Barbara’s Waterboarding By Sandy George

Barbara lay on her back on the waterboard, her wrists manacled under it. She didn’t know how she got there. She only remembered sitting at the stylish bar in the hotel when the bartender came over with a drink for her. He said a man had bought it for her because she was a beautiful girl. Her only other memory was a vague one about getting into a luxurious car.

Even though she was blindfolded, he knew she was on a waterboard because her Tormentor had tipped her up and her head had gone underwater. She had felt like she was going to drown then felt the unimaginable pain of inhaling water into her lungs. She knew her Tormentor was a man because she had heard him speak, a deep, resonant baritone that made her moist between her legs. She wished he would come back and talk to her again; maybe he wouldn’t hurt her next time. She heard a noise, a scraping followed by a footfall. She knew the Tormentor didn’t walk like that. It must be someone else.

Suddenly she felt something between her thighs, something hard and cold. It moved up between her thighs until it reached her cunt. Then it pressed firmly against her lips, pushing them apart and entering her. It must be an enormous dildo. She cried out as it was forced into her, stretching her more than she thought she could be stretched. She begged whoever was doing it to stop; she was afraid she would rip, and the pain was becoming unbearable. Then it did become unbearable as the dildo was revolved while in her, the massive head ploughing in a circle inside her cunt and she screamed. Then she heard the laugh. It was a sniveling snicker sounding like fingernails scratching sandpaper. The rotation stopped and the dildo was jerked out of her, hurting her, but what followed was worse. She heard the awful laugh again as she felt his fingers press against her anus, and she realized he was smearing a creamy substance on and in it. The fingers went away and the dildo returned, shoved hard against her ass. Again she screamed, out of fright this time, as the huge tool was jammed remorselessly into her. Again she felt like she would tear, but the lubricant kept that from happening. The head was now inside her and the revolving began again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been inside her pussy, and in revolving it passed over her spot, giving her a surge of stimulation. Then she felt fingers at her cunt and a hand pushed inside her abruptly. It reached her spot from that side and it and the dildo worked it together. She couldn’t keep from responding to the implacable assault, and was bucking and thrusting against the hand and the tool inside her. She felt the climax building, then washing over her in savage waves until she collapsed, limp. The abuse didn’t stop. She was so sensitive now that it was unbearable, but the hand pulled out and pinched her clit hard. She screamed but the pinching continued, now jacking up and down the clit’s tiny shaft. Then she felt the board tip, and once again her head was underwater. She held her breath as long as she could, but the stimulation of her clit made her gasp and the water came in. The pain in her lungs and the anoxia from not being able to breathe morphed into an explosion as a massive wave roared through her. Her mind drifted; she had almost passed out.

With relief she felt the board tip up and heard the shuffling footsteps fade away. Then softer steps were coming toward her. Could it be her Tormentor? Yes! His deep voice commanded her to spread her legs. Drowsily, she complied. She felt him over her, kissing her breasts, each in turn. His hand closed over her mound, softly squeezing her sore pussy, then caressing inside her labia. She moaned as she responded to him, her nipples growing inside his mouth. He pulled her closer to him, and she felt his enormous cock pressing against her cunt. He entered her slowly, as she felt her pussy contracting around him. He pushed his cock completely inside her, and began slow, excruciatingly exciting strokes, moving almost completely out of her, then impaling her all the way as she quivered beneath him. In spite of the soreness of her clit, she started to heave up toward him, taking him as deeply as she could. She began to feel her climax building as he increased the pace of his thrusts, his balls thumping against her ass. As her climax grew she felt his prick swell and then his semen gushed inside her. It made her come now, her body wrenching in ecstasy as she clutched him deep inside her. He stayed in her until her body slowly calmed, then he withdrew gently and kissed her mouth. He unshackled her wrists and she could hear him leaving. She removed the blindfold and saw a stooped old man’s back as he went out the door. Before it closed she heard him laugh, a sniveling snicker.

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A Pound of Flesh By Charles Langley

The plaque on the door said “Sam Eliot, Attorney at Law”. It didn’t say that Sam was Samantha or that she was five foot six inches of curvy cuddleness and that she was proud of her obvious assets. It also didn’t warn you that she had a black belt in karate and could protect herself from unwanted attention to those assets. Plaques on a door don’t usually give you all the information you need to know.

Inside the office, Sam was the only thing that made coming through the door worth while. Certainly the imitation oak desk wouldn’t have attracted you, nor would the cheap metal file cabinets right out of Office Depot have gladdened your eye. The only sign of luxury was a leather couch against the far wall. Missing were the rows of law books all law offices were expected to display. Sam’s reference materials were on the Macintosh computer on the table in the far corner.

You got to the office through a foyer where a single platinum blonde handled appointments and phone calls for the eight pint sized offices beyond. Although the girl at the desk had all the right assets in all the right places, one glance at Sam made the receptionist look like a runner-up.

When Arnie came into the office, Sam took notice.of this ruggedly handsome James Garner type and immediately wanted to know him better. Much better. Sam was like that. She never argued with her hormones.

“How can I help you,” she asked, running over in her mind all the things she would be willing to help him with.

“I’m not sure you can, but I certainly hope so,” he said, his eyes taking an erotic inventory.

If not love at first sight, it was certainly lust at first encounter.

“The whole thing is kind of crazy,” he continued. “We had a fraternity bash in my last year at Rutgers that made all drunken orgies look like Sunday school picnics. Under the influence, I made a bet with another senior. I lost, and now, five years later he is here to collect his pound of flesh.”

“You mean that figuratively, of course.”

“I wish. We had just finished ‘Merchant of Venice’ and thought it cool to bet in a Shakespearean manner. We both treated it as a drunken joke, but this week he showed up demanding his winnings.”

Sam composed her lovely features into a frown. It bothered her that this hunk could be so stupid. She looked him over carefully. There wasn’t anywhere on his torso where a pound of flesh wouldn’t be sorely missed.

“Have you offered him cash, instead?”

“First thing I thought of. But the son-of-a-bitch made a killing in software and has more money than he knows what to do with.”

“Give me his name and address. I’ll see if I can find an out.”

The meeting was over. Stupid or not, she hated to see him go.

It was a week later when Bill Evans seated himself across the desk from Sam.

“Glad you could make it,” she said. In looks he wasn’t at all a loser, but compared to  Arnie he came up short.

“Now what is this I hear about a joke bet gone sour? You know it would never hold up in court.”

“You have to hear my side,” he said. “All through school this guy was Joe College. He played basketball like a pro, took all the academic honors, had girls raiding the dorm to steal his shorts. He made me look like a born loser. Now I have money I don’t need, lawyers on retainer doing nothing, and the time to drag him through a case that will show he wasn’t as smart as everyone thinks he is.”

“In other words, this is a spite case that you know you can’t win?”

“You might say that”.

She sat back in her chair, shoulders thrown back, sure that he would appreciate the merchandise she displayed. It was obvious that he did.

