Caught Looking, page 11
“Nah, I’m trying to get in as much overtime as I can before the baby comes.” He chuckled. “Lucky me. Wait ’til I tell—”
“You’re not going to tell anyone, MacIntyre. The word will get back to Debbie that you saw me naked, and she’s got pregnant-woman hormones right now….”
His face fell. “Damn, you’re right. Oh well.” As he turned to go, he added a “Hey, Destiny,” in my direction.
In silence, as if we were both holding our breaths, we listened to his car door slam and the motor rev to life.
“Elle, I’m so sorry…”
To my amazement, she busted out laughing.
“It’s all right,” she said when she could finally talk over the wild whoops and guffaws. “Did you see his face?”
“You mean as he was ogling my tits? You owe me a new shirt, by the way.” (She didn’t, really, but I figured I’d keep my options open. Never turn down the opportunity for new clothes.)
“Destiny, it was priceless! Poor guy couldn’t figure out where to look. He was really embarrassed.”
“He was embarrassed? It’s not like his ass was on display for the world to see.”
She laughed again. “I don’t know about that. It’s one thing to be ogling seminaked strangers; it’s another to realize you were ogling your coworker and her girlfriend.”
I gave up on the search for my shirt (a bra doesn’t show any more than a bikini top, right?) and started the car. Before we got very far, Elle was laughing again.
“You should have seen his face, Des. His eyes were like dinner plates. I think he’d been watching awhile before he turned on the flashlight…and then saw the one person on the force who can consistently best him at target practice.”
This time I managed to laugh as well. I hadn’t been so embarrassed since I was in junior high school and Julia Ruiz discovered I had pictures of actresses in my locker instead of boy-band members, but it was pretty damn funny. And as I was laughing, something dawned on me.
The way I was squirming wasn’t just from embarrassment. Some little part of me was turned on, not so much by what actually happened as by images running through my head.
I wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to say something. I finally choked out, “Too bad it was MacIntyre.”
“If someone had to catch us, he’s perfect. He’s a good guy, and he’s so scared of doing anything to upset Debbie right now that he’ll keep it quiet.”
“Yeah, but he’s still a guy. A man catching us is just embarrassing. A woman catching us and watching for a while—that might have been hot.” My voice kind of trailed off at the last bit.
Elle made a funny choking noise. “What?”
“I said it might have been hot.” I looked away, focusing completely on the road, not quite able to meet her eyes after that admission.
“Hm. Sounds like somebody’s a bit of an exhibitionist….”
I couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice whether that was a good thing or not. We hadn’t been together long enough for sharing our wilder fantasies to come easily. Had I found a limit?
I figured the answer out pretty quickly, though, when I felt her hand brush my nipple.
“So, my darling Destiny likes the idea of a stranger watching her getting off?” she said, still chuckling a bit, but in a throaty, sexy way now. I arched my back, pushing my breast toward her palm.
“I guess so. Bit of a surprise for me, too,” I admitted.
“Really?” She captured my nipple between two strong fingers and I temporarily lost the ability to speak. Not so much from arousal—although all my blood seemed to have diverted from my brain to my nipple and from there to my clit—as from shock. Elle was not the sort to grope me while I was driving. In a parked car, sure, but not while the car was actually moving. She’d seen too many gruesome car accidents to distract the driver—and I was certainly distracted. I gripped the wheel a little tighter, because much as I wanted to return the favor with interest, I was afraid of what might happen if I let my attention, or my hands, wander.
“I like it too,” she went on. “I like the idea that someone saw me making you scream. I like the idea that someone else got to see how goddamn beautiful you are when I’m driving you crazy.” She twisted the nipple. “That makes me hot.”
I was writhing in my seat, amazed that attention to my nipple was doing as much as it was. Sure, my nipples are sensitive, but not normally to the point of me soaking my jeans with juice because of a little tweaking. Especially not right after I’d just come.
