Lucia Finds Her Mojo By Ty Vossler

Her doctor recommended estrogen therapy. Lucia was leery because the list of side effects was as long as her arm. Yet, he insisted that with frequent monitoring, there was little to be concerned about. Menopause had replaced her sex-drive with mood swings, hot flashes, and vaginal dryness. At lengthy intervals, she performed her wifely duty for the sake of the marriage, yet it left her feeling bitter and resentful. Lucia’s husband, Wyler, noticed the detachment in her eyes when she opened her legs for him.

Lately, when the occasion warranted, Wyler smeared lubricant on his tip and pushed into the past—traveling back in his mind to a time when Lucia’s hips churned and her fragrant flower quivered around his cock. He imagined the Lucia of yesteryear, when she was in her thirties, working on a Ph.D. in mathematics, and nearly always had energy left at the end of the day to take him on an erotic journey. Yet, these days she just wanted him to get it over with, to pull out and spurt on her belly because sperm made her itch.

Lucia’s lack of libido caused her to procrastinate in her search for a treatment. She had hoped that she would wake up one-morning feeling better, and that her desire, like a lost pet, would return to paw at the door. She had tried fantasizing, yet images conjured so effortlessly in the past were unsustainable now. Now there was only Wyler, moving slowly between her thighs, grunting and leaving an opalescent puddle on her lower tummy.

Lucia didn’t like pills. She explained to the doctor that she was even sensitive to aspirin. He prescribed a minimal dose of estrogen cream to be applied by hand. When she returned home, she sat up on the bed, drew her knees up to her chest, and spread her legs. Then she put a prescribed amount of the cream on the tip of her index finger and pushed it in as deeply as she could.

“A week or two,” the doctor had said, “and you will feel a difference.”

Two weeks later exactly, Lucia was working in her office at the university when a familiar ache announced itself. The lost pet had returned. The Braid Theory she was studying faded into the background and was replaced by the urge. She shivered and her flower throbbed beneath her long Indian skirt. She glanced at her watch—just after twelve—the traffic would be impossible at this hour. Wyler was a full-time writer and worked from home. Depending on traffic, their home was forty minutes away—too far, too long. She locked the door and returned to her desk. Furtively, she lifted the skirt, lowered her panty and sat in her office chair, resting her feet on the edge of the desktop. She licked her first two fingers and reached to find the tiny teardrop nestled beneath her dark pubic hair.

Lucia imagined Wyler lowering her to the bed, lifting her knees and pushing in slowly. She heard herself moan and closed her eyes. Yet the image of Wyler image was soon replaced by a strong memory. As an undergraduate, she had visited a favorite professor during office hours, boldly locked the door and presented herself on his desk. The professor had wasted little time in draining his pants and slipping inside.

In those days, Lucia’s sexuality purred to life with the touch of a button. With the exception of Wyler, she had never stayed with any man for very long. Curiosity drove her always to greener pastures. A few times she had several different men on the same day. Lucia sifted through memories—the first years with Wyler, handsome and hypersexual. They balled as if there were no tomorrow. More than once the mattress slid off the bed.

Lucia paused to add more moisture to her fingers, leaned back into the chair and sighed deeply. She closed her eyes again and there was Luis. When they met at a seminar eight years ago, he had been forthright about wanting her. She politely declined, yet here he was now, scratching at the door, the outer labia petals were slipping over his engorged cock and letting him in.

The image shifted and the Cuban professor, Osbel, two doors down from her office came into focus. He often stopped by to chat and it was obvious that he liked her. She imagined sitting on her desk, Osbel cupping her below the knees, lifting her legs, his thick, dark shaft pushing down and in, glistening with wetness when he pulled back and plunging forward again.

Her fingers circled her clitoris, transporting her back to an infidelity at a conference in Morelia. She and Wyler had been married for only two years. Pedro, a Portuguese professor from Lisbon, had pushed the right buttons and they lost themselves in each other for hours. She remembered after the first time, he had stayed hard and they had done it again even as his spunk crept out and dripped to the bedspread. They made love well into the night and then she returned to her hotel room to shower and sleep

Lucia kept a thumb on her tiny clitoris and slipped two fingers inside, curling them upward to find her sweet spot. She clenched her teeth to keep pleasure from spilling into the hallway, “Mmm,” the strength of her first orgasm made contractions around her fingers, “huh, mmm,” her hips jerked around in the chair.

