“I think you do.”

  I said nothing.

  “Answer me.”

  “I guess I need to get spanked!” I finally blurted.

  I was playing my part to the hilt now and Mrs. Hamilton had succumbed completely to the erotic pull of her role. She was so obviously entranced by the power of her anger. “That’s right. You need a good spanking to teach you a lesson. Get over here, right over my knee, young lady.”

  She grabbed me and pulled me over her knee, positioning me across her lap in such a way that everything between my legs would be facing Mr. Santos. She lifted my skirt. “I’ll teach you to be a dirty little girl,” she said, lowering my panties with deliberate patience, slowly revealing the round, white globes of my ass, then tugging the panties down my thighs.

  She held my wrists tight and then gave my ass a resounding spank. “Why do you dirty girls always have to learn the hardest way how to behave?” She gave me another well-placed, stinging spank.

  “I want you to tell Daddy exactly what you did; tell him why I’m so angry with you.” Another severe smack heated my cheeks, making me jump.

  “Because I was watching,” I cried out.

  “Watching what?” The smacks were coming more quickly now, stinging, landing relentlessly on the same spot. My ass burned. I tried to wriggle away from the aim of her blows, but it was to no avail. “Answer me; you were watching what?”

  “I was watching Daddy fuck you.”

  “And what else were you doing?”

  She pulled gently but firmly on my hair, forcing me to look up into her face. “And what else were you doing?” she asked again, her eyes nearly glowing with lust.

  “I was touching myself,” I said.

  “Don’t tell me, tell Daddy.”

  Daddy had gotten off the bed and come around in front of me. He was slowly jerking himself off in my face. I looked up at him, now, too. God, he looked hot. I confessed to him in my tiniest voice, “I was touching myself while I watched you fuck her.”

  Daddy seemed to be in a swoon. He stuck the head of his cock between my lips. Arching my head back uncomfortably with one hand, he worked his thick tool in and out of my mouth.

  Louise worked two fingers up my hole then, giving me a thorough finger-fucking while Daddy worked on my eager mouth. Within moments, Daddy had pulled a condom from his pocket.

  “It’s Daddy’s turn to punish you now,” he explained. “I want you to kneel on the edge of the bed and lick Louise’s pussy.” He slathered some gooey lube on his sheathed dick. “You’re to lick her until she comes, you understand me? No fingers, just lick her. Lick her while Daddy punishes you.”

  I understood. Louise was laying flat across the bed now and I knelt between her spread legs. I began licking her swollen pussy with gusto, centering on her tiny, erect clit.

  But Daddy’s idea of punishment was sublime. As I knelt between Louise’s legs, my smarting red ass at the edge of the bed, my panties around my knees and my schoolgirl uniform shoved up around my waist, Daddy reamed my ass. He went at my hole aggressively, going in deep and pulling out slow, thoroughly opening the hole, giving me the fucking of my life.

  It was my turn to moan into Louise’s snatch while she writhed around on my tongue. She kept my face pressed close to her mound while my tongue licked furiously at her clit, wiggled it and swirled it. It didn’t take much, really, to make her come. Daddy was grunting, seriously riding my ass in the depths of his own orgasm when Louise came in my mouth. I came just moments after she did, feeling positively delirious.

  But the downside of it all was that shortly after this little explosion of mutual climaxes, they paid me my fee and told me I was free to go, even though it was obvious that they were in no hurry to leave. That’s when Mr. Santos’s idea of what our relationship consisted of became brutally clear to me. I was still just a hooker to him, just one that he had an unusual amount of fun with.

  It had been a rude awakening for me, one that made me less inclined to arrange many trysts with him afterward. I never let on to him that Mrs. Hamilton had once been my high school teacher, or that it had been an unnerving liaison for me in a number of ways. I kept my thoughts to myself and went through the motions of earning my five hundred bucks. Eventually, I stopped seeing him altogether.

  But yesterday, watching his casket disappear into the back of the hearse as I stood in the chill of the drizzling rain, I wished I’d spent just a little more time fucking him. I was going to miss that guy. I felt lucky I’d known him at all.

