Road Games Read online

  Suddenly Grant pulled out and didn't push back in. Startled, I lifted my head and gave her an incredulous look.

  "Oh, I'm not done, Lindsey. I just wanted to try something new." Grant grabbed my hip and forced me to turn on my side. "Get on your stomach." She smacked my ass, harder than I would have expected, and said, "I want you bent over this table so Juliet can watch me fuck you from behind."

  I obeyed and rolled over, wincing when she delivered another stinging slap to my already sensitive flesh. She kneaded my buttocks in her hands, spreading me apart as though for inspection, then released me and delivered two more sharp blows.

  "You're a little slut, aren't you?" Grant said. She pulled my labia open with one hand and rubbed the head of her cock over my pussy with the other. "Gonna be a good girl and lie here so I can fuck you like the slut you are?"

  She breathed on my pussy as she talked, so cold on my red-hot flesh. I could feel my wetness on my inner thighs. I thrust my ass into the air, subservient, and silently prayed for her to start fucking me again.

  "That's right," she growled and spanked one cheek, then the other. "Get that ass up there. Let everyone see that wet pussy."

  Then her fingers were inside me again—three of them, it felt like—thrusting and twisting and stroking my g-spot. She drew out some more ejaculate and laughed heartily when the woman sitting at my head cheered her on. Grant pulled her fingers out and, reaching under me to play with my nipples with her free hand, guided her cock back into me from behind.

  Once again, she played it slow at first. Opening me up, sliding in so gently, so deliberately, before finally giving in to all-out fucking. She grabbed my hips and pulled me on and off her cock, every so often withdrawing completely just so she could give me that thrilling shock of penetration again.

  My clit was painfully engorged, my whole pussy felt heavy and sore with the need to come. Grant kept up a deliberate pace, keeping me balanced on the razor-sharp edge of orgasm. Every so often she would pull my buttocks apart, exposing my slick anus to the cool air and causing my internal muscles to clamp down even harder on her cock.

  But instead of releasing me from the exquisite torment, Grant pulled out of me again. I felt her step away, then felt her hands on my arms, helping me to stand. I stumbled as I got to my feet and moaned at the delicious sensation the movement caused in my pussy. Everything felt good, but nothing was quite good enough. I needed more, and I was desperate to make Grant give it to me.

  "Please," I murmured, and wrapped my arms around Grant's shoulders. I dropped one hand between her legs and pressed the base of the dildo into her body. "Please, I need to come."

  "I've still got a few minutes left," Grant said and disentangled herself from me. She pulled her chair out from the table and sat down facing Juliet. "And I want you to ride me when you come."

  She didn't have to ask me twice. I climbed onto her lap, aware that Juliet had an excellent view of what was about to happen. My back was to her, so I wouldn't be able to watch her face. I could imagine her reaction, though, and just thinking about it made me hot.

  I reached down and grasped Grant's cock and guided it into my pussy. I sank down onto the length of it, down onto her lap, until her face was even with my breasts. I threw my head back and moaned when she leaned forward and sucked a nipple into her mouth.

  Immediately Grant's hands were on my hips, guiding me up and down on her cock. I rode her unashamedly, fucking my pussy hard, desperate for release. She pulled up on my buttocks, no doubt showing Juliet how she was filling me up, how tight I was around her. I closed my eyes and watched the scene from outside myself: Juliet sitting passively watching this butch fuck her partner. I pictured the sight of the flesh-colored dildo disappearing into my pussy over and over again, of Grant's almost masculine hands grabbing at my ass and spreading me open to display me to my own partner.

  That last thought nearly made me come right then and there, and I would have if Grant hadn't pulled me up off her cock and held me suspended above it, even as I struggled to impale myself on it once again.

  "No," I whimpered. "Fucking…please, Grant, please just let me—”

  "I know you're close," she whispered to me, and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Turn around and I'll make you come. I promise."

