Taboo, p.4
Taboo, page 4
Their noises promptly lapsed into silence, with the exception of Trey’s ragged panting, and Trinh looked at me, smiling. My eyes locked suddenly with Trey’s, and for a moment I looked into them. For what, I didn’t know. Gratitude, maybe, as absurd as that sounded. But instead, I saw only pride. He seemed to feel conquering, victorious even, and I knew that in his mind he had just taken my wife in a way I never could; that it was Elisa, not him, who had just been pleasured, that he had been gracious enough to allow her to suck his cock; that she had been rewarded with his orgasm.
Elisa looked up at Trey like a child wanting praise, and I watched as she opened her mouth and showed him the shimmering pool of semen on her cupped tongue before she swallowed it.
“You’re a lucky man,” Trey told me for the second time that night, but this time Elisa seemed to flush with pride at Trey’s words. She sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears, and in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle I could see a smile pursing her raw and swollen lips.
I watched the needle sweep past one-forty.
After Hours
DANTE DAVIDSON
The crisp white nurse’s skirt fell to the floor with a tiny whisper, followed by a slightly louder murmur from the nurse herself. I couldn’t wait to finger her pussy, to see just how ready she was for me, but that wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet. This scenario had to follow a strict schedule, and I would ruin everything by rushing. I watched as she let her white blouse follow her skirt, and then I stared, fascinated, as she picked up both parts of the uniform, folded them neatly, and set them on the blue plastic chair.
She didn’t know that I was watching her, which made the voyeuristic experience all the more powerful. She thought that I was waiting, appropriately, outside in the hall for her to prepare herself. But with the door cracked slightly, I had the perfect view as she took off her bra and placed the underwire contraption with the rest of her clothes. With a gentle motion, she removed her pantyhose, then slid her silky white panties down her lean thighs and dropped both of these items on top of the skirt and blouse. She stared at the pile of clothing for a moment, then rearranged the stack by tucking the panties and bra between the skirt and blouse.
How quaint, I thought to myself. She doesn’t want me to see her panties.
Or maybe she didn’t want me to see what most likely was a very wet spot at the center of them. That thought sent a shot of adrenaline through my body, and I had to pace up and down the hall to get myself under control.
Back at the door, I rapped my knuckles on the wood, knowing full well she wasn’t ready, and she squeaked out a “One moment, please.” I heard rustling in the room, and then watched through the sliver of space as she slid into the ugly waiting hospital gown and hopped onto the paper-covered leather table. The gown tied in the back, and she did her best to tie the bows herself, but the end results were loose tangles of the ties and gaping areas where the smooth skin of her back could easily be seen. I took in the lines from her tan, and the way her reddish hair fell just to the ridge of her shoulders before I knocked on the door again.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she said. “You can come in.”
I entered the room and she turned her head to look at me. She wore the expression I always see on women’s faces when I enter an examination room. Women who are nearly nude and waiting for me to touch their naked bodies tend to have an expectant look, almost excited, yet tempered with trepidation. I adore this look. I did my best to put her at ease. First, I washed my hands, soaping them generously as I stared out the window to the car park below. Evening had just about fallen, and the light was a dusky blue. Few cars remained in the lot. I dried my hands and then turned to face my patient.
I thought about what I wanted: start with a little fingering of her pussy with my thumb accidentally brushing her clit. Wait to see what sort of reaction that would bring. The thought of parting her pussy lips was enough to make me instantly hard, and I did my best to quiet my thoughts. This wasn’t the time—
Slowly, I walked to the side of the table and undid her wretched attempts to tie the gown closed. With care, I slid her thin gown from her shoulders, letting the fabric fall down from her breasts to her waist. I had her lay back on the table, and I took my time with her breast exam, rotating my palm over her lovely pert breasts, cradling each one in the most clinical way. She stared at me with trusting eyes, and I did my utmost to echo her look with my own gaze. I felt a confusing mix of dirty desires pulse through me. I was only giving her a simple breast exam, after all—nothing out of the ordinary—but the feelings ricocheting within me were of the filthiest variety I could imagine.
I had her sit back up and used the stethoscope to listen to her lungs. She was in top shape, but her deep, husky sounding breaths made me close my eyes and imagine the sort of sounds she’d make if I fucked her. Would those breaths come quicker? Was she the type to hold her breath at the moment of climax? I was glad to be standing behind her, where she couldn’t see the undoubtedly strained expression on my face.
After several deep breaths of my own, I had her lie back down on the table. I walked to the foot of the table and sat down on the round, leather-covered stool waiting for me. Her legs were bent at the knee, and from this vantage point, I could see right up the gown to her naked pussy. It took every once of my determination to keep the lustful longing sound out of my voice when I asked her to put her feet in the stirrups and then slide her sweet ass all the way down toward me.
No, I didn’t say, “sweet ass.”
But I wanted to.
The speculum lay on a paper towel next to the sink, but I didn’t have any use for that tool right now. I could feel her watching intently as I slid my large hands into the requisite nitrile gloves, and I could see from the look on her face that the look of a gloved hand was foreplay to her.