“What if I came up with something that would have the same effect but would cost less time and money and still show him up as a loser?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Since Arnie first came into my office he has spent as much time hitting on me as he has preparing his case,” she lied. “He has a certain appeal, but all I’ve given him is the time of day. And I intend to bill him for that. What if you made out without trying where he worked hard and failed?”

Bill was grinning from ear to ear. He was practically drooling.

“You mean… ?” he stammered.

“You know what I mean. I know what I want, and I don’t waste time about it.”

“Let’s get this straight. You’ll give me anything I want if I let you win this case?”

“I won’t give you a damn thing. But I’ll let you take what you’re man enough to take, without any repercussions.”

He thought about it. This made it even more enticing.

“When?”

“Right now.” She walked over to the door and locked it.

His eagerness made the oft referenced eager beaver seem reluctant. He rushed forward, reached, but never grasped. Somehow he found himself landing flat on his back short of the couch. This had to be an accident. He charged forward again. This time he felt himself flying through the air and he knew it was over when his face encountered the corner of the desk. He stood up, painfully, and put on his coat.

“Sorry,” he said as he went out the door, “You win. I thought you were a woman.”

You’ll never know how much a woman, she thought as she adjusted her clothes.

Next day Arnie heard the good news. Case closed. No details of how it was done.

“What’s the fee?” he asked.

“A pound of flesh,” she answered, “but I don’t want you detached from it.”

The Collar, The Leash and The Wife By Aiden Mulane

It was a thin bright pink leather collar. Bright and feminine with small silver studs that ran around the outer edge. I had affixed a little heart shaped tag to it with a small silver ring. The bright pink tag had letters embossed on one side. They said in large capital letters “SEX TOY”.

The leash was six feet long and was a normal dog leash except it was bright pink. I had bought the tag and collar and leash at the pet store down the street. They have an automated machine that creates dog tags there. You feed it some bills and then you type in what you want written on the tag with a little word processing interface, fonts, colours, size of type, it does it all. When you’re done it spits your creation out like a candy bar. The collars and leashes were displayed on racks in the middle of the store. I found an inane number of leashes and collars in the store. They looked lonely hanging there.

Of course to leave the store I had to go through the checkout line. I walked to the back of a five person deep queue. Two people directly ahead of me had their dogs with them. Apparently they were not shopping for their spouse. This particular pet store encouraged you to bring your dog and socialize while you shopped. An older overweight gal directly in front of me who was carrying a little Chihuahua tucked under her arm said hello. Her dog looked like it needed a Zoloft Prozac cocktail. It was twitching and shaking neurotically, its eyes glancing around nervously like it was in the middle of a robbery. It looked over at me suspiciously and I felt the urge to startle it but held back.

The other dog, a short haired mutt, kept looking up at its fat balding owner importuning to be let go. It was pacing the floor endlessly pulling on the leash. It was determined to get to the front door to make its mark where a legion of dogs had peed. For some reason the transactions ahead of me dragged on and on. Finally it was my turn.

The young, short, most likely gay cashier looked up at me as I handed him the collar and leash and smiles. He says “hello” happily in a fawning effeminate, did you realize I am gay manner. He looked down at my purchases and surveyed them both carefully. He must have noted that they were both bright pink and for what must be a small lap dog. His face brightened even more. Maybe he thought no straight man would be buying such a collar? Maybe he thought he had a chance with this six foot four masculine broad shouldered football player type of a man who just happened to be buying the happiest, go luckiest, gayest leash and collar set in the store? Maybe he was just curious. I don’t know. He said to me as he leaned forward on the counter looking into my eyes “Oh how cute. What kind of dog do you have?” I paused for a moment, thinking about it, then I looked him straight in the eye and said dryly “I do not own a dog, this is for my wife.” The words seemed to strike him physically. He actually winced. I had expected a laugh. He leans back away from me quickly and swipes the bar code. No small talk now. The soft beep of the bar code reader seemed to hang in the air. Without a word he handed me my change and I nodded a perfunctory thank you and left.

I had hung the collar that morning high on a short finishing nail stuck in a bedpost at the foot of the bed. It was my way of putting my wife on notice. It was my way of telling her what she would be wearing when I came home from work that evening. No discussion, no asking for permission, just the collar hanging where it would be sure to be noticed. I wanted her to think about what was to come, to anticipate the evening. To realize that I was going to be in complete control of her once again.

I got off early to surprise her. Coming in quietly, I found her taking a nap. She was lying on our large four poster bed on her side, her beautiful hips accented by the pose. She was a sexy, sexy woman. She was five foot two inches tall, one hundred and five pounds of full breasted full lipped sexiness. From the first time we were together there was a spark between us; a sexual fire that blazed continuously. Now and again lustful winds would fan it to a raging bonfire.

Being careful to be quiet I quickly undressed and stood naked looking at her. I retrieved the collar off the bedpost. The leash and some other toys and accoutrements I had gathered were in a gym bag under the bed. Looking down on her sleeping peacefully I mentally reviewed my ideas for the evening. My cock began to stir. I gently reached under her long blond hair and slid the collar around her neck. As I fastened it she began to awaken.

Without saying a word I reached under her back and lifted her with one arm while pushing her torso away from me and up; with the other arm I pulled her legs closer to the edge of the bed. I put my index finger to my lips to remind her “no talking.” Gently, slowly, I stripped off her blouse and sexy lace bra. I motioned for her to lift her bottom so I could work her slacks and thin lace bikini panties off. She sat there, her legs hanging over the side of the bed coming out of her slumber. She looked up at me and spread her arms wide and arched her back with a quiet yawn, her bright eyes shining, her beautiful breasts gorgeously displayed as she stretched and looked at me expectantly. She reached up and pensively touched the collar circling her regal neck.

I leaned down and pulled her close, kissing her lips tenderly. She was warm and soft. I smelled her hair and kissed her neck. I broke the embrace and looking her in the eye I said to her “play time”. I kissed her once more, more forcefully. Our lips still pressed together my hands found her breasts. My fingers massaged and squeezed them. I languorously pinched and fondled her nipples. I felt her warm body lean into me. She pressed her lips to mine harder.

I backed up and looked at her. I noticed she was wide awake now. In fact she was already breathing slightly faster. The collar tended to do that to her. It was the touchstone of our playtime. When the collar came out she never quite knew what was going to happen or just where the road would take her. The only thing she knew was that she belonged to me and was mine to use as I wanted. Now the pretty pink collar was fastened securely about her neck, the little tag hanging from it that declared she was my “SEX TOY”. Anticipation rushed through her.

I gruffly told her to get down on her hands and knees and kiss my feet. She got off the bed and slowly bowed down to me. With her hands and feet on the floor she lowered her head and kissed my feet. She tenderly kissed the top of each foot and then turned her head and gazed up at me. My cock began to stiffen. I lifted one foot up a few inches off the ground. “Suck” I said. She wrapped her lips around my big toe. She swirled her tongue around it. She sucked it like it was a little cock fellating it deliciously.

