Up Against The Wall

'Fuck me,' she said.

He pulled back until his penis was almost free, then he shoved it all the way back in. He reached around her torso and slipped his hand into her bra, pinching a soft nipple as her pussy lips stretched around his cock.

'Faster,' she gasped.

He obliged, pounding her with a steady rhythm. Her butt bounced against his hips, sending shock waves of pleasure into his balls. He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply, swimming in the floral scent of her conditioner.

Her teeth were chattering and her abdomen was starting to quiver. 'Yes, yes, yes,' she breathed. Her heavy breasts were jiggling in his hands.

All his muscles were behind every thrust, from his calves to his abs. His shaft was tingling as her pussy sucked it up, over and over and over again. The slapping of his flesh against hers echoed through the alleyway like applause.

'Oh, God,' he gasped.

'Cum in me,' she chanted. 'Yes, that's it, come in me, come in me, oh fuck!'

He grabbed her butt as her body spasmed from the hips outward, and it was all he could do to hang on. He pumped his hips into her, feeling the pressure build in his groin as she wailed and screeched and yelled 'Sally!' and before he had time to wonder why she was shouting her own name he felt himself explode, filling her pussy with spurt after spurt of semen.

She reached back and dug her nails into his buttocks as he came. Gyrating her hips, she milked every last drop out of his throbbing cock head, before standing taller to let him slither out. His dick was shiny with lube and come, and his head was spinning. When she moved aside, pulling her skirt down over her blushing cheeks, he collapsed, panting as he rested his forehead against the wall.

When he was ready to talk again, he said, 'You don't really have a husband, do you?'

Sally didn't reply.

'It's okay,' he said. 'I just thought...'

When he turned around, the woman was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 2

Irene tapped the remote. The improbably beautiful forensic pathologist vanished from the screen, to be replaced by a baby elephant being hand-fed by a zookeeper.

She had drawn the grey curtains, since the window was uncomfortably visible from the neighbour's bedroom. The candles had burned down to a third of their former height, filling the room with an unsteady glow. If Eric didn't come home soon, she would have to extinguish them.

She ran a gloomy hand over the sheer fabric of her new bra, and adjusted her lacy thong. The trouble with surprise parties, she thought, is that the guest of honour doesn't know he's late.

Perhaps her husband had been delayed at the office. Or the traffic could have been worse than usual. Either way, he would be home soon. Surely.

She caught sight of her reflection in a polished picture-frame, and couldn't help but chuckle. A 28-year-old brunette with freshly conditioned hair and carefully applied makeup, trussed up in exquisite lingerie -- slumped on the couch with a TV remote in her hand.

She had met Eric eight years ago, when she was in middle management at a small pharmaceutical company. He had applied for a position in the sales department, and had charmed her during the interview. He answered every question without hesitation, and yet his answers never seemed rehearsed. He was polite enough for the occasion, but witty enough that she enjoyed talking to him.

'Hell, I'd buy drugs from you,' she said. He laughed, they shook hands, and two weeks later they were working together.

She found herself making excuses to call him into her office. Sometimes they discussed sales, sometimes morale, sometimes overall company strategy. She noticed that he always managed to work in one or two personal questions. What sort of music did she like? How about films? Did her boyfriend work in pharmaceuticals too? Oh, no boyfriend?

The break room was narrow. She often followed him in, and enjoyed squeezing past him while she reached for the jar of instant coffee, or the box of tea bags. One day she shuffled along excruciatingly slowly, her butt pressed against his upper thighs, and she felt his hands on her hips. His breath tickled the follicles on the back of her neck, sending warm shivers through her groin.

She asked him to stay late and help her with the marketing strategy for a new product. He accepted. Hours later, he was shuddering in his office chair while she gulped down spurt after spurt of his come, eager to impress him, enjoying the feeling of his throbbing cock in her mouth. Later that night she took him home. All the pleasure she had given him, he repaid threefold.

She earned more money than he did, but he enjoyed his job more. When they were married, she quit. His salary was enough to sustain them both, especially after he was promoted to her old position. He enjoyed it more than she had.

Since then, she'd been watching a lot of TV.

Irene changed the channel again, and found a re-run of a nineties sitcom, with more laughter than dialogue. On the next try, she reached a foreign film. A handsome, caramel-skinned actor paced through a fake kitchen, speaking with great passion in a language that Irene couldn't identify. There were no subtitles.

