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The Seven

By: Alessia Brio



Braving frigid winds and driving snow, Nia marched up Washington Street. The tails of her tattered scarf fluttered behind making her appear to strain against a knit leash held by Mother Nature's fury. Although repeatedly delayed by beggars seeking spare change, she was determined to reach the shelter in time to help the others serve dinner—and it looked as if she just might make it.

Nia was a magnet to those less fortunate. Her welcoming demeanor and gentle disposition drew people to her, and her eyes held them. They just knew she'd help, and she always came through—so much so that she seldom had enough left over to make her own ends meet. Case in point: over the course of ten city blocks, she'd given away the last fifty dollars of her most recent paycheck. Thus, it'd be at least another month before she could even think about getting her phone service reconnected.

The shelter would undoubtedly be filled to capacity, and then some. It was, after all, the busiest week of the year. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, many of the city's civic organizations served the homeless, but the following week such charity fell away like discarded ribbon and wrapping paper. Having salved its collective conscience for another year, the haves returned to their comfortable lives. The have-nots were nowhere near as fortunate.

Intensely aware of the trend, the struggling Nguzo Saba shelter planned accordingly. While community outreach took place year 'round, its most concerted effort always coincided with the week following Christmas—when most folks were preoccupied with college football bowl games, gift returns, and making plans for New Year's Eve.

As she turned the corner, Ujima's lilting voice called, "Nia, where have you been? We've been worried!"

"The usual," Nia sighed, taking Ujima's gloved hands in her own and kissing each cheek.

"So you're broke." The older woman gave a knowing smile.

Nia nodded. "I can't help it, sister. They're in such dire need."

"We'll talk to Ujamaa after dinner. He'll have some ideas." She snorted, "My brother always has ideas."

The women, not really sisters, locked arms and trudged the remaining two blocks to the shelter. Ujima's optimistic outlook buoyed Nia's spirits. As the problem solver of the bunch, Ujima often worked closely with Kuumba. They made a formidable team, and most suspected that their blossoming romance was much deeper than they let on. Passion for a cause often brought divergent people together, and those two were about as different as two people could get. It made for some spectacular arguments as well as some breathtaking accomplishments.

Kuumba's irreverence and seemingly cavalier attitude often rubbed the shelter's founder, Umoja, the wrong way, but no one could dispute that Kuumba was the most effective fund raiser they'd ever known. His good looks opened doors, and his charm melted icy hearts. The only college educated member of their diverse family, Kuumba was considering a run for city council next fall. There, he believed, he could do the most good for a seriously disenfranchised population. Still, Umoja made no secret of the fact that he questioned his daughter's choice in a potential mate.

Ujima held open the shelter's battered outer door, and the welcoming warmth and mouth watering aromas enveloped Nia, jarring her from her thoughts. As they stripped off their layered outer wear, Kujichagulia rolled toward them with a steaming foam cup of hot chocolate in each of his power wheelchair's cup holders.

"Thank you, Kuji!" Nia exclaimed, ruffling the boy's mop of already ruffled red hair and earning a gloriously sunny, freckled grin. "How's the leg today?"

Kuji pecked at his voice synthesizer until the small electronic device emitted a tinny response. "Not so bad," he typed, but his eyes told a different story. The surgery to release his knotted hamstring was considered elective, and no one had yet been successful in convincing Medicaid that it was medically necessary. Kuji, however, was his own best advocate, and Nia had no doubt he'd eventually prevail. His mother, Imani, planned to take him to meet with their legislative delegates right after the first of the year. Her stunning and vulnerable beauty coupled with Kuji's engaging smile were certain to win the day.

"C'mon! Let's eat," Ujima coaxed. "Everyone's waiting."

Nia gasped as she turned the corner and stared into the shelter's main gathering room. At least three hundred people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors waited for a free meal. She hoped there'd be enough food. Kuumba spent most of the previous month soliciting donations from grocery stores and restaurants, but the last report on the inventory was not encouraging. The area businesses preferred to donate to the higher profile organizations, often netting themselves some free advertising in the inevitable warm, fuzzy news reports spawned by such events.

The media tended to ignore their humble shelter. It was just not sexy enough for coverage. There were no celebrities graciously giving of their holiday time. No big name corporate sponsors. Ujamaa, who now managed the shelter for his aging father, spent every spare moment trying to form alliances with other entrepreneurs but most often met with derision in spite of his sincere attempts. His ideas were sound, but most found his gruff manner somewhat off-putting. Ujamaa envied Kuumba's easy way with people, and harbored more than a little concern about his sister's future with the smooth talking man.

Nia followed Kuji as he plowed his way through the crowd to the serving tables. He was one impressive kid, she thought. Kuji allowed no one to define him by his disabilities. Even Imani admitted that her son's innate strength carried her through the toughest times, fortifying her faith in humanity. For a child who could not speak, his message deeply affected all who were fortunate enough to make his acquaintance.

The shelter had several dozen regulars, but the number of new faces always took Nia by surprise. Their stories varied, but it all boiled down to a dysfunctional social services system. Most really wanted to get on their feet—or back on their feet—and all were expected to help in exchange for the shelter's hospitality. That seemed to set Nguzo Saba apart from the larger, more institutional shelters.

While the circumstances were dire, the mood was not. Smiles lit a good many of the faces. All were clothed, sheltered—at least for the moment—and about to be fed. They lived for today, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Yet they had kind words and often breathtaking depths of generosity for one another. Most literally would give you the shirts off their backs. Nia had witnessed it on many occasions.

Earlier, Imani had taken the toddlers to the showers while their parents or older siblings rooted through the boxes of clothing donations. Socks, of all things, were typically in shortest supply but this year Kuumba managed to acquire two hundred brand new pair. They were irregulars, but who cared? It made for an even more festive atmosphere. Socks. Plain white tube socks. Simple things, indeed.

Umoja, in a rare display of frivolity, attempted to entertain the hungry and impatient children with makeshift sock puppets. The sight of the perpetually serious patriarch being so silly struck Kuji as hilarious, and he repeatedly tapped the "Whoop!" button on his synthesizer. This, in turn, caused the children to giggle—something the sock puppets had been unable to achieve, much to Umoja's chagrin.

Now that the seven of them were finally together, dinner could be served. The children always ate first, ensuring that they at least had full bellies should the food not last. Imani and Nia led the youngest to the front of the line and began filling their plates while Ujima passed out cartons of chocolate milk, another unexpected treat. It had been uncharacteristically donated by the public school system since it would pass its expiration date before school resumed following the holidays.

When all those under ten years of age had been served, a hush fell over the crowd. Imani's voice, crystal clear and achingly beautiful, began an improvised song of thanks for the fellowship and the bounty they were about to share. Even the children paid rapt attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Nia caught Kuumba as he surreptitiously wiped his eyes.

Kuji beamed with pride as one by one, the crowd stood in reverent silence. When Imani's song ended, Umoja spoke very briefly: "Friends, we share this feast in the hope that our community will continue to give generously, care deeply, and grow in harmony."

He gave a nod to the kids, and as one they enthusiastically dove into their dinners. The elderly were served next, and Nia helped to carry the plates of those who used crutches or walkers. The others engaged either in serving or in the kitchen, and she could hear Ujamaa playfully chiding Kuumba for dishing out meager portions. Perhaps he was warming to his future brother. Ujima had confided that an engagement was imminent, but she'd sworn Nia to secrecy.

When it became apparent that the food was indeed in short supply, Kuumba began making phone calls to bakeries, pizza shops, fast food joints—anything to supplement the fare. He told each, and truthfully, that his first calls went to the media in the hopes that the potential for free publicity would spawn donations not otherwise forthcoming. It worked, for within the hour they accepted three deliveries containing fifty loaves of day-old bread, two dozen cheese pizzas, and several paper-wrapped bundles of hamburger patties.

Umoja made sure to get a photo with each donor beneath the shelter's sign and promised to send a copy along with a receipt and letter of appreciation that could be used for PR if desired. Kuji posed for the photos, as well. He knew all about the pity factor, and he had no qualms about using it if it would help feed more people. No one need know that the back of his t-shirt read: Poster Child.

When everyone had been fed, the crowd began to thin. Those having a place to sleep departed to make room for others to claim some floor space. Most helped with the clean up, folding the tables, and stacking the chairs. Umoja distributed the vinyl mats that he bought for fifty cents apiece when the local camping supplier went out of business last spring. The purchase had gutted the shelter's meager bank account, but it was worth it to have something to pad the cold, hard floor.

Imani read the children a bedtime story in a small, adjacent room where they'd sleep. It was just slightly warmer inside, and Ujima had painted nursery rhyme characters on the walls for a homey touch. The kids, having so little stability in their young lives, felt safe there. She ended with a soothing lullaby and let a colorful curtain drop across the doorway as she exited.

Kuumba extinguished the lights in the main gathering room, and the noise level dropped to a low hum of quiet conversation. A few of the guests played cards, but most curled up to sleep. In the kitchen, the seven sat around a rickety wooden table and took stock of the shelter's assets. Allowing only a few moments to dwell upon the success of the evening, they quickly moved on to discussions about how to do it all again tomorrow—and the tomorrows after that. It was never ending, but this one week always presented more of a challenge. All were tired of the constant struggle, but quitting was simply not an option.

Nia spoke to Ujamaa about her deepening financial woes, and she finally accepted his invitation to move into the vacant back room. Her board would be a pittance, augmented by some bookkeeping in the evenings. A few of the regular children needed of some tutoring, which Nia would handle as well. 

When they'd divvied up the morning's tasks and were about to retire, Kuumba stood. "Umoja," he said in a markedly formal tone that instantly grabbed everyone's attention, "I have asked Ujima to marry me. We would like your blessing."