It was a good thing my house wasn’t too much further. Between arousal and giggle-fits over MacIntyre’s expression, I was rapidly becoming a road hazard.
Usually when we end up at my place, we take Lorenzo and Lucrezia, my spoiled little greyhounds, for a walk. That night we barely had the patience to let them run around the fenced-in yard and do their business. As they zipped around the yard, Elle and I were stripping each other’s clothes off, enjoying the naughtiness of getting naked outside. Not that anyone could really see over the privacy fence unless they were on the neighbor’s roof—it was the principle of the thing.
What if they were on the roof? What if they were watching? The fantasy added to the excitement.
Elle all but threw me onto the bed. “You are a far naughtier girl than I knew, Destiny,” she said.
“How do you feel about being fucked by a really naughty girl?” I reached into the back of the toy drawer, groped a bit, and pulled out the big red strap-on with the dragon-shaped head. We’d still been having so much fun with hands and tongues that we hadn’t played with the toy collection much yet, but tonight seemed like the perfect time for Mr. Fiery to come out.
Elle blinked as if mildly confused as she watched me adjust the belt around my hips. Then a slow grin lit her face. “That thing rocks! Thank you, Venus!” she exclaimed. “You sent me the woman of my dreams!” She pulled me close to her into a long, deep kiss.
Such a long, deep kiss; such a sultry kiss, that it almost changed our plan, because it led to more kissing, and from there to nibbling, and from nibbling to stroking—the kind of progression that made old-fashioned parochial schoolteachers say that French kissing causes pregnancy. Not that it would do that in our case, but anyway…I got so distracted I almost forgot the strap-on was even there.
Elle subtly reminded me by rolling me over onto my back and sinking onto the toy.
“Oh yeah,” she moaned. “Why didn’t you use this on me before?”
“Seems like you’re using it on yourself,” I said. “Not that I’m complaining. What a great view.” And it was a great view; her long, lean body crouched over me, rocking back and forth.
“No better than MacIntyre got of you,” she said through clenched teeth.
“How much do you think he really saw?”
“Who knows? I just like…” Her voice broke off and she began to grind her hips against me, getting my clit involved in the action from the pressure. I grabbed her hips, moved her in the way I knew I’d want to be moved in her position. Not coincidentally, it was good for me as well and for a little while any attempt at talking was impossible. We weren’t quite at the screaming point yet, but we were certainly getting close.
After she caught her breath a little, Elle picked up the sentence where she’d been forced to leave off. “I like the idea of someone watching. Or maybe more the idea of you getting off on being watched. Because you do get off on it, don’t you?”
She reached down between our bodies so she was touching both our clits. At the same time she did something with her hips that obviously was very, very good for her.
She arched backward, her hand still stroking both our clits. I could see her ab muscles quivering.
“You get off on that idea, Destiny—and I get off on how much you like it.” I swore I could feel her contractions, although that didn’t make a lot of sense through a silicon dick.
And then everything collided—the stimulation from earlier; the idea that MacIntyre was riding out on his lonely patrol with a big hard-on, thinking about us; Elle’s hand caressing me; Elle’s beautiful body riding me; the scent and heat and slickness of her; her excitement.
Stars, I thought before all thought became impossible. You really can see stars when it’s this good.
Friday night, I got a phone call from a desolate-sounding Elle. “I know we had plans tonight, sweetie,” she said, “but we’re shorthanded today and I drew the short straw to cover the late shift.”
Safe behind a closed door in my office, I cursed volubly. We didn’t just have plans for the night. We had positively evil, depraved plans.
“I’m bummed too,” she said, “but I do have an idea that’ll get us through until I can get to your place.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Around ten o’clock, go into the bedroom and start playing with yourself. I’ll be thinking of you then, picturing what you’re doing to yourself and getting all hot. Will you do that for me?”
My pussy clenched. “You bet!”
“And then I’ll be off shift around two and wake you up in the nicest possible way.”
