Come Play With Me Again: A Mischief Erotica Collection. Justine Elyot

cunt, circling it then running back down, licking, lapping, humming with appreciation for the flavour I know he loves. ‘Delicious,’ he’s told me more times than I can count. ‘You’ve got the tastiest pussy I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating,’ he likes to say. ‘It’s my pleasure to serve you,’ I always reply.

      ‘Isn’t the monster getting hungry yet?’ I ask between whimpers as he keeps up the assault on my pussy and ass. I’m ready for penetration; I can’t believe he isn’t too. He’s showing amazing restraint, even more than usual.

      ‘Oh, it’s starving, but it won’t come out of its lair without a lot of coaxing. You know what you need to do, baby,’ Brad answers. ‘You know how to bring it out.’

      ‘What?’ I ask, playing coy.

      ‘You have to beg,’ he growls. ‘Beg like a little slut. Beg to be fucked.’

      So I do. I beg. ‘Ohhhhh, fuck me, baby. I need your cock. Please? Give it to me? Please? I need you to fuck me. My pussy’s so lonely for you.’ I go on like this between whimpers and panting until not even Brad can hold out any longer, his steely resolve melting in the heat of our lust.

      He slips off his jeans and his briefs, his cock fully erect and dripping again. I look at it hungrily, as if I’m ready to gobble it up, but he’s already grabbing me and pulling me farther down the bed. He arranges my legs over his shoulders now, and lowers himself into my wet and wanting cunt, and he thrusts and thrusts until we are both panting and groaning, listening to the sound of our combined wetness as he slap, slap, slaps his body into mine.

      He holds himself back until he feels me come around him, my back arching, my limbs tightening, accentuating my pleasure. Then he shoots into me so hard that I feel it: once, twice, three times. He thrusts hard a few more times and my contractions milk him the way my hands and mouth did earlier. He lowers my legs, rests on top of me. We both try to catch our breath. As I lie beneath him, enjoying his weight on my body, I think about how much our Wednesday nights mean to me, how close they make me feel to my man.

      * * *

      We regain our equilibrium and lie together talking. Suddenly, Brad decides to drop a bomb on me about last night’s poker game at his best friend Tom’s.

      ‘So, I lost last night, Dana,’ he begins.

      ‘That’s OK, honey,’ I soothe, running my hand down his scratchy cheek. ‘You’ll do better next time.’ He plays every other Tuesday. ‘Did you lose a lot?’ I ask softly.

      ‘More than I ever have before,’ he replies, and I can tell from his voice he doesn’t want to say how much.

      My heart jumps. He usually takes fifty bucks with him when he goes; sometimes as much as a hundred. I wonder how much was in his pocket this time.

      ‘How much, baby?’ I ask gently, wanting to encourage him to get it off his chest. ‘You can tell me – I won’t get mad.’

      ‘The whole hundred I had with me,’ he says, obviously having a hard time ’fessing up.

      ‘But that’s not the end of the world. You’ve lost that much a couple of times before. You’ll make it back,’ I assure him.

      ‘Well, that isn’t all. I thought I could win it back last night, and on my last bet, right before the end, when it was down to just Sam and me, I offered him something else so I could stay in the game. I had such a good hand, I was sure I would win.’

      My concern for what he has lost deepens now. What could he have bet? Our savings to buy a house? Our summer vacation at the beach? His car? What?

      ‘What did you lose, Brad?’ I ask again, trying not to come undone before I know what he’s given away. ‘Tell me, baby.’

      ‘You. I lost you.’

      ‘You did what?’

      ‘I lost you last night at poker.’

      * * *

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘Sam said he’d keep playing if I offered something that would be worth it to him, and I asked what I had that he wanted, and he said the only thing he could think of was you. I thought he was kidding at first, and I think, in a way, he was, but then it turned out, once he had said it, he liked the idea. They all know about our Wet Wednesdays. I’m always bragging to the guys about how hot you get, how we fuck for hours, how you take whatever I give you. So I bet a Wednesday with you.’

      ‘A Wednesday. With Sam.’ I’m not asking, just trying to absorb the concept, make sure I understand what he’s said.

      ‘Yeah, Sam.’

      Sam is our next-door neighbour. The guy who shares a bedroom wall with us and probably has heard an embarrassing total of cries, whimpers, thuds, shrieks, grunts and moans – not to mention headboard banging – from us over the years. Embarrassing to me, that is. I often blush if I run into him in the hallway on a Thursday, or some other day that follows a night of especially long and noisy sex. I’ve never heard much emanating from his bedroom – maybe he favours the silent types – and it’s true that, when he’s dating a woman, he seems to spend as much time at her place as his. Maybe, listening to us, he’s hyper-aware of how thin the walls are.

      I apologised to him once, long ago, for the noise we’d made one particularly rowdy Saturday night, and he just grinned at me in reply. ‘Oh, trust me, Dana, no need to apologise.’ His hazel eyes twinkled at me. ‘I’m very happy living next door to you. And hearing you and Brad having fun with each other? That doesn’t bother me at all.’

      I might have been creeped out if someone else had said that to me, but not when I heard those words coming from Sam. If anything, they turned me on. In addition to being a great guy and a friend, he’s tall and strong-looking and has dark blond hair that curls all over his head, and an even darker blond beard that he wears short. He is one beautiful man. I’ve often wondered why he doesn’t model for a living – that V-shaped torso, that chiselled jaw. I’ve fantasised more than once about sex with Sam, as Brad well knows.

      ‘So he’s coming here …?’

      ‘Next Wednesday, to collect. I told him it couldn’t be tonight because I needed time to tell you, and you needed time to get comfortable with the idea.

      ‘He asked what I would do if you wouldn’t go through with it, just in case I lost, and I told him that wouldn’t be a problem, that you and I have an understanding. That I make the decisions about what happens in the bedroom, and you go along with whatever I want. I told him that I knew you would let him fuck you if I wanted you to. I didn’t tell him you’d thought about it before.

      ‘And I was sure I was going to win, Dana. Really sure. You’re not going to make me welsh on him, are you?’

      Well, this is one Wednesday-night surprise that surely stands out from all the others, even the Wednesday Brad first asked me to do anal. I don’t even know what to say. And then I think of something.

      ‘So, what are you going to be doing while Sam plays with your favourite toy? Are you playing too? Watching? Going out to a movie? What?’

      ‘Sam said he’d leave that up to us, that he’d go along with whatever we wanted, except he wasn’t interested in sex with me. Which I had no problem with.’

      My guy has given away a Wet Wednesday with me, I remind myself, and I wonder if I should be mad about that, then choose not to be. Well, he hasn’t given me away, exactly; he’ll probably participate, knowing Brad. Maybe this will be like those other Wednesdays when we tried something new. I wonder what my own preference is, and I realise that I’d be happy with a threesome, with Brad as voyeur, or doing a one-on-one with Sam. They’d all be different experiences, and I’m interested in all of them, to be honest. But I’m nervous, too. This could be a big mistake.

      ‘Well, I’m leaving it up to you. I’ll do it, but I don’t want to make the decision about the particulars. And you need to decide whether