Sex with the Ex (from the novel Operaville)

The thought of it draws a hand to her crotch. She opens her legs and hikes up her dress, revealing pussy lips the color of tawny port and a patch of black pubic hair shaved into a heart.

            “Nice work.”

            “Jing-Jao at the salon. She’s the best.” She runs a manicured finger along her slit and dips it inside.

            “What do you say, ex-husband? Fuck the woman who fucks the attorneys? Strike a blow against The Man?”

            My cock is instantly hard. (I really gotta have a talk with that dick.)

            I wave a hand toward the rug. “Why don’t you give me a show, porn queen? Money-grubbing slut? Carnivorous bitch?”

            As my language gets worse, her fingerwork gets faster.

            “Ditch-digger,” she hisses. “Welfare mother. Blue-collar piece of shit. Why don’t you take a good look at the ass you gave up to be a dick-stainer?”

            She crawls onto the rug, pulls her dress slowly upward to reveal her tight little cheeks, then reaches underneath to bury two fingers in her hole. I don’t know why this mutual loathing makes such excellent foreplay, but I am grateful for any mojo that comes my way. I yank off my jeans, take my dick in hand and rub the tip along her entrance before jamming myself inside. Allison lets out an aristocratic shriek, grabs two fistfuls of rug and slams back against me. I am filled with luscious hate.

From the novel Operaville: Dream Lover

Still, astoundingly, I’m awake. And here is why: all the way home, I have thought of nothing but my non-functioning dick, and finally I have landed in a spot where scientific research is possible. Not only that, in my current position – my face scrunched against the couch cushion – I am looking directly into the regions beneath my coffee table, where lies a DVD titled Conversations in Cum. This groundbreaking documentary records the efforts of Sir Harry Broadstaff, who manages to interview and film a series of eager, buxom models while fucking them. For whatever reason, the sight of a randy twenty-year-old trying to assemble cogent sentences as her producer’s schwanz slides in and out of her pussy (duly recorded by regular downward pans) is enormously stimulating. Who says men can’t multi-task?


And this I know about my own physiognomy: I achieve my most vigorous erections precisely when I’m nearly dead to the world. So I roll myself onto the floor, take the DVD from its case and crawl like the dog that I am to the player. Soon I am naked on the couch, stroking a film of Vaseline over an enormous stiffy. Maestro Broadstaff is conducting three varieties of intercourse with a stuttering, eye-crossing, lip-chewing brunette from Arizona.

Take that, o ye gods of erection! But it’s not enough to just get the hard-on. After my irritating failure with La Diva, I’m determined to keep this one going. I work myself toward the point of ejaculation – can actually feel the sperm working its way up my shaft – and then I back myself down with light, calming strokes.

Then I fall asleep. When I awake, Sir Harry’s got a Romanian redhead, taking his broad staff from behind as she discusses the political significance of Vaclev Havel. The power-nap has diminished my erection not a whit. I work it harder, like a tennis player approaching the net, then slowly back it off. It’s now gaining that special brand of rigidity that comes from long-term stimulation.

And then I fall asleep. This time it’s a slender Italian woman with long black hair, the young Cher without the schnozz. She steps into the room, spots the producer’s cock and says, “Now that’s what I’m looking for!” She’s wearing a little black dress, the kind you see a fancy fundraisers. I’m expecting the standard fellatio, but instead she takes ahold of the penis, positions it beneath the hem of her dress and slides her way down.

This one is so good that I can almost feel it myself. She bucks and slides, throws her head back, grabs at her small tits. It's all too much. I put my hands around her hips, I reach underneath to grab her ass and then I gush inside of her for a long, long time. She lets out a husky shout, shakes on my dick like a madwoman, and then I fall asleep.

Operaville: The First Attempt

We’re there in seconds, and take turns removing each other’s clothing. Maddie’s body is just as I had dreamed: white skin, luxurious curves, a modest layer of fat to make her fleshy and grippable. I lay her down on my bed and I introduce my tongue to every square inch, working from face to breast, down her abdomen to her kneecaps and back to her pubis, covered with a down of blonde. I pull her legs apart, place a thumb on either labium and part them like the petals of a flower. I’m running my tongue along her clitoris when she places a hand on the top of my head.