She hung up, leaving me blushing and somewhat damp.
Wow. Elle and I were still very much on a classic New Relationship High, but for the last couple of days the sexual tension had been running even higher and this pushed it further yet. I flashed back to the incident in the car. The embarrassment had faded by now, burned away by amusement that our encounter with MacIntyre had ended up sparking so much lust.
I could hardly wait until ten o’clock to get started. Okay, let’s be honest. I didn’t exactly wait—nothing wrong with a bit of warm-up, right? I decided to save my actual orgasm for when I knew Elle would be thinking about me, but I curled up with a collection of erotica and teased myself over and over. By ten, I was aquiver, more than ready to explode and send all kinds of lust through the ether to Elle.
I opened the curtains in the darkened bedroom to get a view of the moon peeking up over the privacy fence, cracked the window for some air and settled down in the comfy chair facing the window. The bed might have been a more logical choice, but I felt closer to Elle looking out into the night where she was. Besides, no one could see in the window without opening the locked gate and entering the backyard—but given the fantasies Elle and I had been swapping lately, I could admit I liked imagining that someone might. I spread my legs, closed my eyes and began to diddle.
I’d grabbed my favorite dildo out of the toy drawer just in case, but decided to start with just fingers and imagination. I pictured Elle, stuck two fingers into my dripping pussy, imagined they were her fingers finding my G-spot, imagined her voice whispering hot, filthy things in my ear.
I was so primed that I felt myself starting to quiver almost instantly with those little shivers and contractions that lead up to the final explosion. So close, so hot…
And then a harsh light penetrated my eyelids. I jumped, opened my eyes to the flare of a big Mag-Lite. What the fuck? I scrambled, attempted to cover myself. Burglar?
“Police! Freeze,” exclaimed a familiar voice. “Or better yet, heat it up.”
I couldn’t see her clearly with my dazzled eyes, but the laugh that rippled through the window, low and sultry, recharged me instantly.
“You liked being caught by cops? Well, sweetheart, you’ve been busted this time! Don’t stop on my account.”
The flashlight went out. I heard the sound of zippers, fabric rustling.
I clicked on the lamp next to me to give her a better view.
We hesitated. I don’t know what was going through her head, but I know I was torn between heat and desperate self-consciousness. Should I pretend I didn’t know she was there? Or that she didn’t know I knew?
When my blood has rushed between my legs, my brain does not function well.
Then Elle whispered, “I’m watching you, Des.” She sounded like a dirty old man in a peep-show booth, and I felt a thrill shoot through me.
“I’m looking at your gorgeous little breasts and your pussy, which is all swollen and wet and just the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, and I’m watching it twitch because it knows it’s being stared at and it likes the attention.”
I heard a noise, and guessed that she was stroking her clit. Getting off by watching me. Oh, Christ, this was good. This was really, really good.
“Make yourself come for me, babe,” she murmured. “Just like you came on my hand the other day with MacIntyre watching. Because you know what? I couldn’t get a really good look at you then and I just hate the idea that he might have had a better view than I did.”
The combination of her voice and the mental picture of her fingers making a lazy circle on her wet button mesmerized me. With one hand I opened my labia. With the other, I slid the dildo into my very slick opening.
“So now I get to watch,” she said. “Remember that, babe: A cop is watching you play with yourself. You’ve been busted.
“Just like MacIntyre busted us. But I’m watching you now. I get to see your perfect breasts, and that intent look you get on your face when you’re about to scream. You’re going to come for me any second now, aren’t you?”
I heard the change in her voice. My eyes had adjusted enough that I could see her face, dimly, through the window. I saw her flushed face, the look of urgent concentration, the slightly crinkled brow. She was close herself.
I could also see my own reflection in the glass: spread-legged, a fat dildo stuffed inside me.
“Do it,” I begged. “Come with me.”