She was about to change to something else when the man lunged towards a nearby actress and kissed her -- a hungry, violent movement.

The actress struggled at first, pushing at his shoulders with dainty hands, but soon she succumbed, weaving her slender arms around his neck as she kissed him back.

Irene snorted at the cliché, but didn't look away. The actor swept some ingredients off the kitchen bench, lifted the woman by her buttocks and placed her on top of it. Her skirt rode up, exposing lean legs, which the man pulled apart. He dropped to his knees and buried his head between her thighs. The actress threw her head back and moaned.

The living room seemed suddenly warmer. Irene blew her hair out of her face. She loosened the straps on her stilettos, and then dragged her fingers up the smooth stockings to her thong.

The actress grabbed desperately at the actor's scalp, pulling his face against her crotch. Irene knew it was fake, but she couldn't help breathing a little faster. Her finger hesitated against the fabric of her panties. Then she started rubbing out slow circles, where her clitoris throbbed underneath.

Why not start the party early? she thought.

The actor stood, facing away from the camera. He unbuckled his belt and thrust himself into the actress, all in one smooth motion. The actress squeezed her breasts with delicately manicured fingers and wailed with pleasure, her brows crinkled, her spine arched.

Craving more friction, Irene slid her index finger under her thong, past the freshly trimmed pubic hair, between her soft labial lips and into the wetness beneath. Sitting up a little higher, she spread her legs, imitating the actress. She held one hand in the air in front of her crotch, as though clutching the back of a man's head. Eric's, or the actor's -- it didn't really matter, so long as it had a tongue. As she plunged her finger deeper and deeper into her pussy, she tried to imagine that the man's tongue was slithering into the darkest, most secret centre of herself--

Then she heard a key in the front door.

Irene froze, feeling irrationally guilty. Then she fumbled with the remote until the TV clicked off and ran to the bedroom, heels clicking across the floorboards, before tossing herself onto the bed.

Four sets of handcuffs were already attached to frame. She tightened two of them around her ankles, holding her legs apart, and then attached one of her wrists to the head of the bed with another. A silk blindfold rested on the pillow. She pulled it over her face, attached her other hand to the bed frame with the last set of cuffs, and waited, spreadeagled. The satin sheets were soft beneath her bare buttocks and shoulders.

She heard footsteps approaching the bedroom, but no voice. She had a moment of panic -- what if it wasn't Eric? What if a strange man with a skeleton key had let himself into their house, and was about to discover her, helpless and nearly naked?

The door creaked open. She listened.

'Hmmm...' Her husband's voice was already rich with desire. 'Is it our anniversary?'

She grinned. 'Nope.'

'Well, it's not my birthday. Is it yours?'

She wriggled, wishing he would start touching her already. 'Can't a girl do something nice for her husband every once in a while?'

'Evidently she can.' She heard him walk back toward the bedroom door.

Irene frowned. 'Where are you going?'

'I thought I might have a shower, check my email, read that book your dad loaned me...'

'One more joke like that, and you can forget about getting lucky tonight.'

Her husband chuckled. 'You're handcuffed to the bed. How are you going to stop me?'

Her loins tingled with anticipation. 'How about you come over here and find out?'

'Not yet. I'll be right back.'

His footfalls padded out the door and up the hall to the bathroom. She heard the sink hiss, the toilet flush and the sink hiss again, for longer the second time. The bathroom door opened and closed. The floorboards in the hall creaked. The hinges on the door squeaked, and his footsteps thudded softly around the bed.

'Is that a new bra?' he asked. Closer now.

'Yes. I found it at -- hey!'

He had tugged it down, exposing her breasts to the air. She shivered.

'It looks better around your stomach,' he said.

She laughed. 'Then how come the models don't wear it that way in the catalogues?'

'Sure they do. I've seen them.'

She laughed. 'Those aren't catalogues, darling. They're -- ah!'

His teeth closed around her nipple.

'Oh my god,' she whispered. 'Please, be gentle.'

He pinched her other breast. 'If you wanted it gentle, you wouldn't be tied up.' Even so, his lips were careful as they traced their way down her ribs, across her belly, and over her left hip bone.

It was only now, as she wondered whether his next move would be a kiss or a bite, that she realised two things. One: while they had been married for more than six years, she had never really trusted Eric. Two: if she did trust him, he wouldn't be nearly as sexy.