“Okay sit up,” I ordered her. I moved forward and pressed my crotch to her face as she sat up on her knees. I grabbed the back of her head and forcefully pulled her face into my crotch. “Lick my balls, and no hands” I warned her. She sat back on her heels. Her warm tongue laved my scrotum. At first my half hard cock laid across her forehead then I held it up being careful not to let her touch it with her lips. I saw her looking up at it and knew she wanted it in her mouth. Not now, not yet. She looked so sexy kneeling naked before me, her long blond hair cascading down her back, the collar the only thing she wore.

Of course this time was not really for me. It was not really about my pleasure. The whole experience was for her. It filled a need she had deep down inside. Somewhere in the place that a well educated, fashionable, beautiful woman cannot find the courage to openly talk about; At least not a woman that grew up in her “we don’t talk about sex” family. It was a real need deep down inside her; imprinted somewhere below her neo-cortex, way down deep inside her reptilian grunting fuck me like an animal part. In there was an atavistic animal need; the need to be used, to not be responsible, to be in someone’s control, to be dominated. Later I would have my fun but now this was her time. It was her time to be lost to the world.

She knew that while the collar was fitted around her pretty neck she belonged to me, not as a wife but as my “SEXTOY”, my whore, my plaything. I make it happen, no permission needed. I talked to her slowly letting the words sink in, giving her time to digest each sentence. I wanted her to see herself in the picture I painted. “You have the collar on now” I said. “You understand you belong to me?” she nodded yes. I kept going painting a picture of her fate. How I could whip her and spank her if I wanted to. How I could order a pizza and make her suck the teenage delivery boy’s cock for the tip. How I could make her lick my sweaty balls and ass until I was satisfied. I reminded her that whatever nasty, dirty, sexual thing I wanted her to do, there was nothing she could do about it. A wide smile mixed with a bit of fear spread broadly across her face. She gave me a quick nodding, yes to let me know she understood.

Leaving her on her knees I went to the bedroom and got the leash and a little black whip I kept in my bag. The whip was about 24 inches long from handle to the end of the half dozen or so knotted leather strings. Each string had a knot tied in the end to give it some weight. I fastened the leash onto the little ring on her collar. She looked up at me with expectation. I held the leash and began to walk forward. She followed me on all fours. I led her to the living room where we stopped next to the couch.

I jerked the leash and told her to stand up and bend over the couch. As she did I barked an order. “Spread your legs wide”. She looked lovely bent over the back of the couch, her smooth legs leading up to her beautiful curvy ass. She was quite a sight. With one hand holding her in place with the leash and the other wielding the whip I began to slowly warm up her backside. I started swinging slow light snaps of the whip low on the back of her legs. First one leg then the other, rhythmically going back and forth. No marks yet on her skin. The slightest murmur of a moan coming from her lips. Short almost soft strokes of the whip. I built the tension by whipping faster and faster and harder and harder as I very slowly almost imperceptibly moved up her legs to her bottom. She was making me hot with the way she was trying to control herself. Each time the whip landed it would cause her to jump a little. A muffled moan came now from her pursed lips. She looked so good bent over her sweet ass reddening, her roundness accented by being bent over the couch. A couple of times I thought she was going to speak but I jerked the leash and she got the message.

On and on I whipped her. At one point I caught her trying to rub her pussy on the couch but I jerked the leash and warned her.I kept on rhythmically whipping one spot then another and another. Sometimes hard and sometimes soft, sometimes quick and sometimes slow.

I told her that I was pleased with how she was handling herself. I told her that it made me hot to make her ass red. I told her to spread her legs wider and she did as she was told. I deftly with quick snaps of my wrist landed a couple quick sharp blows right on her pussy. She cried out and shivered. Slowly with anticipation of each smarting blow I landed a dozen more on her swollen pussy and her whole body shook even harder. As a finish, an accent if you will, after her legs and bottom and pussy were bright red, I lifted up her long hair and gave her several hard smarting blows between her shoulder blades. She swooned then froze, for a second not sure of what else was to come. Her posture seemed to ask “how much more was I to give her?”

I dropped the whip and turned her around quickly kissing her lips sweetly. I wrapped my arms around her still holding the leash. My lips pressed harder, my tongue entered her mouth. She shivered. My hands drifted down her back to her hot bottom. It felt good to feel the heat coming off her nicely reddened ass. She pushed her cheeks against my hands as I ran my hands over her bottom. She pressed into my body trying to get some touch on her breasts and pussy.
Then I gave her a hint of what was to come. I told her it had been a hot day and I had made sure to keep hydrated. “After all it was wise in this heat” I said to drink a lot of water. She did not catch on right away. Pausing I held still and looked at her face. I wanted her to think about it for a minute. To anticipate what was coming next. She knew right away when I repeated myself “it is wise to drink a lot of water” I could almost see the idea working its way through her mind to cognition. The awareness of what I was saying started a kind of earthquake in her body. She stood there and sort of wavered for a second almost losing her balance. “Hold on there” I said laughing as I put one hand in the small of her back and steadied her.

I was not kidding when I said I had kept hydrated. A couple small bottles of water and then a 32 ounce ice tea had filled my bladder to its limit. I knew her mind was swirling and she was getting even hotter as I felt her begin to lose the power in her legs. She started to sink. She could barely stand on her own. I had to hold her steady with both arms now. Grabbing a handful of her hair I pulled her face close and kissed her once more roughly on her open mouth. Her hard nipples felt good against my chest. I pressed against her naked body enjoying the moment. I noticed that I could actually feel her heart beating wildly in her chest. Her breathing was almost a panting now. I waited a few moments and changed my kiss from rough and open to soft and closed. I kissed her sweetly. I licked her neck, biting and sucking I move up and down it with my lips. I breathed in her sweet smell and warmth. I bit her earlobe and tugged at her ear with my teeth. I ran both hands over her body now and felt the moment deepen. We stood there suspended in time.

Finally I broke the embrace and stood back from her quickly still holding the leash in one hand. She stared at me intently as I was the only thing that existed in the whole world. I watched her beautiful breasts rising and falling with each shallow quick breath. Her red nipples were rock hard and jutting out sexily as she moved. I pulled her close again holding one arm around her waist as I dropped my other hand to her pussy. As I looked into her eyes I reached down and rubbed her mons gently, softly. She pushed her hips toward my hand and closing her eyes began to moan softly.

I was going slow now, very slow, for her. My cock was rock hard and I wanted to mount her and give her a good fucking right now. But this was for her. I was making her wait for it because that is what she needs, what she really wants. Slowly I parted her lips with my middle finger while my hand cupped her mound. Ever so softly I applied a delicious pressure and slid up and down her vulva with my middle finger ever so slightly spreading her pussy lips. She moaned louder now and tried to get closer to me. She was wet and oh so hot. So wet my fingers were slick and shiny as I brought them to her mouth and made her lick them. “Lick them clean” I said. She sucked them greedily using her tongue and lips earnestly.

