Road Games Read online

  Christie whispered, “You’ve got such a great tongue,” and Kit laughed.

  “Suck on it, then, baby.”

  More little Mmms and the sound of lips pulling on something tasty. I flashed on Kit’s smoky dark eyes and her fuck-the-world grin and her small, neat breasts and the trim dark triangle between her thighs. Out of nowhere, my belly twitched. Funny, the 4Runner felt warmer too. Of course, that could have been due to all the steam rising from the backseat. I folded my arms over my chest and willed myself to sleep.

  “Ooh, honey,” Christie hissed. “That makes me so horny.”

  “Yeah? Want more?”

  “You know I do.”

  “What, baby,” Kit teased. “What do you want?”

  “Reach under my sweater and play with my tits.”

  Jesus. Christie was a talker. I knew that about her. It didn’t matter what the occasion or who was listening (or trying not to)—the Super Bowl, a movie, a crowded elevator, or, apparently, in the middle of sex—she’d talk all the way through it. I should’ve told them right then that I could hear them. But just as I opened my mouth, Christie moaned. Now, I’ve spent a lot of time with Kit and Christie, and I’ve heard Christy laugh and curse and cry and tease. But I’ve never heard that little catch in her voice and the almost hurting moan that trembled in her throat. It was raw and beautiful and I strained with everything in me to hear it again. She was panting, hard and fast, and every few seconds she’d let out a tiny cry.

  “You like that, don’t ya, baby,” Kit growled. “You like it when I squeeze your nipples like that, huh?”

  “Oh yes,” Christie whimpered. “Do it harder. Like that. It’s so nice.”

  My head felt like an echo chamber, every word exploding like a rocket burst and careening around inside it. Every rustle of clothing and creak of the leather seats as they climbed all over each other was a knife slashing across the heated surface of my brain. My clit was a hot rock pulsing between my thighs and I spread my legs to get some relief. It might have worked, except…

  “You’re making me so wet,” Christie gasped.

  I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t, but I glanced up into the rearview mirror and saw them in the hazy moonlight that filtered through the snow. Christie’s head was tossed back, her eyes nearly closed, and Kit’s mouth was roaming over her throat. I felt the pressure of Kit’s teeth skating along my skin, felt the hard points of pain and pleasure throbbing in my nipples, felt the come slick my clit. I tore my eyes away, but the image burned against my closed eyelids. I unzipped my pants.

  “Give me your hand,” Christie said breathlessly. “Oh God, feel what you did.”

  “Baby, baby… Jesus, you’re so hot. You’re dripping.”

  Kit sounded like she was going to cry. I wanted to too. I ruffled my fingers through the soft strands above my clit and imagined Kit stroking me and me stroking Christie and Kit’s clit a smooth stone sliding over mine. The base of my clit was raised up and I was wicked hard. I bit my lip and tapped the hood. My legs jumped, and I hit it faster while easing closer to the edge of the seat so I could hear them better.

  “See what you did to me,” Christie sobbed softly. “You made me all wet. You made me so horny. Feel what you did to my clit. Feel…oh, yeah. Right there.”

  “You need me to take care of you, baby?” Kit crooned. “You need me to make this hurt all better?”

  “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

  The SUV started to shimmy again, but we weren’t moving, and every few seconds Christie would whimper and say, “Squeeze me, honey. Oh, rub me harder. Oh, oh oh…so good.”

  I slid a finger on either side of my clit and followed her lead, squeezing and rubbing and sliding through the river of come.

  “You gonna come for me, baby?” Kit whispered.

  Yes! Soon, soon, soon! I pushed up my sweatshirt and slipped my hand under. My breasts were hot and swollen, my nipples as hard as my clit. I squeezed a nipple with one hand, my clit with the other, point-counterpoint…one-two, one-two, one-two, one…I was getting close to coming and breathing so loud I couldn’t hear what was happening behind me. Christie was even louder, keening and gasping. I pushed both feet hard against the floor underneath the dashboard and fought back the pressure building inside my pelvis. My cunt was ready to spill over but I wasn’t ready to let it go. I wanted to get off on Christie’s come. Still, I needed to come so bad, I whined quietly. If she didn’t come soon I was going to, no matter what.