No one moved. All eyes were glued to Umoja, who slowly rose and circled the table. He placed his hands on Kuumba's broad shoulders and looked deeply into his ebony eyes. Nia saw a bead of sweat trickle down the side of Kuumba's neck, betraying the man's seeming calm. Ujima held her breath. Apparently seeing what he needed to see, Umoja nodded to himself and finally spoke, "I will be proud to call you my son."

All breathed a collective sigh. Hugs and handshakes were followed by tears and laughter, subdued so as not to wake their guests. An announcement would be made tomorrow evening and preparations would begin for a seventh night ceremony. An exceptional end to an exceptional week of exceptional work done by exceptional people.



The Seven Dressing Sins: Lust



Looking back, perhaps I should have paid for my girlfriend's vibrator.

=*=

One hand wanders across my stomach, smooth against my black latex waist cincher. The corset constricts me, and its black laces clinch me tightly. I shiver as her fingers caress the skinlike rubber and trace the steel bones which restrict me.

Her other hand...

=*=

The vibrator, yes.

Her name was Mindy, and she was young. My female friends said too young for me and frowned disapprovingly. My male friends, on the other hand, were forever ogling her gorgeous, 19-year-old body.

We'd been going out for just a few months, and I was already growing tired of her. Her constant inane chatter, her obsession with what I'd consider pretty dreadful music, her emo-punkish style. We had small flats within a couple of minutes walk from each other -- and I'm not ashamed to say the sex we were having was about the only thing keeping us together.

She was filthy dirty in bed, that was for sure. Mindy was constantly horny, and ready for just about anything. And when I couldn't or wouldn't, she was quite happy to finger herself watching porn on her laptop. Eventually, her moaning and writhing would turn me on, and she'd get her way.

But ennui sets in quickly, and after a while even that got tiring.

I didn't get a hardon every time I watched my girlfriend masturbate. And I think that was the point when I realised I'd have to face up to the situation and tell her it was all over.

=*=

Her other hand starts at my ankle. The ankle clad in a sheer black stocking with a red Cuban heel and arrow-straight seam. The ankle that she zipped into a black leather knee boot with straps and buckles running up the back. The ankle that was bound to her bedpost with a scarf -- just like its opposite number.

Slowly, she trails her fingertips along the tight plastic. Up, over my calf, sliding upwards towards my thigh. As she reaches my stocking, she rubs gently, shifting the silk against my moisturised, bare skin. 

I writhe...

=*=

A few days later it was her birthday. She was turning 20, and wanted to celebrate with a night in at hers. I was expecting a sex marathon, and so I decided I'd keep quiet about the whole breaking up thing.

Mindy was dressed stunningly. Her tiny puffball skirt was black satin, with layers of sheer lace. Her corset was the sexiest she owned, a black leather number so tight it seemed to ripple in the light as she moved.

She -- and I -- loved stockings, and tonight she'd gone for black fishnets that failed to reach her tiny skirt by a thin margin of smooth thigh.

I smiled as I saw she'd worn her burlesque heels, round-toed and platformed court shoes in shiny black patent leather.

Leaning forward to kiss me in greeting, she whispered in my ear:

"Come in. I hope you haven't forgotten my present. I'm so fucking wet and I need to do something about it."

My heart sank. She'd asked for a vibrator. And she had just the one in mind.

She'd shown me on her laptop. It was a wicked-looking thing, black and shiny. Mindy told me it had all sorts of features: thrusting, rotating and buzzing away at different speeds and rhythms.

If I'm honest, I was sort of tempted when she pointed out the remote control unit. But when I saw the price, well... let's just say I decided she wouldn't be my girlfriend long enough to worry about it.

But now here I was. No present, aside from the champagne.

=*=

I writhe against my bonds, my body arching under her light touches. She seems to know exactly how to tease me using the feminine clothing.

She reaches up and gently rubs my bra with her palm. The black latex cups slide against my suddenly sensitive breasts. The thin straps kiss my shoulders as I flinch and gasp. Her fingers slip inside my bra and gently pinch and pluck at my nipple. Her thumb runs along my collarbone, smoothing my bra strap as she makes me hers.

=*=

The champagne was welcome -- the lack of her requested present less so. In fact, she flipped.

"What do you mean, you forgot? How could you forget my birthday?"

I looked at her helplessly. What could I say? I certainly didn't want to make her even more angry by mentioning my -- ahem -- relationship doubts.

"For fuck's sake," she snapped, "I'm horny as fuck -- and if your performance of late is anything to go by, I'll be staying that way for a while!"

The insult stung, but she wasn't far wide of the mark. I had been losing interest in her.

"Look," I said, "Let me make it up to you."

"How?"

"Well, how do you want?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. She came back with two more bottles of champagne.

"Let's finish these and then I'll decide. But I warn you, you'll have to make a real fucking effort!"

"Anything," I said. A fateful word, indeed -- if only I'd known.

=*=

She makes me hers, rubbing her stocking-clad leg against me as her fingers tease my nipple. Her other hand touches my balls tucked inside the black latex knickers. The touch is so light, it almost doesn't happen. That gentlest feeling makes me shake and groan.

I know she's smiling, even with my eyes closed. She loves this as much as I am. She's seeing my utter vulnerability, and it's turning her on.

The fingers insinuate themselves across the front of my panties, following the bulge threatening push them out of shape. Mindy's touch cools as it contacts my white-hot erection. She presses insistently against my rod with her tiny fingers, rubbing the PVC into my smooth, shaved and powdered crotch. The pleasure is maddening.

=*=

By the time we'd finished the champagne, I was pretty drunk. Mindy seemed able to pour endless alcohol into her petite body and still function. My speech was slightly slurred, and I felt decidedly giddy with the sparkling delight that only champagne can bring.

My mood had lightened quite a lot, as had Mindy's. We hadn't discussed her present for a couple of hours, and I was beginning to think I'd managed to get away with it.

But then she said it.

"So... anything, you say?"

"Sorry?" I said.

"My birthday present. You'd do anything to make it up for me?"

I hesitated, sensing a trap. But not for long. The wine made me brave.

"Yeah, of course. Anything."

She shifted her gaze, and seemed to almost un-focus. Deep in thought, a smile flitted across her pretty face.

"You can replace it!"

She chuckled to herself, not caring to share the joke.

"Yes, that's fair, isn't it? You forgot to buy my present and so now you can replace it."

It wasn't a cheap vibrator, but I was trapped. I'd said that word - anything. I tried to smile.

"Yeah. Sure. Anything."

=*=

The pleasure is maddening as she pulls my knickers down. Her hot breath sighs onto my cock as it pops free and juts upwards. I moan and try to force my hips in the air towards the source of the heat.

I don't need to wait too long -- Mindy's lips swoop down and slide onto the tip.

God, those lips... thickly lipsticked and lined. Luscious and wet. I'm having my cock sucked by an angel. It's all I can do not to scream. Yet, strangely, I find I'm holding my breath. My heart pounds against my rubber corset and more waves of pleasure wash over my legs as they shift inside the stockings that imprison them.

That all changes when I feel her fingers withdraw from my bra, only to press against my arse. It happens so quick I wonder how she managed to lube them. They press urgently against me.

I yelp and gasp and pant as she slowly invades me. The gel mushes around inside me, tingling as it goes. Nerves I never dreamt of light up like Christmas trees, and I am swept up in an ecstatic trance.

Her purr of pleasure gives her away. She knows she has me now.

=*=

As we went to bed, she pushed me into the bathroom.

"I want you to shower." She said, "You smell of alcohol. Here."

She pressed a bottle of body wash into my hands.

"This will make you smell nice. Now go!"

She slapped my arse, and I jumped into the cubicle as fast as I could manage. I slathered on the cold soap and luxuriated under the how stream.

When I finished, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. Only as I started to dry myself did I realise.

"Hey!" I shouted, "This stuff's hair remover!"

Mindy stuck her head round the door.

"Sorry!" she said, "I didn't realise. You'll have to use the moisturiser; otherwise it'll irritate your skin. And then stick some talc on."

She vanished back into the bedroom, and so I used her body moisturiser. By the time I'd finished rubbing it into my skin, which was by now very sensitive, I sported a huge erection. Puffing talc onto myself with a large feathered pad did nothing to lessen it, either.

I walked into the bedroom, eagerly anticipating a hot sex session.

My wine-addled brain didn't spot it at first. Mindy gestured. I followed her direction, to see a set of black rubber lingerie on the bed.

"Very nice," I said.

"I'm glad you like it, because I'm going to fuck you in it."

I blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me. You're going to wear that outfit so we can fuck like mad. I'm going to put you on the moon tonight, love."

I tried to protest, but only succeeding in stuttering and stammering incomprehensibly.

"Now," she said, "You didn't buy my little rubber friend. I asked what you do, and you voluntarily said anything. I'm telling you that you're going to replace my little rubber friend. OK?"

I nodded, stunned. Regaining the power of speech I said:

"But... I thought you meant... buy another..."

"No!"

She laughed.

"No, I meant I'm fucking horny all the time and I want a rubber sex toy for my birthday and you're going to be it. Now get dressed."

She lay back on the bed, legs spread as I approached the items, dumbstruck. Her hand dipped into her black ruffled knickers, and her breathing became ragged as she explained how to don each of the tight and feminine articles.

=*=

She knows she has me now. Her mouth moves over me as her fingers squirm deep inside me. Setting up a steady rhythm, she fucks me with three of her thin digits.

My groans are interspersed with short gasps of breath as she explores inside my arse. She's so deep, and I can't help but clench around her. My sphincter feels as though it'll chop them off; but thanks to the lube she manages to pump and probe past it.