            “Ooh! Okay. There I’m a little sensitive.”

            I back off and reinitiate by blowing air on her, then giving little flicks with my tongue. I run my tongue between her labia, gathering her musk, and then I happen upon the key combination. I take a labium into my mouth, then use suction to run it in and out between my lips. Maddie begins to moan. I insert a finger, then two, and she begins to gasp obscenities. Then her legs start to quiver, she begins to pant, and yells her way into a bucking orgasm. I am inundated by a rush of moisture; she grabs my head with both hands, signalling me to slow up. I run my tongue all around, as if I’m licking a wound. A minute later, as her breathing subsides, I rise onto my elbows and wipe the fluid from my face.

            “Maddie! Brava!”

            She pulls me forward and gives me a sloppy kiss.

            “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

            Funny she should ask. The penis is a fickle instrument, and right now, distracted by all the focus on Maddie’s privates, mine has decided to go on strike. These are the joys of being a fortysomething male with a circumcised cock. Sometimes the erection doesn’t come back. Katie and I have worked up a repertoire of nasty maneuvers to get around these occasional bouts – mutual masturbation, private porn shows – but you can’t just pull out the whole freak show on a first encounter. I really don’t want to sacrifice the romance quite so soon.

            “Mickey? What’s the matter? Are you… disappointed in me?”

            I curl up next to her and kiss her on the cheek. “Now let’s not even start that. It’s just one of those things. I find it’s best to go with the flow.”

            “But I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says. “And I so wanted to fuck you.”

            “Stay here,” I say. “We’ll try in the morning. It’s all right. This is a great start. I enjoyed feeling you explode.”

            She smiles. Good. She has purchased the gambit.

            “That was awful nice.”

            I spend some time spooning, fondling her breasts, and we drift off to sleep.

            I wake in the morning with my cock in Maddie’s mouth. I’m erect, which gives me hope, but there’s something about her eagerness that loads me up with anxiety, and my cock subsides. (“What the hell is wrong with you?” I want to ask him. He’s like an ornery, ill-performing employee who refuses to be a team player.)

            I talk Maddie into the kind of gynecological finger-bang that I performed on Katie, hoping that the sight of my digits surrounded by that broad white ass will inspire other parts. The nastiness of her position brings Maddie to another orgasm, but not to the fucking she had so looked forward to. What’s worse, the clock is running; we have to get to her hotel by noon.

Fireworks

(From the novel, "Operaville")

“Now,” she says. “Don’t touch until I say so.”


She releases the straps from either shoulder and slips the dress slowly down. Her breasts are medium-sized (half a casaba), milk white, modest enough that they have retained a pleasantly round shape. Her aureolae are peach, size of a Kennedy half-dollar, her nipples pink and distinctly erect. She crosses her arms beneath them, holding her dress at waist level, then cups her hands beneath each one, offering them like gifts. I am going mad taking in visual information.

“Do you approve?”

“Bravi!”

She smiles, her face flushing.

“Then touch them.”

I run my pinkie around a nipple and then cup a breast in my palm, taking in the warmth, the spongy texture. I do the same with my left hand, then I bring her breasts toward each other and take turns sucking each nipple between my lips.

Maddie takes in a gasp of breath. “I will give you three hours to stop that. You can be rough with them, if you want.”

I squeeze a breast, then I stuff it between my lips as deeply as I can, using the suction at the back of my mouth to pull at her nipple.

“Oh Jesus!” she sings. “Oh fuck! You’re good.”

After a minute of this and other manipulations, I take a time-out to enjoy Maddie’s lips. I’m surprised to feel her hand on my crotch. I grab her hair, run a tongue into her ear and whisper, “I think it’s time for you to meet someone.”

“Yes,” she says, and kneels on the floor.

“Now, don’t touch until I say so.” I undo my belt and lower my pants. My penis is about as hard as it gets, glowing white in the faint light from outside. Maddie brings her face inches away and runs her eyes along its length. Now I know how she felt, this sense of being observed but not touched.

“My,” says Maddie. “It’s lovely.”

I am of average size, but blessed in matters of aesthetic quality. My dick looks like the one in the textbook.

“Thanks,” I say. “I got it from Mom and Dad on my birthday.”

Maddie is panting; her breath is wafting over my cock.

“May I?” she asks.

