Stories of O

  Copyright © 2014 by Cleis Press.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press, Inc.,

  2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.

  Cover design: Samantha Kornblum

  Cover Photo: iStockphoto

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-57344-988-5

  Contents

  Introduction: An Orgasmic Menagerie Filled with Unforgettable Climaxes

  Communal • SASKIA WALKER

  (S)pan(k)cakes • KRISTINA WRIGHT

  Endymion • A. D. R. FORTE

  Not Without Permission • SINCLAIR SEXSMITH

  The Big O • DONNA GEORGE STOREY

  Butterfly’s Kiss • THOMAS S. ROCHE

  About the Authors

  INTRODUCTION: AN ORGASMIC MENAGERIE FILLED WITH UNFORGETTABLE CLIMAXES

  Think back to the first time you came so hard you screamed. The first time you surrendered your sanity and spiraled into euphoria, every inch of your body consumed by pleasure. You didn’t care who heard your gasping, open-mouthed cries of passion—all you could focus on was the ecstasy. That’s what you’ll find in this collection—tale after tale of characters lost in the bliss of orgasmic perfection your mind (and especially your body) won’t soon forget.

  Warm up with Saskia Walker’s steamy “Communal,” a story about a college girl who seduces other students in shower stalls. Next, a couple discovers a devious use for their spatula while cooking breakfast in Kristina Wright’s “(S)pan(k)cakes.” In A. D. R. Forte’s “Endymion,” two models with statuesque bodies succumb to their mutual lust inside an artist’s studio. A woman uses Kegel exercises to fuck her lover into sexual nirvana in Donna George Storey’s “The Big O.” In “Not Without Permission” by Sinclair Sexsmith, a dom considers allowing her submissive to orgasm, but not before she’s had some fun with her strap-on first. And finally, in Thomas S. Roche’s “Butterfly’s Kiss,” an inexperienced dom visits an underground sex club, then tortures his ex-girlfriend to a mind-shattering orgasm while she’s trapped in a latex vac bed.

  Alex Algren

  Oakland, California

  COMMUNAL

  Saskia walker

  I vow that I will be as decadent and liberated in my sexuality as she is.

  Kirstie Jefferies made this vow while she listened to another woman reaching orgasm. She was standing outside the communal shower in her university hall of residence, transfixed. She’d been about to return to her room and come back for her shower later, but the sound was so incredibly sexy that she had been forced to stay and listen, her own sense of sexual need rising all the while. Steam billowed over the top of the shower cubicle door and with it the sound of another deeply pleasured female moan. Her entire skin prickled, her pussy instantly slick.

  A moment later, she heard a male voice whispering encouragement. There were two of them in there. Who was the woman? Whoever it was hadn’t wasted any time getting laid. It was the third day of the new term. Kirstie smiled to herself—this was part of what she’d come to university for, liberation of the sexual kind.

  “Oh, yeah, you’re so tight,” the man said. “I’m almost there.”

  The woman gave a breathless grunt in response. The sound of it sent a shiver of need through Kirstie. Her pussy ached to have that kind of attention, and she was getting more aroused by the moment. Female laughter bubbled up inside the cubicle, and then morphed again into intense moaning.

  Kirstie’s body responded, identifying on a deep, innate level with the other woman’s approaching orgasm. She was absurdly aroused, trapped there by her need to relate, her need to be that woman. Shifting from one foot to the other, she lifted her hair from the back of her neck, where the skin was feverishly hot. Her sex clenched repeatedly. She brushed her hands over her robe, touching her aching breasts through the fabric. Inside the cubicle the woman began to pant. She’d reached climax. It was such a turn-on that Kirstie couldn’t help herself. She slipped her hand inside her robe to cup and squeeze her pussy in her hand, massaging her clit until it thrummed and slick juices spread halfway down her thighs.

  Then the man let out a deep, animalistic sound, and Kirstie knew he had come as well. She worked her hand, rubbing her clit until she, too, reached orgasm. Waves of pleasure washed over her. Dropping her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure and then straightened her robe.

  The couple eventually emerged.

  Kirstie stared at the door as it opened, dying to know who they were.

  It was Doug, a beefy, blond, American anthropology student. The woman he’d been ramming up against the slippery tiles was Teresa, a pretty French student with dyed red hair and tribal tattoos on both arms. The big American guy winked at Kirstie as they passed. Did they know that she could hear them? Would they guess that she was aroused and that she’d been touching herself while she listened to them? She smiled at them, admiringly. Doug looked back and grinned, and Teresa winked at her, too. Whoa, that made her even hotter.

  “Hey, Kirstie,” Teresa said, and left the shower door open. She had a knowing look in her eyes and a wickedly suggestive smile. “It’s all yours.”

  Kirstie thanked her, then darted into the cubicle and drove the bolt home. The way Teresa had looked at her, almost as if she was identifying with her, made her feel even hornier. When she stepped into the shower after them she felt them even closer around her. It wasn’t just hearing Teresa have sex and wanting to be in her place that made her so hot. There in the shower, the sounds haunted her. Looking up, she saw that the showerhead had been twisted half off the wall. She pictured the French woman with her hands wrapped around the jutting fixture, reveling in her sexual freedom, her body pivoting from it as the American worked his erect cock into her under the flowing water.

