Stripped Down (2 page)

My number one story here is sci-fi, Catherine Lundoff's long and exhibitionistic “Planet 10.” Our narrator, a Knossan, is dying to have sex with an Altaran. Has been for years. She winds up one night at an intra-species lesbian bar under the watchful eyes of a number of other horny aliens, and at the whim of the Altaran lizard who has agreed to play with her (“Unfasten that one's upper garment…”) she eventually fists herself to orgasm on command. Later, in an alley, she's ripped open and begins her transition. All the while the gold-eyed Altaran's gills are quivering. It's hot. The Knossan has decided to surrender her life to this. To grow a tail herself. To breed with an Altaran is to become one. And
that
is simply profound. I loved the faggot riot grrl getting her ass ridden in the back of the truck by the mean biker daddy in “Puppy Slut.” His fuck pad “was soft and smelled like big dogs and sex and woods…” as she climbed in the back. Do you have a
medical experiment fantasy? The poor college student of “Clinical Trial” enters a campus facility for testing, and behold, the hot scientist with the clipboard quietly observes her orgasm. Or did she detect an eyebrow flicker? A gill?

Packing in yoga class? Hot! This one's appropriately named “The Plow Pose.” How about the pussy packed with organic blueberries by the Miami butch who does home delivery for the produce co-op in “Ripe for the Picking”? Seeing the healthy lesbian aesthetic crashed into a dripping mound of excess was really, really good. And the little nun of “Virgo Intacta.” Who could forget the little nun who changed the beds in the Italian B & B for the vacationing professional dykes? “But let's make no mistake, little nun. No one's ever going to touch you again, without you wishing they were me.” We wind up sitting with the couple flying home in the plane. They each know what the other's thinking, why the other's smiling, yet no one wants to share.

Then there's the girl headed to Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco with her trans boyfriend. The ex-girlfriends who end up in bed with a riding crop. And the woman in “Gone” who mourns her lost lover who is not just some mean cunt long gone, but dead. Dead! The ultimate fantasy. I wish my ex was dead. I really do! And finally there's the couple encounter in which one lover eats dog food. Because she must. Then they process it a lot. A real lot. The top might. She might do it. But they need to talk more. You know all this stuff is hot because it's not like anyone ever stops talking. It's just that the real conversation is the sex. These are all fiction, but that part is entirely true.

 

Eileen Myles
San Diego

WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD

Aimee Pearl

 

 

 

 

We're walking down the street and he's fucking me. Everything's slippery and delicious. This is all true.

We're at the Folsom Street Fair—the annual BDSM outdoor playground event—and it's a hot San Francisco September day. Hot in a way that only San Francisco can be, and only in September. They call it Indian summer. There's a monsoon swelling between my legs. He's going to make me gush.

We're walking in broad daylight. The crowd is thick around us. He rubs a wet thumb against my clit. We move side by side in stride, no pauses. I wonder…

My skirt is so short that it doesn't cover the full curve of my ass. You can see my cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the shiny rubber coating. I can't wear panties in this, and I can't sit. Can only stand. Can only keep on walking. While he fucks me.

He's devilishly handsome, this one. His skin is the color of a toasted hazelnut, and twice as tasty. We've fucked many times before, but never like this. Never outdoors, in the middle of the street, digits stretching wet rubber wide…

The red of my skirt is polished to a gleam, and I love the way the color looks metallic against my velvet-soft brown skin. This was the first piece of latex I ever bought, the first one I ever tried on. Its tightness around my narrow waist, rounded hips, and plump ass makes me look and feel space-alien exotic, and draws attention to the fullest part of my body. Yes, my butt has stopped traffic. Who doesn't like to look at a black diva in red rubber?

For now, though, we're blending in, seeping into the throng around us. He's giving me a teasing fuck and my cunt is starting to ache with desire. Pretty soon, I'll want more fingers, I'll want to swallow his fist whole. We've got to find a doorway to lean into. I can't come while walking. I'm perched on spike heels and might fall over.

The orgasms he gives me have been known to cause great commotion.