  I didn't so much turn around as she moved me herself, using her hands on my hips to guide me so that I was looking at Juliet. We locked gazes and kept staring at one another even as Grant pulled me down so that I was poised above her cock again, my back to her chest. This time Grant guided the dildo into me and pulled me sitting with both hands on my thighs. The fingers of her right hand found my clit and started rubbing light circles over the swollen ridge of flesh.

  Juliet broke our gaze briefly to look down at Grant stroking my clit, and at her cock buried deep in my pussy. Then she looked up at me and flashed me a subtle smile. I smiled back, then threw my head back and cried out as Grant finally let me come. I squirmed around on the cock as best I could as I rode out the orgasm, and Grant kept stroking me with the pads of her fingers, milking every last bit of pleasure from my body.

  When I started to come down from my climax, Grant reached up with her free hand and gave my nipple a hard tug. At the same time, she seized my clit and made a motion as though she were jerking a tiny cock off. I was so swollen that it almost felt like that was exactly what she was doing, and I found myself thrusting my hips into her hand, like I was trying to fuck it.

  My second orgasm hit me then, and took my breath away. Juliet just watched wide-eyed as Grant devastated me completely. By the time my pleasure ebbed, I was limp in her lap.

  Grant kept her hand on me for long moments, just playing with my pussy. I sat and let her caress me, enjoying the intimacy of the gesture. Juliet exhaled slowly and uncrossed her legs. She watched Grant touch my labia and toy with the skin of my opening, which was still stretched tight around her always-hard cock.

  "That was nice," Grant said. She gripped my hips and helped me off her cock, then stood with me. She turned me around and pulled me into a gentle hug, then gave me a chaste kiss on the lips. "That really was nice," she whispered under her breath. "I'm sorry your girlfriend did that to you, but it was cool of you to play along."

  I smiled, and patted Grant on the back. "It was nice. Thank you." Then I bent to gather my pajamas and put them on. "Juliet, come on. We're going upstairs now. I'm exhausted."

  Juliet stood without a word and followed me to the door. I could feel three pairs of eyes on us as we left the room. No doubt they assumed that I would tear her apart as soon as I got her in private. We walked in silence to the elevator and waited for the next available car without speaking.

  When the door opened, I stepped inside first and pressed the button for the sixth floor. As the door slid shut behind us, Juliet finally turned to face me. And she smiled.

  "So did that live up to your fantasy?"

  "It was perfect," I said, and grinned. "And she was hot!"

  "I know." Juliet gave me a self-satisfied smile. "As soon as I saw her, I knew you'd be happy."

  "Oh, I'm happy."

  "You deserve an Academy Award, by the way. For a minute I was really freaked out that you were pissed at me."

  "I am," I teased, and put my arms around her. I leaned in for a rough kiss, nipping at her full lower lip with my teeth. "You ready for your punishment?"

  Carpe Diem: Lust, Wrath, and Other Deadly Sins

  Story One: Just Under the Surface

  Ronica Black

  The impact of steel on steel reverberated up the club, stinging my hands enough to make me curse. A small group of birds flocked noisily from a nearby tree, their peaceful morning ruined. I swung again as hard as I could and nearly slipped on the dew on the lush lawn. The next impact stung again but I embraced the pain. Breathing heavily, I lowered the club and looked around at the gray light of dawn and the progress I’d made thus far. I shook my head in disappointment.

  “I can do better than that.” I
returned to the standing golf bag, speared the damaged club into the appropriate slot, and fetched the only club left. I angled it up for inspection and grinned at the thick, oversized head of the driver. “Time to tee up, boys and girls.” I brought the club back over my head and powered it down onto the windshield. The glass splintered and caved but didn’t shatter. This time, however, the car’s alarm started to sing.

  “’Bout fucking time.” I swung again, knocking the driver’s side mirror so hard it hung swaying from the door. “It’s only a hundred thousand dollar machine.” Laughing, I rounded the vehicle, swinging my mayhem down upon its hood and side windows. I cursed as I brought the club up to find the head broken off. As I studied it, I heard movement from the trailer.