She imagined Pedro groaning, gliding back and forth. Another strong climax followed and then smaller ones as Pedro filled her with semen. He had wanted to continue meeting even after the conference, yet she was married and he was engaged. They never connected again, yet his memory was fresh.

Lucia cleaned herself with a tissue. Each of her fantasies had been suffused with bits of reality. Her lost pet had returned, and she was determined to keep it from ever leaving again.

There came a light tapping at her door. Her blood left her face and she hoped that no one had heard her. Quickly she stood, pulled up her panties, straightened her skirt and ran hands through her hair. Then she unlocked the door.

The Cuban professor was there, “Can I treat you to lunch?”

“Okay, thank you.” No harm in that, she thought. Yet, even as she gathered her purse and locked the office, a familiar ache returned.

The Pyramid By Michael Fontana

They first met at work where Perry noticed the tattoo of a pyramid on the back of Michelle’s neck, just below the hairline at the top of the spine, in a place where he wished to reach down and touch to feel the imprint and then to kiss it, figuring it would spiral her out of control somehow, that this solitary wild spot held the key to all the sexual circuits scattered throughout her body.

Still they said nothing, did nothing, just danced around each other when a transaction had to be discussed or a ledger entry or a check cut. She was the accountant, he the spender, this game of opposites in the workplace driving him near to sorrows with his insatiable desire for her. They were a similar age, early fifties, an age when others were sexually waning but he wanted more. He felt dead without it.

She was tall and black haired, brown-eyed, low key in speech and eye contact, dressed in slacks and fine blouses, limited makeup and perfume. That damned tattoo appeared in the midst of all this modesty like an insult in a way, a way of saying to him “you’re mistaken as to who I am.” He was tall also, lean, dressed in suits and loud ties, spending money to lure further business to the firm. The lunches, the parties, the evening events, it was all pandemonium of sorts but it was sexless and drunken and beyond anything as interesting as Michelle’s solitude.

He returned to the office one evening after a charity gala, mouth in a burn from red wine, and found Michelle still behind her desk, still fingering the calculator with one hand, ruffling papers with the other. He stopped her right there, put his hand on the hand with the papers.

“Bet you didn’t calculate this,” he said and lowered his face for a kiss which she returned deeply, lips for lips, tongue for tongue, the breath slowing, shallowing, until she slid her chair back and pulled him down to her by the hair, towards her and then towards the floor.

It was strange to undress on the carpet that they trod every day, that everyone ignored and found dull but suddenly it was not dull, it was illumined by the bareness of their bodies, by the electricity of their desire as he opened her blouse like the pages of a sacred book, the beauty of her nakedness beneath almost unbearable to him. But he reached for it and kissed it, sucked her breasts which rose with his attentions and she reaching up to undress him as well.

Suddenly his mouth explored her further, dipping down to her slacks, unzipping and unbuckling them, removing the sweet silk of her panties and then down to lick her in slow circles around the edge of her cunt, slowly working his way inward to the clit and focusing on that, the way it made her jump and yelp.

She nearly slithered in her passion, her fingers working clumsily to undress him as well, her hand reaching for his cock, yanking it until it stood upright and then lowering herself to lick around it and then suck it slowly, moistly, so that he could barely contain himself.

When he entered her it was as if they had lost any separation at all between them. The ride twisted and turned them, they growled and howled at certain junctures. She dragged her nails down the backs of his arms until they bled and then he released into her. But still the biggest prize remained unclaimed. He pulled her head forward and found the pyramid there, he anointed it with a finger full of their combined juices and then he kissed it clean.

PIANO By M. Earl Smith

It was the last day of my summer job as a grant writer at the community college we both called home, and oddly, that Friday was the same day that the last of the student straggled in to return their books. Normally, I worked only half a day on Fridays, but seeing as I was trying to finalize all of my contributions before leaving, I agreed to work the full day. You, on the other hand, had left your gig at your dad’s store around 3:30, as you always do, and headed to return your books. You knew I was there, I knew you were coming, and nobody else knew that we’d be within reach of each other. It was a perfect storm.