  Endings

  JULIA MOORE

  With one hand placed firmly on the delicate swanlike curve of my neck, Josh pinned me down to his mattress. My heart raced in the connection where skin met skin, and I knew that if he pressed any harder against my throat, I would not be able to breathe. Did it make me scared? Did it make me scream?

  No, baby, it made me come.

  “You like that?” he whispered, hot breath on me, gold-brown eyes focused intently on my face. I couldn’t have answered if I tried, my voice silenced by the placement of his steady palm. But my body trembled as a rush of pleasure slid through me. Without words, I told him everything he needed to know—told him more than I should have. The sweet scent of my arousal surrounded us, and I sighed and bucked my hips forward, wanting him inside me.

  “You like being bad.”

  This was a statement, not a question, because we both knew he spoke the truth. Want proof?

  In the room right next door, my angelic blond boyfriend slept peacefully alone in his bed. Beneath the translucent skin of his shut lids, he watched the G-rated movies of his dreams. As Josh fucked me, I visualized Daniel sleeping. During our six months together, I had memorized his rhythms; the way he started the evening restlessly, tossing one strong arm over my slim body and spooning in order to feel my heat. After several minutes, his breathing would grow deeper as his subconscious drew him in. Then he’d be practically unwakeable. Police helicopters cruising the Hollywood Hills around us would not make him stir. Sirens howling from the Sunset Strip could not rouse him. There was no way he’d even notice that I’d slipped from his embrace and from his bed, padded naked and barefoot down the brown shag seventies-style rug to Josh’s room, and—

  Josh told me how it worked. When Daniel and I made love, he would stand on the other side of the wall listening for the silent sound of gossamer fabric moving slowly along lean bare thighs. Josh would picture Daniel sliding my panties down and tossing them aside. Holding his breath, he would strain to make out the inaudible noises of lips meeting.

  With one strong hand on his hard, throbbing cock, Josh would tug fiercely. His deep brown eyes would close, his head would fall forward, his handsome face contorting into an expression of such intensity that it resembled pain. Alone and stealthy, he would finally come in a rush into a different pair of silky panties, but ones that belonged to me, nonetheless. Thrusting hard, his breath catching in his throat, and—

  And—

  Daniel was the cuckold in this dramedy, not knowing that when he kissed my heat-flushed skin it had already been kissed by Josh mere hours before. Never guessing that when he put his cock up there inside me, where it was warm and wet and ready, his tool was dampened not only by the sticky juices of my come but by the evidence of his roommate’s spent pleasure.

  “I love you, Tasha,” Daniel would sigh into my shiny black hair. “I love you, honey, and—”

  And—

  And this is not the start of the story.

  Josh was bad news. The type of bad news most women can see coming from a distance. You’d have thought I would know better. No neophyte in the world of dating, at twenty-six I’d been making the romantic rounds for enough years to spot a soap opera in the making and to figure out how to avoid being the star. But I missed the signs. Can’t say why. I would have liked to believe that I’d be immune to men like Josh. I worked in Hollywood. Insert the cynical laugh track here.

  Maybe it was Josh’s appearance. Just my type, he stood a sinewy six foot two, with dark curly hair, mesmerizing eyes, and sharp, foxy features. You got the feeling, watching him move, that he was well-hung. In downtown bars, as he made his way through the crowded room to the jukebox, both men and women turned to watch him. Yet with all that subtle power, Josh remained someone you might have considered hooking up with on an island getaway, but nothing permanent. He was not the type of person from whom you’d want to accept a check.

  And still, I fell.

  “You’re like me,” Josh said flatly one afternoon when we were by ourselves, “just like me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re too close. You can’t see it.” Sitting at my side on the lipstick-red leather sofa, Josh brought his hand to my thigh, and his fingers began running up and down the length of my leg from the lace-edged hem of my dress to my knee. “You use people up for your own pleasure.”

