“Get in,” I said, pushing her in that direction. “You’ll be fine,” I told her, reading the question in her eyes.

I wasn’t about to let anyone catch us. I got in behind her and shut the door, knowing we were far enough away not to draw the bouncer’s attention, and if any clubgoers should see us, well, we’d probably make their night.

I settled into the middle of the seat, then spread my precious prize across my lap. Nikki wiggled against me, pressing against the dick and making my nipples hard. “Lift up your skirt for me, Nikki, and ask me to spank you,” I told her, trying to keep the trembling out of my voice.

It must have worked, because she reached behind her and pulled up her skirt, the act infinitely more erotic than if I’d done so myself. I needed to see and feel Nikki give herself to me, to freely offer her body, giving it as smoothly as she’d withheld it.

“Please, Angie, I want you to spank me. I need you to spank my ass for being such a brat all this time.”

I wasn’t expecting that last bit, and when Nikki buried her face in my knee, smearing her lipstick against the denim, breathing hot and hard through the fabric, I let loose. My hand crashed down upon the perfect apple curve of her bare brown cheek. Oh, yes, I’d been right—the girl had gone out without any panties to protect her pussy, or her ass. Now, both were exposed to me and I savored the view, raining blow after blow against her sweet curves.

“You like that, don’t you, Nikki?” I asked, bringing my voice deep and low for the ending as I punctuated my words with solid smacks as her breath hissed, then stuttered, then seemed to stop altogether as I slammed my palm against her hot skin. I gave her a pinch, already feeling the urgent throbbing of her sex. “You’re not going to answer me, Nikki?”

“Yes, yes, I like it,” she said, then shuddered as my fingers dove into her sex without preamble. I plunged in as deep as I could, feeling a corresponding spasm from her cunt. “Oh yeah,” she mumbled softly as I teased her tender wetness, feeling her walls give against my touch.

My own private parts were starting to ache, and I eased myself off of her to kneel between her legs. I was pretending we weren’t in a car in a fairly crowded parking lot; that’s how bad I had it for her, I literally couldn’t wait. “I’m going to fuck you now, Nikki, so hard you’ll forget about every other girl who’s come before me. I’m gonna fuck you until you forget everything except my name.” The words just flowed from my mouth, with none of the practiced toughness I’d sometimes had to muster with other girls. No, she brought out that side of me that’s pure animal, raw and needy and hoarse with want. The part where words don’t matter; just actions.

I ripped open the buttons of my jeans and out came my secret weapon, the extra-large dick that I only pack when I plan to fuck a girl until the earth really does move, until I feel like all of me is inside her, until I feel like she is inside me too, our bodies merging so well we trade souls; even if just for a moment. I rubbed t

he head of the cock against her sex, lubing it with her juices, and she bucked against me.

“Wait for me,” I admonished softly as I pushed my way in, and then we didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Nikki and I had said all we’d need to say, and now were in some other world, where it was just my cock, her pussy, our hot breath steaming the windows.

I pushed deep into her, resting my weight on her body, my hands slipping beneath her to pinch her hard nipples. I kissed her back, nudging the shirt up with my nose to rest against her bare, sweaty skin, as the toy plunged in and out, seeking out her secrets, offering some of its own. My cock told her how to reach me, how to find that spot where I surrender as well, where it hits my clit and the thrill boomerangs back into me. We seesawed like that, shifting the pleasure, the ache, the bolts of desire as she arched her ass upward, giving and taking equally.

“Oh Angie,” she cried out when I twisted her sweet pebbles fiercely, tuning her nipples to my favorite frequency, harder and harder as I slammed in and out, my motions so fast I barely knew where she ended and I began. Hearing her say my name catapulted me out of the car, doing a freefall as I came, bucking in and out of her all the while. I bit her back gently, needing to hold onto her in every way I could, as Nikki too succumbed to her climax, blubbering gibberish as she shook.

We couldn’t get up for a while, and when we finally did, it felt surreal to pull my clothes back on, to see the dazed look on her face, like we’d both just awoken from a dream.

“Did that really happen?” she asked, her fingertips tracing my swollen lips, then my cheek.