Eat her.
That thought pounded in my head.
Brush her clit with your face. Make her come with your tongue and sharp chin against her.
Christ, where were these thoughts coming from?
“This might feel a bit cold,” I told her.
“Yes, Doctor,” she said, and the words opened up a whole wealth of possibilities to me. Yes, Doctor, anything you want, Doctor—that’s what those words meant. When I touched her pussy, she quivered all over and let out the deepest, sexiest sigh. My thumb brushed her clit, as if accidentally, and the sigh turned into a moan. Had she gotten aroused during the breast exam? Did she want me to do the things to her that I most definitely wanted to?
I pressed against her cervix and then I found her G-spot and tapped it twice. When I glanced at her face, I saw that she was embarrassed at the way her breathing had speeded up.
“Everything looks perfect,” I told her, using my most reassuring tone.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
I withdrew my hand and saw her cheeks go crimson at the wetness that clung dew-like to my gloved fingers. She was deeply aroused. That was clear to both of us.
“I’d like to do a rectal,” I said after glancing at her chart, and I thought she’d come on the spot. “Relax as much as you can, and I’ll go slow.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said again, her voice a husky purr. I gazed at her for a moment, taking in her gorgeous blue eyes, creamy skin, and long gingery hair loose to her shoulders. I thought of the way she looked all dressed up in her nurse’s uniform—an outfit I saw her in five days a week. But I liked her better like this, naked under a blanket made of paper, her legs spread wide, body opened to me.
While she watched with an unwavering stare, I lubed my finger generously with the KY jelly and then parted her asscheeks. She moaned as I slid my middle finger deep into her asshole. Oh, was she ever tight here. She contracted on me instantly, but I didn’t reveal any reaction at the spectacular reflex. I probed her rear entry for several seconds before adding a second finger into her hole. God, I loved the way her body seemed to pulse on my two fingers, and I had an instant preview of what it would feel like when I replaced my fingers with my cock.
But not yet.
With my two gloved fingers still tight inside her, I brushed my thumb over her clit again. She was swollen now, obviously ready to climax, and I thought about letting her orgasm one time, letting her reach the finish line here at the start, before we’d even really gotten going.
“Oh, god—”
“Relax,” I said again, using my most stern voice.
“Yes, Doctor,” she whimpered. “Yes, Doctor—”
I rocked my fingers gently within her asshole, and I had the distinct sensation that she might be able to come from this action alone. But that was not acceptable to me. Without a word, I gently removed my hand and peeled off the gloves. She whimpered and turned her head to the side, her face showing how sad she was at the departure of my probing digits.
“I’ll need to take your temperature now,” I told her, reaching for the thermometer waiting nearby. “So roll over onto your stomach for me.”
“You’re going to do it that way?” she stammered.
“Of course,” I told her.
Her cheeks were on fire as she rolled over onto her belly. The paper blanket fluttered to the floor as she offered me the perfect globes of her rounded ass. Again, I smeared lube along her crack, and now I slipped the cold glass thermometer into her asshole, swallowing hard as I held the instrument in place. Oh, was I ready to fuck her, but not yet.
Not yet.
This vision exceeded all my dirty daydreams. The thought that I was examining her, here, in my office, that I had actually slipped a rectal thermometer into her perfect ass—oh, these facts made me want to come in my khakis. I loved this. The way I had to hold the thermometer still. The way her hips had started to rock on the paper-covered table. I wished I had something larger to insert into her rear entry. I wished—
Then I thought about an enema, and I removed the thermometer and told her my plan. If I’d thought she’d turned red before, now she showed me what red really was. Her cheeks went scarlet, vermillion, cardinal red. But she didn’t say no. My nurse never says no to me. I went quickly to the closet supplies for a disposable enema and brought it back to her just as rapidly. She sucked in her breath as I introduced the tip to her perfect pucker, and then she relaxed as I let the fluid flood inside of her.
“Hold it,” I told her, replacing the syringe with my thumb. “I don’t have a butt plug here. You’ll have to hold it yourself.” I kept my thumb in place for a moment, feeling like a dirty Dutch boy, and then I decided she had better void now, so that I could finally fuck her.
She was shuddering all over as I removed my thumb and helped her off the table. The gown was completely off now, and her beautiful nude body seemed to shine winningly beneath the fluorescent lights. I watched her hurry to the adjacent bathroom, saw the way she cantered on the balls of her feet. She took care of herself in privacy, before returning and climbing back onto the table, stark naked and on her belly. She knew.
I maneuvered her the way I most desired, so that her ass was exposed and ready, and I reached for the lube again and made her asshole glisten with a healthy dollop. She was out of her head, moaning and tossing her hair as I slid first one and then two fingers back inside her. I couldn’t wait to get my cock in there, but I wanted to get her as ready as I was.
“Please, Doctor,” she murmured. “Oh, please—”
I split open my khakis and got out my cock, and I watched her arch her back for me, offering herself up.