  Kirstie’s body burned up all over again with the idea of it. Under the powerful sluice of the water the event played over in her mind. It was with a sudden, breathless realization that she became aware of all the sex that might have gone on in the cubicle over the years, all the women who had found their way to freedom in here. She closed her eyes, almost hearing the whispered voices of the others who had been in here, touching each other, sharing the heat or stroking their own bodies under the shower. How many orgasms had happened here?

  “Hundreds,” she whispered to herself. Hundreds of people getting dirty while they were supposed to be getting clean. The rapidly splashing water was a burbling chuckle that only seemed to confirm her thoughts. A moan of frustration escaped her lips. Her hands closed over her breasts, and she trapped her nipples between her fingers and tugged on them. She imagined someone else doing that, maybe like Doug had been doing for Teresa. She imagined Teresa pressing her up against the slippery tiles to suck her breasts, while Doug was at her side with his fingers between her legs, toying with her swollen clit, his cock hard and eager for her touch. Swaying under the showerhead, she let the pounding water touch and stroke her like so many fingertips, echoing the intensity of her fantasy with real, physical sensation. She was closing in on another orgasm, fast.

  Bracing herself against the wall, painfully aroused, she opened her legs and aimed the spray over the juncture between her thighs, where the water bounced off her tender, aroused flesh. With her free hand she opened herself up to the jets of water, reveling in the sensation. She fingered her slit faster, rubbing over her clit roughly. Her hips moved back and forth, moving with imaginary lovers who were in the shower with her, th
eir hard, wet bodies riding against hers, her orgasm fast approaching. She shoved two fingers inside, wanked vigorously, and when voices passed by in the distance, she came, crying out with joy as she experienced a second dazzling orgasm.

  For several days after, it was the shower that did it for Kirstie, that communal space with its echoes of liberated sex. Until she went to the next level, the shower became indelibly connected to her ability to climax. “Getting communal” was—to her mind—the key to getting off. Nothing like tuning in to what works for you, she figured, and she was doing exactly that, having had her eyes—and her legs—opened. And she was opening up; the more she thought about sex and used the communal shower space for masturbation, the more liberated and confident she felt in general.

  I want to be like her, she silently chanted whenever she saw Teresa and whenever she went into the shower and looked at the twisted showerhead. Silencing the alarm clock in the mornings, she slipped out of bed and grabbed a towel, tying it around her chest. Out in the corridor, she made her way to the bathroom area, past the two toilet cubicles and up the step into the shower. She shut the door, sliding the metal bolt home. Her body thrummed with expectation. She dropped her towel and stepped into the square of white porcelain and tiles, her core responding to this illicit fantasy, her skin tingling with anticipation of the thrill.

  Oh, yes, yes, the communal shower was working its magic already, and she was going to come. Bliss. Sweet, sweet bliss. Could it be any better than this?

  James saw Kirstie flit into the bathroom as he came out of his room. He paused, his interest flaring. Usually he caught sight of her as she darted back to her room after her shower, her silky black hair all wet and clinging to her neck and shoulders, that slip of towel stuck to her damp outline. She was a small woman but perfectly packaged. He’d been attracted to her right away, that sexy smile and her nonchalant attitude. She looked as if she always had something on her mind.

  Something raunchy? Maybe.

  He smiled to himself as he pondered that one. There was something incredibly sexy about going into the shower after her in the mornings, that was for sure. Her scent lingered on in the steamy atmosphere that she left behind, and he got a stiffy thinking about her being in there just moments earlier, soaping her gorgeous body. In fact, he’d been working off his morning erections enjoying her lingering presence, thinking about her. Visualizing her. Feeling her presence. And it was good.

  He was, however, up earlier than usual, awake and ready for an early jog before his martial arts training session—which apparently meant he had to wait outside and listen to her showering, with a morning erection lazily poking up against the towel he had tied around his waist.

  Listening to the sound of the splashing water from outside the cubicle, he couldn’t help picturing her. He had a fair idea of what she’d look like naked; he’d been studying her enough. As he leaned closer he heard a sound.

  A whimper?

  What was she doing in there?

  He frowned and studied the door. He heard the sound again and with it came a quiet thumping. What was it? It sounded like a fist on the wall. Was she okay? Perhaps she needed help. The sound continued, accompanied again by another quiet moan.

  Realization hit him.

  Jesus, she’s masturbating.

  He’d just about processed that thought when all the blood left his brain. His cock now had a real purpose, which meant he couldn’t even think about leaving and trying to walk back to his room. Inside a split second his lazy stiffy had turned into a full-on erection.

  Thump.

  His cock jerked in response. And that wasn’t all. The cubicle door rattled each time the noise issued from inside. The worn bolt that held the door shut was visibly jolting. His eyebrows lifted. Any second now that door was going to swing wide open. Should he try to warn her? Yeah, sure. He could shout out that the door was about to open while she was in the middle of doing herself. That would be a good way to announce his presence.