I jerked the leash harshly, pulling her out of her reverie. “Come with me”. Slowly, wobbling, she walked as if she was drunk into the bathroom, her arms at her sides. We had a large two person walk in shower. It was tiled floor to ceiling. “Inside,” I ordered. “Now kneel”. I wanted her kneeling before me. Her regal beauty subordinated to me. She was mine and she loved it. She was being used and she adored it. She was in my power and she reveled in it. I took some cloth wrist cuffs and tightly tied her hands behind her back. She was moaning softly, nonstop purring catlike moans. The cuffs pulled her elbows together accenting her form, pulling her shoulders back and jutting out her breasts. I stood over her admiring her beauty and watching her intently. She tried to catch my cock in her mouth. I pushed her away and warned her harshly, “you wait to be to be given permission, follow my orders”. I noticed she was rhythmically contracting her legs together in time with her breathing. She was trying to get some pressure from her thighs on her needy pussy. A lovely red flush covered her bosom. I wondered if she had been pushed too far and might faint?

I held the leash in one hand and my rock hard cock in the other. She again reached her mouth forward trying to suck me and I jerked the leash. “Not now” I said. It was hard to get my cock soft enough to pee. She was such a sexy sight. I closed my eyes so as to not look at her. I began to will myself to urinate. She closed her eyes and leaned forward anticipating. It took a minute or two but slowly a few drops started to come. Very slowly at first a few more drops then some dribbles and then very slowly a waxing stream spurting from my cock. As the first few drops hit her breasts she arched her back even more and jutted her breasts forward. Her moans louder and higher pitched now.

The stream started to come steadily building in force. I started to draw tiny circles on her breasts, round and round her jutting nipples. I ran from one breast to the other. Going round and round the concentric circles getting larger and larger until I was circling an entire breast one at a time. My hot piss was splashing off her tits. Pee was running down her arms and chest and belly, collecting as it spilled down to the juncture between her legs. Pee soaked her pussy. My urine dripped off her puffy swollen labia. Collecting in little rivulets down the little landing strip of pubic hair she had onto the shower floor. What a sexy sight she was, her moans louder and louder, her back arching, her body quaking and swaying. Still trying to rub her legs together and not fall over, trying to get some pressure on her hot, hot wet pussy. Her thighs clenching and relaxing rhythmically: Her moaning tied to the rhythm of her breathing.

I worked the urine stream up from her soaked breasts to her chest and shoulders. Weaving the stream back and forth, higher and higher, lifting up higher still, I aimed at the base of her neck. She lifted her chin and leaned forward straining. She was lost in herself, lost in the feelings, lost to the moment. My SEXTOY. I was peeing hard now the flow coming swiftly and faster, full force. She pulled against the leash lifting her chin higher. Raising up my aim I told her to open her mouth and she did so eagerly opening wide and sticking out her tongue. I could hear her in my mind “give it to me” she was saying. I did, I began to fill up her open mouth. She opened wider as to not miss a drop. I quickly filled her mouth with my pee. She wanted it all. “Swallow it” I said, and she did. The stream splashed across her pursed lips and face as she closed her mouth to swallow. Higher still I aimed between her closed eyes soaking her forehead and hair. She tilted her head back to allow my pee to wash over her head and down the back of her neck. She wanted to be covered to be soaked in it. Down, down her cascading hair it went until it pooled around her on the shower floor.

Her moans became guttural now, growling forest noises some kind of animal would make; Sounds coming from deep, deep inside her, back to the time when speech was unknown to man. Sensing she was about to cum I also felt my supply start to wane. I let go of my cock momentarily and reaching down I quickly laid her on her back. What a sight, she laid there glowing, shining, glistening. Her body soaked in my pee. Her arms still cuffed together behind her were now under her and were having the effect of making her arch her ass up towards me.

I looked down at her one hand holding the leash and the other my cock. Her knees were splayed wide apart as she could get them, her beautiful mons and swollen pussy lips pushing up at me, inviting me. She was twitching rhythmically. It was only a momentary pause but she laid there glistening, waiting, needing met to finish. I knew what she needed now and I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to give my beautiful wife what she ached for.

I aimed carefully between her legs just above the tile floor zeroing on her pretty pink asshole. I circled the stream around it for bit then tighter and tighter concentric circles until bullseye! I hit her right on her pretty little rosebud. She opened her mouth wide and let out a scream. I quickly moved up to her swollen open pussy lips. I watched her whole body having spasms after spasm of intense pleasure now. Quick tonic contractions flowed through her in waves. She forced her legs even wider and the pitch of her voice climbed as my pee splashed on to her hot sex. My urine mingled with her lubrication. I worked the stream up and down the midline of her pussy and around the outside. I aimed carefully and parted her swollen wet lips with the flow. I forced the stream into her open vagina like a small cock. As she contracted and moaned and shook my pee was ejected back out of her pussy in little squirts.

I knew she was almost there and I was getting low on ammunition. I knew it was time. Again I aimed carefully slowly working again up from her asshole to the very top of her pubis. Finally I zeroed in on her engorged swollen, protruding clit. I danced around and around it and then, with deft precision I peed directly on it, hitting it forcefully. Her movement stopped just for a second, her voice trailed off. She was suspended in time, just for a moment and then… She erupted in orgasm. She was cumming, and cumming and cumming; Her voice a shrill scream now; it climbed higher and higher reverberating off the tile walls; her wet glistening body bucking, writhing, shaking. Her lower half lifting off the floor up and down, over and over again; her fingers clenching, opening and closing with each spasm.

She was lost in orgasm. She was beautiful. Her whole body convulsed and writhed rhythmically as she lived for a time in ecstasy.

What was once a fast running stream now ebbed until I was left only with a small spurts and dribbles cascading off the tip of my cock onto the floor. I leaned forward steadying myself with one arm against the wall and looking into her adoring flushed wet face I contracted and squirted the last few spurts into her open mouth. She gasped as she tried to swallow and moan and swoon and drink all at once. My bladder finally empty I paused. I gave her a moment to revel in the experience. I waited until she stopped shaking. I surveyed the scene. My urine covered her head to toe. My pee was all over her and the floor and the walls and my forelegs. Once I was satisfied she was coming back to Earth I undid the cloth cuffs and freed her arms. I lifted my right foot and put my toes to her mouth. She eagerly sucked them and ran her tongue around and in between them. I pulled my foot away and untied her hands.

As a last sign or respect and submission, I made her kiss my feet while she kneeled, first one then the other gentle little kisses on the top of each foot. I stood in the shower with her. She sat back on her heels looking up at me with love in her eyes, she was dazed and glowing. She was beautiful.

I came closer to her and she wrapped her arms around my legs and embraced me as best she could while kneeling. It was then I noticed there was another source of moisture on her face. Several tears were running down her cheeks and mixing with my pee. She was gently crying, quietly sobbing as she hugged me lovingly. I stood still for awhile as her embrace squeezed my legs harder and sobbed quietly.