“I think so. But let’s go back to my place and try it again just to be sure.”

Rachel Kramer Bussel (www.rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over twenty erotic anthologies, including Glamour Girls: Femme/Femme Erotica, First-Timers: True Stories of Lesbian Awakening, Up All Night: Adventures in Lesbian Sex, Yes, Sir, Yes, Ma’am, He’s on Top, She’s on Top, Caught Looking, Hide and Seek, Crossdressing, Sex and Candy, Rubber Sex, Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica, Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 1 and 2, and the non-fiction Best Sex Writing 2008. Her work has been published in over 100 anthologies, including Best American Erotica 2004 and 2006, Chocolate Flava 2, Everything You Know About Sex Is Wrong, Single State of the Union and Desire: Women Write About Wanting. She hosts “In The Flesh Erotic Reading Series,” is Senior Editor at Penthouse Variations, wrote the popular “Lusty Lady” column for The Village Voice, and has contributed to AVN, Bust, Diva, Fresh Yarn, Gothamist, Huffington Post, Mediabistro, Newsday, New York Post, San Francisco Chronicle, Time Out New York, and Zink. In her spare time, she blogs about cupcakes at cupcakestakthecake.blogspot.com.

The Purple Panty Revue

Claudia Moss

J ay stood in a pool of Atlanta sunshine in the back bedroom on the third floor of her downtown, Chamberlain Street loft.

She gazed out across the courtyard below. In silence, she took in what was left of a tranquil Saturday in March and stared at everything and nothing in particular. Her scrutiny skimmed the courtyard’s centerpiece of bricked shrubbery. Then it winged the wrought-iron separating her complex from the community’s sauntering residents, who promenaded the city in a drug-induced splendor. Whenever they took a notion to dream, they stopped and gazed through iron at high-end vehicles and Jay’s ’07 Mercedes sports car. Beyond this protected enclave, in the distance, a field, in which some of the sauntering found peace, submitted its peppered face of bottles and debris to the heavens.

She knew there was potential in the scene, despite the poor condition of the existing buildings. In part, she already saw the ones not yet built. A dreamer, she speculated what they might be next month or next year since she’d bowed to her intention to invest in this community. For now, though, what she studied on the right made up Edgewood Avenue, with its string of abandoned shops, small clothing stores, and beauty parlors; on the left, it was Chamberlain Street, home of Chamberlain Apartments, a project some city developers in high-rise offices still hadn’t quite figured how to erase.

Jay Morrison was a mover and big-money shaker in her own right, in privy circles. Around the way, she was known simply as “the sistah who had her shit together.”

But the sistah was in a blue mood right now. Little had gone as she’d anticipated in a developer’s meeting that afternoon: it yet amazed her how nobody of color with any real money desired to invest a tad of it in the community. The revelation accounted for her presence in her loft’s back windows.

In truth, in these windows, the longer she stood, the more Jay felt blessed. By her calculations—something she was damn good at, had faith in, particularly when it came to growing dollars and scents from nothing—her mind expanded when she looked out on her block. A magical space, answers to every question she posed floated into her corporate locs when she stood where she was now, pondering…

Hmmmmm. But wait.

Jay cocked her head to one side and raised a rakish brow. That was a first. Did the floral curtains in the third-floor window in the loft directly across from hers really inhale the sweet start of spring and exhale a glimpse of an exquisite ass? She could have sworn the loft had been empty a week ago. As far as she knew, nobody had walked through the place in five months.

A green mini bus on its way up Chamberlain sliced noisily into Jay’s thoughts. The sound directed her attention to a man “pottying” his rat terrier on a fenced-in lawn. Funny. The image clashed with the sight of two other men, dirty and singing, using one another as crutches, as they stumbled to the corner.

Jay sighed and returned an inquisitive eye to the peek-a-boo window, and it was a good thing she did. This time the curtains pooh-poohed with certainty, causing Jay to press her nose against startled glass. There it was for sure. A wide, voluptuous, shapely one. A walnut-hued delight in purple panties, thank you. An ass that didn’t appear to favor bouncing or climbing poles or gyrating like island beauties.

Tags: Zane Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net