Page 21 of H Is for Hardcore

I pushed Danielle against the side of the Dumpster, easing her ass up onto the little shelf so she could spread her legs wider, and buried my face between her spread thighs. I slid my tongue between her swollen lips and tasted the sharp tang of her juice, which was dribbling out as fast as I could lap it up. I teased my way up to her clit and suckled it gently into my mouth, flicking my tongue tip violently up and down against it in a quickening rhythm.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, and gripped my hair to pull my face harder into her. “More,” she whimpered. “Harder. Do it harder.”

I sucked as hard as I could and lapped my tongue rhythmically up on her clit, working the tip under the hood so I could get to her most sensitive spot. Every time I did, I was rewarded with a shuddering groan of ecstasy. Both of us no longer cared who saw or heard. I licked faster and Danielle threw her head back. “Don’t stop!” she gasped as she grabbed the edge of the Dumpster and lifted both of her legs all the way into the air. “Don’t! I’m going to come!”

I brought her over the edge, feeling her thighs closing on my head like a nutcracker and her body twisting atop me as she spasmed. Her feather boa dislodged itself somehow and dropped down around my shoulders, its ends coiling on the ground. Danielle kept moaning, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” as she came, so when I felt the rhythmic convulsions of her body slowing and stopping, I put one hand on her belly to keep her from falling off the Dumpster and pulled myself up with the other. I wedged her against the Dumpster with my body and reached down to unzip my pants.

She stared into my eyes, her face and breasts flushed with orgasm. She had the hungry look of a woman who wants to be fucked so bad she’ll die if she doesn’t get it in the next ten seconds. I must have taken fifteen or twenty fumbling with my belt and slacks and jockstrap, because she closed her eyes and turned away, sounding like she was sobbing hysterically as she gasped, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

Then I had my dick in my hand, and I leaned back to let a long stream of spit dribble onto the head.

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Yeah. Fuck me.”

I rubbed the spittle-slick head against Danielle’s clit a few times, feeling her body shudder every time I did. Was she too sensitive for that right after coming so hard? I didn’t even care. I was going to fuck her the way I wanted to fuck her, and something told me that was exactly what she wanted, too. I teased her mercilessly, making her beg me a dozen times and more.

“Put it in,” she whimpered over and over again. “God, please, put it in me. I need your cock.”

Then I nuzzled it against the entrance to her cunt and pushed it in, feeling her postclimax tightness clamp hard against my entry. I got it into her and started fucking her, slowly at first, then faster as she begged me.

“Harder,” she whispered into my ear. “Fuck me harder, Mr. Cooper. Fuck me like I don’t matter. Make yourself come inside me.”

So I did, pounding into her as hard as I could, until I heard her moaning again and I knew from the shuddering of her body that she was coming a second time. I threw back my head and made the gruffest, most masculine grunt I could manage, and hissed: “I’m gonna come, baby—I’m gonna come in your pussy!” Then I realized I had no fucking idea what a guy felt like when he came, or what his body moved like, not the faintest clue what I should do when I shot my load in Danielle’s pussy. But as if from heaven, my roommate Tony’s fag porn came to me in a rush—of barely academic interest when I watched it, mind you, but now I could remember the frenzied motions of the leather boys as they came on each other. I tried to approximate that, shuddering in just that way and thundering, “Oh, yeah!” as I came.

When we ground to a halt, Danielle slumped against me, kissing my neck. “I still don’t live far,” she told me.

I pulled down her dress, buttoned up my sharkskin slacks, and buckled my belt. Then I led her by the hand away from the Dumpster I’d just fucked her against. I stopped when I saw Karita leaning up against the doorway to the club, smoking a cigarette.

“I’m sorry,” she said, breathing smoke. “You were making so much noise I just couldn’t resist. I hope you don’t mind?”

I looked at Danielle, who shrugged and smiled. I shrugged, too. Danielle leaned over and gave Karita a quick kiss on the lips. “But you may not come home with us—at least not tonight.”

Karita laughed nervously, and so did I—a very unmasculine sound. Danielle and I left Karita standing there smoking in the alley and walked the four blocks to Danielle’s apartment.

RAKELLE VALENCIA

HEADING AND HEALING

HUSH, OR WE’LL HAVE TO HOG-TIE you, too,” my wife said.

The rope dug into my Wranglers at the ankles. I was slammed flat to my back by the horse dragging my feet out from under me. The Honda snugged my leather boot tops, gouging out a mark that would have cut deeply into my skin. I shouldn’t have stepped off my horse in such a huff to walk off some aggravation. Practice stunk, and if my new partner had been a guy, I would have punched him one in the kisser. Instead, I was fit to be tied with no means of physical release for my frustrations, and she took advantage of that by roping me.

Wiggling upright to sit on my ass, I felt the second rope drop before my hands could reach the first. I knew what they were doing. I was healed, then headed, so to speak. But I was no damned steer, and fooling around like this was dangerous, near to getting a fellow torn in half like those old stories of gladiator times when they quartered folks with four horses for fun or retribution. So I got nervous fast.

Until Kassy, my new header, stepped down from her quarter horse, Spike, and my wife threw me a hint of slack as she dismounted my own roping horse, Dregs. “This ain’t funny,” I said in a gruff manner that sent the women giggling.

“Hush, or we’ll have to hog-tie you, too,” my wife replied.

At least they took the ropes down off the saddle horns. Dregs had been known to be a sadistic joker, and I wasn’t real confident that he’d stay put once he surmised my position of being stretched out between the two waxed ropes. I wasn’t real sure he’d cut me slack instead of making this bad situation worse. He was a rehab that I had picked up along the way and tried to find a job for since no one else was getting along with him proper. He had never attempted to throw me per se, but he was cagey, knowing just how things should go, then doing the opposite unless I knew enough ahead of time to stop him. And the bugger was quick.

With a slight bit of relief, I flopped back into the dirt to lie flat waiting for the giggling twosome to set upon me, most likely with their demand for me to cool off. My wife threw a leg over and squatted above my chest, adjusting her rope from my torso to cinching my wrists. She was my wife, so I let her.

But then Kassy threw a couple of loops and a hooey around my bound ankles with some determination. Now, Kassy was a drifter of sorts. She followed the rodeos. She and Spike could run the speed events, taking most of the buckles every time, but she was a better all-around cowboy than that. Heading steers in the team event with a man healin’ was about the only other work she could get, when she could get it. Pro rodeo was still pretty tough on letting the women compete.

I had watched Kassy and invited her back to my ranch as a potential new partner. My last partner had to get his shoulder dislocated for the fourth time, riding bulls. He was now out of the point-running. Which left me out unless I could wrangle a partner this late in the game. There was only Kassy.

My wife licked her lips and threw a couple of loops and a hooey around my wrists, then stood, convincing my arms to stay above my head with her pointed-toed boots pressing into my pits.

My indoor arena was dead quiet except for the snuffling of the two horses as they wandered away toward a bale of hay used as a practice roping dummy for my three-year-old kid who was now fast asleep under the watchful eye of his grandmother up in the old house.

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