I finished my work early and jogged over to the main college hall, just in time to gather all of your books from you with a grin. The assistant dean, with a wary eye, followed us out and, without a word, climbed into her car and left. Settling your books into your car, I watched her go with a mild disdain. “She is not the friendliest of people, that’s for sure.”

Shrugging, you glanced around quickly before pulling me in for a kiss.  I was surprised, yet I returned it with as much enthusiasm as you had given it with. Chuckling, I looked around.

“The main lecture hall is unlocked, and there’s a piano in there.” I grabbed your hand and pulled you in that direction. “Come play Fur Elise for me.”

You giggled as we made our way into the lecture hall. As we slid in, I managed to lock the door behind us. The blinds were pulled shut, the doings of the maintenance department, for an event the night prior. As you sat down at the piano, I laughed, and pulled up a chair, as I always did, right next to you. Without warning, you produced a blindfold, and pulled it down over your eyes. True to form, you ran through half a dozen songs before playing Fur Elise, and, with little effort, nailed it.

Pulling the blindfold off, you grinned. “I can play regardless of the distraction,” you boasted.

It took me all of three seconds to slide out of the chair. Pulling the bench out, while still leaving you within arm’s length, I slid under the piano and grinned. Pulling the bench back into place, I pulled your thighs apart and began to run the tips of my fingers down them.

“Play.” I commanded, as I felt your thighs tense under my touch.

Reaching for the piano, you started to play again, the notes solid and true. In the beginning, all I did was run my fingers along your thighs, but as you started to play the second song, I slid my left hand up your shorts, rubbing your pussy through your panties.  I felt you tense, even as you became wet under my touch, and yet the notes did not falter.

Grinning, I increased my efforts as the third song started. My left hand slipped inside your panties, and continued to work on your pussy, using two fingers to run circles around your lips as I hummed along with the song. Meanwhile, my right hand slowly started to work your shorts off, inch by inch.

You finally faltered, and shook your head, yet you refused to let me know that I was distracting you, even as your shorts fell to your ankles. Undeterred, and as you started a new song, I pulled your panties to the side and moved in, inserting a thumb into your pussy as I did so. I started licking you, in slow, agonizing circles, as you slowly began to work your hips.

Somehow, you made it to another song, one that was beyond complex, and involved a lot of movement. You managed to work yourself against my tongue and fingers, although you barely miss a note. Even still, your thighs were shaking at this juncture.

You barely finished the song and started the next, when, in an explosion, you came harder than I can ever recall. Your cries of passion echoed down the hallways, and in a final moment of defiance, you banged against the keys violently, almost rendering me deaf in the process. I didn’t mind, however. Feeling you abandon the keys and grab my hair in double handfuls, to pull my eager mouth towards your pussy as you come all over my face, was reward enough.

After a moment, you sighed, panting, and looked down at me.

“Okay, you win,” you said lightly.

Wiping my chin, I grinned. “I’m not the only winner here.”

Devil’s Delight By Matthew Wilson

Nicola could see the castle from her bedroom window, but her poverty bought her no closer to it. How she wished for the bright lights of the city, instead of rotting like summer fruit back here in the suburbs.

She could even see the white dome of the palace, if she squinted she had burnt it onto the back of her eye lids like an old missed memory. Was it too much to ask that a pauper be a princess in desperate times. If only for a day? Wishes were not so rare things in the west though she had yet to meet a genie.

Her mother was old and dying, and after working her fingers to the bone to get food on the table Nicola felt the old woman deserved a better final few days then to cough up oil and slowly succumb to the darkness.

Nicola told herself that she did it for her mom, and that helped with a little of the guilt. Though she had never stolen anything in her life. She had always been a goodie – goodie as mother wished. And yet it had gotten her nothing.

Just hunger pains.

A mother dying of cancer, too poor to afford the medicine to cease the never ending agony as her body was eaten away by tiny, angry cells. She had to do it. For her mother. For herself.

She broke into the mansion.

Not the palace for the guards would be out in force for the recent coronation. She wouldn’t get through the gates without an invite. Maybe she would loose her head, and then who would look after her mother?

