Hungry for More Read online

  “Okay, but you’ve gotta tell me if it’s too much. Can you do that?”

  Jeremy smiled at me, but remained silent.

  I grasped his dick in my firm hand. “I asked you a question.”

  Jeremy’s eyes went saucer wide. He arched up in my lap. “Yes, Gloria.”

  The warm feeling inside me turned white hot. A wave of contentment washed over me like I’d taken a hit from my hippie grandpa’s bong. I was instantly addicted to my new friend.

  You know what the strangest part of this was? It wasn’t giving a hand job to a naked boy who thought himself a pet. It wasn’t that we were doing this in public either. The strangest thing was the way I felt so at ease with it all. All the times I’d buried my nose in my kinky book, I’d never once fantasized about being in the dominant role. I never thought I’d be the one to take charge. Which was plain dumb as taking care of someone was second nature to me. Hell, I’d been looking after folks all of my life. Why stop now?

  Jeremy screwed up his eyes. His whole body trembled when he came in my hand. And then he wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me, murmuring crazy, happy words in my ear.

  “You did good, little pet.” I kissed him on the forehead. “But you made me all sticky and messy.”

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “Washroom’s over there.” He led me to the shared facilities. I thought he’d follow me inside, but when I turned around he was gone. I sighed to myself, my shoulders suddenly heavy. He’d had his fun, and then he’d split. Just like every man I knew.

  The night was a bust. Sure it was interesting to see so many folks having fun, but I was about ready to give up on the whole dominance and submission thing. There didn’t seem to be any space for someone like me in this scene. I just didn’t fit.

  I dried my hands and adjusted my dress. When I opened the bathroom door, Jeremy was standing there. He had two naked people, one a man and one a woman, on either side.

  “Gloria, meet my little tribe.”

  I was full to bursting with relief. “There are more of you?”

  “Abby and Marco, meet Gloria. She’s the best.”

  The other members of the naked tribe all started squealing and chattering with excitement. Everyone wanted a hug from me. Everyone wanted to play with me. They jostled me off to a semiprivate room.

  Marco snuggled in my lap. “I chewed up the paper this morning, Gloria. Can you punish me for it?” He held up a worn slipper. Marco had twinkling blue eyes and a naughty smile. I was at a loss for words, which was a first for me.

  Abby sat at my feet. “I’ve been supergood today. I need rewarding.” She looked up at me with hopeful brown eyes. “I’m a demanding pet, but you’ll get used to me.” She flashed me a toothy smile.

  “And what will I get for so much hard work?” I asked.

  All three of my submissive friends grinned at me. They pushed me back on the cushions, and then kisses and touches started coming my way. Marco and Jeremy helped me take off my dress and my bra. They both sucked on my tits like there was no tomorrow. Abby went south, nipping at my thighs until she worked her way to my crotch. I looked down to see her head disappear between my legs. I didn’t need to see what she was doing with her mouth to know how good it felt. These little creatures were turning me into a new person with every swipe of their tongues on my skin. They didn’t stop until I’d had an orgasm so powerful, my voice damn near broke. They all hugged me afterward in a big sticky, happy mess.

  That night was the start of something truly special for me and all my little ones. Jeremy called me a Service Top much later, but back then I just called myself happy.

  You see, I could tell you that Monty did me wrong. I could tell you that he was just another useless, domineering man who made me feel like shit. But what he did only drove me to my new family, my new tribe. He showed me how not to behave with a submissive in my care. I’ve got the proof right here in my arms that I treat my little ones right. They all love me for it. And that’s all that matters to me.

  HAPPY ENDINGS

  Giselle Renarde

  It’s kind of weird how this all came about. My assistant, Maya, asked for the afternoon off so she could participate in a documentary film. When I asked what it was about, she said happy endings.

  I didn’t know what she meant, but Maya seemed awfully embarrassed. “When I was nineteen I worked as a masseuse. It wasn’t on my résumé because…well, I knew what people would think.”

  I still didn’t know what she was talking about, but I didn’t ask a second time.