Each movement stretches me open a little more.

"I was hoping to use one of these on both of us tonight," she whispers, and I open my eyes. She's holding the vibrator I was supposed to buy her. I should have known she already had one. Her sex drive is so high she'd explode without one.

"But as you forgot my birthday present, one of us is going to have the one I bought. And as it's my birthday, I get to choose."

The hand, and the dildo, vanish between my legs. And even as I begin to think about gasping a protest, it's too late.

=*=

Mindy insisted on tying me on her bed. My arms and legs are tied to the four bedposts with long satin scarves. She takes off her skirt and climbs onto the sheets with me.

She lies on her side, spooning against me. One hand snakes underneath me and rubs my smooth scented back just between my waist-cincher and my bra.

The other hand gently strokes my thigh and pelvis.

"I've wanted you to be my rubber sissy for so long," She breathes into my ear, "You've no idea of the sort of fantasies I read online. I've been dying to dress you in latex and fuck you 'til you beg me to stop. And now we're going to do it."

"Oh, God, Mindy, I..."

She kissed my earlobe, licking it slowly and carefully.

"It's alright, lover," She said, "Just lie back there. I'm going to tease you until you scream, and then I'm going to fuck you as hard as I can. And you're going to cum in my cocksucking mouth."

=*=

It's too late. My words die on my lips as the rubber cock slips inside me. My long, drawn-out "Ooh" is matched by a similar exclamation from Mindy as she watches the length slide into me. The intruder explores every square centimetre of my rectum and robs me of my breath as it does so.

I pant desperately, and try to relax around the girth of Mindy's vibrator. It's big, but my body is grateful and craving more. The latex on my skin stokes the fire I can feel between my legs. My cock bobs up and down, crying out for some attention.

Mindy doesn't disappoint for long. Her head bows to meet my stiffness, and her wet mouth engulfs me. I groan as she slides down my shaft, and squeal as her magical tongue strikes sparks of sheer lust.

If I wasn't sure about how long I can last without shooting my boiling load into her mouth, the uncertainty is suddenly dispelled as the vibrator hums to life in my wonderfully violated arse.

The buzzing almost blows me apart as it finds every tiny secret spot inside me. I'd never dreamed anything could feel this good. Mindy redoubles her efforts as the vibrator shifts speeds and starts pumping inside me. I'm being fucked, fucked by my girlfriend. Fucked as I'm dressed in her kinkiest rubber lingerie, stockings and boots.

Her lips tighten and she draws her head back, sucking so hard I feel I'll be turned inside out.

And then her vibrator finds a place within me that makes me see stars. I'm screaming and screaming as my balls tighten and start to hammer out their own rhythm. I can't hear anything over my own heartbeat, which hammers away in time with my spurts. Mindy plunges down my shaft, swallowing every drop.

As I recover, she slides upwards along my body until she's lying on top of me, snuggling gently against me.

"I'm glad you forgot my present," she says, "I think you'll be keeping me happier than I'd have been with a second vibrator."

"But you haven't come yet," I say.

The rubber cock, which she'd switched off, leaps back into life inside me as she climbs off the bed. Standing at the door to her bedroom, she turns and shows me the remote control.

"I'll give you ten minutes to recover before I come back," she says, and I realise being her sex toy is going to be hard work. Almost as hard as my rapidly-rising cock.



The Seven Dressing Sins: Pride



I'm not really sure how I ended up like this, but what I can tell you is the spark that lit the fire was three little words. No, not those, although Becky told me how much she loved me all the time.

No, the three that pushed me onto a gentle downward slope of depravity and decadence made up one of Becky's favourite phrases.

"Make me proud."

Whenever she said it, I felt a warm fuzzy glow spread through me – I wanted to make her proud. I wanted her to be proud of me, especially to her friends. I had a good career, I earned a lot of money, and I could hold my head up in front of her judgemental circle of close friends. They were pretty catty, if truth be told, and I didn't really like their endless moaning and griping about other people.

And eventually, that's what led to this humiliating orgasm. Pride? It's hard to have any pride when you're dressed in sissy girly frilly pink, taking it from both ends in front of an eager audience.

But let me start again. I'd been going out with Becky for two years, and my life had changed beyond all recognition. I was no longer the hard-drinking wild party animal I had been, and my personal circumstances reflected that. My pay didn't run out in a bar in the middle of the month, and I was spending enough time at home to cook rather than dial for pizza.

The changes were down to her, frankly. Left alone, I'd never have given up the ludicrously hedonistic lifestyle I'd built up. But Becky was a very old-fashioned sort of woman, and perhaps she thought she was saving me somehow.

For such a staid sort of person, she managed to surprise me in bed. She refused penetration because we weren't married. But putting that out of bounds meant she became extremely inventive when it came to getting me off. Becky knew her body intimately and was forever finding ways to make me cum.

She disdained tights, claiming stockings were more hygienic. I have always loved women in stockings, and Becky's pronouncement one night when I discovered she was wearing black fishnet holdups under her jeans had me gasping with desire. That was the night I persuaded her my mouth on her clitoris was anything but disgusting.

Masturbation and toys weren't unusual, too, and at first I couldn't understand how she could be so sexual without having sex. Perhaps it was the liberation of being as lustful and naughty as she could be, within the bounds of our marriage.

It began as something of a joke between us – every time we started getting horny, Becky would say "Make me proud honey", and I'd be more turned on than ever. I guess it's a sort of submissive streak I'd never discovered – the idea that Becky would feel a previously forbidden arousal when we did something particularly nasty. She'd tie me to the bed and rub her clit over my mouth while she lapped at my stiff cock.

One night she had me strapped to a dining chair. She wore a black waspie with black seamed stockings, and knelt between my spread legs. She slid her fingers up and down my erection, looked me straight in the eyes and said:

"Cum for me, love. Make me proud."

The orgasm levelled me for a while, and as we lay intertwined on the floor later, she asked me whether I was disappointed we weren't having full sex.

"No, of course not. This is just great."

"Do you fantasise while I'm bringing you off?"

I hesitated just a second before denying I was thinking of anything but her. Becky giggled.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to be upset. We all have fantasies. Some of mine are pretty wild. I just wondered about yours."

She wriggled against me, turning onto her side to press her soft breasts against me. I gazed into her eyes, and the glinting exuberance in them made me hug her harder.

Her hand slipped between my legs, and she stroked my soft cock. It twitched and began stirring under her ministrations.

"I think someone has fantasies they're not telling me. Probably really dirty, embarrassing, ones."

Her hand continued stroking, and I was suddenly hot and throbbing. The tip nudged against her toned stomach.

"It's a pity you can't tell me about them. Think of the fun we could have together. Perhaps we should act out one of mine first, and then you can decide whether you can tell me yours."

I swallowed hard as I imagined what she might have in mind. As it was, I was very very wide of the mark.

She laughed softly and kissed me.

"No news is good news, so I guess your silence means you want to. Say it, baby. Make me proud."

Her teasing fingers made my mind up for me. I gasped a desperate yes.

Becky released my length, and rolled away.

"Good – tonight it is then!"

She leapt up and started getting dressed.

"I have some things to buy," she said, "You jump in the shower and use my body scrub, the strong-smelling one. Oh, and wash and condition your hair. It's just long enough, but you don't look after it properly. I want you clean and gorgeous when I get back. Make me proud!"

And with that, she was gone. Leaving me alone with my deflating penis.

When she arrived back a couple of hours later, I was still in the bedroom staring at my hairless body in the mirror. But the shock I felt about losing my body hair to the body scrub was overwhelmed by Becky's reaction.

She squealed and leapt towards me, hugging me firmly as she dropped a number of shopping bags on the floor.

"I love you like this!" she said, stroking my sensitive skin with her slender fingers. Her eyes drank in my nudity, and she sat back on the bed, reaching for the bags.

"First this, hun," she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a black package and handing it to me. The thin paper was tied with a pink ribbon. I pulled, and a wisp of lacy pink slipped to the floor.

"Don't drop it, put it on!" Becky urged.

It was a suspender belt, made of incredibly sheer lace and some sort of organza. A ridiculously feminine garment, so delicate it was barely there. I looked up at Becky quizzically, but she halted my protest before I could utter a syllable.

"Baby, I'll be very proud of you if you can just do as you're told, but for now I think I'll gag you so you can't give me any arguments."

She reached back inside bag and pulled out a pink, satin and velvet strip. I stood meekly as she stretched it across my lips, and tied it tightly at the back.

"Now make me proud, baby," she purred, "Try the suspender belt on."

I gulped back my reservations and wrapped the cool lace around me. I struggled for a moment with the clasp, but managed to slide it into place. Eight garters dangled around my legs, slipping against my thighs as I moved to look in the mirror.

Becky was already rummaging for the next package. She opened it for me and held up two pink stockings. They were exquisitely made, with deep lace tops, a reinforced heel and toe, and a seam running all the way up to a keyhole cut-out at the back.

Becky had to help me slip the gossamer silk up my legs and clip them to the suspenders. I watched in the mirror as she adjusted the tension on the garters, tugging the stockings closer to my smooth legs.

Her hand stroked the hosiery that contained my emasculated calves, and I heard her breathing quicken. She rose and returned to the bags with a slight flush to her cheeks, and I realised this was really turning her on.

My cock twitched as I started to join her in helpless arousal. This felt so naughty, so forbidden and... well, simply wrong. But the knowledge that Becky was more than fine with what was happening turned my shame and embarrassment into a sudden, hot fire in my loins.