Something grazed her labia. Too smooth and dry to be his tongue. Possibly his thumb.

'God, Eric,' she groaned. 'I've missed you.' Trust or no trust, this was true.

He said nothing. The mattress creaked under his weight, and she felt his elbows pushing her knees apart. His kisses, scattered inside her thighs, sent warm tingles through her belly as his fingers prised her open wider. Then the slick heat of his tongue squirmed between her pussy lips.

She moaned, and tried to close her thighs around his head. The cuffs rattled around her ankles. A finger slipped into her pussy, putting delicious pressure on her G-spot.

'You like that?' he whispered.

She couldn't reply -- the tremors were too strong. As the finger probed deeper and deeper, she felt the tip of Eric's tongue trace upwards towards her clit. She suddenly wished she could remove the blindfold. She wanted to watch, to see the sweat on his brow as he slurped at her pussy.

The friction on her labial folds was unbearable. Her belly was a furnace of pleasure.

The bed wobbled as Eric moved, taking his fingers away from her vagina for a moment. The bed creaked as his weight shifted. When his fingers returned, it was from a different angle.

Irene detected a familiar musky scent. He was kneeling beside her head.

She tilted her face sideways, and opened her mouth. Her husband's cock brushed against the tip of her tongue, hot and slippery. She pursed her lips, gently kissing the sensitive skin, before wrapping her mouth around his dick and suckling it.

He groaned as his fingers pumped in her pussy a little faster. She could feel the hot wetness of his tongue, sliding up her thigh towards her clit. Electric shivers ascended her spine.

His cock throbbed in her mouth -- she could sense his heartbeat in the bulging veins. She clamped her lips over the shaft and rolled her tongue around the head before probing his urethra, as if trying to penetrate him.

His mouth had reached her clit. She could feel him swirling his tongue around it, sending shocks of pleasure through her groin.

'Oh, fuck yes,' she mumbled around his cock. It bulged against the inside of her cheek.

He hummed with desire, vibrating her tender flesh.

His heart rate was increasing. Soon the dick withdrew from her mouth, slapping the pillow beside her head. He kept slurping at her pussy for a moment longer before announcing, 'You're ready.'

She trembled as his weight shifted on the bed again. His hands slid beneath her, up and down the backs of her thighs, then her buttocks, belly, her breasts. His lips, still moist from licking her, pressed against hers. She returned the kiss hungrily, and he tugged at her lips with his teeth.

His hips were squeezed between her thighs. A gently breeze grazed her pussy.

'What are you waiting for?' she asked.

The head of his cock stroked her clit.

'Come on!' she cried. 'Do it!'

His dick slipped into her entrance, and pushed.

She cried out, a desperate yelp of lust. It surprised her every time, just how big he was. It always felt like she was completely full -- right before he gave her an extra inch.

He pulled back, his cock dragging across the inside of her pussy, skin on skin. He hands wove into her hair, pulling her head back and her chin up. His stubble scraped her neck. His lips nibbled on her ear as he shoved into her a second time.

'Yes,' she whispered. 'God, fuck me!'

And it was like being fucked by God. He was everywhere. He was all-powerful. She was completely at his mercy.

They bounced on the bed, his hips slapping against hers. The impacts shook her blindfold loose, and she found herself staring into his eyes, bright with need. Looking down, she could see his fat penis disappearing into her over and over.

He put his index finger in his mouth and sucked it for a moment.

The gesture surprised her so much that she lost her rhythm, and they shuddered to a halt like a broken clockwork toy.

He didn't seem to mind. He reached beneath her and stroked her crevice with his finger, working his way in towards her anus.

She squeaked and lifted her hips, but with the cuffs, she couldn't get away. His wet fingertip pressed against her arsehole.

'Keep your hips up, slave,' he said. 'Or it goes in.'

'Eric,' she began. She had never had anything bigger than a rectal thermometre up her butt -- although the thermometre had excited her at the time. 'I don't think --'

His hips slammed against hers, shoving his cock into her pussy. They both growled with pleasure, like dogs from rival packs.

His slippery fingertip exerted a pressure on her anus, gentle but constant. Her legs trembled with the strain of keeping her hips up.

'Eric,' she whispered. 'I can't!'