She had to take it nice and steady. One foot at a time. Especially when she started climbing the wall. The poison ivy bled through her torn gloves and made her hands hardened by manual labour itch madly. But she thought of mother relying on her for medicine. For money.

She blew on her bust and bleeding fingernails and kept climbing, telling herself not to look down. But she did. She might have fallen, a distance that would have killed her if she hadn`t smelt the perfume and her body tensed because of it. Her numb fingers made fists in its spell and glued to the ivy.

What was that beautiful aroma? She had never been to the river before, though an open sewer ran at the back of her dilapidated home, she supposed that this was what the fresh water exotic flowers smelt like. Crushed and bottled to heighten a ladies attraction perhaps, but losing none of it`s wonder.

How much would the lower class pay for a scent a lady of power put on her body.

Nicola knew nothing of the woman she was robbing, and for her conscience that was how she wished to keep it. The rumours had been going across the houses since she had moved in. It had taken three furniture carriages pushing wheezing, plodding Horses close to death with exhaustion to get all her possessions here.

Which meant she was rich. And by proxy a selfish cow. Who needed so much nice stuff when she had nothing but a smile for the world and good wishes for her mother. None had bought her a penny while Nicola supposed this woman hadn`t worked a day in her life for a blood line inheritance.

Didn`t Nicola deserve some good things in her life too? Things that glittered. Intoxicated by the sweet smell she peeked her eyes over the lip of the window frame and checking the coast was clear quickly climbed inside.

The night was muggy and restless. Likewise, she would have left her windows at home open. If she could have afforded the glass. Breaking and entering was not her thing, but the smell was a candle and she was the moth, and obeyed.

I`m coming she thought and nearly broke her neck as she tripped upon a sleeping puppy curled up upon a rug dreaming of bones. The white shaggy terrier snapped awake, howling in pain with its tail bent in the wrong direction as Nicola tried to find her feet, and not smash her head on the polished floor.

Stupid thing.

Nicola had a natural empathy for little creatures, being some one who was used to be trodden on bigger people. She cooed at it until it seemed to gain courage and trundled out, broken tail wagging from under its hiding place of the foot cushion.

Nicola had never seen a foot cushion before. She had old curtains for bed sheets.

Rich indeed. The woman would not miss a few sheets and small objects Nicola could fit into her pockets and take down the pawn shop for mothers medicine. Seemingly mollified, Nicola tickled the pooches ear once, he licked her thumb and forgave her.

“Just our little secret, eh?” she smiled and wished that she had bought a bag.

She felt like a kid in a candy shop. There was too much to take in. Too many pretty things to steal. She felt overwhelmed. The bedroom had a feminine charm and satin sheets. The rose flowered wallpaper made her feel she was in a summer orchard.

A mirror stood like an alert guard on a table surrounded by make up material and experimentally, Nicola smudged some on her lips. It tasted of strawberries. The dog yipped and watched as Nicola pulled a drape down from the bed and started squirreling items into it like a road sweep cleaning the clutter.

Anything bright, anything shiny that promised a profit. A pretty penny. It would make a hell of a racket, but maybe it would be safer to drop all of this out of the window rather then risk clambering down the wall with it tied round her waist. Should the wind pick up or she overbalanced it would mean the end of her.

No, better safe then sorry.

She couldn`t carry the bag of goodies large as a portable TV now, but she was a stubborn young woman and would drag it all the way home even if the skid mark`s in the grass led all the way to her home, if that was what it took to get mom better.

“Bye, boy.” she said as she headed for the window, and apologised for her original mistake as the dog rolled over onto her back to be tickled and Nicola saw she was missing the makings of a man.

The dog wasn`t too offended. It didn`t bring blood when it bit her ankle. Not deeply. Hardly a nip, but she had to cover her mouth before she moaned.

“What the hell was that for?” she asked. Was she really having an argument with a dog? She hadn`t believed them capable of being petty. But there was no wound but a small bruise. No scar, no-

Nicola dropped the bag as the room started spinning.

What the hell had that dog being drinking, Cobra venom? She lay down to stop her cracking her skull when the darkness fell. And a moment later her eyes closed, then it did.