  “I don’t,” I told him, not sure who I believed, not liking the way he was staring at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

  He slid his hand under my dress. “You’re using him. You don’t love him.”

  Daniel liked to kiss the nape of my neck and say my scent intoxicated him. When we were apart, he kept a pair of my cherry-printed panties in his pocket and he’d finger them at inappropriate times. During an important meeting with clients. When talking with a neighbor. In line at the grocery store. It excited him, something semi-naughty to give him a bad boy thrill. He wasn’t a bad boy. He was sweet and good and kind and Josh hated him for all of those reasons.

  “You think about me when you fuck him,” Josh said.

  “We don’t fuck.” The word was wrong for describing what Daniel and I did, and it sounded harsh coming from my lips.

  “Make love, then. Whatever.”

  “Whatever,” I repeated, wondering why I didn’t push his hand aside.

  “You’re bad,” he said next, continuing the trip with his probing fingers, speaking in a soft croon that I recognized from hearing him talk to women on the phone. It was his come-on voice, “Come on, sweetheart, let me see you tonight….” His come-fuck-me voice, “Why don’t you come on over here. We can just watch movies. We don’t have to do anything….”

  “I’m not bad,” I said, immediately recognizing the statement as a lie. This was bad, wasn’t it? My panties were drenched, and I leaned back on the crimson leather couch as Josh’s relentless fingers found the source of my pleasure. In my head, I heard my voice continue: I am not a good person, despite the fact that everyone always said that I was. Maybe I believed their hype for a while. Maybe I thought that if someone said it enough times it would come true. But Josh’s hands found out my secret. Daniel was kind, but Josh was my mirror image.

  Sliding off the sofa, Josh got between my legs. Slowly, he reached both hands under my pale blue summer dress and took hold of the waistband of my satin panties and with his eyes locked on mine, he started to pull them down. It was up to me now. Would I lift my ass and help him? Or would I squirm away, call him a bastard, and flee back to the safety of an honest, loving relationship?

  In a single move, I sealed my fate.

  As I raised my hips, Josh gave me a look that let me know he’d won. Moving quickly now, he pulled my panties down and tucked them into his pocket.

  “Daniel has one pair and I’ll have another. When you are next to him in bed, think of that. When you’re fucking…” and then he gave me an evil half-grin, “I mean, when you’re doing whatever it is you two do, think of me rubbing these panties on my cock and coming.”

  And then he spread my thighs with his warm fingertips and leaned forward, pressing his mouth firmly against my pussy. Head back against the sofa, I groaned, letting loose that deep animalistic sound of pure pleasure. Some men know. They just know. His tongue made lazy spirals, then deep circles. His fingertips slipped in my juices as he spread my nether lips wide apart. Up and down his tongue traced, teasing me. The harsh scratch of his evening shadow touched my inner thighs, and this sent me over the edge. No soft peach fuzz like Daniel’s. The caress of his tongue combined with the roughness of his whiskers made me come.

  That was the beginning, the afternoon when my world went topsy-turvy as I embarked on that well-traveled route of the cheat. I lied. I manipulated. I did the dangerous dance that is the beginning of every broken heart. When Daniel left for work at his upstanding job as an entertainment lawyer, Josh would come into the bed with me. Would take me the way I craved. Working me hard. Teasing until I could barely breathe. We would look at each other and I could see in his eyes what his plans were, would know a beat before it happened what he was going to do next.

  Cool metal handcuffs held my wrists in place. A leather belt found its snakelike way up and down my thighs. Never leaving marks. Never truly hurting me. Just putting the possibilities out there, like a menu of erotic assortments from which I could someday choose. “I could give you what you want,” Josh promised. “All you have to do is say the word.”

  I’d never felt a connection like that. Never felt a jealousy like I did when he brought one of his other sluts home to fuck. Daniel and I would sit on that same battered red sofa, watching a made-for-TV movie, raising the volume so that we wouldn’t have to hear the moans from Josh’s room.

  My boyfriend’s blond eyebrows would lift as he’d look over at me. As if to say, “Can you believe it? Can you believe someone would actually make noises like that?”