We find an alley and he pounds me quick and hard, leaves me wet and feeling dirty. This boy has a way with those hands of his. He once made me come while I prepared a cup of tea.
Holding kettle, boiling hot and full, precarious. He came behind me at the stove and rammed four fingers into me. Undid me. Unraveled me. I don't know how I managed to pour steadily after that.

But I did.

We're discovered in our crevice by onlookers, dykes from around town, smiling at the queer couple that is us. I wish he was packing, so that we could give 'em a real show. Unfortunately, he left his dick at home today. Who needs it, I guess, when you've got hands like his?

Still and all, I do crave his cock sometimes. For a moment, as he fucks me roughly one more time for our audience, I imagine him, silicone in hand, rubbing his rubber-covered rubber dick against my rubber-covered rear. Rolling up latex for greater access. Sliding toy into tightness. A fetishistic ass fuck on a city street, sweaty.

I do it again. Come.

Later, we leave our latex-alley love nest and slide back into the crowded thoroughfare. He runs into a friend, a gorgeous high-femme white girl with a buzz cut. Six-two in heels, she works as a pro-domme at a local house. Today is her day off, and she and her girlfriend/submissive are strolling through the fair. She's wearing an ankle-length latex dress, and she's drenched in sweat. She squats down and lifts her skirt to circulate air around her sweet blonde pussy. I want to swoon, but not from the heat. She complains about the weather, and about the clients who keep spotting her in the crowd and begging to be dominated.

Beside me, he chats casually with her and smiles. He knows I'm a sucker for a pissed-off femme domme, not to mention one wearing even more latex than I am. From my angle above
her, I can see down into her cleavage and admire the beads of wetness on her full breasts. I'm starting to feel wet again myself. He knows. He knows it's time to fuck me again. He knows it's time to go for a walk…

 

On our next date, we meet at midnight, this time in another alley, in a different part of town. He's hanging out in a club up the street; I've been instructed to drive into the alley and wait for him in the backseat. I send him a text message to let him know I've arrived, and arrange myself to be ready for him. He leaves the club and approaches my car.

I'm wearing a cream-colored knee-length A-line leather skirt. The material is so soft and buttery that most admirers don't even recognize that it's made out of leather—at first glance anyway. This skirt always gets a second glance. It's not short, it's not tight, and it's not an eye-catching color. But it manages to exude a subtle yet no-nonsense sexiness. It's a great skirt for a dominant woman to wear, because of its strict lines. But I'm a submissive, and I like to wear it to feel encased in it, bound by the leather, however loosely, as it falls around my thighs.

There's a rap at the window, and I reach over to unlock the door and let him in. Let him come in and fuck me.

As requested, I'm not wearing any panties. Although this time it's not because of the length of my skirt, of course, but because of other constraints of the scene. Namely, he wants quick and easy access to my cunt; he wants to fuck me quickly and then leave me to go back to his friends at the club. It's all been prearranged. We move like we're dancing. Only there's no music. Just the sound of leather rubbing against vinyl, and breathing. His breath and mine. Mostly mine as he's fucking me hard and I'm struggling to endure it.
To take it all in. He's packing this time, all right, using one of his biggest cocks.

The day was hot but the night is cold. The windows steam over, and as I'm parked illegally in a one-way, dimly lit alley, I'm beginning to worry if we'll attract any unwanted attention. He doesn't seem to be concerned. He was cavalier from the moment he entered the car. He hasn't said a word to me, in fact. Just leapt in, closed and locked the door behind him, shoved me down onto my stomach, and used one hand to pull his cock out while the other pushed my skirt up.

He's gripping my skirt, the thin leather bunched into his fist. One of my arms is pinned under me, but with the other I start to reach out and run my hand along his pant leg. I discover he's wearing leather chaps over his jeans, and that they fit nice and snug. I try to reach far enough to get to the edge of the leather, so I can stroke his crotch, feel his real cock, the one that's slowly been getting bigger as he's been transitioning and taking testosterone. But he's not having any of this, doesn't want me to move. He rams his cock into me to the hilt and uses both his arms to hold me down, immobilizing me. My face is buried in the vinyl of the seat, my legs spread wide with one on the seat and the other leaning over the side toward the floor, and all else is sound and heat and motion and fullness. His chaps are rubbing the vinyl, my skirt is rubbing the vinyl, and there's no room to breathe. I'm gasping for air, wondering which one of us will come first, when suddenly, without warning, he pulls out.

