Stripped Down Read Free

tea.
Holding kettle, boiling hot and full, precarious. He came behind me at the stove and rammed four fingers into me. Undid me. Unraveled me. I don’t know how I managed to pour steadily after that.
    But I did.
    We’re discovered in our crevice by onlookers, dykes from around town, smiling at the queer couple that is us. I wish he was packing, so that we could give ’em a real show. Unfortunately, he left his dick at home today. Who needs it, I guess, when you’ve got hands like his?
    Still and all, I do crave his cock sometimes. For a moment, as he fucks me roughly one more time for our audience, I imagine him, silicone in hand, rubbing his rubber-covered rubber dick against my rubber-covered rear. Rolling up latex for greater access. Sliding toy into tightness. A fetishistic ass fuck on a city street, sweaty.
    I do it again. Come.
    Later, we leave our latex-alley love nest and slide back into the crowded thoroughfare. He runs into a friend, a gorgeous high-femme white girl with a buzz cut. Six-two in heels, she works as a pro-domme at a local house. Today is her day off, and she and her girlfriend/submissive are strolling through the fair. She’s wearing an ankle-length latex dress, and she’s drenched in sweat. She squats down and lifts her skirt to circulate air around her sweet blonde pussy. I want to swoon, but not from the heat. She complains about the weather, and about the clients who keep spotting her in the crowd and begging to be dominated.
    Beside me, he chats casually with her and smiles. He knows I’m a sucker for a pissed-off femme domme, not to mention one wearing even more latex than I am. From my angle above
her, I can see down into her cleavage and admire the beads of wetness on her full breasts. I’m starting to feel wet again myself. He knows. He knows it’s time to fuck me again. He knows it’s time to go for a walk…
    Â 
    On our next date, we meet at midnight, this time in another alley, in a different part of town. He’s hanging out in a club up the street; I’ve been instructed to drive into the alley and wait for him in the backseat. I send him a text message to let him know I’ve arrived, and arrange myself to be ready for him. He leaves the club and approaches my car.
    I’m wearing a cream-colored knee-length A-line leather skirt. The material is so soft and buttery that most admirers don’t even recognize that it’s made out of leather—at first glance anyway. This skirt always gets a second glance. It’s not short, it’s not tight, and it’s not an eye-catching color. But it manages to exude a subtle yet no-nonsense sexiness. It’s a great skirt for a dominant woman to wear, because of its strict lines. But I’m a submissive, and I like to wear it to feel encased in it, bound by the leather, however loosely, as it falls around my thighs.
    There’s a rap at the window, and I reach over to unlock the door and let him in. Let him come in and fuck me.
    As requested, I’m not wearing any panties. Although this time it’s not because of the length of my skirt, of course, but because of other constraints of the scene. Namely, he wants quick and easy access to my cunt; he wants to fuck me quickly and then leave me to go back to his friends at the club. It’s all been prearranged. We move like we’re dancing. Only there’s no music. Just the sound of leather rubbing against vinyl, and breathing. His breath and mine. Mostly mine as he’s fucking me hard and I’m struggling to endure it.
To take it all in. He’s packing this time, all right, using one of his biggest cocks.
    The day was hot but the night is cold. The windows steam over, and as I’m parked illegally in a one-way, dimly lit alley, I’m beginning to worry if we’ll attract any unwanted attention. He doesn’t seem to be concerned. He was cavalier from the moment he entered the car. He hasn’t said