“Be my guest.”

She places a finger at the tip and runs it all the way to the base, then circles the shaft with her fingers and runs them back to the helmet.

“You can be rough with it, if you want.”

She tightens her grip and strokes downward, which feels divine. Then she leans forward and kisses the tip, pulling it slowly into her mouth like a crescendo sustenato (trust me on this) till I’m four inches gone. Then she clamps down with her lips and swirls that virtuosic tongue all the way around. Ec-stasy. Out of / body. She squeezes my balls and pulls my cock all the way in. Jesus Christ, Buddha, Krishna and the Seven Dwarfs. I am fucking the album cover.

Then I hear a gunshot, and I see colors: emerald, lavender, cherry. Maddie pulls me out and giggles. “Fireworks.”

“Should we go see them?”

“Don’t you want me to finish you off?”

“It takes me a long time to come, honey.”

“Ooh!” she says. “That could prove beneficial.”

“Smart girl. I truly hate to say this but, Unhand my penis!”

She gives my dick one last kiss and addresses it as a separate personage. “Bye, honey. See you soon.”

I try my best to tuck myself back into my boxers, and am grateful to know that it will be dark outside. Maddie has quickly reattached her bra, and is redoing her lipstick.

“Are we ready?” she asks.

“One last thing,” I say, and I give her ass a squeeze. She returns the favor, and we re-enter the civilized, fully clothed world to explosions of blue and gold.

A Date with Kelly

From the novel "Double Blind"

Kelly turns around, bends over and flips her skirt. She’s painted her ass like a hooker’s face: blue eyes with overlong lashes, a broad nose straddling her crack, and pouty lipsticked mouth surrounding her bubble-gum labia. She has pre-lubed herself with massage oil, so my mission is clear. I open my fly, give my dick a couple of pulls and ram it home. Then I close the door.

            “Oh!” she groans. “God! I never feel complete without that cock in me. Could you just follow me around the rest of the day?”

            “I think the necklace-makers of Palo Alto would frown on it.”

            “Charge them admission!”

            I slide out till nothing’s inside but the helmet, then thrust back in. The blue eyes jiggle.

Ring Toss (from the novel "The Monkey Tribe")

“Hmm. I’m thinking I can guess what you’re thinking.”


Jack gives up on the dream and finds Audrey kneeling at his crotch. His cock is crazily stiff again (something about her having turned him into a god, a robot, a barber’s pole, a porn star), and she appears to be sliding a glazed doughnut down its length like a very weird game of ring toss. She nibbles on the doughnut and then licks the head of his penis.

“Mmm… sugar, lard and cock – there’s your well-rounded breakfast.”

Jack is grinning so broadly he’s afraid his skin will crack. “Where the hell did you get a doughnut?”

“Ivan went into town, blessed boy. Here, have a chocolate old-fashioned.”

He takes a chunk from the outer wing. It’s indescribably delicious, but then all his nerve endings have been reconstructed and the intelligence reports are questionable at best. Audrey continues nibbling her doughnut down to his dick, eyeing it with a concerned expression.

“This must be made use of, but we’re heading off in half an hour.”

“We are?”

“Focus, Jack, focus. We simply cannot afford a marathon session like last night… last night… Well. No need for lubrication now. What’s the nastiest position – the one that really gets your nuts churning?”

“I…” Jack can’t possibly just ask for what he wants, can he? Can he?

Audrey gives his thigh a hard smack.

“Ow!”

“Now, Jack. Tell me what you want. I’m fucking horny!”

“I… your rear end. I want to see it.”

“You want to see it bounce, don’t you? You want your own private porno. You dog.”

She runs a finger down his nose, runs her tongue along his ear and then pivots into the backwards cowgirl, straddling his cock, facing away. It’s now that Jack realizes they’re in Thompson’s bedroom, which makes it nastier, and then Audrey begins to churn those milk-white hips, which makes it nastier, and he knows that one more nastier will make him blow up.

“Think of someone else,” says Audrey, between gasps.

“What?”

“Someone cute and bouncy and young. Someone you shouldn’t be fucking at all. I want you to picture her bouncing on your dick. What’s her name, Jack? Tell me her name.”