Loins that soon found themselves sporting see-through pink knickers. They were French-cut and matched the rest of my fuschia outfit. Layers of ruffles on the back teased my buttocks. A round, lace circle at the back framed my arsehole, while a soft lace panel on the front hid an opening for my erection to peep through.

"Mmmm... I think someone likes their soft pink pretties!" Becky breathed in my ear as she caressed my groin with the palm of her hand.

"Just a couple more things now, baby – make me proud!" she chuckled. I was in no state to refuse as she had me step into a pair of high-heeled pink sandals. I tottered unsteadily on them, and Becky didn't help my precarious balance when she bent over and flicked her tongue over the head of my cock.

But the coup-de-grace was the nightgown. Such a wispy piece of sheerness, it could have been a cobweb. If cobwebs were pink, trimmed with lacy tiers and open at the front. It was barely there, yet as it moved in the breeze it enveloped me in whispers of femininity.

Becky led me to the bed and had me lie on my back, spread-eagled. I knew she liked to tease and so the blindfold was less of a surprise than it could have been. Her pink satin sleep mask cut off my vision, and I felt rather than saw her tie my ankles and wrists into the restraints that ran under our bed. And although I didn't see her spritz me with perfume, I could certainly smell it in the air.

I'd been silent throughout, apart from the odd moan as Becky gently teased me with her fingertips, lips and tongue. She was expert at finding an exposed inch of my skin and making me quiver as she breathed onto me before planting a lingering wet kiss onto my screaming nerve endings.

She gagged me when my animalistic grunts and groans grew too loud.

"Just nod your head if you're enjoying this, lover," she said, "Let me know you're into it..."

I nodded as hard as I could.

"Good girl. I'm going to record this so I can masturbate to it later, hun. Imagine that – me fingering myself and rubbing my clit with a vibrator while I watch you on my phone. I'll have this little memory with me all day, every day – so make me proud!"

My cock thickened at the image, and Becky reached into the knickers to grasp it and release it through the front opening. I felt her tug the ribbons on the front, and a drawstring closed around my girth. She tied the ribbon and ran her hand along my quivering shaft.

But it was her mouth, not her hands, that made me gasp. The lips I loved to kiss tenderly wrapped themselves around the tip of my penis before gripping tightly and sliding downwards. I moaned as her nose touched my pubic bone and her mouth enveloped me fully. I almost came as she slid upwards just as evenly.

She knew I couldn't do anything to hurry my orgasm, bound to our bed, and she took her time with me. Varying her rhythm and pressure, she treated me to a blowjob that had me all but crying with frustration. Again and again she brought me right to the edge, before releasing my cock from her mouth and rubbing her wet tongue into my balls.

Her slim hand wrapped itself around the base of my dick as she moved up the bed to whisper into my ear.

"Do you like this, love? Is this making you all hot and bothered? Lying on our bed, both of us dressed in beautiful lingerie, wanking and sucking?"

I moaned into the gag, my face contorted with the pleasure Becky's hand was supplying. She squeezed lightly as she changed pace, suddenly pumping me towards orgasm. I bucked beneath her, and she slowed immediately into a one-two-three-stop rhythm. It was exquisite – she'd always been the finest of teases, and she was outdoing herself this evening.

"Can you get even stiffer for me?" she murmured into my ear, "Is your cock going to get even bigger in your knickers? Make me proud, baby!"

I felt as though every nerve in my body was clamouring to bring me new sensations provided by the soft hands of my girlfriend. Her handjob was a masterwork, a symphony of soft caresses and sighs.

"I've another surprise for you tonight hun," whispered Becky, "Just give me a minute."

She moved off the bed and, despite my writhing and desperate pleas, left me alone. The seconds ticked away and my stiff penis bobbed up and down through the hole in my lacy pink knickers.

But I didn't have to lie in blissful agony for long. Becky returned to the bed and crawled up between my legs. I could feel her against me, as she raised my hips and slid a pillow under my lower back.

Bound. Gagged. Erect. And now I was lying with my groin thrust upwards, with two pink lacy opening holes putting my arse and cock on show for my lover.

I was terrified but helpless. My ankle bindings gave a little as I attempted to struggle, but not enough to do anything to stop her. I kicked uselessly, to no avail. And then I felt something cold and wet press insistently at my sphincter.

The startled high-pitched noises I emitted must have been loud in the room.

"Shh, baby," said Becky, "Just relax and let it happen. This is my fantasy and we'll get to do yours later. You're making me hot. Now make me proud..."

A wiggling inside me gave it away. She was fingering my tight opening, with some sort of lube helping her to slide easily in and out of my clenched rosebud. I shuddered and moaned as she gently fucked me with first one, then two fingers.

Her other hand had been rubbing the tops of my sheer stockings, tracing across the flimsy knickers but avoiding my red-hot cock. A single fingertip grazed my balls through the soft fabric, and a shriek of frustration and desire leapt from my lips, only to be muffled by my gag.

Becky slid her fingers out of me. I let out a very vocal groan of disappointment, and she giggled at the state I was in.

"Don't worry, love," she said, "You'll get yours. Here it comes now..."

Whatever was pressing at my hole at that moment, it certainly was no mere digit. It felt huge as it slathered lubricant between my cheeks. I started to tense up, but Becky chose that moment to rub a dollop of lube onto my stiff prick with two of her fingers.

The pressure against my back door won, and the head of the shaft popped inside me. The combined pleasure and pain met at my hips, smashed together and ricocheted up my body. The girlish cry of horror and fulfilment wrenched from my throat asked a lot from the gag.

Becky didn't miss a beat and before I could come to terms with the initial violation, she was balls-deep inside me.

"This is my fantasy, baby," she panted, "Filling your pretty little arse with my fat cock. Having all eight inches inside my femmy boyfriend and knowing the little slut loves it!"

She shifted her weight and the dildo stirred in my passage. I hadn't quite caught my breath from being taken, and a flowering pulse of pleasure robbed me of it again. My entire body jerked at the electrifying tingle.

"Ooooh, I think I hit the good spot," Becky said, "I think my girly-boy's about ready to be fucked."

She withdrew slowly, and my pulse quickened as I tightened around the pole. There was nothing my muscles could do to dislodge the cock, though – I was dripping with lubricant and Becky used her weight to control its movement perfectly.

It slid in again, and only the gag prevented my wordless squeal of blissful delight from waking the whole street. The long length began to plough me, inexorably opening my arse. Every stroke of that plastic phallus made me crave more.

And Becky was up to the job. Sliding her greased-up fingers along my shaft, she suddenly started to fuck me with a sharp, determined tempo. The slap-slapping sound of her hips against my upraised arse punctuated my girlfriend's ragged breathing. Becky was getting hotter by the second, and I knew she'd orgasm soon.

She wrenched the blindfold from my head, and for the first time I could see her eyes. She was wild, fighting the overwhelming urge to cum. As her fake cock banged in and out of my arse, she was trying to keep herself right on the edge for as long as possible.

I was entranced, seeing her for the first time. My girlfriend wore a red corset and stockings as she knelt between my nylon-clad legs. Her fiery red hair was loose and wild and hung around her face as she watched her dick abuse me.

Becky looked up and our gazes locked. She started to shake.

"Time to cum, baby – make me proud!"

The hand stroking my cock became a blur and Becky slammed the entire length of the dildo deep inside me, cramming every last inch past my well-used ringpiece.

I cried out again for one last time, a triumphant gasp of attainment as my mind shattered. My heart was pounding, my cock spurting over my lingerie and my arse was rippling around the intruder. I couldn't think, let alone breathe, as I was wracked by convulsions of blinding ecstasy.

When I recovered, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I lay, totally spent, with Becky sprawled over my body.

"Mine's a threesome," I said after some time.

"I think I can manage that," she said without hesitation, "And no time like the present, is there? I know someone who'd be up for it – I'll give her a call."

My heart skipped.

"Really?" I asked."

"Absolutely! Natasha's got a thing for treating men rough. Wait until I tell her I've found a sissy slut who loves taking cock. Once she's seen your outfit, I'm sure we'll be fucking you from both ends. But I want you to make sure Natasha has a great time, so you do as you're told for us when she gets here."

My eyes widened, my jaw dropped and my mouth opened. But then, just as I was about to object, I stopped. I smiled up at Becky and she positively beamed down at me.

"There we go baby – make me proud."



The Seven Dressing Sins: Vanity



"To recreate this scene, you will need..."

John tightened his calf muscles as he watched the young woman on the TV present an untidy scrap of cloth.

"One white fishnet dress."

He thought he knew her, somehow - something in her voice perhaps. He didn't know anybody with a crimson streak through her long blonde hair. And he certainly didn't know anybody who'd do a porn movie.

The camera remained pointed at her wonderful breasts. They were small but very firm, and semi-aroused nipples broke through black fishnet. Her gloved hand appeared again.

"One white fishnet suspender belt, eight metal-clipped suspenders."

John watched her dangle them, mesmerised.

"One pair of white fishnet stockings, deep lace welt."

The garments were almost invisible, soft white insubstantial promises of kisses of apparel. The narratress placed them gently on an upholstered chair. The camera moved back to let John see she was wearing black fishnet suspenders and stockings.

She turned, and the camera zoomed in, past the hands on her hips, to her crotch.

"Next of course, one pair of white fishnet tanga knickers with lace detail at the waist and ruffled seat. Tie crotch."

Hers were black, filmy and seductive. She wiggled slightly so John could see the way her alluring dress slid gently over the lace waistband. She turned and bent over, presenting her glorious arse to the lens. Rows of crisp black lace stretched across her netted derriere and John could see a thread of black lace stitching together a well crafted opening that would reveal its secrets at a tug.