  “What the fuck…” a voice called out. The door to the double-wide banged open as the owner of the clubs and car came rushing out. “What the fuck are you doing!” he shrieked over the car alarm, running down the steps to the grass where he slid to a stop. He stood there in his boxer briefs, the blood draining from his face. I regarded him with calm indifference and stabbed the shaft of the club into the windshield, my attention once again on the trailer.

  A woman appeared in the open doorway, completely nude save for a sheer, short robe that flapped open as she moved. Her breasts had the full, perfectly round look of implants, both nipples pierced. She started shouting as well, but I couldn’t make out the words. Tired of the noisy alarm, I climbed on the hood and jumped up and down, caving it under my motorcycle boots. The alarm slowed and quieted to a weird slur of sorts, as if it were dying.

  Boxer-brief boy continued to scream at me, grabbing fistfuls of his hair in frustration and then falling to his knees in defeat.

  I had known all along that he wouldn’t try and stop me. He knew who I was and he knew I’d been hunting him for over a week. No, he wasn’t going to do a thing. He was going to stand there and watch me do this.

  Whistling, I crossed the lawn to my truck and returned with a red gas can. The luxury car looked like a silver pincushion, clubs sticking up out of it at various angles.

  “What are you doing?” He was getting worked up again as I approached the car and set down the can. “No, no! What are you doing!” Suddenly, he had courage. He squeezed my shoulder in pure desperation and I backhanded him sharply. The woman screamed as he stumbled backward, his fingers touching the blood that trickled down his chin.

  “I’m calling the cops you, you crazy bitch!” she yelled, breasts heaving.

  “No, you won’t,” I said with little concern and set to work pouring the gasoline onto the car.

  When I finished dousing the vehicle, I tilted the can and let what gas was left trail onto the grass, then tossed the empty can into the jagged mouth of the back window. Much to my amusement, boxer-brief boy was at the car, hurriedly trying to salvage what was left of his custom-made golf clubs. The bitch was still yelling, though this time at him, while dragging him away from the car.

  I walked a good distance away, lit a cigarette, inhaled, and narrowed my eyes, staring at the couple through the smoke. When the woman finally managed to pull him back toward the trailer, I flipped open my Zippo, struck a flame, and let it fall to the grass. A small whoosh sounded from near my feet and the trail of fire took off through the lawn. I smiled at the couple clinging to one another, thinking of how happy he must be with his stripper mistress, who was well known for her cowgirl persona.

  A true movie buff, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Bruce Willis in Die Hard. Giving the terrified couple one last wave, I turned my back and said, “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”

  An earsplitting explosion shook the ground behind me, the heat from its hungry flames nipping at my back as I walked away.

  My name is Diem Rushton. I am a vigilante. This is a day in my life.

  I blew smoke out the side of my mouth toward the open window as I drove away. In the rearview mirror a plume of black smoke swirled into the morning sky. I nearly laughed aloud as I thought about the jerk’s lame attempts at trying to hide from me. The double-wide was owned by a friend of the cowgirl, a fellow gentleman’s club entertainer who was nice enough to lend it out to a friend in need. And boxer-brief boy, he just couldn’t stay away. It was only a matter of time before he rolled that brand-spankin’-new car up the green lawn.

  That’s all it ever takes, really. Time.

  Self-centered and self-serving people can never go without for any length of time. Their selfishness and impatience always gives them away.

  And that’s where you’ll find me. Right there waiting when it does.

  I sighed, thinking of how a good job always excited and exhausted me.

  Tired and needing to relax, I took a quick shower when I got home, washing away the scent of gasoline and smoke. Then I took a nice, long nap. When I woke, I wandered around the house for a while, checked my messages, which alerted me to two more potential clients, and then realized I was nearly out of cigarettes.

  With a new purpose, I climbed on my black Suzuki GSX-R750 sport bike and reveled in its appearance. I’d had it painted the year before, something more “me.” Silver ghost flames licked all the way back to the seat. She was sleek, sexy, and felt fucking phenomenal between my legs.

