After Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page B

cervix—reduces me to a panting, mewing, begging hole. Those fingers. My lover’s fingers.
    â€œSmall hard circles,” she tells me when I touch her. As if I would try anything else. I love it when she tenses up, her clit a hard knot beneath my tongue; her fist clutching a handful of my hair, shoving my face into her wetness until I can’t breathe. She holds me there, and I take a big breath before she starts in on me, because there will be no more air for me until she finishes.
    The thought of her looking at these dirty pictures, jeans pushed down, fingers dipping into her drenched, salty cunt; making circles, furtively putting in a digit or two, then banging herself silly—oh, God, it makes me wet. I clench my thighs and concentrate on the heat in my crotch as I turn the pages. I wonder which spread does it for her the most. I bet it’s the voluptuous black chick with the huge breasts getting the all-anal action. Yeah, that’s the one all right.

    The image is too much to bear, and my throbbing clit demands attention. I push up my skirt, Hustler girls forgotten. In my mind, Larissa is on her back. Her jeans and jockey shorts are bunched around her boots. Her smooth skin is clammy, and she’s breathing hard. Her work shirt is open, and she’s wearing clamps on her small, hard nipples. Her closely shorn hair is damp with sweat. She’s jamming two fingers into her pussy and rubbing her clit at the same time. Her face is red, and all her muscles are tensed. She swears under her breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” as her fingers push her closer to orgasm. She groans and it sounds like a growl.
    Oh, baby, let yourself go , I think. Let it come. I push my panties to the side and softly touch my pussy. I’m slick with excitement. My fingers move quickly and lightly over my lips, spreading my wetness. My clit is a hard button, a marble. I roll it between my fingers. The excitement climbs up my cunt into my breasts and arms and hands. I’m on fire. Everything—pussy, ass, clit, fingers—is entwined in a burning knot of tight heat.
    I lean back into the pillows and go to town on my aching clit. In my fantasy, Larissa is breathing hard. She’s moaning loudly. I flip her over. She’s on her knees taking it like a gay boy from some unseen top. She’s yelling her head off, bucking against a hard cock, demanding it: harder, faster, more. In real life, Larissa comes quietly. She grunts softly and jerks her body off the bed. I’m the screamer. Sometimes she fucks me so hard that I’m hoarse the next day.
    I come with a mixture of pleasure and guilt. Panties back in place, skirt down, the blush on my chest and neck begins to fade. Does Larissa know what I just did to her? Should I mention that I found her secret stash? I humbly close the magazine and stick it back into the middle of the pile, right where it was before, nestled snugly between Johnny Depp and Michael Jordan.

MY HELPFUL SECRETARY
    Veronica Jones
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    S tretching back in my chair I looked over to the full-length window of my office to admire the view. Directly across from my building were the offices of the most prominent attorneys in Melbourne, and in one of them was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on.
    Even though we’d never spoken, I knew all about her. Her name was Audrey, and she was my secretary’s flatmate—information I’d stumbled upon one evening as I was leaving the office. I saw the two of them running to catch the train, and I’d asked Amanda the following day who she was. She had even pointed out her office to me.
    Every Friday in her office her lover would arrive, and every Friday I’d be at my window, watching, waiting to see her as only her lover did. They didn’t disappoint me today, and as I reached for my binoculars I kicked my office door closed. Flicking the intercom switch, I spoke quickly to