  “Honey, honey,” Christie groaned in a tone I’d never heard—wild and half crazed, “fuck me fuck me I wanna come so bad.”

  That did it for me. My clit went ballistic, shooting daggers of pure pleasure into my cunt, and I started coming.

  “Ooh, Go-dd,” Christie wailed.

  “Oh shit, oh shit,” I whimpered, twisting in my seat while I grabbed my pussy and tried to squeeze every last drop of come out of it.

  It felt like I came forever, curling up on myself and trying not to yell, and it was a lot quieter in the backseat when I finally got my hearing back. I stole a peek in the rearview mirror. Christie was cuddled up in Kit’s arms, a dreamy little smile on her face. Kit had an arm around her shoulders and was slowly sifting strands of Christie’s blond hair through her fingers.

  Kit’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “Warm enough up there?” she asked, her words slow and thick.

  “I’m good,” I answered, still watching Kit’s face as I carefully circled the head of my supersensitive clit with one finger. Kit’s eyelids slowly closed and then opened halfway a few seconds later. Her mouth went slack and she groaned softly and I knew Christie was doing her. I picked up the pace on my clit, which was all of a sudden pumped up again.

  “Oh baby, yeah,” Kit whispered over and over while she watched me watching her.

  “Mmm, you’re so hard,” Christie cooed softly. “I love how hard you get right before you come.”

  My clit was dancing on the edge again and I could hardly keep my eyes open. The muscles in Kit’s neck tightened and she bowed up off the seat, her face a mask of pleasure.

  “You’re making me come, baby,” Kit groaned.

  “Oh fuck, me too,” I blurted.

  Christie laughed and Kit and I both shouted while Christie brought us off together.

  A minute later, I sagged into the seat, bathed in sweat and totally wasted. It took me a while to register that the ringing in my head was my cell phone. I fumbled around on the seat next to me and found it.

  “Hello?” I croaked.

  “Hello, dear, it’s Irene from Emergency Services with an update. Are you still all right out there?”

  I checked out Christie and Kit in the rearview mirror. They were kissing again.

  “We’re doing fine.”

  “That’s wonderful. We’ll have someone out to you in about two hours.”

  “Thanks.” I disconnected and swiveled in the seat to give Kit and Christie the message.

  Christie gave off sucking on Kit’s lower lip and threw me a big smile. “So why don’t you come back here and keep warm with us.”

  “Yeah,” Kit said, grinning lazily. “We’ll think of something to do until they get here.”

  What the hell, I thought as I climbed back between the seats, what else is there to do on a road trip, anyhow, except play road games?

  Mine, Hers and Ours

  Karin Kallmaker

  I put my shoes back on and waited for my carry-on to reappear on the conveyer belt. When it didn’t, I realized the object of attention at the scanner was something of mine.

  Oh hell, like I didn’t know what it probably was. Damn. I’d gotten the hand lotion and toothpaste into a Ziploc but had forgotten about that other little bottle because it was in a special velvet pouch.

  My carry-on finally emerged and a screener picked it up, looking for the owner. I signaled it was mine, hoping I was reading her correctly. To me she looked friendly, professional, and a dyke. “I’m going to have to search the bag.�
�

  I nodded and watched her unzip it. “I can tell you what it is, probably.”

  She shook her head as I reached for the red velvet pouch. “I’m sorry, but you can’t touch anything. Is it likely to be in there?”

  I nodded. We exchanged glances.

  “Perhaps we should go through it in the private screening area?”

  I nodded and tried hard not to blush. I wasn’t embarrassed, just highly amused. I swear her eyes twinkled for just a moment as well.

  She turned to a supervisor and asked her to join us for a private screening. We proceeded to the little side room. The screener set my carry-on down with a thud in a small cubicle. The bag was heavy for its size. She got out the velvet pouch I’d indicated, but the supervisor said, pointing to the much larger, zippered leather black bag next to it, “Why not that one?”