  The ride soothed me considerably as I streaked down the road, wind in my hair and demons forever on my tail. The convenience store on the corner was typically busy for a late Friday afternoon, but I lucked out and pulled in up front next to another large bike, killed the engine, and hopped off.

  The door dinged and the store smelled just like they all do—like old, overheated hot dogs, coffee, and Twinkies. For some reason it always comforted me. I was staring at rows of nicotine sticks behind the counter when I heard it.

  “Diem? Is that you?”

  I turned.

  Her eyes lit up and my initial attitude eased a little as I remembered that I liked her okay.

  “Hi,” she said.

  I smiled and nodded.

  Her name was Vivian and I had worked with her, back when I was teaching school, back when I was a good girl. (That’s a whole other story.)

  She was a thin blonde with an infectious smile and bright blue eyes. Very attractive by straight-girl standards, meaning she definitely spent a lot of time on taking care of herself: mannie-peddies, highlights, makeup, designer clothes, the works.

  “It’s been a while. I wasn’t sure if it was you,” she said as those bright eyes scanned me carefully once, then twice. Her face gave away her thoughts. Back when I taught, I had always prettied up for work myself—makeup, nice clothes, you know. But now my hair was short, spiky, and blond and my T-shirt was black and sleeveless, a tattoo of a cross on my upper arm.

  Her eyes went up and down one last time and then rested on my tattoo. When they eventually came back to my face I knew that she knew.

  “This is my riding motif.” I felt I owed her an explanation for my rather butch attire, or maybe it was engrained fear from years of teaching, years of hiding who I really was.

  Her cheeks colored a little. “Riding?”

  I watched her closely, wondering about the blush. “As in motorcycle.”

  “Oh!” She shook her head. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

  “School?”

  “You know it.” She smoothed down her gray skirt as if worried about her appearance, as if somehow hers didn’t measure up to mine. That perhaps she was dressed too nicely. “I really miss you,” she confessed, her eyes sincere. And then she seemed to realize that maybe her words were a little too sincere as well. “I mean, we really miss you.”

  “Yeah, well, you know…” Jesus, what was I supposed to say? I left a very noble career in teaching for the dark side, righting people’s wrongs? I put the focus back on her.

  “How are your kids?” I knew she was married with two little ones. Their photos had been all over her desk.

  “They’re good, real good.” I glanced in her handheld basket and noted the chewy fruit treats an
d small boxes of Cheerios.

  “Good, that’s good. And the husband?”

  Her diamond sparkled on her left hand.

  “He’s fine.”

  I nodded and smiled, pleased for her. “Well, I should probably get going…”

  She touched my forearm as her eyes flashed with excitement. “We should go out sometime. Tonight, let’s go out tonight!”

  Stunned, I merely stood there, echoing, “Tonight?”

  “Yes!” She touched me again.

  “I don’t know, I just got back into town…”

  But she didn’t give me a chance to explain. She pulled me up to the counter and hastily laid out her items. I raised two fingers to the clerk, who knew what I smoked from my frequent visits. He pushed two soft boxes across the counter and Vivian pushed him a twenty, holding up a hand as I started to protest. Bobby gave her change that she shoved into her purse as I grabbed the plastic grocery sacks and held the door for her.

  “I’m over here.” We crossed the pavement and she opened the tail of her SUV. I noted the car seats in the back and wondered why in the hell this straight, married woman wanted a night out with me. I loaded up her groceries, pocketed my cigs, and she shut the door down tight.

  “Where are you?”

  I slid on my shades and pointed to my bike.

  She shaded her eyes from the brightness of the setting sun. “That’s nice. Real nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I can picture you on that.” She grinned slowly and I noticed a spark in her eyes. She opened the driver’s door to the SUV and hid her purse under the seat. After retrieving her D&G sunglasses from the visor, she slipped them on and locked up the vehicle.

  Wickedly sexy, she placed a soft, warm hand on my bare bicep and whispered, “I want a ride.”

  Hot from her touch and the low purring of her voice, I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t know,” I said slowly.