He pulls out, and pulls back, and I can finally catch my breath. But I'm confused. I shift around to see what's going on, and witness him pulling two things out of his pockets. My eyes go wide as I see that one is a rubber ball gag with leather
straps, and the other is a small packet of my favorite anal sex lube. He lays the lube packet on my bare ass and speaks for the first time all night.

“Open up.”

I open my mouth to receive the gag, and then he secures the straps in place at the back of my head. Now he twists the tab off the lubricant, and dribbles it onto his dick. His second sentence comes at me:

“Get ready.”

The head of his cock is already pressing against my asshole. When we talked about meeting in the alley, he said he wanted things to go quickly. But if he's seriously thinking of fucking my ass with that big toy, this is going to take a while.

Or so I think.

He works it in with surprising speed. Behind the gag, I'm grunting and half-screaming, but he knows I can take it, and I know he's going to make me. The perverse thrill of submitting to this sadistic “forced” ass fuck actually causes me to open a little more, which eases his way inside. He's one step ahead of me, and pushes as I acquiesce.

When his cock is completely in my ass, he pauses for a moment, to give me a chance to feel the extent to which he's stretched me out, to confirm my own surrender. One moment, and then it's over. That's all I get. After that, it's his turn.

He pounds me hard, fucking me for all it's worth. He's determined to come and he knows how to use my ass for his own pleasure. My job is to endure. Gagged, held down, plowed, I am a thing to him. An object. A leather-clad fuck-hole. He slams into my ass, over and over, until he shoots his orgasm into me. It's not liquid, of course; it's an energy, and thus, twice as potent. I take every drop, deep into my ass, for him.

And when he's done, he pulls out gently, undoes my gag gently, slides me over onto my back gently, smoothes down my skirt gently, and gently, very gently, reaches under my skirt and flicks one slick finger against my clit.

I explode.

I come against his hand with a roar, violent waves of pleasure crashing through me. He holds me as I come, body to body, leather to leather, gripping me tightly until my moans subside.

Then, just as quickly as he entered, he puts his silicone dick back in his pants, zips up, and leaves.

Next time we'll play in PVC.

JUBILEE

Quinn Vertiz

 

 

 

 

“Getcher dicks on, boys, we're goin' in!” Drake shouted from the front seat as we pulled up in front of a double-wide with
Momma's
flashing over the door in red neon. The light illuminated a few cars parked in front and smaller trailers strewn around the empty desert like abandoned child's blocks.

The door of the double-wide burst open as we piled out of the van and a stout woman with an enormous amount of bleached-blonde hair stepped out and yelled, “Come on, boys, I've got some real beauties waiting for you in here.” She struck a bell hanging by the door with six quick raps. “And that will get up a few more,” she said with a big fleshy smile. “Do my eyes deceive me or it that Drake?” She clapped her hands together. “The girls
will really come running for Drake and his boys. Get your cute little butts in here.”

I lagged a little behind the other guys, walking funny from the big cock Drake had picked out and strapped onto me. It went down the leg of my jeans and pinched my thigh with each step.

“Hey—Baby Boy, where are you? Don't hang back this time.” Drake got me in a headlock and dragged me up the stairs. I could smell his sweat and the musty scent of his leather jacket, and it soothed me. “Momma, look what I got here for one of your special girls.” Drake pulled me into the sparsely lit living room, thrusting me in front of Momma so my face was eye level with her cavernous cleavage. “This is my boy and I've brought him to you to find just the right girl to pop his cherry.” She grabbed my head, getting a good grip on the tuft of hair on top of my head, and pulled me down into her breasts where it was all softness and perfume. I sighed contentedly in the dark space.