, he would have pitched a fit.

When he was in position, I made him rest his head on his folded arms. "You can drop down and rub your cock against the pillow if you want, but you can't touch it," I said. Then I straddled his legs and pressed a little bit further into him.

I pressed further, and further, leaning onto his back as I moved forward. Sometimes I'd pull back and fuck in and out a few times, to keep him really loose. And on each stroke I'd go in a little bit further. But I still hadn't bottomed out.

That dildo was huge. It was ten inches long and two inches around, and I slid it damn near all the way up his ass.

"Jeez, Lissa. I can feel that thing almost to my throat," he whispered, grinding his hips against me. Then he got real still, and I suddenly realized he was looking in the mirror by the side of the bed.

"You want to watch your ass getting fucked, boy?" I asked quietly, knowing he was going to watch one way or the other. So I slowly and deliberately started backing out of him, not all the way, just until only the head was in him. I could see his eyes getting wider as he watched the monster pull out, then his whole body stiffened as I slowly started pressing back in again.

"Jesus, Lissa! That's too big! Really, I mean it! Stop!" He gasped and tightened hard beneath me.

I froze. He'd said stop and I did, in mid-stroke. But I didn't pull out. Instead, I rested my weight fully onto my legs and massaged his shoulders. "Relax, boy," I said, calmly, still staying in character and hoping he'd be able to drop back into the scene. "It's not too big. You've already had it in you.

"Come on, boy. You want to be fucked. You need to be fucked." I traced my fingers up his spine and smiled as I felt him shudder. "Relax and let me give you what you need. You know I'll stop if you really can't take it."

For the longest time he just lay there, looking at the dildo in the mirror. Tension gradually drained out of his shoulders. I dragged my hand down his back and caressed his lower butt cheeks, where his thighs met his lower curves.

"Give me your ass, boy. You know how much I want it. And I'll make you feel real good." I carefully massaged the tautly stretched skin surrounding the dildo, gently relaxing and stretching him. "Tell me you want it, boy. Tell me so I can fuck you. So I can press your hot come right up out of your ass."

A very long minute later, Kris relaxed underneath me. Then he looked back over his shoulder and laughed shakily. "Okay, sir. But will you kiss me, so I'm not so afraid?"

"Of course I will, boy." I bent over, opening my mouth, and gave him my tongue to suck on. Then I slowly started pressing into him again. He moaned softly as I slid further down. When my weight was resting full on him and I was deep in his ass, he whispered, "Please, sir. Please fuck your boy." I gave him one more deep, passionate kiss, then I leaned back up, grabbed his hips, and started fucking him hard—long, sure, deliberate strokes. He whimpered and twitched beneath me. Then, on one stroke, I moved just a bit differently, pushing down towards the front of his belly just a bit more, and suddenly he arched up and gasped like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. I froze.

"That hurt, boy?" I asked, holding myself motionless.

"No, sir!" He gasped. "Please, sir. Please." His whole body was shuddering like he was suddenly very cold or scared. Then with a long, low moan, he dropped his head back on his arms and whispered. "Please, sir. Do it again."

Yeah, I grinned. I arched into him, a long, slow glide that made him moan with pleasure, then I pulled back. And when I slid in again, Kris let out a high, keening cry and his whole body shook as I pressed down hard into him. I didn't think he'd ever stop coming as that hard latex dick pressed comeloads of his semen right straight out of his prostate. The vibration of his body was almost enough to make me come. And still he kept shuddering.

When his body collapsed onto his arms, I pulled out. I took off the harness, lay down on the bed and ordered him onto all fours over me. His arms and legs were still shivering as I took his soft, sticky cock in my mouth and let it rest there, tonguing it gently while I slid my fingers in and out of his loose, well-fucked asshole. Then I told him to suck my hard man cock until I came.

"Yes, sir," he whispered, groaning against my hands as he took my comparatively very tiny cock into his mouth. But he sucked and played it for all he was worth, like a good little slave boy. It took me about two heartbeats to come all over his face, and without being told, he dutifully licked the cream from my pussy. When he finally turned around and collapsed into my arms, we both started laughing. We laughed until tears streamed down our faces.

"Damn, Lissa," he choked, shaking his head as he pulled the dildo from the harness and looked at it. "What the hell ever made you think you could get that up my ass?"

I shrugged. "You said you needed to be man-fucked, and this was as 'manly' as I could get!"

Then we were both laughing again. Before we left the hotel, we had the manager take another picture of us on the bike. The album captions say, "Before, and After." And we didn't make a journal entry to go with that trip. We're the only ones who need to know the details. Beyond that, the looks on our faces say it all.

This last picture, "Ten Years," is the one the concierge took of us as we were leaving for the opera in San Francisco last weekend. We decided to reverse genders that night, so Kris wore a glittering strapless gold lame ball gown with a faux fur stole and the most realistic looking costume pearls I've ever seen. He was stunning. I wore a black tux and, as the picture shows, I've finally mastered makeup to show just a hint of a five o'clock shadow.

The performance was wonderful. We didn't even try to talk, just sat there quietly holding hands while the music flowed over us. When we got back to the room, I fucked him with the strap-on while I fingered his enormous clit until he shot all over the bed. And he gave my little clitty cock the most wonderful blow job, licking and sucking in all the right places while he wiggled a finger up my ass. I came like gang-busters.

But this morning, this precise morning, it's been exactly one decade since we first promised ourselves to each other. So we celebrated like any other long-time married couple. We had breakfast at home in our own bed. We took a long, slow sexy shower together. And then Kris climbed on top of me, plain old missionary position, his biceps flexing over me as he took his weight on his arms while he glided in and out, in and out, with all the timing we've learned so well over the years. When I couldn't hold back any more, when I cried out as my orgasm washed over me, I felt the deep, swelling thrust as Kris surged into me, his semen bathing my cervix—so deeply, profoundly satisfying. And so hot my body curled around him.

As I dozed off, I could feel myself smiling against his lips. This time, we didn't take a picture. But over the years I've learned to know Kris pretty well: I have no doubt I'll see a flash in my sleep some time before tomorrow morning.

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