  “Anyway, a girl I used to work with is making a documentary about happy endings. I would never give them. I thought it was gross. She wants to interview me on the con side. She’s got enough girls who are pro.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “Go ahead. Should be a very interesting film.”

  Maya grinned and called out, “Thanks, Linda,” as she skipped from my office.

  Happy endings? Call me naïve, but I honestly had no clue what she meant. Thank goodness for Google!

  I must admit, I was a little shocked after reading the definition: A happy ending massage culminates in sexual contact, usually manual or oral stimulation. Men are typically clients for these offerings, but some women also request happy endings. This activity is illegal in America and not performed at legitimate spas.

  What kind of a place had Maya worked, if her fellow masseuses were prostituting themselves to clients? My stomach turned, thinking about sweet Maya faced with rampant erections, and men begging her to provide some relief.

  At least, that was my initial impression.

  As the days passed, I started looking at Maya differently. I would spot her at the coffeemaker, or bent over the photocopier, and imagine those tiny hands working a stranger’s oily flesh. In the beginning, I pictured her massaging fat old men, then slimmer, younger men, and then…me.

  It got to the point where I could barely breathe when she entered my office. She would say, “Linda, are you okay? Your cheeks are all red.”

  “I’m fine,” I would tell her. “Hot flashes. Just you wait!”

  She’d laugh and fetch me a glass of water. It was more than I could stand. I hadn’t felt intimate touch since my cheating bastard of an ex-husband ran off with a close friend of ours. When he left me, my body shut down. I didn’t want another man. I didn’t want anyone, not even myself.

  And suddenly, there was Maya, making me throb, making me wet. God, I wanted her to touch me, but I couldn’t ask. Just couldn’t. Above all else, I was a professional woman, and responsible VPs resist the temptation to seduce their staffers. I’d always believed that, and one little all-consuming crush wasn’t going to sway me.

  But I needed something. I started touching myself in the shower, but I never really got anywhere. My pussy would ache all day, and I couldn’t seem to satisfy it. After a while, my brain felt like it was on fire. I became so irritated with myself that I started scratching at work, leaving red claw marks down my neck and my chest. Maya said I should see a doctor.

  One day, on a whim, I asked, “How is that documentary coming along?”

  She gave me a very strange look. “Weird that you’d ask. It’s premiering at a little film festival next Friday. Want to come?”

  “No, no.” Yes, yes! “I don’t want to cramp your style. It’ll be all young people, I’m sure.”

  “Linda, don’t say stuff like that.” Maya shook her head. “Anyway, my friend wants me to invite everyone I know. She’s afraid no one will show up.”

  “Okay,” I said before Maya could change her mind. “I’ll be there.”

  And I was there, with bells on. Okay, not bells, but my best black dress over my most slimming undergarments. I sat on my own while Maya joined her incredibly attractive young friends. The film was truly eye-opening for me.

  One woman in particular made me sit up and take notice. Her name was Shari, and she was on the pro side of the happy endings issue. “Massage represents release and relief. It’s an
intimate interaction, and it kicks up arousal in a lot of people. I think the natural progression is a happy ending. Touch and sexuality are so intricately interwoven. I don’t want my clients leaving frustrated.”

  That made so much sense. Why was it okay for a masseuse to rub your back but not your front? The divide started to seem arbitrary.

  After the film, there was a reception in the lobby. I’d lost track of Maya, but I spotted Shari, the eloquent advocate of happy endings. My god, was she tall! Her red velvet gown clung to her firm breasts while a black shawl draped haphazardly over her shoulders. I felt starstruck, seeing her there. My feet just started moving, and they didn’t stop until I was standing right in front of her.

  “Can I make an appointment?”

  That’s what I said. No small talk. Straight to the chase.

  “Sure.” As she slipped her phone from her purse, she introduced herself.

  “I know,” I said. “I saw you in the film.”

  I stared into her dungeon-dark eyes, hoping she’d know what I wanted—hoping I wouldn’t have to tell her. She must have understood, because she smiled mysteriously as she looked up from her phone. “Are you busy now?”

