Fast and Dirty, Just like you like it

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Quickie 1: Red Delicious


Her tongue rolled over her deliciously full red lips in a smooth motion.  The movement said it all.  She liked the taste of him and wanted even the last drop.  She ran a finger underneath her bottom lip then brought it to her mouth, sucking away the left-overs.  That wonderfully wet-glossy mouth spread into a smile of the darkest delights.

“Did you like that?” she whispered as her hands moved up his inner thighs.

He could only nod at first, finding his breath lost in ecstasy.  Their eyes met. His were glazed and sleepy; hers darkly mischievous.  The man knew that she could see into his soul and knew everything he had to hide.  He had wanted this, but not like this. Still, he couldn’t lie.

“Yeah, I liked it.” he murmured.

She maneuvered her body between his stretched legs, sliding her arms around his waist and putting her chin into his chest.  He watched her head bob up and down with his breath even though he desperately wanted to look away.  But she demanded his attention and he gave it fully.

“Anytime you want,” she said then licked those full lips, again, “all you have to do is ask.”

Her hand reached over the spilled contents of her purse.  She grabbed a white card. 

“All you have to do is call,” she told the man as she ran the card along his arm.

She placed the card inside of his exposed tank top beneath an opened silk shirt.  With a fluid movement, the woman stood from the couch.  His eyes followed her with an ache.  He didn’t want to be alone.  Not after all of the exquisite delight she had given.  She wouldn’t stay and he knew it.  He couldn’t let her stay even if she had been willing.

When she turned away, he closed his eyes.  There was a stinging behind them that frightened him.  He wouldn’t cry in front of her.  He couldn’t.

“I’m not going to call you,” he told her, finally. His voice wavered in his own ears

She turned to him with that smile, “Okay.”

The woman sounded like she didn’t believe him.  As she walked out of the door to the home, he had to admit to himself that he didn’t believe it either.

Quickie 2: Mistress

So hot. So sticky. So tired…

Victor rose from the bed, noting the slight twang in his back from movement.  He sighed quietly as to not rouse the insatiable woman in the bed.  Oh, he wanted her.  Always wanted her. This time he needed the slightest break.


His Mistress kept him much longer than usual.  Her other men must be chewing their nails right now.  She’d never picked a favorite and now, with this strange turn of events, it seemed like Victor may be the first.  His lips curled in a faint smile as he considered what the others must be thinking.

He turned to look at Mistress and his smile brightened more.  She looked so delicious with her hair, still slightly curled, and clinging to her rosy cheek.  Her beautiful full lips were parted as she slept.  Even as she slept, he could see the contented smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Victor moved the comforter covering his Mistress, exposing her bare back to him.  His eyes followed the lines of her body, enjoying the way her body rose and fell gently in her sleep.  It only made him want to touch her, but he knew what it meant to do so.

It didn’t matter.  He had to feel that silk smooth skin with his fingers.  Slowly he reached out for her.  He didn’t touch her right away, instead opted to hover along her as though touching her aura.  When he reached her side where her breast pillowed between body and bed, he couldn’t stop himself.  With his forefinger, he traced the roundness there, fascinated with the very feel of it.

Mistress stirred then, groaning softly as she shifted slightly towards the touch.  Moments later, her eyes opened sleepily.  She stared at him for a few moments before she gave him a wicked smile.  Despite how tired he was, Victor felt himself rising eagerly, knowing soon he would be inside his Mistress’ body again, feeding her hunger and sating his own.

“Ready for more, I take it?” she purred as she turned to her back.  When she did, she shifted and opened her legs, putting herself on display. “Pleasure me. Now,” Mistress demanded.

He didn’t have to be told more than once.  With shaking hands, he brushed one breast, tweaking the nipple for a second, before sliding down her stomach to reach home.

Quickie 3: Fingers

 Mr. Fingers was always sticky and he usually smelled a little musky. His caretakers that it had something to do with his cologne, but didn’t dare ask. The man paid them more than they ever imagined making for simply giving him sponge baths. Upsetting him didn’t seem like the smart thing to do.

 Still, they were all very tired of his antics. So many times they found him inside of dark, moist places. He hid there, hours on end, waiting for his ladies to pull him out. And, when they finally did, he was dripping wet, bald head shining in the florescent lights.


“Mr. Fingers,” they would scold him, “you can’t go in any old hole like that. You’ll get sick.”

 He would look up at them, bull-dogged face pouting. His drooping eyes seemed to shimmer in the bright light of the hall.

 “Yes, ma’am,” he would respond, completely rejected.

Of course, the old man perked right up as one of his girls led him to the jacuzzi tub. He would grab her rear-end with a grip worthy of a man fifty years younger.

“We have to do something about him!” one of his ladies growled.

Exasperated, she flopped down into the plushy pink couch of the staff’s common room. The other girls nodded to her in unison.

  “Yeah,” another piped up, “I have a bruise on my ass the size of baseball.”

One girl laughed, “It’ll match the one on my tit.”

The first girl sighed heavily, “I don’t know why we put up with this shit. I know he’s giving us enough money to pay off a house on our own, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

That’s when Madison, Mr. Finger’s executive chef, and the most wonderfully, flaming gay man any of them had ever known, came into the room with a tray of bagels.

“What you girls need to do is introduce him to a playmate.”

It seemed like a novel idea. As they grabbed bagels, each of them looked around at the other, silently asking if that seemed like a good idea. When they came to an agreement over it, they smiled.

“Ok,” the second girl chirped, “that really sounds smart. I don’t think any of us know an old woman that would be a good match. Do you happen to know anyone?”

He flashed them his usual charming grin as he passed the nearest girl a card.

 “Give this lady a call. She’s my great aunt. I think she can give that old nasty man a run for her money.” He took his own bagel and bit into is. “I’d call her myself, but she won’t answer my calls.”

He sashayed out of the room, nonchalantly. The women gathered around the card, looked over it as it were a valuable prize. They nodded to each other. One took the phone into her hands and began to dial.


The next day, an old woman appeared at the door. A small thing with red lipsticks and red nails and the biggest hair anyone had seen since the 80s. She helped herself in with out much of an invite. The girls had to smile at her brazen assessment of the mansion’s foyer.

“Kind of kitschy, but it will do.”

Old man Fingers came down the stairs, naked but robed. Only barely, of course. He stood before the old woman with his hands on his hips.

 “Well, who is this old bag of bones?” he asked, snarling.

The were late for his bath. That always made Fingers angry.

The old woman sauntered forward in a way that reminded everyone of Madison. She reached into his robe, trailing on long, bright, red finger down his chest. She continued on her bath until she reached between his legs. Mr. Fingers’ face turned bright, but a wicked smile tweaked his lips.

“Mr. Fingers,” one of his ladies said, “I would like to introduce you to someone I think you’ll enjoy very much. This is Ms. Box.”