I moved the shower head so the stream would not hit her and turned on the water letting it warm up. I reached down and undid the collar as she looked up me adoringly. A couple of tears ran down the corner of each of her pretty eyes. I motioned her off to the side and rinsed off my legs a bit while she watched me intently. “Clean up dry off be quiet, and get in bed, I am going to take a nap” I said gruffly. She stood up and tried to kiss me. “Not now” I said, “do what you’re told.” Before I lay down I made sure to hang the collar high on the bedpost where she would see it. My wife lay down with me and as we fell asleep snuggling I felt a fullness in my balls that would need to be taken care of. It was going to be a good weekend.

Down By Ralph Greco

“I have a thing for rabbits, what can I tell you?”

“Yeah, but those guys in the suits, whata they call um, ‘Furries’?”

“Everyone has their specific little desires when it comes to sex. So we just dressed up and…

“…ew, ew, don’t tell me anymore, please.”

Cara gulped her latte-double-shot-skim and I smiled into my tea thinking of the sex Garret and I had had the night before and how ironic it was that my little tale about bunny dress-up could bother my old college roommate so much. I wasn’t about to remind the petite black girl, but I recalled some rather strange noises emanating from Cara’s room when we shared that suite in junior/senior year; I had heard all kinds of grunts, moans and slaps…and not always when Cara was with a partner. She was just as kinky me, so my little bunny-suit adventure didn’t attack her sensibilities as much as she liked to pretend sitting here in our sedate Connecticut Coffee And… while she played suburban mom with her cute one year-old asleep in the stroller at her feet.

Hell, she knew to use the word ‘Furries’.

There was no way I was going to give up these Thursdays, regaling my best friend my latest encounter, especially if they happened to be as much fun as my last night rendezvous. I knew Cara regarded me as a 25 year-old woman with a voracious libido, looking for the next big connection-or at least a sizable one-and this was true enough. But she had no idea really what is was like trying to find peace of mind out here in east coast United States suburbia when you weren’t, technically, human.

“You comin’ with me to Home Depot or not?” Cara said, suddenly standing up.

Either her latte had gone cold, she was finally disgusted with me (at least for this morning, she’d be back cringing through my latest next week) or my best friend really had to pick up that what-ever-you-call it at the store for her husband Ron. I wasn’t such a fan of big spaces like Home Depot, I rather liked little out of the way coffee shops like this, and of course bookshops and tiny corners of libraries where I spent most of my time. I knew it harkened back to those of-so-formative few days I spent chasing you-know-who down the you-know-what but I regarded cavernous retail citadels like Home Depot like I did anal sex in that, it’s nice to know it’s there when you need it, but you don’t have to go there all that often.

I stood as Cara did, bent to kiss perfect sleeping baby Jessica on the cheek then stood to do the same to her mom.

“I got to get my ass to the library.”

Cara, my mother, actually nobody ever questioned me about this habit I had of burying myself in the library all hours of whatever day it was. During my lunch hour from the classroom, during these days off in summer, basically whenever I could, I was among the high shelves routing through as much classic literature as I could find…it almost preoccupied me as much as my sex life.

How I had come to find myself set free from the pages of Lewis Carroll’s book, a living and breathing girl, living some hundred years plus later on the east coast of the United States, I had no explanation for. My ‘parents’ never spoke about finding me, if it was a Superman-space-ship-crash-in-the-back-forty kind of a thing or I simply was there one moment when I wasn’t before. What could easily have been called a childhood fantasy had grown to a teenage obsession then a family secret not to be spoken of, telling though as it was that my very proper parents never once suggested therapy for what most parents would have thought a deep delusion. I had taken their acceptance to be a simple acquiescence of what they both couldn’t truly understand, that I was Alice come to life but as there were no pictures of me pre the age of seven my memories prior to my adventures were null and void-except for my dull recall of a sister-I knew, deeper then I knew anything in my addled sex-starved psyche that I was indeed that Alice. I simply had grown like any normal girl the late eighties in American culture (1980’s that is) having nothing ever unusual about my existence expect that my blonde locks never dulled nor never needed cutting.

Like anything else, fiction or not, life intrudes. Didn’t Lennon say, “Life is what happens to you when you’re making other plans?”

The book, rich as it is, doesn’t give one much clues beyond what happens to Alice (me) when she (me) has her adventure. Yes, there are all the mathematical conundrums, the ‘nonsense literature’ aspect, the Queen, the playing cards but I feel as I felt in the book when I run away from my sister and tell her to consider to experience it all for herself. The “Eat Me’ cake always kind of gives me a tickle you-know-where, but even reading the sequel, which I wasn’t around for (I mean I am in it but I dropped out of the book after running away from my sister) doesn’t give me much to go on save for peaking my interest in chess. It’s really just a book I happened to sprout from, and not unlike any belief system born of text I try to live my life with the knowledge of what was written but not so as to get all stifled by it.

I do know my birthday is May 4th though.

Of course Alonzo was waiting for me when I reached the Southside Branch ten minutes later. The lanky black boy and I had taken to meeting here as much as his part-time job and propriety would allow. Ten years my junior, other then my parents he was the only one who knew who I was, or at least he tolerated my suspicions as my folks did.

The handsome boy was an ex-student and more likely to take pity on his junior-year English teacher then most had they heard my wild claim.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” I asked as we took our usual two-seater table far in the back of the adult section, off the right of the true crime books.

“The stupefying humbling realization that you are not the only one,” he said, as always mesmerizing me with his deep brown eyes, his quick thin-lipped smile, his ‘jump-right-into-it-ness’.

When he was my pupil Alonzo had been just as inquisitive, now some three years on I found his desire to share the big cosmic questions with me sometimes as unnerving as they were deeply erotic. That we hadn’t yet touched beyond our usual kiss hello had me burning for this young man more than I burned for Garret and he was currently indulging my bunny fantasies. Was I under-sexed or simply in need of more mental stimulation as I got older?

“I have agreed that yes, it is logical to assume that I am not the only one,” I said smiling back, “we have been over this dear.”

Alonzo always smiled when I called him that, as he did then. Leaning across the table he whispered:

“But you haven’t considered the potential if you could all meet, and make your presence known. It just amazes me that right now we might be sitting a table away from Christopher Robin or…”

“’t amazes me to, but like any minority… “ I interrupted him and stopped to stare hard at the deep black face before me, “…I am just trying to get through the day without calling too much attention to myself.”

“Well,” and here the young man lean back in his chair and exhaled “well, yes, that I can relate to, I guess.”

I was burning for the young man. I hoped he didn’t catch the blush on my white neck, the dilation of my pupils. For me, the one complete and sure aphrodisiac is acceptance, the full non-judgmental embrace of my oddity. Garret wearing a bunny suit, my parents not speaking a word, even Cara agreeing to still meet me no matter what perversity I revealed, all of it made me feel warm and fuzzy in a way I could not explain. Alonzo never once raising his eyebrow to his weird English Lit. teacher’s wild tale, his continued meeting with me here and now his excitement over a wild strategy he was considering, made me want this guy even worse than I usually did.