  “Now? What, you mean like right now?” I stammered like an idiot. “No, I’m free. Now is perfect.”

  If I’d put it off or scheduled the massage for another day, I’d surely have lost my nerve.

  We slipped into a taxi and chatted about the movie. I didn’t even know what I was saying, I was so lost in the enormity of paying for sex. Really, that’s what I was about to do.

  As Shari unlocked the door of an unlit spa, she said, “We closed up for the night so everyone on staff could go to the film premiere. It’ll be just the two of us.”

  “Oh, good.”

  My stomach roiled as Shari led me up a narrow staircase. I don’t know what I was expecting. I just wanted it not to be sleazy. Luckily, when she opened the door at the top of the stairs, the setting sat somewhere between comfortable and clinical. I could handle that.

  There was a massage table in her little room, and a fountain, some bamboo shoots, other greenery. Shari left the room while I undressed fully. I bristled with an anxious, almost embarrassed sort of heat. She knocked before coming back in the room, and by then I was flat on the prepared table, with my face through that odd pillow with the hole in the middle.

  Shari gave me a whole lot of information, but my ears were buzzing. I had no idea what she said. When she set her oiled hands on my skin, I melted. It had been so long. She wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told her. Years. So many years since I’d been touched—even like this, just her hands on my back. Without warning, I started crying.

  At first, I kept it quiet. I didn’t want her to hear me whimpering, but when the full-on sobs took over, I couldn’t hide my sorry state. Shari asked if I’d like a tissue, and when I arched up I caught my first glimpse of her. She’d taken off her gown. What she wore now was black, like a corset with panties. She reminded me of a flamenco dancer, for some reason. She seemed wildly passionate, but totally in control.

  “Thanks.” I dabbed my eyes, then blew my nose. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “It’s very common,” she said. “Massage releases pent-up emotions. No need to feel sorry.”

  When I settled back in, with my tissues balled up in my fist, she asked if I’d like her to work her way up from my calves. Yes, I wanted that. Very much so. When her warm palms traced oil up my legs, I melted all over again. I’d never thought of my calves as sensitive, but when Shari touched them, raw energy swirled through my pelvis. That sensation—I recognized it from years ago. From when I was a teenager, when I was in college. Long, long ago.

  “That feels amazing,” I said. My head was spinning, and so was my belly. My whole body felt dizzy.

  Standing to one side, Shari worked her way up my thighs. The closer she got to my naked rear, the more intensely that warm energy swirled between my legs. I stared down at the floor, smiling like an idiot, and picturing Shari in her black lingerie. When she started kneading my asscheeks, I actually groaned.

  “Sorry,” I said, feeling dreadfully embarrassed.

  “Don’t be.” Her smile gleamed in her voice. “Make all the noise you like.”

  I wasn’t shy after that. In truth, I couldn’t keep it in. When she stroked my ass with scented oil, I moaned like a monster. In my entire life, I don’t think anyone had ever touched me in quite that way. It felt amazing.

  After a while, Shari asked, “Are you ready to flip?”

  I didn’t even answer her—I just did it. I turned over on the massage table and opened my legs. Before I could stop myself, I ended up asking, “Do you ever massage people naked?”

  Her lips pursed beautifully, and then she smiled. “Only if I really like them.”

  She must have really liked me, because she unstrung her corset and slipped out of it right before my eyes. Her body made mine pulse. I wanted to spread oil across her golden skin. Her firm breasts pointed in my direction as I stared at her bare pussy. I wished I’d shaved mine, too. I could just imagine her palm pressing against my baby-smooth cunt.

  Instead, she ran her fingers through the dark curls between my legs. When I felt her slick hand against the pulpy, pounding mass of my clit, my whole body melted into the vinyl cushion. “Oh, that’s good. That’s sooo good.”

  She rubbed my pussy with the meat of her palm. I don’t know if it was the oil or Shari’s nudity, or just the fact that I hadn’t been touched intimately in almost a decade, but my sleeping body woke up. My pussy gushed as I pressed it against her hand. She wasn’t doing anything special, not that I could see, but I didn’t need much convincing.

