My favorite sex toy is my cell phone. Yeah, yeah, I’m the introverted bookworm who wants to retire to a tiny island where phones haven’t been invented yet when my hair goes completely gray. For years I’ve handled constantly ringing phones at work and when I’m not paid to answer the phone and see unknown number on my caller I.D. I respond with, “Good luck. I don’t answer the phone numbers I do know.”
Maybe I need to rephrase that. It’s the ringing phone I detest, but the texting feature on my cell? That’s an entirely different story. I’m a sext-aholic. The kinky little surprise buzz I get in my pocket against my thigh in public places is yummy and the message I find on my screen works its magic trick every time.
“I’ve seen you naked and have aspirations to do so again.” I take a peek at my surroundings. Most of the people around me have phone in hand, too, but do their screens make them blush loud enough to be heard? “I’m still naked under my clothes. I left my underwear under your couch.”
Sometimes I start it, “This meeting would be much better if you were on your knees under the table removing my panties with your teeth.” The simplest things can become deliciously perverse when two minds join forces limited only by our imaginations. Not even location can deny us.
I thought I was unique in my choice of favorite sex toy, but again Rachel Kramer Bussel takes the simplest concepts and blows the imagination. Yes, these stories have a dildo, but it’s a Superman dildo. There are remote controlled vibrators, but in this book, two couples in a bar find out they’re in possession of the same model and when they get in the other’s remote control range? Well, I’ll let you read it for yourself to find out what happens. When you get through the basic training ones listed above, there are the exotic sex stories involving futuristic robot sex, Japanese love dolls, rocks, and bicycle seats. (My bike seat. Oh, how I love my bike seat!) These stories are meant for those who dare and come in every sexual orientation, so there’s no reason not to pick up this book and let it inspire you.
In The Pink
by Rob Rosen
“What the fuck?”
See, though the office was dark, all the desks evacuated, not a peep to be heard, there was a light coming from the supply closet, errant beams shining through from the bottom crack. Since I’d been the last person in the supply closet — inside the office for that matter, as far as I knew — and since I was certain I’d flicked the light off upon my departure, the “what the” added to the “fuck” seemed well merited.
Which is why I found myself tiptoeing to the closet door, thick contract gripped beneath my armpit, heart rate suddenly ramping up to a six on the Richter, seven as I silently gripped the knob, eight as I flung the door wide open.
“What the fuck?” I shouted. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?”
Again it bore repeating, except now for wholly and again well-merited reason.
With my heart now pounding a good solid ten, I dropped the contract and tore away from the closet, face so red that molten lava would pale in comparison.
“Josh, wait!” I heard, barely a moment later. “Wait, please!”
I didn’t wait though. Not until I felt his hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t see anything,” I blurted out, my back to his front, the sound of heavy breathing, both his and mine, filling the otherwise stone-cold silent office.
I can explain,” he replied, his voice as wobbly and shaky as my knees suddenly were.
Slowly I turned, shoulders bunched up, eyes in a squint. For there he stood, naked, save for my contract covering his privates, hairy chest rapidly expanding and contracting. “I’d, um, rather, you didn’t, Pete,” I told him. “Explain, that is.”
Now, to be fair, I’d only ever seen my co-worker in a suit and tie before. Suffice it to say, the image of him in the closet, naked and spread-eagle, fucking himself with lord only knew what, would forever be burnished in my memory. So, yeah, I really didn’t need or want an explanation as to what he’d been doing.
He handed me the contract. I stared down. For some odd reason, his cock was still mostly turgid. And, fine, it was a nice cock, as cocks went, but it was Pete’s, my co-worker’s, so I tried again mostly, to look away. “It’s my wife’s fault,” he blurted out.
I stood frozen to the spot as I fought to hold back a nervous chuckle. Two seconds later, it was a chuckle, one, Josh, zero. “It’s your wife’s fault that you’re alone in the office at night, naked and, uh…” I pointed downward. He, or, that is to say, it was pointing up.
“Fucking myself?” he said, thereby finishing my train of thought.
I nodded. “Yeah, that.”
He forced a grin onto his sweat-soaked face. Surprisingly, he then moved his hand from his front to his back. I heard the audible pop first, his eyelids momentarily fluttering as he retrieved the pink, portable prick from his port side, a grunt then added to his repertoire.
I grunted in sync with him. The dildo was on the large side. Sucker looked mighty painful in fact. Also explained why his prick was still thick, I supposed.
“You’re gay, Josh, right?”
Again, I chuckled, “Odd segue, Pete.”
He blushed, though, all things considered, it seemed a bit late on his part. “I mean, you’re well, accustomed to, um, uh…”
I lifted my hand up for him to please stop. “Are we really going to have this conversation, Pete? Couldn’t we just forget that I saw all this?” Which was about like asking Pearl Harbor to forget that it’d been bombed.
He nodded. “It’s just that, my wife, Janet, see, she let me well… fuck her last week.” He rolled his hands in the air and glanced away. “Up the, uh, well, you know.” I squirmed I had, after all, met Janet before. And the image of her getting her ass worked over wasn’t a pretty one. “Now she wants to return the favor.” With his free hand, the one not holding the quivering dildo, he was pointing to his rump.
My hand was still held up in the cease-and-desist mode. I lowered it. “So you were simply practicing?” I dreaded asking the question, but curiosity suddenly had my cat in a strangle hold.
He nodded. “Not like I could do it at home, with her there, I mean.”
I too nodded, though his logic seemed less than solid. “Got it.” I turned to leave. “And, um, good luck with, uh, everything.” I pointed at the fake dick still held firmly in his grip.
“Wait!” he shouted, yet again.
I sighed as I shook the contract his way. “Pete,” I said, “it’s been… fun, but I have a load of work to do. Really.”
He sighed as he shook the dildo my way. “I can help. Give me half of it to work on.”
I knew better than to think he was being altruistic. “In exchange for what? My silence? Done. Don’t even give it a second thought.” Unlike me, who would surely have tenths and twentieths.
“Not your silence, no.”
I paused. “Then what?”