For whatever reasons when I get hot, sex crazed, horny, whatever you want to call it my senses heighten to ridiculous proportions, which only make me hornier. Alonzo slid back in the plastic seated chair and the tight “Shspurt” his jean-ed rump made as he did so ran up my spine that I shot up off my chair, grabbed his hand and pulled him down along the back wall.

“A… “ he tried but I had him up between the very last row of hardcovers and the alcove where a dead copy machine is kept. We were alone for the moment, at least.

“Take it out,” I said as softly yet forcibly as I could, “take it out now.”

Poor guy had no idea what to say or do, so I reached down and unzipped for him.

“Alice,” he whispered, the sound of this ex-student using my name so thrilling to me; right up until a month ago Alonzo was still calling me Miss Jules (my parents’ last name). I looked deep at him as I managed his jeans open and he squirmed back into the wall.

I don’t know what motivates normal women, but I do what motivates me. I need to be more than Alice from the book as much I need to be more than a human lady. I need to be all things to myself, a sexual vixen, an off-for-summer slightly sad school teacher still living with her folks, a fictional character brought to life by some unknown alchemy, and a woman right then getting on her knees to coax Alonzo’s beautifully thick erection over his briefs and into my hand then my mou…

“Christ Alice, Christ!” the man/boy above me growled as I swallowed him then and he lie back against the hard back wall, so unlike a waiting dark hole I could have cried over the difference in realities.

Ms. Welsh After the Interview By Paul Henry

The knock on his office door startled Mr. English out of his daydream. “Come in,” he called. When she entered, he recognized the applicant the committee had interviewed in four o’clock slot. She was mid-thirties with curly red hair, straight-backed, impeccably groomed, and attractively Rubenesque. He imagined himself mounting her from behind, grabbing her hair and pulling her head up like you might rein-in an unruly mare. “Did you forget something, Ms. Welsh?”

She stood just inside the Accounting Supervisor’s door. “I couldn’t go back to Rock Island until I asked you something.”

Mr. English reached for his dark green suit jacket. He rose, hastily putting on the coat. She was tall, easily six feet in her two-inch heels. Standing he looked her in the eyes. “We won’t make recommendations until after tomorrow.”

Ms. Welsh remained by the door of the small office, clutching her portfolio tightly against her chest. “That’s what your secretary told me at the elevator.” Mr. English looked. His secretary’s desk was empty and so were the cubicles surrounding it. The digital clock read 5:23.

“This is highly unusual.”

Ms Welsh noticed the desktop picture of a blonde girl in a bright blue soccer uniform standing beside a smiling boy in a baseball uniform. He had a young family. That would make this more difficult. She hesitated. “Why the number eight?”

Mr. English cleared his throat. “What… ?”

“You wrote the number repeatedly during my interview. You circled it.”

Mr. English motioned Ms. Welsh to the beige upholstered chair to the left of his desk.

“I’ll stand,” she said. The white dress she wore had dark blue piping and large blue buttons. The HR Director felt she could have chosen more professional attire, but Mr. English felt the dress suited her.

All the women in his department wore pants suits in earth tones because that was what Mrs. Bontu, the CEO, wore. He fantasized sometimes about replacing Mrs. Bontu as CEO. His first official act would be to ban women in the office from wearing pants. Or underwear. He thought it best at the moment not to mention to Ms Welsh how much her liked her dress.

Tiny beads of sweat formed on Mr. English’s upper lip. He sat down. “This is awkward. Your application is still under consideration.”

“Is it?” Her tone was accusatory. He smoothed back the hairs across his balding forehead and said nothing. “You filled your note pad with eights.” She noticed a twitch by his left eye.

“It meant nothing.” He waved his hand to dismiss her.

“You folded the scratch paper and put it in your pocket. I imagine it’s still there.” Mr. English shifted in his chair. He’d become uncomfortably erect at the thought of Ms Welsh reaching into his pants pockets in search of the doodle. “Should I be flattered that I was an eight? Did you interview any tens?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Did any male candidates get numbers?”

“No.” He motioned again toward the chair. “Please sit down.” Ms. Welsh sat down. She crossed her legs. He tried unsuccessfully not to stare at them. He wondered if she was wearing panty hose. In his imagination she had selected a garter belt and nylons this morning when she’d dressed for the interview because she had discovered how much he disliked pantyhose.

Mr. English made eye contact and cleared his throat. “Look at this office.” He gestured. The credenza was scratched, the carpet worn, the Employee of the Month plaque needed dusting. “My window faces the parking garage.”

He seemed harmless, but it had been a long day, and Ms Welsh had little patience. “And your point… ?” This had been her third interview of the day. The other two had not gone well either. It was a tough job market.

“I’m forty-six years old. Two years ago I mismanaged a major project and was demoted from VP. In May, two Hispanic employees resigned over a remark I made at the Cinco de Mayo party. My boss refused to fill either position so she could come under budget second quarter. I worked fourteen-hour days, and she got a nice bonus.”

He spoke earnestly, his hands folded on his desktop. He tried to keep eye contact even though his eyes kept drifting to her legs. “Two months ago my wife packed a suitcase for me and had a messenger drop it off at my office.” He glanced at the pictures on his desktop. “Now I see the kids every other weekend and Tuesdays. Celia and I have marriage counseling on alternative Thursdays.”

Ms Welsh blinked. “You are not a happy man.”

“Exactly.” He looked over to her. “I live on fantasies because reality stinks.” He hesitated. “There are eight large blue buttons on your dress. I imagined you unbuttoning them for me.”

She slowly rose from the chair. “While I was interviewing, you were fantasizing about me?”

“Yes.”

“I could file a complaint.”

“You could. See Ms. Radcliffe about that. She’s the third desk on the left. She’s probably gone for the day.” Ms. Welsh tried to read his expression. “What if I had told you I ranked each candidate’s qualifications from one to eight?”

“I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Why not?”

“I watched your face while you wrote the number.”

That satisfied him. “So you suspected… ”

“I wanted confirmation.”

“It’s confirmed.”

She looked at him carefully. “Why confess? A sexual harassment charge could end your career.”

“Why confront me? It could cost you this job.”

“We both have something to lose.”

“Yes.” He shifted in his chair. “Our top candidate is overqualified. HR misled him about the position. He will turn us down.” Ms. Welsh watched his eyes. “Our second candidate lacks your education. She’s less articulate, less dynamic, but she’s got a manufacturing background. You have a good resume, but no factory experience.”

Ms Welsh’s face was flushed. She tried to focus on the Mr. English’s remarks. “Even accountants for nonprofits do cost allocation, CVP, budgeting, forecasting, and financial analysis.” Part of the heat she felt was anger, but there was more to her reaction than that. “I have my CMA.”

“But you’ve never done ABC because you’ve never worked with inventory.”