"One pair of fishnet gloves," she said as she stood and turned around. She looked flushed at the collarbone as she waggled her fingers in their dainty mesh.

"Again white, and I much prefer fingers to fingerless - eh, girls?"

John smiled in spite of himself.

"One pair of white plastic knee boots, zip fastening and high-gloss. Six-inch heel."

She held up the shiny boots, white glittered in the light and contrasted her own pair in black.

"And finally, most important - don't forget this if you're acting out this scene at home - a strapon dildo!"

Her small hand clasped a monster.

God, thought John, that must be... must be at least... maybe -

"Seven inches long," the girl said, "A whole seven inches of pink cock. Seven inches of banging pleasure with open-crotch straps in pink leather. A bulging head for thrusting, a smooth pink shaft for sliding, and a pair of hot pink balls for grinding."

He fidgeted uneasily as she wafted it in front of him.

"That, of course, means lube - and plenty of it, This is waterbased, and tingles as it warms up... I love it!"

She waggled a blue tube before putting it down on a table.

"Let me explain how my games work. I create a perfect fantasy. And then I show you how to exactly recreate it. I'll detail your costume, your props, and your start position. As you watch me create your fantasy, you copy what you see onscreen. There are subtitles that will prompt you when you need to recite dialogue. The game will sense movement, and I will correct you if you fluff a line or move out of position.

"A safeword will be displayed in the bottom left corner of the screen. Should you choose to use it, and game will stop immediately."

The word flashed into the corner of the screen, glowing white characters almost daring to be uttered.

"So do you understand that sex should be safe sane and consensual and that Jane's Pegging Corporation accepts no responsibility for anything that happens to you should you decide to copy anything you see in this game?"

There was a pause, followed by the stamp of her foot.

"I said, do you understand that sex should be safe sane and consensual and that Jane's Pegging Corporation accepts no responsibility for anything that happens to you should you decide to copy anything you see in this game?"

"Yes," he yelped in surprise.

"What is your name, little girl?" she growled.

"John", he whispered.

"That's John, mistress," she said sternly.

"John, mistress!" he said.

"Well, John, shall we begin the reenactment?"

"Yes, mistress."

John met Katie through a friend. She was a quiet girl who was, according to the friend, some sort of rich star coder who'd earned a fortune doing something online. John hadn't paid much attention beyond the word "rich".

He'd started seeing her more because there was nobody else around - they hadn't exactly hit it off. He spent a lot of time at the gym, playing tennis, working out and toning, while she showed no interest in fitness or beauty regimes.

John was all ready to dump her - their relationship hadn't exactly overflowed with her supposed wealth and she'd been reluctant to talk about it when he pressed her.

But she'd saved herself for at least one more night when she'd snagged his curiosity earlier that day

"Do you want to try something really different at my place tonight?" She asked as she nuzzled his ear as he sat in front of a tanning lap, eyes closed, wearing a mud face mask.

"What is it?", he asked, intrigued.

"Something naughty I think you'll like."

"Er, sure," he replied.

He heard her feet padding away on the wooden floor.

"I said spread them!"

John tried to reach back even further to grab his buttocks, which meant putting his face to the hard wooden flooring. On the screen two handshapes appeared as a man held his arse open. As John moved his fingers, the hands changed shape until he matched the man's grip.

He opened up his arse, feeling the cool air against his glistening, oily sphincter.

"This is where we find out if you followed lubrication instructions properly during preparation!"

The woman moved closed to the kneeling man and shuffled into place between his fishnet clad legs.

"And we can just start to move your sexy little knickers to one side."

John felt Katie's warm, slim hands sliding the net fabric over his smooth-shaven balls.

"And now there's just the matter of... easing it in."

Katie's voice deepened as the words appeared on the screen. John noticed she barely had time to read them before she mouthed the lines.

But that fact didn't register for very long as he felt a pressure on his exposed entrance. It was insistent and irresistible, and despite his best efforts it popped through his resisting sphincter. He moaned loudly as the shaft filled him inexorably, insinuating itself into his tight passage.

"Oh, Christ!" he blurted out as Katie's thighs touched his.

"No talking without permission!"

Katie's hand spanked his right cheek as the instruction appeared. He flinched, involuntarily clenching the muscles in his ravished bottom.

"And now to turn you into my cock-hungry fishnet slut!" Katie and the subtitles declared.

John braced himself in anticipation. Blood flushed his skin and he could hear the whisper of his white fishnet dress as it flowed across his suspender belt in a lewd, bawdy hiss.

He curled his toes, feeling the stockings slithering against the smoothness of his legs and the slippery plastic boots.

Katie's knob moved out of him, before the powerful woman atop him clamoured hungrily at the gates to his very soul. But as she began to ride him there was only one question in his cock-confused mind: How had the game known about his fantasy?

John had awakened to femininity during his first year at university, that golden age of experimentation and discovery that saw so many flowers bloom.

Mary was his first crush, and the enduring influence on his sexuality. From the first time the chubby, leathered-up biker suggested living out her lesbian fantasies, John readily acquiesced to her requests to appear more womanly.

He'd blushed as she told him his smooth tanned skin was already turning her on. And when he shaved and dyed his pubic hair into a cherry-red heart for her, he'd received the finest blowjob he'd ever imagined he could have.

But it didn't take long for her to reveal she couldn't resist a handsome man in stockings. When she told him, John spent days trying to please her with his mouth - all the time waiting for the suspender belt he'd ordered from ebay.

Instead of being grateful, Mary asked why he hadn't ordered matching knickers.

As taught, he spread himself against the wall and waited for his punishment. Mary announced the price for orgasm with no knickers on: a strict whipping.

That day he took her oath and became her love-slave. Mary had humiliated, belittled and harangued him as she dragged him as she dragged him down the satin slope of womanhood.

But the the ultimate shame came as he begged her for cock while his head was tightly imprisoned between her legs.

"Beg me!" she ordered.

"Plmth lmee tay yuh coh!" John shouted, proud to be her beautiful pussy-slave.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, you fucking tart? Taking a cock up your arse - you're such a fucking fag!"

Mary's hand slid up and down the length of his tortured shaft, imprisoned in red microfibre boyshorts and sheer red tights.

The corset he wore made it difficult to answer her, restricting his breathing and midriff.

"Come for me, my gorgeous tranny bitch!"

At that moment, John's world divided sharply into two. Men who allowed themselves to be forced into lingerie-clad ejaculation, and those who would not.

John's breathing changed with each flow and ebb of the pink pleaser being administered by Katie.

He'd lost - he could feel it. His struggle to keep his masculinity had been swept away by the sensations of a cheap hooker outfit. The fishnet dress rubbed every part of his body as he accepted Katie's stiffness.

"I think it's high time for the mirror - are you ready to see what you look like, slut?"

John nodded but could only grunt.

A slap - left buttock this time.

"I SAID: I think it's high time for the mirror, are you ready to see what you look like... slut?"

"YES" John shouted, startled at his own bellow.

"Yes, what?"

Another slap, onto his already-stinging left cheek.

"Yes, mistress!"

Katie began moving, turning him with the dildo embedded firmly inside his arse. He winced as a sudden burst of pleasure washed through him followed by pinpricks of exquisite pain as the shifting replica cock brushed against previously unsuspected nerve endings.

At least it answered the question about the black silk sheet. Katie stretched forward and grabbed it with her red-tipped talons. As she pulled, John's penetrator moved again, and he groaned as it pulsed delight into the core of his being.

A core that burst alight as the sheet floated gently to the floor and uncovered the reflection beneath.

John's mouth fell open as he beheld his own buggering. He'd seen what was happening to him in the game but there had still been that... separation... between his own ass-fucking and the one being meted out by the digital dominatrix.

The mirror, however, couldn't disguise the whore dressed in a fishnet dress, knickers, suspenders and stockings that were tipped by flailing white plastic boots. That was him. John. Such a masculine name felt ridiculous attached to the panting and desperate wretch who writhed and gasped and cried out in lipsticked horror and blonde-wigged despair as her own desire was stoked by a firm thrust that echoed with a meaty clapping noise.

Katie was plumbing his most intimate depths with her female stiffness, riding him at a grinning canter that battered at John's reluctance. With each slamming measure of fulfillment and surrender, John gave himself over to the bliss delivered by his girlfriend's eager, passionate fucking.

He arched his spine to align his opening with Katie's member, taking a deep breath as he guessed her next move.

His reward came a split-second later as the fake cock ploughed effortlessly into him in one swift, smooth stroke. Stars lit up behind his painted eyelids, tiny tears in the corners of his eyes threatened to make his mascara run and his scarlet lips formed a dainty hoop of thrilled surprise.

"Yeeah, you little whore - now you're mine," said the game, "and..."

"This is Katie!" shouted John's girlfriend.

A mechanical voice on the TV intoned: "backdoor, miss?"

"Yes!" shouted Katie, matching the deadpan rhythm with her probing, emasculating humping.

"Ohhhhhh," breathed the TV, "My mistake, slave girl. I meant to say you're the fucktoy property of Queen Katie, whose cock you are not fit to take. Who do you think you're fooling? All those fucking facial-masque deep-pore anti-dandruff bullshit potions you slap all over your body? All that working out you do? And you shave your pubies, too?"

John looked around in shock, tearing his gaze away from Katie's masterful fucking.

At that moment the woman leaned into the camera.

"Oh, I think you've been feminised before. Some are cockerels, John, and some are capons."

His mind suddenly ordered itself. The television was showing his girlfriend's face and taunting him about his fetishes.

"K-Katie?" He managed to stammer.

"That's right baby. Just like you dreamed - two girls at once," Katie said, "Do you want to know how?"