“Hold your cheeks open,” I instructed. “And relax for me.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
She reached behind herself, and parted her lovely asscheeks, and I placed the head of my cock right at her back door. All I wanted to do was slide in hard, but I took pity on her. Like a gentleman, I brought one hand under her waist to tickle her pussy. She was so wet, I could feel her juices covering the whole of her outer lips and the tops her thighs. I stroked her clit as I slid my cock inside of her, working slowly but steadily as she backed against me.
Yes, she wanted this. In fact, she fucked me, working her body up and down on my cock. I let her take her pleasure from me, and I kept my hand in place the whole time, tickling her clit as she filled herself with my cock. I closed my eyes as she rocked back and forth, and when she came, she began to squeeze my cock repeatedly, her muscles tightening and releasing until I came right along with her.
In the sterile environment of a doctor’s office, we had exchanged the most base form of sexual encounter, and the heat shone between us. As we parted, she rolled onto her back and gazed at me, and the light in her eyes made me smile. My naughty nurse.
You’re not supposed to have playing-doctor fantasies when you’re a doctor. You’re not supposed to want to peel your nurse’s uniform off her nubile body and subject her to the same intensely detailed examinations you give your high-paying clients. But sometimes the very things you’re not supposed to want are the things you want most. Luckily, I’d found a match for my fantasies in Nurse Jocelyn, who craved a thorough examination with the same ferocity that I yearned to part her splendid thighs and give her one.
“When will I be due for my next appointment?” she asked softly as she stood and slid back into her rumpled uniform.
“We’ll have to check the books,” I told my ever-ready naughty nurse.
Performance Art
OSCAR WILLIAMS
You’re so proud of them, and I don’t blame you. They’re lovely, large on your frame but perfectly proportioned. Double-Ds, and all natural, you brag in the online profile you use to scout for potential partners. You’re only five-three, perhaps 110 pounds, so I suspect no one believes you—but I know you’re telling the truth, and calling them double-Ds is, in a way, being conservative. They strain against your bras, stretching the cups, showing curvaceous and enticing through the tight sweaters you wear. You love that men look at them. It’s like you can feel their energy, radiating from their eyes, caressing your tits, unbuttoning your top, unhitching your bra, untying your bikini top, lifting your sweater over your head, revealing them. It’s as if you can feel a man’s gaze undressing you, devouring your tits. When you know a man is checking them out it’s like he’s stroking your nipples with his eyes, whether we’re sitting in a restaurant, lounging on the beach, dancing at a club, or just walking down the street. And you invite it. You encourage it, because you love the attention. You wear revealing tops and go without a bra when you really shouldn’t, relishing the caress of the male gaze over the curves of your full breasts. Women, too; nothing makes you hotter than thinking that another woman, straight, bi, or gay, has just checked out your tits.
You’re all about showing off. You’re a total exhibitionist, and you’ve got the body to indulge yourself. But it’s your tits that really drive people crazy, and that’s why you love them so much. When you see people whispering, wondering if your tits are fake, I know it turns you on even more. People can’t seem to stop obsessing over your incredible tits. No one can believe you were born with the genes to produce such flawless orbs, but you were, and every pair of eyes that caresses them is a chance for you to brag.
And it’s not just that they’re so big and perfect to look at, that they’re so firm that you don’t need a bra, that they defy gravity as surely as if they were bought and paid for in a plastic surgeon’s office but much, much more attractive of shape. Your whole sexuality seems to revolve around your tits. Your nipples get incredibly hard when you’re turned on. Those pink circles are so sensitive that I sometimes make you come just by pinching them, growling at you to spread your legs wider so you can’t rub your thighs together. Sometimes it takes hours. Sometimes you don’t come at all, but just having your nipples played with drives you crazy. If you aren’t able to come just from having them rubbed and pinched, not being allowed to touch your clit, then invariably by the time I tire of our little game you’re tottering right on the edge. The first stroke of my cock into your sopping-wet pussy brings you off, making you moan and buck and thrust with orgasm.
Other times, you drop to your knees and take my cock in your mouth, sucking hungrily as you play with your own tits—and then eagerly sliding them around my shaft. You push them together and let me tit-fuck you, relinquishing your grip on them and letting me do the holding only when you’re soaring close to orgasm—so you can reach down and rub your clit the few strokes it takes to get you off. When I come on your tits, you go mad, coming harder, rubbing my thick jizz into your luscious globes. Licking your fingers.
I’ve always loved that you’re such a tit whore. I’ve always adored the fact that you want to show them off, that you want your tits to be looked at. I bought you a novelty shirt once that said Look at my chest when you’re talking to me, as a joke. You didn’t hesitate; you wore it everywhere for a few weeks, usually without a bra. You meant it, too, and guys who talked to you didn’t know what to think. Most of them would nervously fix their eyes to yours, but I would see them glancing down, the same way they always did but this time wracked with guilt, knowing you could tell. It would make you flirt harder than ever. It would make your nipples get hard, braless in the tight T-shirt, showing through sweat-dampened cotton. It would make your pussy wet, and whenever you wore that shirt you would tear off my clothes the second we got home, would come like a waterfall the second my cockhead entered your pussy.