“That’s correct.” She realized she was pressing her portfolio against her chest. She needed to calm down. She loosened the grip on her portfolio and waited. She tried to even out her breathing.

“How badly do you need the job?”

The comment startled her. What would she be willing to do to get his job? “I’m not desperate.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Contributions to nonprofit funding was drying up. At most her office had another two months of funding.

“If you’re not desperate, why did you come back?”

That was a good question. She’d convinced herself she was coming back to express her moral indignation at Mr. English’s obvious attraction to her. The others had been expressionless and noncommittal. That had been better than the reactions she gotten at the other earlier interview. Mr. English was right; she needed this job. She needed to find a way to get it.

Ms Welsh stood. “I came back because I was curious about the expression on your face. I wondered what caused it.” She placed her portfolio down on the chair. “Now you’ve given me the answer. It was my buttons.” He watched as she raised her hands to the first large blue button. She hesitated. She wondered if she could do this. She unbuttoned it. “I have fantasies, too,” she told him, and even as she said it, she knew it was true. She unbuttoned the second button, revealing the lace at the top of her slip.

“Please don’t,” he said. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. As she reached for the third button, he swiveled his desk chair until he faced the window overlooking the parking ramp. “I’d like you to leave.”

She paused. “Mr. English, don’t you want more than just fantasies?”

Mr. English continued to stare at the parking garage. There was a long silence. He heard the door to his office closing. “Sometimes I do,” he said finally.

“I do, too.” Her voice startled him. He thought she had left.

“What are your fantasies?” he asked her. Mr. English didn’t turn around.

“I imagine I’m on a stage and every man in the audience is watching me.” She turned off the lights. The light from his lone window illuminated the office. “Will you watch me?”

“I could lose my job… ”

“It’s a risk.” Mr. English heard the rustling of fabric. “I’ve unbuttoned the third button. You’ll miss the fourth if you don’t turn around.”

“I can’t guarantee you the job… ”

“This isn’t about the job.”

Mr. English turned to face Ms. Welsh as she unbuttoned the fourth button. Underneath her dress she wore a pale blue slip. He thought about Celia and the kids. He put his hand in his suit pocket and touched the folded paper that he’d placed there after the interview. He started to rise from his chair.

“Stay there. I’ll come to you.” She walked around his desk and faced him as he swiveled in the chair to follow her movements. She stood erect, straight-backed like she had when she first came into the office. “The next one is yours.” He reached for the fifth button. “Slowly,” she said.

“Yes.” He unbuttoned the fifth button. She hung her hands at her side. She did not touch his shoulder to steady herself as she had done in his fantasy. He unbuttoned the sixth button.

“You find me attractive?”

“Very.” Mr. English reached for the next button.

“Tear it off.”

He took the seventh button in his right hand and grasped her dress with his left. He tore off the button and set it on his desk.

“I’m a size 16. Most men want tiny women with slender waists and no hips.”

“They’re fools.” He reached for the final button and tore it off, too. “They don’t know what beauty is.” Her dress hung open at the sides. He wanted to run his fingers up her nylons. He wanted to feel the dampness of her inner thigh.

Her pale blue slip ended just below where her nylons attached to their garters. The slip clung to her thighs. He reached out and pulled the slip to her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties. He stared at her curly red pubic hair and wondered what it would be like to bury his face in it.

Ms. Welsh stepped back. She wasn’t ready for him to touch her. She pulled back her dress and put her hands on her hips, feigning bravado she didn’t feel. “Disappointed?”

Mr. English sat breathless, staring at her. “How could I be? You’re beautiful.”

“Is it what you imagined?”

“Better.” She smiled, and for the first time that day, relaxed. “And you, Ms. English,” he asked, “is this what you imagined?”

“No. But then it probably never is.” They watched each other in the dim light until, finally, she began rebuttoning her dress. “Even if you hire me, I won’t let you fuck me.”

“I’d be your supervisor. I’m still a married man.”

“Yes.” She picked up her portfolio, and then Ms. Welsh walked to the door and opened it. “You’d have to be content just to watch.”

She didn’t close the door so that Mr. English could watch her strut all the way to the elevator. When she was gone, he placed her two buttons into his desk drawer, proof that it had been real.

Shoot Me By Albert Tucher

“I blame the internet,” said Mary Alice.

Diana raised her diet soda to her lips, where it would hide her smile. Mary Alice was off on one of her conspiracy theories.

“How does that follow?”

Diana kept her tone free of teasing. If Mary Alice detected ridicule, it might remind her that she had other grievances, at least in her own mind. Being her friend took a lot of work, but it beat the alternative – making an enemy who knew how to sell Diana to the cops.

“It stands to reason,” said Mary Alice. “Before the internet, the porn business was all local. Neighborhood adult bookstores were pretty much it. They had to stick to the lowest common denominator.”

“Okay.”

“But now any idiot can market worldwide. He can specialize as much as he wants, and still find a million customers who are into it. So now a guy surfing the web can stumble on some kink that he didn’t even know he had.”

Mary Alice had more of a point than usual. Diana nodded.

“And his next step is coming to us with it.”

“Admit it,” said Mary Alice. “Haven’t you been getting more weirdos than ever?”

“Hard to say. After twelve years of this, what’s weird?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. So what brought this up?”

“I hate it when a guy comes up with something I can’t do.”

“Professional pride.”

“Exactly. I tell them my rules upfront. No fingers inserted, no coming in my mouth, my face, or my hair. Then whatever else he asks for, he gets.”

“Until?”

“Until yesterday, when this new guy wanted me to play in the snow.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Diana said.

Mary Alice’s smile held a tinge of malice

“Much as I would like to know something you don’t, it means exactly what it sounds like.”

“Fill me in.”

“He wanted to watch me get naked and roll around in the snow. There’s this website called Snow Bunnies, and that’s all they have – girls cavorting outside in the middle of winter. You can tell it’s real. Their whole bodies turn red the way your face does when it’s fifteen degrees.”

“Completely naked?”

“Sometimes they keep their boots on.”

“Any guys involved?”

“Hah. They’re too delicate.”

“So am I, probably.”

“That’s more or less what I told this client.”

Diana looked at Mary Alice across the lunch table.

“If anybody could do it, I would think it would be you.”

“Not me. I know too much about winter.”

It was one of the fascinating things about Mary Alice. Diana knew her friend had grown up in North Dakota, but Mary Alice was dark and dramatic, the opposite of the placid Scandinavian blond stereotype.

“I wonder who they get to do it. And how much they pay.”

“You could ask Heather,” said Mary Alice. “I recognized her in a few pictures.”

“Heather is nuts. I always knew that.”

“Last month she mentioned she was going up to the Adirondacks for the weekend.”

“Maybe that was it.”

“You might want to think about it. So you’ll know what you’re going to say if it comes up.”

Diana caught herself reaching for another of Mary Alice’s French fries. Her friend always ordered something unhealthy and then left most of it on the plate. Diana had eaten every scrap of her Greek salad without the onions or anything else that would give her client-killer breath.