  And I’d think to myself how I had made those same sexy, sultry sounds only hours before. Spread out like melting butter on Josh’s mattress. My limbs weak. My breath coming in short, staccato bursts.

  Hours later, at a more appropriate bedtime, Daniel and I would take our turns in the bathroom. Washing up. Brushing our teeth. Then we would retreat to his room with our minty-fresh breath and our clean bodies, and on his king-sized mattress we would make the soft, sweet love we were accustomed to. His hands roaming over my face, fingers pressed against my bottom lip so that I could flick out my tongue and kiss the tips as he entered me. There were never any sudden moves. Never any unexpected tricks.

  My mind would be focused on the goings-on in the room next door. Was Josh awake? Was he listening? Was he laughing at me?

  What I couldn’t figure out was how long we could keep up the farce. If I broke up with Daniel, I’d still want to see Josh. Would it work between us without the danger? Without the risk of being caught? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t willing to find out. Selfishly, I used Daniel as an unknowing partner in this three-way charade. At least, that’s what I thought.

  But who was using who?

  One evening, Josh was dateless. Amazingly, he joined our duo on the sofa. He sat on one side, Daniel on the other. We were a sin sandwich, with me so consumed with my filthy thoughts that I no longer had any idea what movie we were watching. Both men were casually pressed against me, leg to leg, thigh to thigh. I knew that Josh was aware of my skin, of my heat, pressing into him. But was Daniel?

  When I caught the reflection of our threesome in a framed painting across the way, I tried to decipher the message there. Decadent or deranged? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that my pussy tightened each time one of my men shifted positions. That I would shift myself in order to regain contact between both of them. All I wanted was what I couldn’t have. Finally, Daniel interlocked his fingers with mine, said goodnight to Josh, and led me from the room.

  It was earlier than usual, and I was surprised when he herded me directly into his bedroom without the standard routine of getting washed and ready. With no explanation, he lifted me in his arms and set me down in the center of his bed. Slowly, carefully, he undid the ties at the top of my dress, pulled the slim sheath off my body and tossed it to the floor. Just as carefully, he undid my strapless bra, pulled off my sheer nylon panties. And then for a moment, he simply stared.

  Guilt flooded through me. Was he looking for evidence that I’d been bad, staring at a road map of my deceit? Did he know the places that Josh most liked to kiss? The backs of my knees. The slight indents at the tops of my thighs. Were there any pale lilac bruises left from where Josh held me too tight?

  Without a word, Daniel stripped out of his clothes, tossing his white T-shirt onto the floor, kicking off his faded jeans. Then he pushed me onto my side, sliding me so that I was dead in the center of the mattress. His eyes locked with mine, he drove into me, a hard thrust, hands gripping my shoulders, grunting with the effort as he fucked me. Fucked. That word was in my head. Something so different from being sweetly taken, being partners in an action. No, Daniel was fucking me, and I couldn’t believe how wet the thought made me…or how much wetter I grew when a second set of hands took hold of me from behind. What was going on?

  “Shh, Tasha,” Josh whispered. “Don’t even think….”

  I couldn’t. There I was, in between my two men, my body shaking fiercely as Josh licked in a line down my spine to the curve of my asscheeks. Don’t think, my mind repeated. Don’t even think. His hands gently opened me up and I felt his hot breath warming my asshole before his tongue slid deep inside me. This was something that he liked to do, an act I’d always thought that Daniel would never have even considered. Wetness flooded through me. The feeling of being taken from one side, and filled in the other was almost too much. I moaned, a harsh, almost barking sound that I didn’t even recognize as my own voice.

  “That’s right,” Josh said, moving away just long enough to guide me along. “That’s the way,” and then I realized it wasn’t him talking. It was Daniel. And another thought exploded through my mind. Daniel had heard us. Daniel had stood on the other side of the wall and listened as Josh pressed me up against the cold plaster and fucked me. Who was playing who? Who was the real cuckold? I had no idea. No reason to care. All I had was a reason to come.