It’s a funny thing. Your face screws up when you’re coming and you roll your eyes and make uncouth noises and if you’ve seen yourself at that moment you probably think you look ridiculous. Still, there is absolutely no vision as glorious as the face of someone you’re crazy about when she’s in the throes of orgasm. When Elle began to shudder and her face transformed like that, right before she began to cry out, I started coming too, and it was the sight of her face, not my hands or the dildo or the original fantasy that sparked us, that pushed me to ecstasy.
Eventually—after a romp in the backyard and another in the shower—we settled down to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Just as we were drifting off, Elle began chuckling.
“What is it?” I mumbled. It was hard to be grumpy after coming approximately forty-seven times over the course of the night, but I’d almost been asleep.
“I didn’t tell you whose partner I was covering for tonight.” She’d already explained that she’d only been scheduled to work until nine-thirty. She had, in fact, engineered the whole thing to act on our new fantasies.
“Oh my god!” I said. “You got stuck with MacIntyre!”
“Talk about the longest evening in history.” She moaned dramatically, the back of her hand against her forehead. “Every so often I’d catch him looking at me, and he’d see that I saw, and he’d go all red again. To make it worse, we had to patrol the beach parking lot.”
I laughed. “So, did you catch anyone in the act?”
She pulled me closer. “Only you, Destiny. Only you.”
X-RAY SPECS
Heather Peltier
I was never into comic books as a kid, but my brother Steve worshipped the things. I mean, over the years he read them all—from old reprints of Detective Comics to the comic-book version of the Twisted Sister story. He tried to get me to appreciate the finer points of graphic novels and the subtly Greek tragedies of Batman and Spider-Man, but I wasn’t listening. I had the same experience with Jordan, whom I dated for three years, and who turned our shared apartment into an archive for his treasured Sandmans, Preachers, and Love and Rockets. No matter how many times he would chortle and exhort the virtues of comic books, I never bothered to read them. They just never grabbed me. Even a friend who did his master’s thesis on the homoerotic imagery in superhero comics couldn’t talk me into liking them. I could appreciate Superman’s well-sculpted torso, sure, but I was always more of a sucker for skinny geek boys.
Enter Joel, the skinny geek boy, and his girlfriend Kerry, the buxom bad girl. I guess it took sex, wine and ’50s kitsch to make me really appreciate comic books.
Divisadero Comix is a mélange of pop culture, with a stunning collection of tie-in lunch boxes—from Superman to Star Trek: The Motion Picture—lining its walls above impressive bins of ancient, dusty comic books, and the shelf over the counter covered with a neat array of He-Man dolls, Micronauts, and G.I. Joes. Joel and Kerry, the couple who own the place and are its only employees, are both obsessed with the stuff. Well, I guess it’s mostly Joel, but Kerry can certainly appreciate a good Flaming Torch thermos or Fonzie belt buckle.
It really is quite impressive. There are potato guns ordered from the back of Fantastic Four comics long before Joel, Kerry or I were born. There are little metal robots from the ’50s—worth a thousand bucks apiece, Joel once told me—displayed under glass in the back of the store, and the window displays change weekly, drawing in a stream of tourists and comic-book nuts. Joel and Kerry figure if they keep the place interesting enough, they can stay in business.
I guess it works, sort of. I mean, I did live upstairs from the place, but I never would have come down and bought all those comics if I hadn’t spotted the window display that featured Jabba the Hutt eating Barbie.
Then again, it wasn’t really Jabba the Hutt that kept me coming back. It was the fact that Joel and Kerry were the cutest couple I had ever seen in my life. I guess they were about what you’d expect—both twentysomethings with tattoos and piercings, Joel with his long blond hair streaked with purple and Kerry with hers dyed raven black, Joel wearing mostly skintight shirts that showed off his slim physique and always—no matter what day of the week it was—wearing tight leather pants. And Kerry’s outfits were equally exciting, little plaid schoolgirl skirts and knee-high boots showing off fantastic legs sheathed with fishnets or spiderweb stockings.