Mary Alice picked up the check and started to slide out of the booth.

“Gotta go. I want to knock off an errand.”

Diana stifled a grimace. By breaking off early, Mary Alice had just give her an extra half hour to get to her date in Sussex. It wasn’t quite enough time to justify backtracking to her rented house, and the manager of Rosen’s restaurant was eyeing their booth as if he needed it for the lunch rush that was still going strong.

Outside, Mary Alice turned right and started to walk the three blocks to her apartment in downtown Driscoll. Diana had parked her Maxima at the curb. She climbed in and started the engine.

The latest snow was two days old. There had been a brief warm spell, but now the gray clouds had returned. Diana drove north on 206. Just a minute or two later she crossed the line into Witherspoon Township, where she was especially unpopular with the cops. The route took her through some of the last working farms in the northern tip of New Jersey. She always enjoyed the views of alternating field and forest.

Ahead of her the two-lane highway climbed steeply enough to make her step on the accelerator and let the transmission downshift. As she crested the hill, the sun broke through and struck the snow-covered fields on both sides of the road.

Blinded, she stamped on the brake pedal. It was the wrong move, because she felt the car skid. A sheet of melt water must have crossed the road and frozen in place. The car slid to the left. She was bracing herself for an impact, when the tires finally gripped dry pavement. The car stopped.

She expected to hear horns blaring from oncoming vehicles, but nothing competed with the sound of her own rapid breathing. If she insisted on pulling a stunt like this, early afternoon was the time to do it. She had this stretch of road to herself.

Diana put the transmission in neutral and climbed out of the car. Things could have been worse. The tires on her driver’s side had dug into six inches of snow, but the other two wheels rested on pavement. The Maxima faced the wrong way, but it didn’t intrude into the traffic lane. She turned away from the car to slow her breathing and calm her nerves.

The field still dazzled her, but the danger had passed. Now she could afford to admire the beauty of the expanse of snow. In town, cars were busy turning the white into gray where the dogs hadn’t drilled yellow holes in it, but here nothing had spoiled the perfection.

Thirty thousand feet overhead the clouds fled like hookers from a wife with a gun, but at ground level the wind had died. The silence waited for something to happen.

Diana peeled her gloves from her hands and tossed them onto the passenger seat. She started to unbutton her coat. The cold attacked her, but she stripped the coat off and threw it into the car.

She unbuttoned her white blouse. Her fingers threatened to stiffen, and she forced them to work more quickly than they had with the coat. To take her black wool trousers off, she first needed to remove her boots. Mary Alice had told her that the Snow Bunnies kept their footgear on, but Diana decided there was no point if she didn’t plan to outdo the competition.

Professional pride, she thought.

She undid her belt and sent her trousers and panties to the ground. She stepped out of them and bent to pick them up. The cold groped between her thighs and made her wonder whether she was going to lose control of her bladder.

She didn’t, but she felt vulnerable in a way that summoned a buried memory. She was sixteen again and showing herself naked to her first boyfriend. It had been her first and last experience of modesty.

She left her thigh-high stockings on. That much of a concession she could make, but the bra had to go. She folded all of her clothes over her arm and threw the bundle into the car.

Now what?

She took another step into the snow. The cold cramped her arches.

Cavort, she thought. Cavort or die.

Diana stretched her arms as if embracing the view. She looked upward and spun around, once slowly, and again more quickly.

She wore the cold like a fuzzy robe. Somewhere in her mind she recognized the danger of the fake warmth, but for the moment she didn’t care.

She spun until dizziness overcame her and knocked her flat on her back. She laughed like a six-year-old and flapped her arms to make snow angels.

Another inspiration struck. She visualized the pool at Driscoll High School and started swimming her best event, the backstroke.

That’s a new school record, she thought.

Her back had lost all feeling. She rolled over and faked a crawl stroke.

This was getting dangerous, but she still had one thing to do. She turned on her back again and raised her knees. She crossed her left leg over her right and starting squeezing her thighs together. She felt nothing but the ruthless rhythmic pressure on her clitoris.

Numbness pared her to mind and pussy. She squeezed and kept squeezing. Where had all those clouds gone? The featureless blue of the sky inflicted a kind of blindness on her. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and only one overwhelming thing to feel. It circled her and taunted her and made her beg.

Come on, come on, come on, come on.

When it was good and ready, it skipped the writhing and toe-curling and jumped her like a schoolyard thug. Stunned by the assault, she could only endure it until it passed.

But she kept squeezing, as if she wanted to crush something between her thighs.

Her attacker stole away. For a while she lay there and whimpered. Then she breathed and watched her exhalations disappear.

Damn, Diana thought. It’s cold here.

It was time to get up, but what had happened to her balance? Without feedback from her senses she had trouble locating vertical, but she put in the time and effort and made it to her feet.

“Oh,” she said.

She had company, of the kind she needed least.

“You want to explain what you’re doing here?”

A Witherspoon Police patrol car had parked nose-to-nose with her Maxima. Diana studied the officer who stood facing her. He looked her age, about thirty, with reddish hair, a florid complexion, and the twenty extra pounds around his waist that the Witherspoon taxpayers seemed to require of their officers. She hadn’t realized that this stretch of road was still their jurisdiction.

“Shivering.”

It was true. Her jaw spasmed, and the rest of her body followed.

“Let’s try that again,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Um, it’s a little hard to explain.”

“Looks pretty simple to me. Disorderly conduct. Indecent exposure.”

“Exposure is the word.”

“I don’t need smart mouth. What I do need is some ID.”

She pointed toward her driver’s door, which still stood open. He nodded, and she walked the ten paces to the car. The first thing she reached for was her coat, which she started to pull on.

“I said, ID,” said the officer.

“First I’m putting my coat on.”

“You were warm enough a moment ago.”

“Shoot me. I just had the orgasm of a lifetime.”

His jaw flapped open, but nothing came from his mouth.

With her coat on Diana felt her body returning to life. She realized how close she had come to the danger zone. She hoped the Snow Bunnies had backup out there when they did their cavorting.

The warmth felt so good that she reached for her boots. He glared, but she didn’t care.

When she was ready, she took her bag from the passenger seat and held it where he could see her reaching for her wallet. She extracted her license and held it out toward him.

“Diana Andrews,” he read.

She watched his expression and saw what she expected to see. Most local cops knew her name and what she did for a living. Some didn’t care, some would bust her if they could, and some would take a more entrepreneurial approach.

Which kind of cop was he?

“How many dates so far today?”

Witherspoon, she thought. I should have known.

“None yet.”

“You know what I’m saying. It’ll take a donation to make this go away.”

“I told you, I don’t have any cash with me.”

“Better find some.”

“I don’t think so. You want your freebie, come get it. Otherwise, I have things to do.”

He glared for a moment. When it didn’t make him feel better, he gestured toward her back seat.

“You sure?” she said. “The snow is really comfortable.”

“Inside.”

“I guess you’re not a Snow Bunny.”

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind.”