"B-but that's you!" John managed, as Katie leaned over him to rub her breasts on his back as she drove her hardon between his abused cheeks.

"Of course it's me," said Katie, "I programmed her. I mean me."

She thrust into John again just as her twin did the same to his lookalike,

"I wrote the game, John."

John's mind reeled.

"I watched you taking sweet Mary in that gorgeous boy-pussy of yours a number of times!"

Katie's thrusts were sharper now - staccato beats of primal music that John couldn't help dancing to. He moaned in rapture as she slowed, feeding his arse the grinding, twisting length.

"I know all about you and Mary, baby," Katie whispered, "I was there, watching the first time she dressed you up in fishnet and fucked you, just like you're being fucked now. You remember that night, don't you slut?"

John did, and his cock twitched as he recalled that particular violation he'd undergone. His face flushed with shame as he remembered the indecent enjoyment he'd felt when Mary's strapon began vibrating. And as Mary pounded brutally on his arse, he'd felt the first stirrings of a dark addiction as his prostate craved the hard stimulation it was getting.

"Both myself and Mary made a fortune from motion capture, John," breathed Katie, "A foolproof phone app that could map somebody in high-detail 3D from its camera. It wasn't perfect but Mary and I just didn't have the cash to invest, even though it was next-gen stuff. Once we became lovers as well as partners, we, um, found the software worked best if you wore helpful clothing. Such as bright fishnets."

Katie leaned over him, pressing her breasts onto his back. John could feel the hot skin through the layers of fine netting between them. She kept her hips pressed against his, forcing her cock as deep as she could possibly manage.

John's inarticulate cry showed just how much shameful pleasure raced through his body, and his face clenched at his loss of control. Katie started to tease him, grinding a circle against his upturned buttocks and stirring his insides.

John could only gargle a strangulated shriek of indignant glee in response.

"We needed cash and, well, if you want money you make porn. Neither of us wanted to volunteer, but Mary said she'd found just the boy. She'd manipulate him until he'd dress in fishnets and let himself be screwed in the arse good and long - at which point I'd mocap him and we'd walk away with a game.

"Quite an idea, isn't it? A voice-controlled game for femdom sex. There's a dominant mistress running some filthy-minded algorithms to sense what you're doing and give instructions. There's also a submissive sissy slave to service your fancy and obey your dirtiest whim. You can go multiplayer. Or you can hide easter eggs in your code to seize control of the game like I have. So - we had a model sissy, we had the tech, we just needed a mistress to front it. And because Mary had already done the sex part, it was my turn on screen."

John's mind, scrambled by the exhilarating firework display inside his head provided by Katie's cock, suddenly lit up.

"That's me, with improvements. No point keeping any small blemishes, is there? And thanks to one crazy Hollywood divorce that named our game as co-respondent, I've sold enough copies online to fund my own game studio."

It started making sense to John. She knew about his fetish because Mary had set him up. And now they were re-enacting his first fucking (Mary had given him plenty more before she grew bored of him) with Katie reprising her game's role. No wonder she knew the dialogue...

"But studios come and go all the time, John," Katie gasped, her breathing now ragged, "What we need is a hit. What we need is a sequel."

John reeled as the pieces fell into place. 

"But you're not... now, are you?"

Katie laughed and tossed her head back as she resumed plunging the toy into John's inviting arse. He felt himself trying to tighten, to stop the rod escaping - and when that didn't work he rocked backwards to meet her motion, squeezing every inch of fullness he could from her.

She laughed again, musically.

"I thought of looking for another model, but what was the point? I already knew a guy who'd do it. Until I could put my plan into motion, so to speak, I'd put up with his constant grooming and primping and preening. Because when the time was right, I'd use his fetish for transvestite pegging to lure him in. This time the slut would fall for himself as bait, his depraved need to watch his own fucking would put him on his knees taking a solid-fucking-girl-cock!"

Katie hammered home the last words with resounding slaps to John's butt, reddening it further and eliciting yelps of humiliation from his bright red lips.

"But people will SEE me!" He gasped.

This time, Katie's laugh was a roar.

"You don't know? We renamed you Sissy, but we didn't change your image in any way - millions of people have already seen you! And millions more will!"

John's shoulders slumped as he took in the full ramifications of his situation, and then collapsed in resigned despair. Could the drilling he was getting make up for the fact he was a crossdressing pornstar? He didn't know - but his arse was the only thing he could concentrate on as he let go of his worries.

"Just think of all those masters and mistresses out there who'd been fucking you silly in all the dirty scenarios my software can dream of for the last year. Pounding you until your little head spins. Millions, wanking themselves off abusing you for their pleasure and amusement. Not to mention those silly, frilly sissy sluts wishing they were you!"

John's body was machine-gunned by splashes of erotic warmth as he thought of the depths of sodomy his avatar must have fallen to, the perversions performed on him around the world. He was a naughty girl receiving initiation into the school's buttslut club from his cousin the head prefect. He was a pathetic, sobbing mess at the hands - and strapon - of a strict aunty with a taste for boys in organza. He was discovered wearing knickers in a nightclub by a predatory-looking hen party which had taken him back to a house for a game of sissy Twister.

Katie's voice knifed through the fantasy haze.

"And now you, John. You're about to orgasm as I fuck you. As you watch your own narcissistic fucking, along with your audience. Give it up for them!"

Katie gripped his throbbing cock with cool fingers.

"Mary's watching and recording the whole thing next-door, but she'll be keen to reacquaint herself with her vain little fuckbitch once we're done."

Her slow but firm strokes on John's cock were slowly driving him towards a tear-inducing orgasm, but she kept her measured pace as she eased her plastic dick into him.




The Seven Dressing Sins: Vanity



"And with your share of royalties, we can go anywhere we want, baby - and make as many sequels as we want."

"Ugh, ooo, ughn, oh, FUCK!" shouted John

He could feel how close he was to filling his pristine white fishnet knickers with a good load of sticky cum. But he had to know one thing. Even as he felt the contractions start around the base of his balls, he had to ask.

"What... was it called?" he managed from between clenched teeth.

Katie's hand quickened, smearing pre-cum around his shaft as she sensed his impending release and slammed him back onto her strapon.

"Vanity," she whispered in his ear as he bucked and convulsed and spurted... 



The Seven-Month Itch



"I need your help, Sam," Noel said.

Noel's best friend threw another chicken wing bone into the bowl. "Sure. What is it?"

"I need you to help me fuck Betty."

Sam coughed as he sipped his beer, spitting some of it onto Noel's cheeseburger and curly fries.

"Sorry," Noel said. "I should've led into that better."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sam asked as he wiped the restaurant table with his napkin.

"Are you pissed? Freaked out? I can't tell."

"I don't know what to think," Sam said. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, please."

"Does Betty know you were going to ask me this?"

"No, but she won't mind."

Sam stared at him in puzzled silence for a moment. "Dude, you are fucking crazy. Look, I appreciate the offer, I guess, but you haven't talked with her about it and I'd feel too weird."

"Sam, you don't understand."

"She's seven months pregnant, Noel!"

"I know, and she's horny all the time," Noel said. "She's wearing me out. She wants it day and night and I'm almost falling asleep some nights while I'm doing her. I need help."

"Can't you, I don't know..." Sam looked around and then lowered his voice. "Get a dildo or something?"

"She has a couple, but they're not enough. Dude, she's unstoppable. I want to give her more and this is the only solution I can think of. She's always thought you were cute, and you're the only guy I trust to do it."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not going to help you surprise her. What if she gets pissed?"

"Will you at least come over tomorrow? I promise we'll all talk about it."

Sam looked down at his chicken wings and tried not to think about how much better Betty's tits looks with seven months of pregnancy behind them.

"All right," he said. "We'll talk."

"Greatest idea I've ever heard," Betty said as she sat up on the couch.

"Are you sure, honey?" Noel asked. "I don't want you to feel pressured."

"And I won't be..." Sam began, but didn't know where to finish. "I'll understand if..."

"Boys, shut up." Betty pulled off her maternity shirt. Her swollen breasts bounced into view. Sam swallowed. She sat back and rubbed her nipples and then her belly. "This baby has made me horny twenty-four-seven. I've been wearing Noel out." She smiled at him. "You're a sweetheart for doing this."

"But," Sam said, "don't we risk hurting you? Or the baby?"

"No, there's plenty we can do. And besides, the baby feels all my good vibes from my orgasms."

Noel laughed. "Then this kid will be happy day and night."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked. He couldn't stop looking at her chest.

She giggled. "Sam, bring your dick over here and let's get this show on the road."

The men stripped. Betty grabbed Sam's cock as soon as it was within reach. He groaned as she smiled up at him and licked his cock. She had a pretty Scandinavian face and it looked even prettier around his dick. She turned and gulped down on Noel. Sam let go of his resistance and pawed at her smooth tits. He wanted to fuck them then and there, but she held him at bay as she switched between the two of them. She stuffed their cockheads into her mouth and let Sam push into her cheek. He was too stunned to say anything or hardly move.

Sam dropped to his knees before the image of Betty's face full of cocks threw him over the edge. He sucked her nipples, making her coo with delight as she jacked Noel into her mouth. Sam rubbed her pussy through her maternity pajamas.

"That's a good idea," Noel said. He helped Sam pull off her pajama bottoms. She laid back against a corner of the couch while Noel fingered her pussy. Noel sat on the arm of the couch and nudged her head toward his cock. She wasted no time in grabbing it and wrapping her lips around his balls. Sam gasped as she twisted the head of his cock and tickled his balls with her tongue.

"Oh, I love this cock," she said, and then rolled a bit onto her side. She looked at Sam. "Give me some of yours, baby."