  The screener and I exchanged glances. Then I said, “It only contains recreational toys.”

  The supervisor bristled slightly. “We should still look—”

  “In the interest of time, let’s see if we can find the item the scanner revealed.” The screener added, her face carefully neutral, “I’m looking for a small bottle, about three or four ounces.”

  “Yes, that’s in the bag in your hand. I forgot to put it in the Ziploc with the other liquids is all.”

  She unknotted the smaller bag, showing no apparent response to the soft white rope and condoms that she moved aside. I was very glad she was wearing latex gloves—and I bet she was as well, though I knew everything was clean.

  With a satisfied smile she held up the small black bottle of lube. “Do you want to put this in with the other liquids?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” I did just that as the supervisor hurried away.

  We shared another I-know-you-know glance while I zipped my bag closed. When I finally picked up my carry-on, the screener said, “Have a really fun time.”

  I hoisted the little suitcase and couldn’t help a crooked smile. “I intend to.”

  *

  Once I was out of sight of the security area, I put the lube back where it belonged. I didn’t plan to waste a moment looking for supplies when I was finally alone with my girlfriend. Long-distance relationships can be stressful, and work demands had kept us apart for nearly three months, the longest gap since we’d started dating a year ago. A tech conference like the one where we’d first met was getting us together at last, and not a day too soon. The scent of her on the nightshirt tucked under my pillow had long since worn off.

  The screener had been pretty hip, and no doubt if my slinky, sensual girlfriend had been with me in the security queue she might have even cracked a genuine smile. Yeah, I would have conveyed with a shrug, I’m carrying ten pounds’ worth of sex toys for her. And then added, by way of a lopsided smirk, that she was worth it, which was an epic understatement.

  I lined up for my boarding call and thought about the contents of my carry-on. I found myself wanting to explain to the screener, however, that I wasn’t carrying the toys because I was butch and butches supposedly do the heavy lifting. It was more complicated than that—at least, it felt like it to me. There’s that whole détente surrounding sex toys and who “owns” them given the who/what/when of their acquisition and the why/when/how of their use. I had once waxed lyrical on this theme with my girl; since at the time I had been in the middle of something she rather liked, her answer had been, “You think too much.”

  I had three more hours until I was with her, so what was I supposed to do but think? As I rolled my carry-on down the Jetway, I thought about the ten pounds of recreational sundries inside. One of the toys, the brown one, not so long but plenty thick, she’d bought “for me” last Christmas. It was never going to go inside me; I used it on her. From the start, though, we’d both always said it was “mine.” She certainly called it mine when I was wearing it.

  I made my way down the aisle in a daze, hearing the repeated purr of her sexy voice in my ear, telling me how much she loved my cock, how glad she was I was the kind of woman who liked to wear one. I wrestled my heavy case into the overhead compartment directly above my seat and settled down with relief. My knees were surprisingly weak.

  I had also bought the purple one with the bumps to use on her, and we still called it mine, though lately…

  I buckled my seat belt and tried not to visibly squirm as I recalled the little show she’d put on for me the last time we’d been together, using the toy herself and telling me just how much she liked it. So exposed and yet so confident, her bright blue eyes glowing with sensual pleasure, she had pushed it in slow at first, telling me how hungry it made her for me.

  Arching into her thrusts, she’d said after that panting, sexy half moan of hers, “You like that sound, don’t you? The sound of me all wet and juicy?”

  When I could breathe I’d whispered, “You know I do.” The closer she got to climaxing the sweatier her words were, carrying us both along the rising crest of her passion.

  “Watch me, baby,” she’d ordered. Plunging that toy in and out of her beautiful, red, slippery cunt, she’d said between groans, “You like watching me fuck myself? You know I’m going to need more when I’m done. You know I’m just getting ready for you.”