The first she knew of reality was the small dog, yipping as she danced on her chest, her paws had its claws filed to polished perfection showing its owners vanity., It did no damage to her skin.

But the handcuffs did.

“Gerrof.” Nicola moaned, tried to rub the sleep from her eyes and heard her wrists jingle. It was no bracelet. “What the hell is this?”

She was tied to the bed, a limb fitted to each four posts of the bed. Instinctly her knees tried to buckle together, she felt exposed with her legs open so wide. Her mother would think it most unladylike.

A chair squeaked in the next room.

“Behave.” the voice said and the puppy licked her face.

“Go away.” Nicola said, then turned her head toward the shadow. “Wait, I can explain. Its not what it looks like.”
“It looked like you were trying to rob me.” the voice was light like a teacher would not think too harsh a child might not know two plus two. An aunt with sweets to give.

Nicola felt her skin erupt in small stabs of prickly heat, the sweat lathering her lessened only the white iron tip of each sting but not removed it. Still the puppy was watching her with those dopey adoring eyes, annoying her.

“Look. I`ll pay you back. Can`t we work something out?”

Nicola heard footsteps, a clack clack of high heels. The woman was coming and her imagination worked against her. Of course she would have many small and wicked yellow teeth, a wart on her nose. A cauldron to eat her bones.

“In my business one must be careful. I have not lived so long being in plain sight where anyone might remove my head once I sleep. It is best to be cute and cuddly, to lie under peoples nose so that they might walk over me, their back to me. There is no shame is keeping your life at any cost. A knife between the shoulders works just as well as between the breasts.”

Nicola wondered what she was on about, realised the woman might actually be insane before she realised she couldn`t breath, their was a heavy weight on her chest, crushing her, pressing her into the bed. She blinked and the woman on top of her cocked her head so that her swan feather coloured hair – the same as the Terriers- swept from out her eyes.

She shifted her weight, and let Nicola breath.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

The witch smiled, thought her pretty, but not too bright. It had been so long since she had had a friend. A partner. Humans were so fragile. They died so easily. She would have to take her time with this one.

“Be still now.” she purred. “This will only hurt as much as you allow it.”

From her mouth, Nicola detected that same sweet flowery smell, and thought she had seen those same adoring blue eyes before. Though she had crone hair as white as the bottom layer of an ashtray, Nicola thought she was quite the most beautiful creature she had lain eyes on. She radiated youth and sweet promise. The witch giggled as if recalling a joke to which she alone knew the answer.

She licked the tears out of Nicola`s eyes and slid down her body like a ribbon scarf caught in the wind. She did not bother removing the thief’s skirt, the witch doubted it was worth a penny. Later she would have better. If she behaved.

Nicola gasped as the witch ripped her skirt open between her knees and groin. Nicola opened her mouth to scream and the witch spoke first. Then Nicola had no mouth at all. Below her nose was as smooth as her forehead. She raged against the membrane of flesh against her gums but nothing came out beside some heaves through her nostrils.

“I would like to kiss such lips.” the witch smiled again. “So be a dear and make me feel inclined to keep them on you.”

Nicola felt something rip on her face and suddenly she was moving her jaw, breathing through her mouth. The witch had returned her mouth, but only if she did not use it but for her own pleasure.

Nicola was wearing panties – despite her messy clothes, mom always insisted she kept these clean and change them every day on the off chance that she was run down by a horseless carriage.

The witch put two fingers together and touched the panties tag, then lower, started massaging her clitoral hood through the fabric. Round and round in a dime sized semi circle as if she were drawing a sun in the sand.

Nicola crushed her eyes, trying to look away, but she moaned, the witch felt her body tremble and smelt her fingers. “I think no man has touched you. In a world where women sell their bodies for the price of a meal your morals are something to be proud of, thief.”
I`m not at thief, Nicola thought, defiant. She wanted to curse, to call the witch all the names she knew and her mother didn`t think she did. But she bit her lips till they bled, she did not wish to lose her mouth again.

The witch wiped the saliva gleaming on her top lip in the candlelight off and pulled Nicolas legs up onto her shoulder. “Up we go.”

Before Nicola could blink, the witch had removed her panties and lain them on the floor. For once, she didn`t mind the mess. “That`s better.”