She drew up her knees so Sam could slide his cock into her. She shuddered but never took her mouth off Sam's cock.

"You like those two dicks?" Noel asked as he built up speed inside her.

Her mouth popped off Sam and she grunted "Yes!" with each thrust. She'd yet to let go of Sam's cock. Noel pushed one of her breasts toward her face.

"Show Sam what you can do, honey," he said.

She bent her head down and licked her nipple. She rubbed Sam's cock on her nipple and licked them both. It was the sexiest thing Sam had ever seen. He had to back away from her to keep from coming.

"You want to taste your pussy?" Noel asked, but didn't wait for an answer. He sat back on the couch. She rolled over and wrapped her lips around him. Sam couldn't wait any longer. He scooted up behind her and rubbed his cock over her swollen pussy. She moaned in appreciation as he pushed into her. 

He gasped. He couldn't believe how tight she was, how wet and hot she was. He stayed motionless and debated grabbing his balls to keep them from unloading. Betty squeezed her tits as Noel fucked her mouth. Sam, feeling brave, started pumping inside her and tried to match Noel's pace.

Betty laughed and moaned in a wild high pitch as a quick orgasm rushed from her throat to her groin. Sam pulled out, using every ounce of mental strength to keep from spraying onto her back. She crawled onto Noel's lap and cast a mischievous look at Sam.

"Play with my titties while he fucks me," she said.

Sam obeyed. He groped her tits, pinched her nipples, and rubbed his cock on her chest. She laughed as she bounced on Noel as best she could.

"Fuck, Noel, this is so good," she said, and then pulled Sam forward so she could gulp down his cock. Noel held her hips and slapped hard and fast into her. The couch creaked. Her hips moved in small circles. Her eyelids fluttered. Her head tilted back and she shouted to the ceiling. 

Panting, she slid off Noel and lied down on the cock. She beckoned Sam to her. He straddled her chest and she wrapped her sweat-beaded tits around him. He pumped on her chest, poking into her mouth now and then. She flicked her tongue out for him. The sight sparked a fire in him. He couldn't resist her mouth anymore. He crawled up the couch and grabbed her head so he could fuck her throat.

Noel pumped two fingers in her, sending a shaky wave through her. Her body went rigid for a moment and then writhed on the couch. She pushed Sam back to gasp for breath. 

He was glad for it. He couldn't hold back anymore. He unloaded his come on her big tits. She squeezed them together for him as his knees threatened to give out. He didn't notice Noel was behind him until he saw Noel's come landing on his wife's open, waiting mouth.

Noel shuffled into the teacher's lounge at Hoover High the next day. Faith Dalley, the shapely blond German language teacher, watched him plop into a chair at one of the tables and drop most of the math quizzes he had to grade.

"Are you all right, Noel?" She asked as she sat across from him. "You've been looking haggard these last couple weeks, and you look positively worn-out today."

"I am worn out."

"Are you sick?"

He laughed. "No, but you're sweet for asking. It's Betty. My wife. She's seven months pregnant."

Faith nodded. "Oh, I see. A lot of stress." She squeezed his hand. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Their eyes locked. She hadn't let go of his hand.

"Yes, Faith," he said. "I need your help with something at home."



The Seven Sexy Sins



 .::Most of the parts of this work of fiction are true...mostly the sexual scenes::.

It was in that moment, where I stood eying him in his towel, that I knew I would be a slut. Which is exactly why I'd like to nominate myself for the sin, 'Lust'.

Sure, I was a scared little virgin then, but that doesn't mean I didn't have the instincts of a raging ho-bag. I mean, it's just so easy to be a whore. Hmmm...I guess that's why it's a sin.

"If you want to have sex, come over now."

Groaning, I squinted from the blinding light of my phone to check the time.

Early.

I had an hour before I actually needed to wake up for school.'Come over now,' He'd said.

"Ugh," I groaned again throwing off the tangle of blankets reluctantly. "Fine." Slowly moving fingers worked across the keypad to tell him I still needed a shower, but I'd be there. After lusting after this guy's dong for so long, I might as well. 

I took a shower, sleeping through most of it. It eventually helped wake me up enough to groom myself in all the right places, and think about how nervous I was. It threatened to overwhelm me. I mean, seriously, what am I thinking? First off, everyone always tells me that I need to lose my virginity to someone with experience. Second, why should I do this before school? I always imagined losing it at night...in the dark...where I can hide my face in shame.

I sighed, probably for the millionth time while walking to his house. The morning's cold nipped at my nose and at the back of my neck where my hair still dripped. I could still bail if I wanted to. Did I really want to? No, I wanted to fuck. Well, in actuality, I just wanted to know how it was done. I just grew tired of being scared of the unknown world of sex. I was 18, for crying out loud, a rarity, I believed, in my school.

I walked slower when his house came into view. Walking along the side of the house, I let myself through the back gate, then quietly through the sliding glass door. A warm empty house greeted me with silence. Sighing as the chill let go of my rigid body, I took my shoes off before crossing the cold white tile to the carpet. He wasn't in here. It actually sounded like he wasn't home at all.

My phone's vibrations caught my attention, and I looked down to find his name above the text.

"When will you be here?"

I rolled my eyes at the text before returning my phone back to my pocket. He couldn't have said, "When will you be here? I want you so bad," Or "I can't wait to bend you over my couch, are you here yet?" or "I want to come in your mouth." Anything, as long as it made this easier!

A door clicked open behind me, and my stomach dropped.

"Oh. You're here."

I turned to find him dripping in his towel. A fantasy of mine come true. My brown eyes locked with his blue ones and I watched a smile form on his beautiful lips. Normally, that condescending smirk boiled my blood, but the only thing it made hot now, was my pussy.

I walked over to him, watching him watch me as I did so. Smiling sheepishly, I moved up on my toes to lick a bead of water off his neck. One hand wrapped around my lower back and the other lifted my face with two fingers under my chin, making me look up at him.

He kissed me, pulling me against him. I felt uncomfortable, and stiff against him. What do I do? What do I do!

After a moment, I just gave up. Sighing into his mouth, I tangled my fingers into his damp black hair and pulled his lip between my teeth. He rewarded me with a satisfying moan, grinding against me.

"Veronica."

Sobering, I pulled a way, giving him a confused expression. "Eric?"

"You never answered my texts."

Oh yeah. He kept asking, "How should we do this," Naturally, I kept ignoring him; it just made things awkward. Bringing it up in person made it that much more uncomfortable.

"What texts?"

"Do you want to do it in my room? Or the shower?"

I don't care! Take me on the floor right now, even, just stop asking me questions!

"Hmmm," I dodged, running my fingers along the edge of the towel by his hipbones. I pulled him toward me, and he struggled to keep the towel wrapped around him. I moved to bite his neck to distract him from his questions.

He chuckled darkly, "Well?"

"Right here."

He moved away from me and gave me a strange look, 

"In front of the dog?"

Turning to find his dog looking up at us, I finally scoffed.

"Fine." I pushed him back by his chest towards his bathroom.

"Bathroom it is then."

"Shut up." Pushing him through the door by his chest, I backed him up against the wall.

Eric's hand found my bound hair and used the mass of it to pull my head back, exposing me to his mouth. He kissed down my throat, then nibbled at my collarbone.

I kept fidgeting. Everywhere he kissed tingled. I couldn't help but dig my nails into his shoulder to suppress the sensations. His teeth sunk in, hard but sharp, and I held my breath. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to moan for him; wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he turned me on.

Eric's warm breath caressed my ear, making me want to move away. His teeth held me in place. He moaned deep and low.

"Oh, veronica." His smooth voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and slid down my spine to tighten things low in my body. I sucked in my breath.

He moved away from me, once again, chuckling. I glared at him, watching as he moved to turn on the shower.

Cocky ass hole! He looked so careless standing there! There he stood, five minutes away from losing his virginity and taking mine, But no big deal, cause he's cool, and confident. What the fuck ever.

"What?" He gave me strange look.

"...What?" I said back. My face must have given something away.

"Your clothes are still on."

Apparently getting some foreplay is impossible. I raised my eyebrows and shifted my weight.

"That's supposed to be your job."

Ducking his head, he smiled before walking over to me. I became instantly uncomfortable, but buzzed with anticipation. His fingers slid against my sides, lifting the hem of my shirt. My stomach tensed when I realized he knelt in front of me to kiss a trail up the center of my body, all the while lifting my shirt.

My eyes rolled up to the ceiling. I didn't know where else to look and I fought not to sigh to relieve my discomfort. This was not going well...

Eric lifted my shirt over my head, leaving me standing there in my blue floral bra and jean shorts. His hands ran up my stomach to give my boobs a squeeze through my bra.

"Oh my god, I can not take this anymore." And I reached up my back to unhook my bra. Eric stood back to watch my hands move across my shoulders then smooth down my arms to push off my bra straps and drop it to the floor. My fingers went to the button on my jeans, but his hand covered mine. I guessed he wanted to do it himself. Instead, he pulled me over to the shower I now realized was steaming.

My stomach dropped, twice. 

'Oh God, I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this! What am I doing?'

"Are you nervous?"

I gave him the look he deserved, which I suppose could have been taken either way.

"Well, the hot water should relax you."

"hmm."

Why am I being such a prude!

I felt him trying to slip my shorts down, though, my butt got in the way. What can I say? I have a great ass. I smiled, hooking my thumbs under the waistline to shimmy out of them, sliding down my underwear with them.

He smiled back at me a moment before bringing his hand swiftly around to slap my ass. I let out a surprised screech before we both broke into laughter.

"Okay, come on." He dropped his towel. I made great eye contact.

I stepped away from my bottoms pooled around my ankles and stepped in the shower with him. 

