City Of Swords. Alex Archer

      “You’d like to see two guys fight for the right to fuck you?”

      “Oh,” she protested, not quite happy with Erik’s choice of words but finding the discomfort compelling.

      “Stripped down, maybe? D’you want to watch us wrestle? That’s pretty kinky of you.”

      “I’d win, of course,” Brandon pointed out.

      “Feck off,” laughed Erik. “Don’t listen to him. I’d kick his butt.”

      “But it’d be a pity to waste so much energy, wouldn’t it? When there are so much better ways to spend it.”

      “Make love, not war, eh?”

      “You guys are bad!” She squirmed happily.

      “I mean, think of the possibilities. Two men. That’s two mouths kissing you, love. Four hands, touching you all over. Two big solid cocks for you to ride as long as you liked.”

      She shivered.

      Brandon leaned in and kissed her cheek softly. “Two men sucking your breasts at once,” he whispered.

      “A hand on your hot button,” Erik murmured in her other ear, tickling her with his warm breath. “Another up your sweet, wet pussy. Two others on your ass, stroking you in all the right places.”

      “Oh!” she said, her body full of heat and confusion. With a man at either side and the wall of a flowerbed behind her rump, it was impossible to turn away.

      “D’you like the sound of that?” Brandon asked. The lift of his hand drew her attention down to where her nipple had pebbled against the thin cloth of her dress. “It looks like you like it.” One finger circled the stiff point delicately, sending tingles of pleasure through her flesh. She stared, mesmerized—and then Erik turned her face toward him and kissed her, just as softly, his tongue brushing against hers in time to the other man’s caress of her tit.

      No matter how the hare had zigzagged from side to side, there was always a hound there.

      “Um,” she gasped, pulling back after a long moment. “We shouldn’t.”

      “You’re right. You might drop your glass. Here—let me take that.” Erik slipped it from her unresisting fingers and planted it in the earth behind her. His body leaned in against hers as he moved, and she felt the hard jut of his erection. She knew she should be protesting. But Brandon still had her right nipple, flicking it, and she couldn’t think past that thrill of sensation.

      “Please,” she said incoherently, turning to that man—and then it was his turn to kiss her. His mouth was smoky with rolling tobacco, his tongue warm and slow. She felt Erik cup her left breast, too, and a moan rose from the depths of her being.

      “There,” Brandon said when he had finished kissing away her words and her breath. “Now, you did like that.”

      “Yes,” she whispered. “But…”

      “But…?”

      “I feel bad.”

      His hand moved down from her breast, trailing over the shallow curve of her stomach, stroking in circles as it approached her pubic mound. “You feel fucking marvelous.”

      “That’s not what I meant.” But her voice was uneven, and her hips tilted in response to his caress.

      “Come on,” Erik murmured. “You must have thought about it. Two guys. Both focused on you, both trying to outdo each other—giving you everything you ever dreamed of. It must be a turn-on.”

      “That’s just dirty,” she said, and whimpered as Brandon’s finger tickled the thin cotton shielding her swollen clit.

      “Too fucking right, it’s dirty. Dirty is good. Dirty is his cock up your wet pussy while mine slips in and out between those amazing lips. Dirty is him licking you out from the front while I do it from the back. Dirty is both our cocks rubbing all over your beautiful tits. In fact it’s so dirty,” Brandon said, butting softly up against her, his arm wrapped right round her waist, “that the thought of it is making both of us hard as rock. And I bet it’s making you wet.”

      She arched her back, pushing her breast into Erik’s cupped hand. “I’m not wet.”

      “No?”

      “Shall we prove it?”

      Brandon gathered her skirt with his fingers, lifting it until he could slip his hand into the front of her panties. “Oh, you liar,” he admonished, grinning, finding her slit swollen and slippery. “Dirty little liar.”

      “Oh!” Her clit sparked with the brush of his fingertip.

      “You owe both of us a kiss for that,” said Erik. As his mouth claimed it, his hand joined Brandon’s down between her thighs. Between them they easily took control, their fingers light but insistent. The frictionless, tormenting pressure of their caresses on her clit and labia and the mouth of her cunt soon had her uttering stifled urgent moans against Erik’s tongue.

      He pulled away—then used a hand in her hair to turn her to Brandon. “Now kiss him.”

      Her lips were parted already, open. His tongue slid into her as easily as his fingers. But when she started to come she pulled abruptly away and jerked from one man to the other, rubbing her face against their skin and sobbing with pleasure as orgasm danced through her. She had to be held upright as she came, spinning down from her climax.

      “That felt good, didn’t it?” Brandon’s voice was thick, like the hard cock pushing against his clothes and into her hip. Erik’s palm cupped and squeezed her pubic mound, rousing her again.

      “Oh…yes. Good. Dirty. Good.” Her heart was hammering.

      “You want more?”

      “Yes.”

      “Both of us?”

      “Yes. Please, yes. Both of you. I want both of you.”

      They both smiled. “Well,” said Brandon. “If you insist.”

      Pulse

      By Vida Bailey

      Back me up against the wall, lean in, babe, your mouth close to mine, but don’t kiss me yet. Just out of reach. Breathe in the air that catches in my chest, the wanting.

      Touch me. Catch a breast maybe, and push, and squeeze and fix me there, nailed to the wall with desire. Skirts pushed up, your hand between my thighs, firm, insistent, fingers working, finding the warmth, where I’m swollen against thin layers of Lycra and lace. Waiting for you.

      Your mouth on mine.

      Your mouth on me.

      My hands in your hair—my heart in my mouth.

      Speed Mating

      By Sophia Valenti

      Bars are totally not my thing. Yet that Friday night I found myself standing in one of the most popular watering holes in town. I’d arrived straight from the office, feeling just a little uncomfortable in my white silk blouse, black pencil skirt and pearls while everyone else in the jovial crowd was dressed so casually.

      Why had I agreed to this? Damn that Michelle. She can get me to do almost anything. After much cajoling—and flat-out whining—she had convinced me to go with her to this speed-dating event. Yeah, I was single, but that wasn’t a problem for me. I was happy with my life, I’d argued. But when that stance didn’t work, she played the pity card, telling me that she was looking for a boyfriend and needed me there for emotional support.

      Call me a sucker—I went. And that’s how I wound up in a crowd of murmuring singles, each of us sporting a numbered sticker. Michelle, with her bouncy blonde curls and blushing cheeks, looked beautiful and eager and had already caught