  James scratched his head, laughing inwardly at his predicament. Before he had time to think about it any more, the bolt slid completely free and the door swung open, creaking invitingly. Maybe he should have walked away, but he couldn’t. Maybe he should never have leaned into the inviting space, craning his neck. But he did. And he saw her.

  She had one hand up against the wall, pressed against the tiles. The other was buried between her thighs. She lifted her head, and her hair was stuck half across her face. She stared at him hungrily. Her eyes were bright, her lips parted.

  He’d never forget how she looked right then.

  He half expected her to scream, or at least tell him to fuck off and stop staring—because he couldn’t help staring right then. No man in his right mind could help staring. But she didn’t scream. Instead she laughed softly, as if at some private joke.

  “The door opened, by itself,” he explained.

  “Oh, okay. I was just wondering if I was imagining this,” she responded, playfully.

  “Imagining what?”

  “That.” She nodded down at his erection, staring at it avidly. “I’d just been thinking about…getting a cock like that…”

  After a painfully long moment in which his balls began to pound relentlessly, she returned her gaze to his. There was a shimmering glaze to her eyes and then she bit her lower lip, her face flushing. It wasn’t embarrassment, he realized. It was blatant arousal. Christ, she knew what she was about.

  “Can you fit me in there with you?” What did he have to lose? She could always say no.

  She returned his smile and crooked her finger.

  James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He dropped his towel on the floor, fumbled for the door and shoved the bolt home.

  When he climbed into the tiled space, he barely noticed the warm water on his back. He was too busy admiring her, eating her up. She touched his arm, measured his bicep tentatively, and then lifted her face to his, lips parted. He kissed her, his body keen and primed, his tongue thrusting into her warm, damp mouth. She clung to him, rubbing her body up and down against his, sending him into autopilot. He couldn’t wait to touch her all over. Cupping her breasts with their adorable nipples, he groaned aloud when he felt how hard they were, how wet and slippery.

  When they drew apart, her eyes sparkled. She ran her hand up and down the length of his cock. He slammed his hands on the tiles either side of her. Looking down, he became mesmerized by the action of her hands. One was moving up and down against her pussy, giving him a visual display that he simply couldn’t look away from. Her other hand was stroking his cock so well that he was close to coming already. Water spilled down his face, obscuring his view. He flicked his wet hair back, desperate to watch. He could see her other hand moving, fingers slicked in her pussy. He wanted to taste her. His cock reached, arcing up in her grip.

  She looked so impressed that he wanted to lift her in his arms and shove his cock deep inside her, so she could really feel it. But he knew he should play along and let her lead, because he was well into getting the lay of the land with Ms. Kirstie here. Besides, right now she was giving him the best hand job he’d ever had. She was running her thumb over the underside of his crown as she stroked back and forth on his wet skin, making him crazy.

  “You’re so hard, it makes me really, really horny,” she blurted, grinding onto her hand. “I’m going to come.”

  His balls lifted, released. Semen ribboned up the inside of her forearm as he shot his load and cursed aloud.

  “Oh, fuck!” she exclaimed, rubbing herself faster. “Coming is even better when you’re doing it as well.”

  James kissed her forehead before directing his attention back to the show he was being given. Her mouth opened into a perfect O as she reached her peak. Her head dropped back. Her grip on his cock loosened, and then she regained control and continued to cradle him while her body shuddered. She looked so good and what amazed him most of all was that his cock was ready for more; by the look in her
eyes, she was, too. He’d never before stayed hard after he’d come, but this time he had. He was about to comment on it when he heard the door creak open behind them.

  In unison, they turned and stared toward the deviant door.

  It swung wide open.

  “Oh,” Kirstie murmured, laughing softly, her hands shifting to his shoulders, her body moving closer against his.

  “Dodgy lock,” James commented, wondering if there was anyone out there.

  Two heads popped around the corner.

  “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” It was Doug, James’s American neighbor. He was wearing the widest grin and not much else. Beside him, Teresa, his raunchy French girlfriend, was also staring in at them with interest.

  Had they been out there listening to what was said and all of Kirstie’s lusty exclamations? If so, it had certainly caught their attention. James looked at Kirstie. There was that naughty smile of hers again. Her eyes flashed, dark and sexy.

  He wouldn’t ever get enough of that. Or her hand on his cock.

  “Your call,” he whispered, one finger stroking away the wetness from her cheek. “What do you think…can we make room?”

  The idea seemed to send her into overdrive, because she closed her eyes for a moment and moaned. She clung tighter to him, which James took to be a good sign.

  Then she nodded, and he noticed that she was glancing Teresa’s way with a knowing smile, one that Teresa returned. Hot.

  “Come on in,” Kirstie said to the new arrivals. “After all,” she added, “it is a communal shower….”

  (S)PAN(K)CAKES

  Kristina Wright

  Know what I want for breakfast?”

  Adam nuzzled my neck, still half asleep on a Sunday morning. “Mmm…sex?”

  “Pancakes,” I said.

  “Then sex?”

  I laughed at his eagerness and tousled his hair. “Maybe. C’mon. I’ll make you pancakes and then we’ll see.”