He ignored her. His penis filled her up, over and over again. Her clit felt electrified. Tingles of pleasure washed up and down her skin. His breaths were hot and dark in her ear.

Her thighs were quaking. 'Eric!'

He just kept pumping.

'No!' Her legs gave way, and she collapsed onto his finger. It slipped up her arsehole, wrong and scary but irresistably exciting, and she screamed as the pleasure erupting from her hips trebled in force. Her body shook like a plane in turbulence, her orgasm setting off his, and he roared as his cock pounded her, increasingly slippery with semen.

They groaned to a halt, high on the dopamine and endorphins swirling about their brains. Eric slowly withdrew his finger -- to Irene it felt disconcertingly like releasing a turd. His penis slithered out much more easily. She could sense the come dribbling out of her.

Eric rummaged through a drawer beneath her bedside table, correctly guessing where she had hidden the handcuff key. He unlocked the four cuffs without speaking.

'That was wild,' Irene murmured, breathing him in. 'I love you.'

Eric kissed her cheek. 'You too. I'm going to have a shower.'

As he turned to leave, Irene saw the pink scratches on his muscular buttocks, and realised she'd never asked him why he was late.

Chapter 3

'Shit,' Jane muttered. 'Shit, shit, shit.'

She was naked, sitting on the edge of the porcelain bathtub with her knees together and one arm covering her breasts for warmth. Her hair dripped down her spine. The shower was supposed to calm her nerves before the test, but it hadn't worked. She supposed she should get dressed -- but what was the point?

She glared down at the pink line, and shook the stick again, as though it might change its mind. But the colour refused to fade, so she tossed the stick in the rubbish bin and put her face in her hands. Then she remembered that she hadn't washed her hands. She went to the sink, scrubbed her palms in the water, and covered her face again. Then she worried that her face had urine on it from the first time, so she washed her face, then her hands, then put the two together.

She wasn't obsessive or compulsive. She just needed something to take her mind off her failure.

His failure, she told herself. I've been tested. I'm fine. I wonder if his wife knows he's infertile.

She wiped the steam off the mirror with her palm and stared at her reflection. Her blonde hair was limp. Bags hung beneath her eyes. Even her breasts looked saggier than usual.

Jane pulled a towel off the rack, wrapped it around her body, and lifted a hair-dryer off the hook.

'No big deal,' she said aloud. 'I'll try again.'

But the idea of finding another man in another bar revolted her. She knew she couldn't be with the one she loved -- she had accepted that at the wedding, after drying her tears on the hem of her bridesmaid's dress -- but she wasn't ready to resign herself to a life of screwing strangers.

She switched on the dryer. Her hair made a fluttering halo.

One more time, she told herself. Then I'll try something else.

* * *

'Damn it!' Charlie fumbled with his phone. He had never got the hands-free setup working in his car, so to answer the call, he would have to switch on the speakerphone function and clip the phone to the dashboard so as it was close enough to hear. A difficult task at 100 kilometres per hour, even on an empty highway like this one.

Ordinarily he would let it go to voice mail. But the ring tone -- an acoustic cover of Raspberry Beret -- told him the caller was Sally, who had lately seemed distracted and reclusive. He'd been getting more and more worried about her. If she wanted to speak to him for once, he couldn't afford to miss the call.

'Hey sweetie,' he said, when the phone was in place.

'Hey handsome.' His wife's voice was cheeky. 'Where are you?'

'I'm still --' He glanced at a passing road sign and ran some quick calculations. '-- uh, forty minutes away. Is everything okay?'

A bunch of flowers rustled on the passenger seat. He was terrible at deception, and hoped he could make it through this conversation without mentioning them and ruining the paltry surprise.

'Everything's fine,' she said. She sounded like she meant it. 'How was the trade show?'

He sighed. 'A waste of my time and the company's money. I missed you.'

It had been worse than a waste of time. It had taken him away from his wife when he most wanted to be with her. He wouldn't have gone if he thought he could have refused without losing his job.

'I missed you too,' Sally said.

Charlie felt a pang of guilty relief. 'Have you had dinner already?'

'I was waiting for you.'

'Thanks. What do you want to eat?'

'Right now?' she said. 'Your cock.'

Charlie's dick twitched in his pants. 'Uh, really?' he said.

'I want you to pull over.'

'Why?' Charlie asked.

'Because I love you and I don't want you to have an accident.'