  I recognized the sharp gasp, then the even sharper cry as her hips lifted off the bed, and had knocked the toy out of her hand and given her what we were both crazy for by then, my cock in a long, single push, while she was still coming, and she started all over again. The vision of her pleasing herself so openly expressly to please me had made me want to take care of her every last itch. We’d been frantic into the night, fallen asleep, and reached for each other again in the morning.

  The purple one with the bumps—that was her toy now, in my mind. Hers because she used it to please both of us. Yes, I was the one bringing it to our hotel room. I’d had such pleasure from it that I’d happily carry it anywhere she liked. No fools did my mama raise.

  The man in the seat next to me fiddled with his tray table, jarring me out of my reverie. My pulse was racing and I felt feverish. I had entirely missed taxi and takeoff. The beverage service had started, and while I waited to ask for water I tried to get some control over my thoughts—no point in getting myself to a boil with two hours of flight as well as negotiation of a large airport ahead of me.

  Right. Like I could stop thinking about what would happen when we were alone in the hotel room. I knew what I wanted to do to her: spread her out on the bed and taste her. She was sweet and copious at the start of an evening, and I enjoyed feasting on her. I closed my eyes and thought about the little gold flirt nestled in the leather pouch, every bit as effective in pleasing her as the larger toys alongside it. At first she’d been squeamish because it had been mine while I was still with my ex.

  She’d said, during one of our three-nights-a-week phone calls that we’d started sharing after that first conference weekend, “You used it with someone else, and that seems a little…gamey to me.”

  “I understand, but you don’t feel that way about my fingers, do you? Or my mouth?”

  After a little pause, she’d said, “Well, no. I see where you’re going with that idea.”

  “Sweetie, I don’t consider the toys I kept after the breakup anymore sentimentally attached to my ex than parts of my body. I’ve boiled it several times. Believe me, I wanted all traces of her off everything of mine. Besides, the one I’m thinking about using always had a condom on it too.”

  “Oh? Will I like it?”

  I’d made an impish noise into the phone. “I’ll happily spend hours testing it out with you.”

  “I suppose,” she’d finally said, after we’d discussed my intentions in minute detail, “that if everybody got rid of toys during a breakup it would be expensive and wasteful.”

  “That’s right. We don’t want to endanger the silicone supply.”

  “So you’ll bring them with you next weekend?”

  I had agreed that I would and felt I was quit
e the experienced lover. Then I’d realized that I had just talked a very good talk, and when we got together for our second weekend, with all my toys and hers, I would have to deliver on my bawdy, explicit promises.

  When the stewardess gave me the water I wanted I drank thirstily, but I had no interest in the packet of peanuts. It was not at all the flavor I wanted in my mouth right now.

  I don’t know if it’s part of the long-distance thing, but every time we were due to get together I had these same anxieties. We were sensuous and graphic on the phone—would all that magic happen again when we were most definitely in the flesh and expecting everything our bodies and ten pounds’ worth of sex toys could deliver? The first weekend at the convention hadn’t been planned, and we’d still done amazing things with some lube I’d found in my suitcase and the vibrator she always had with her. Amazing things. Epic things. Lost count of the times, shaky-legged, exhausted sleep, late to breakfast, lunch, and dinner kinds of things.

  Now I was worried—like I always was—that I would look silly in harness and toy, or that I’d slip on lube or get the angle wrong, squish her hand with my knee, bump heads, or fall off the bed during some particularly energetic maneuver. I had ten pounds of sex toys with me—what if I couldn’t please her with any of them this time? Silly, I scolded myself, because I knew my fingers, hand, and mouth could certainly do the job. Not that I was thinking of it as a job, goodness no.

  Once I started worrying, I couldn’t stop myself. What if this entire year had been a fluke? Just a flare of passion felt for a near stranger, and throwing all caution to the wind by going to bed? It had been wonderful and unexpected and naughty, as neither of us told anyone else at the time. What if the passion had run its course and now neither of us felt the same? Well, I knew I was still crazy about her. What if she didn’t feel the same in spite of the repeated assurances on the phone?