His mind flies of its own accord to the perky brunette at the coffeehouse, her blue baby doll eyes and generous bubble ass. Oh, and the odd celebrity name. Madonna? He sees them in the manager’s office, after hours. She kneels to suck his cock, then takes off her jeans and turns around, her shoulder-length hair flapping as she rides. Oprah? Uma? Yoko?

“She’s fucking you, Jack! She’s about to come, Jack! She wants you to scream her name so she can come!”

“Cher! Cher! Cher!” He empties himself into her, in the manager’s office, and she, Liza Selena Dolly, begins to shake. “Cher! Cher! Oh, fuck me, Cher!”

A lost minute later, back in Thompson’s room, the perky brunette runs a hand through her red hair and throws a wicked smile over her shoulder.

“Jesus, pal. You catch on quick. But… Cher? I thought I ordered up sweet and innocent.”

Jack’s too stunned and blissed out to explain. “You’re a witch,” he says. “You should not know these things.”

Audrey disengages from his cock with an “ooh!” and says, “The truth about men is not so hard to learn, honey. It’s just hard for most women to accept the truth. I, on the other hand, have learned to harness the truth for my own evil purposes. Now go get cleaned up. Cher-fucker.”

Jack takes a deep breath, and heads for the shower.

Operaville: The Olive Oil Experiment

“Lie down, honey – face to the mattress.”

            She squeals and takes her position, the plastic crinkling beneath her.

            “Now close your eyes and don’t open them until… Well, you’ll know when.”

            I dash away to the kitchen, where I pour an entire quart of olive oil into a pot and warm it to the temperature of a hot tub. Then I take the pot to the bedroom and slowly empty its contents over Katie.

            “Oh my God!” she moans. “That is so… That is so…”

            I strip off and saddle her butt so that I may embark on a full-body massage, working every muscle from head to toe. I manage to keep this going for a half hour, as Katie maintains a rumbling moan beneath me. My muscles are getting a little sore, but I don’t care. My cock becomes so rigid that I can no longer ignore its pleas, so I insert myself into Katie’s pussy as I continue to massage her back. I didn’t actually think I could do this. The inside/outside rubdown has an immediate effect on Katie, whose moans are growing in pitch and frequency.

            After a few minutes, I get another idea and run outside, erection bobbing like a diving board, to dig up a box of rubber gloves. Katie is mightily curious about my disappearance, but it helps that she’s halfway to a coma. I pull her hips until that gorgeous white bubble-butt is pointed skyward, and insert one, two, then three fingers into her pussy, her breathing working into an excited pant. Then I pull on a glove and insert a finger into her anus. She tightens up, putting some impressive pressure on my second knuckle, but then I put my ungloved hand back to work on her pussy, and soon she’s accepting my multiple intrusions with glee. I’m a freakin’ gynecologist, and a minute later Katie is bucking.

            She collapses, my hands still inside of her – but I’m not done. The word was, after all, “destroyed.” I pull a butt plug from my nightstand – a beginner’s model, three inches long – and work it into her asshole. Then I collect some oil from her calf, slather up my dick and re-enter her pussy. After all the attention, she’s hot as a sauna, and I have to stop for a second before I go spurting out all the fun. From behind, I can fuck her in standard doggy fashion as my pubic bone pushes against the butt plug, sending both pistons in and out of her at once. She starts ramming her ass back against me, slamming the headboard with both hands and screaming all manner of high-pitched, unintelligible filth. That’s what I like about the woods. Nobody hears. Except for Trey the Fish, who’s probably shocked that a 47-year-old gets this much action.

            Katie comes violently, then yells at me to keep going, and thirty seconds later is coming again, letting out a series of glissandos that would make Maddalena proud.

            I can take no more. I pull out, stand up on the bed and jerk off as Katie waves her much-abused ass at me. I shout as loudly as I please and send sprays of semen over her back. Then I collapse next to her and rub the whole messy vinaigrette into her skin.

            “Destroyed?”

            She turns, eyes wide with energy. “Y-yes.”

            “I’m going to pour you a bath, honey.”

            “Mickey?”

When I look at her again, she’s crying, but I think I know what she’s trying to say.

“You’re gonna be okay, honey. Just hang in there.”

I kiss her, fill the tub with hot water and bubble bath, then I carry her from the bed and settle her into the water, like a baby at baptism.