“Wait-” Nicola said, but the witch, squatting drove her tongue forward, in, penetrating the wet warmth of her insides. Her right hand pushed aside her labia and the left massaged her clitoris. She was not a selfish person by nature, she would let the thief enjoy it.

That heat rushed through Nicola`s body again. Her cheeks burnt and every goose bump became a volcano leaking lava, her skin burnt and she thought she might catch fire as her being betrayed her and she screamed.

Now she`ll take my mouth, damn it.

But the witch was busy, using her own mouth, working her tongue between Nicolas thicker lip`s. She might have been a fool stuck in a desert, happening upon an oasis, driving her face harder between Nicola`s groin. She was sure in her fury the witch might bite down.

Nicola twitched as the bottom fell out of her stomach, something welled then breached, the witch opened her mouth as Nicola screamed again and ejaculated. The witch swallowed as the hot brine coloured liquid splashed her like a hosing severed jugular.

Nicola sagged, spent. She heard the witch laugh again, not wipe her face as she stood and scratched her ear like puppies liked. The juice around her mouth like she had drunk bad milk direct from the jug fell about her black high heels. They clicked once as she moved forward, lay herself gently across Nicola and kissed her.

Nicola gagged as she tasted herself. She tried to turn her head but the witch lapped at her tongue like a thirsty pup. She twisted Nicolas nipples, then spread her own legs as bizarrely she put all her weight forward, her head pressing over Nicolas shoulder.

“What-”
“Ssh, this is my favourite part. My mom used to do this trick to my father once in a while. He couldn`t walk for a week.”

The witch said some words from a dead language Nicola knew not and gasped with horror as she felt something hot and fleshly dangle from the witch press against her thigh.

“No, don`t-”
The witch grabbed the bed either side of Nicola`s head, creasing the sheet`s and cheered. “Here, we go.”

Everything went white as the witch plunged forward, impaling violently Nicola with her prick. They stuck together and Nicola tried to bite the witches ear but she must have sensed the thief’s fury for she pushed herself up on her arms. She stayed there like an aborted press up, savouring the thief’s anger, pulsing electric like through her. Making her vibrate.

Making the witch purr.

Then softly, remembering her promise not to bruise the thief’s insides, nor wear her out too quickly, the witch started working her hips slowly back ad forth. Primarily frustrated for she was used to a quicker pace. Wham – bam. But this was the girls first time judging by the blood she felt slip over her temporary scrotum.

“How`s it for you?” she said for something to say, to keep up the connection of a partner rather then having any genuine matter for her opinion. Then in time with her grinds she moaned. “Take it, take it.”

Nicola took it, trying not to cry as the witch pounded into her, clamped her lips against her ear lobe and nibbled like a dogs chew toy. But she bought no blood, seemingly some leverage to hang on to as she upped the pace. Shuddered. Howled as she erupted.

“Oh fuck!”

Fell.

The witch lay on her, light as a blanket and suddenly, desire expended, she became tender. Hugging the thief like they were old friends.

“Kiss me.” she said and didn`t wait for an answer. Nicola didn`t open her mouth but a peck seemed sufficient for the witch. “Can`t lay here all day you know. We`re not on holiday.”

She gave Nicola another quick kiss on the cheek like a mother wishing her child well on school and suddenly Nicola was free. She heard a clink and the chains fell off her. She could breath again, the room stopped spinning and her venom had a target.

She could pick up the bedroom lamp and break the witches face open.

But first she would complete her own promise.

She would use her mouth to tear her mouth off.

She would call her all the names under the sun. But when she tried to. She did not talk.

She barked.

The witch smiled and tickled the terriers ear. “Naughty girl. You know your not allowed on the furniture but you`ll learn in time.” While the witches desire was gone the witch had no need for a partner, but a friend, some company was always welcome.

What harm could a small terrier do? Certainly not tie her to a stake and burn her to ash as her own father had. Honestly, that man could not take a joke. Or being dominated.

Nicola barked and barked but the witch took no action but to tie a blue collar gently round her furry neck. “Come on, dear. Lets go for a walk. Polly, do you like that name? I think its suits you as a dog.”

Later, when she felt frisky the witch would return her to her human form.

Maybe tomorrow.

If she behaved.