  “Want me to go in?” she asked.

  Her breasts surged as she rubbed me, like her whole body was doing the work. I stared at them as I tried to unpack her question. “Go in?”

  She held up two fingers and raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh!” When did I become such a naïve old woman? “Yes, okay.”

  Shari doused my mound with oil, and just feeling that warm, slick stuff sliding over my hot folds made me moan. When she pressed two fingers into my pussy, my bones turned to pudding. She moved slowly inside of me, looking for something…and finding it.

  “Oh my god!” I arched on the table. “What is that?”

  “Feels good, huh?” She rubbed that strange place somewhere inside me, and I wondered if that could possibly be my G-spot. If it was…well, I finally understood what all the fuss was about.

  “Thank you,” I said, almost in a whisper.

  Shari stroked me with her fingers, tracing gentle circles around my clit. She obviously knew what she was doing. My swollen lips felt fatter by the second. She summoned the juice that had been hibernating inside of me forever. At least, it felt like forever since I’d been aroused like this, and unashamedly so.

  “Don’t stop,” I said, gripping Shari’s wrist. From the look she gave me, I thought maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but she didn’t say anything, so I didn’t let go. And then she jumped and laughed and I asked, “What?”

  “Didn’t you feel that?” She rubbed me faster, inside and out. “Your pussy’s milking my fingers. You must really like this.”

  My eyes fluttered. “I really do.”

  I didn’t speak after that, not in words. I surrendered to the sensations Shari aroused in my body. It wasn’t just one sensation—oh no. She made me want to push, and she made me want to pull. I bucked at her hand, launching my hips up in the air and then right back down. I wasn’t in control of my actions anymore. My thighs tensed. I held my legs stiff as she scoured my clit. Then she tickled my G-spot and I nearly flipped off the table. She had to hurl her naked self on my belly to keep me in place.

  “Mmm!” I shrieked and shouted, keeping my lips pressed shut. “Mmm-mm-mmm!”

  My arms thrashed, and Shari jammed her tight breasts into my skin. I thrust my hips, forci
ng her to writhe on top of me. My brain had set itself on fire. I couldn’t think. All I knew was my want—more, more, more!

  The pulpy ache of my pussy expanded to devour my belly and my breasts. My eternally soft nipples drew into tight, dark buds. I reached for my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, and that threw me well over the edge.

  I wailed as the pleasure morphed into pain. Suddenly, my pussy felt huge, like a balloon set to explode. I cried, “Stop! Please! Enough!”

  Shari rose from my body like a mist, withdrawing her fingers from my pussy and wiping them with a cloth. I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest rose and fell. The whole room seemed hazy, like it was lost in a fog.

  When Shari leaned across my thigh and blew on my clit, I shivered and laughed. It took a while to find my words, but when I did, I gushed. I must have thanked her a million times, and told her how glad I was that she’d brought me here, how grateful, how long it had been. I guaranteed that I’d make ours a standing appointment. I would come back every week—twice a week, if she’d have me.

  When I ran out of breath and finally stopped talking, Shari said, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. To tell you the truth, women very rarely walk through that door. I’ve never given a full release massage to another woman.”

  She seemed like such an expert, like she knew exactly what to do. I said, “I don’t believe it. You did such a fabulous job. I know I’m naïve, but there’s no way that was your first time.”

  “Well…” Shari cocked her head coquettishly. “My first time at work.”

  CRAIG’S LIST

  Greta Christina

  On her twenty-fourth birthday, she decided there were three things she wanted to do before she turned twenty-five. Sexual things. All three involved taking stupid risks, putting her body into the hands of people she knew nothing about and had no reason to trust. All three involved Craig’s List.

  She knew she had to do them now. The older she got, the less reckless she’d become. She knew that if she waited until she was thirty, she wouldn’t be brave enough, or stupid enough, to try this. And she knew she’d always regret it if she didn’t try.