Typical shower, of course, nothing fancy. Small, and even smaller with two people. It was practically claustrophobic. God, I was nervous.

I stood close to the faucet wall, watching him bow his head under the spray, while I reached out to let some of it tickle my palm. Water streamed down his back and over his shoulders, through his hair and down his face and neck. 

He looked so damn good. 

Eric looked up at me through his eyelashes, staring intently at me through the assault of water, giving me a look that was all male. My lips parted. I bit my lip so not to make any noise that would betray how I felt. But I did. He smirked and stood, allowing the water to fall from his hair. Gliding down his neck, the water made it's way down his chest, passed the plane of his toned stomach, and left me to stare at sex lines and his...excitement. 

I looked back up at his face as he reached forward to take my hand. He pulled me forward so the water could spill over me. His hands slid in to my hair at my temples as the water took a moment to spill through my hair. I sighed, relaxing into the feeling of the water's warmth, taking the stiffness out of my shoulders. I barely even noticed his hands swiftly leaving my hair.

I moved so I could have the water cover all of me, and I leaned my head back so the water would spray onto my neck and fall down the front of my body.

Hands wandered my body from behind, and I jumped at the slick coldness that covered Eric's hands that smelled like a shampoo or body wash.

"That's cold," I mumbled, "That's..." His hand glided between my breasts and down my stomach, while the other moved up over my thighs. I quietly gasped as his hand came up to slide across my chest, his thumb stroking my nipples as he did so.

I didn't know what to focus on, his hand stroking my thighs or the hand massaging my breasts.

"Oh my God." I moaned.

His lips grazed my neck below my ear lobe, which he later replaced with teeth. I rolled my neck to the side to give him better access and he bit my ear in response. I sucked in a sharp breath and his hand slipped between my soapy thighs.

"Oh—" I rolled my hips, grinding my ass against him. 

When his fingers lightly passed over my clit, my hand came up to grab the back of his head. My chest rose and fell a little faster as his fingers teased me, sliding ever so slowly up and down my slit. My fingers moved through his hair, and I pressed my in my nails anytime his fingers brought a new wave of wetness from inside me. I tried grinding against his fingers but instead of giving in to what I wanted, he pulled completely away from me. I gasped at the sudden absence and turned to see him smirking at me as he stroked his length.

I huffed and then gave him one of my own smirks. His smile widened, before I pushed him against the shower wall, pinning him with my hips. I trapped his face between my hands and pulled him down to my level, turning his head so I could lightly kiss the side of his neck. 

I nibbled my way up to his jaw then lightly kissed along his jawbone, slowing as I neared his lips. Smiling, I pulled away when he moved forward to kiss me. Oh, how I loved doing that to him. He gave a noise of frustration as I passed over his lips to kiss my way along the other side of his jaw. Finally, moved back to his mouth and moved as if to kiss him, but as soon as he moved to meet me, I pulled away again, chuckling darkly.

"oh, you bitch."

Suddenly and violently he grabbed me by my hair, and spun me around to slam me against the wall where I previously pinned him. I gasped from lost air, and he used that moment to push his tongue into my mouth.

I fought him at first, but he used his strength and weight to keep me where he wanted me. Attempting to turn my head away from him, but he tightened his grip in my hair in response. I managed to move enough to gasp out a mixed moan of pain and pleasure, before he moved to kiss me again, a deep and violent kiss.

He spread my legs with his and my toes curled when his fingers dipped inside me causing any pain I once felt to evaporate.

"Oh my GOD." I groaned to the ceiling. He left me gasping as he slowly moved his fingers in then out of me. Pressing his face against mine, Eric brought his mouth over my ear.

"Tell me what you want Veronica," Low and sultry.

I moaned deeply in response. His voice always did that to me. Once he felt me clenching against his fingers, I knew my secret would be out. When he moaned in my ear it made my pussy clench and coil in electric waves.

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Oh, fuck, Eric..." I pleaded.

"Tell me. What. You. Want."

"I—oh God—" I gasped as his thumb moved to stroke circles around my clit. I licked my lips. "I—I want." He ran his teeth down the edge of my ear. 

"Damn it!" I pushed his hand away from me. Still panting, I glared into the eyes that looked intently back. Frustrated, I pushed the loose wet strands of my hair out of my face. 

Before he could say anything, I ran my hand down my, still, soapy stomach, then reached down to stroke him with the leftover slickness.

"Oh shit." He sighed.

"mmm, yeah." I moaned, moving my lips against his collarbone, tightening my hand around him as I stroked him into a more submissive manner.

He groaned, eyes closing as he let his head roll back. My thumb came up, slowly, to stroke his tip. I squeezed him, tightly wrapping my fingers around him to get his attention. 

He gasped and looked at me.

"Come here." I moved him so the water could wash the soap off.

My hands moved around so I could drag my nails down his back, while I slid down the front of his body to kiss his stomach, then bite the soft flesh just on the inside of his hip bones.

This was what I wanted.

I moved down to my knees and his hands went instantly to my hair when I moved forward to lightly kiss the crown.

"Veronica..."

I exhaled around him, and he pushed his hips forward slightly. 

After putting my hands on his ass to keep him steady, I sucked him into my mouth.

He moaned deeply like his cock was meant to always be sucked, and tangled his fingers in my hair. I quickly took him down to the base, and slowly moved up him, rolling my tongue as I kept my lips and mouth tight around him.

"Oh fuck Yeah." He sighed.

'Oh fuck yeah,' was right. I loved to make him moan. Loved. Not much got me wetter.

I loosened my lips to flick my tongue from under his head, then engulfed him again to stroke and circle him.

"Veronica...fuck..." Eric's grip tightened at the base of my neck, enough to make me protest. Then I realized he was trying to pull me up.

"Oh God, I want to fuck you so hard right now." He pulled me away and bent down to kiss me. His tongue taking over my mouth, I moaned and caressed his tongue with my own.

He pulled me up and pressed me against the wall again, his fingers moving to stroke me. Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed my calf, nearly making me fall over, but he held me steady and wrapped my leg around him.

He gace an exasperated sigh and pressed his cock against my pussy. I gasped.

"Umm. I don't think this is going to—ah!" He tried pushing himself inside me, which caused me to dig my nails into his arms.

"Oh God, stop."

"Am I hurting you?" He didn't seem worried.

"No, it's just...I don't think this angle is going to work."

"Oh, okay. Well...okay, turn around and bend over."

"Are you kidding?"

He just stared at me.

"I'm not doing that."

"Well then...?"

"Uhhh...missionary?" I suggested starting to feel nervous again. "Isn't that how you're supposed to do it the first time?"

He laughed, "Veronica, I don't know."

"Well...let's just try that then."

"Okay." He started stroking himself as I moved to lie down on my back, getting sprayed in the face as I did so.

He knelt in between my spread legs, and centered himself at my entrance.

We tried and failed 4 times before we switched to me straddling him, nearly impossible in a tub. 

That failed too. 

Reluctantly, I changed to his suggested position, where I bent over for him. Not only did we try and fail but he missed a couple of times.

Awkward.

We were both getting frustrated at this point, so I suggested we try me on top again. It didn't work; I was just too tight.

I growled toward the ceiling, "Why is this so fucking difficult!" 

My thighs were starting to hurt with the strain of holding myself above him. I pressed my entrance against him, concentrating as I did so, and rolled my hips down against him, while doing this, he thrust to meet me. Simultaneously, we cried out as we forced him inside of me.

"Oh my fucking God above me," I practically wept. I thought I might die from ecstasy.

"That feels so fucking good." He agreed.

We didn't move for a moment, but it didn't take long for him to start thrusting in and out of me, and for me to start rolling my hips in sync with him.

Eventually, Eric rolled me on to my back, so he could pound into me as hard as I let him. When the water started to turn cold, he turned it off and we tried banging on his bathroom counter, which then moved to the bathroom floor mat.

Where has sex been all my life? I must have looked like a mewling, crazed animal crying out beneath him in the middle of that floor. When I wasn't satisfied with winding my fingers in his hair, digging my nails into his back seemed to suffice.

"Moan for me Veronica. Yeah, I want to hear you scream my name."

I did, over and over until it felt strange on my lips.

Suddenly, he began to slow down, and my breathing began to slow with my confusion, and I looked up at him to see him look around. For a moment I panicked. Was someone here?! Did he just—did he just fucking--?

"What time is it?"

At first, I was confused as to what he was talking about. He pulled out of me and stood up to look at the clock.

"Oh shit...we need to go. It's third period."

"Oh my god!" I sat up and looked around for my clothes.

As I quickly got dressed he cleaned up the bathroom, and the sex hair I gave him. Then ran out of the bathroom naked to go get dressed. I followed him out to get my stuff, just in time to see him nearly break his neck, sliding on the white tile.

"Oh shhh--!"

"You idiot!" Howling with laughter.

"Shut up." He retorted playfully, trying to recover from the embarrassment of almost falling on his naked ass.

I could not stop laughing. Even while he got dressed in the other room while I waited, I kept laughing.

"Oh my God." I giggled.

"Are you ready?"

"uhm..." I fought another spurt of laughter. 

"Yeah, even though my thighs are shaking hella bad."

As he got his stuff together I started thinking. 

I frowned, starting to feel nervous again. "Uhm...Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you...did you come?"

"Nah, why?"

What...the fuck. I don't think that's how most stories go.

Self-doubt swelled inside me. Is he not attracted to me? Did he just fuck me because he knew I was attracted him and it'd be an easy way to lose his virginity? Was he regretting that the entire time because he doesn't think I'm hot enough?

Though, as I stood there by the sliding glass door, fixing my hair, I thought:

I bet he's gay.