Allie Beck - How Dirty Are You?

It all had to start with a bottle of champagne. Not just any champagne, and not just the right bottle of champagne. It had to be a bottle of champagne expensive enough to get her to fuck Joe.

If he was lucky, Marcia would be in the mood once a month. But a bottle of Taittinger-and it had to be over $100-was good for at least one or two rounds of sex on any given night.

Lately, though, even the champagne wasn’t cutting it. He had to combine it with a really nice restaurant. And really nice as in-bend over and shit $100 bills. Joe sighed and made a reservation for seven o’clock on a Saturday at the new French-Thai fusion place he read about in a friend’s Tweet. He called Marcia at work to tell her about the reservation for dinner. She wasn’t at her desk, so he left a voicemail message.

Marcia wasn’t at her desk to answer Joe’s call because she was in the bathroom masturbating. Most women prefer to keep the skin on their clitoris, but Marcia didn’t much care anymore. The head of her electric toothbrush faced away from her clit most of the time, though, and the vibrations were finally clearing her mind. No more thoughts of benefits packages and coworker complaints about harassment or body odor-challenged colleagues. Licking her fingers, she touched herself to lubricate and felt her hard nub. Rocking her hips lightly against the toothbrush, she caught the tight rhythm that would make the tension go away.

Warmth flooded her pussy and her labia ballooned, throbbing and hot now and so wet that the head of the toothbrush slipped, tangling with her pubic hair. The hair tugging felt good, adding a jolt of exciting pain as she put the vibration back where it belonged, her clit suddenly catching exactly what it needed. Inner thigh muscles screamed, strong and hot as red steel as she came and came and came, her hips curving up and in at the exact moment she plunged the spinning toothbrush head inside her vagina, the soft bristles scrubbing her G-spot.

Through gritted teeth, she let a low moan escape as she looked at the ceiling and bucked against the toothbrush as if she were riding a mechanical bull, careful to hold the handle firmly.

Experience had taught her that the vagina can be a vacuum at the most inopportune of moments. A few years ago she’d paid a $3,000 emergency room bill out of pocket to avoid having the charge appear on her insurance, where her colleagues in Human Resources might have seen the claim. The damage to her cervix had been minimal but she had become a legend on ER doctor Internet forums, known as “Vagina Dentata.”

Marcia masturbated at work every day because it was the only way she could come. She and Joe had been together for four years, married for two, and for the most part she enjoyed sleeping with him. But no matter what they did, from vanilla sex to BDSM to sex toys and porn, she just couldn’t come with him inside her or from oral sex.

She turned off the toothbrush, carefully extracted it and set it, head first, into a glass of mouthwash. Then she cleaned herself with scented wipes, washed the toothbrush, and freshened her makeup. A quick hand washing and an inspection of her skirt in the full-length mirror showed she was put together. By the time she walked back to her desk she had nearly forgotten the release and felt ready to take on the monthly planning meeting in an hour. Checking voicemail, she was startled to hear Joe’s voice and smiled tightly, knowing what he wanted.

Joe poured out the last of the champagne for both of them. Marcia made a great show of sniffing the glass and then downed its entire contents in a single gulp.

“I need to pee!” she announced in a voice loud enough to turn heads. She wobbled off to the powder room. Her glass was empty and Joe’s was half full. He took a calculated risk and emptied half of his champagne into her glass. Marcia returned and downed that, too. He poured the rest of the bottle into his glass and sipped it slowly, staring at his beautiful wife. Tonight he’d make love to her for the first time in nearly a month and he was eager to have sex with someone other than a woman whose last name was jpeg or gif.

This was working better than he had hoped. In fact, it was working a little too well. It was all Joe could do to pay the bill without attracting too much attention to the fact that she had now slid all the way around the booth and was blatantly rubbing his crotch with a dinner roll, not bothering to be discreet.

The waitress came with the bill. Joe fumbled his credit card and bent down under the table to get it. Marcia looked up at the attractive older waitress, who was standing with her arms folded and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Marcia took a bite of the dinner roll and asked for more butter.

After the waitress left with the check, Joe went to the bathroom, hoping he could safely leave Marcia alone. During the walk back to the table he watched her drink the rest of his champagne and slip a foil-wrapped pat of butter into her purse. She stood and leaned on him, her breath hot and sour against his cheek.

“The champagne worked, honey. Take me home and fuck me,” she said in a loud, slurred voice.

Other patrons tittered and Joe chuckled, then quietly asked her, “Can you use a softer voice?”

“I am whispering! ” she shouted. Now other customers were openly staring and laughing as Joe spirited her out of the restaurant, leaving a large tip.

They stumbled out into the parking lot behind the restaurant. He didn’t see the car anywhere and remembered that he had parked it in front. She was all over him, shoving her hands down his pants and kissing him forcefully, open mouthed and panting. Joe wasn’t sure he was okay to drive and Marcia sure as hell wasn’t. Besides, he wasn’t sure she would still want sex by the time he got her home or that she wouldn’t fall asleep on the way.

She bent down and licked the zipper of his suit pants, leaving a dark trail of wetness. The feel of her tongue through the cloth made his erection go up a notch, to a level he’d never felt before, as his whole body flooded with crushing excitement and a buzzing that was all-consuming and made him want to fuck Marcia right there under the street lamp.

An old woman came out of a clothing shop and locked the back door. She looked over in time to see Marcia undoing his belt. He yelped and pushed her behind a car as she took a pat of butter from the restaurant out of her purse and started smearing it all over her fist. Terrified and yet intrigued, he shoved her behind a dumpster labeled “Food Waste” to get away from the glare of the security lights and to regroup. Marcia started shoving her fist down the back of his pants as they collapsed to the ground, stifling their giggles. Her fist slid down past his butt crack and he felt a finger searching, her manicured fingernail poking hard.

She suddenly gave up on the fisting, much to Joe’s relief and dismay, and instead started kissing him. She reached for his zipper and he felt the strain of his bulge. Freeing it, she began stroking it with her butter-covered hand. He sucked in sharply, then noticed the rotten air from the dumpster and started laughing, looking around and seeing broken glass, pieces of paper, smears of undetermined origin and his wife’s beautifully-manicured hand milking him under the glow of a street lamp.

Marcia said, “Oh, shit.”

Joe looked up and saw a police cruiser rounding the corner. It was going to drive right past them. He froze.

Still holding his naked, tight cock, she asked, “What do we do?”

He looked down at her shining lower lip, lipstick smeared across her cheek. He glanced back at the cruiser. Sliding open the plastic door of the dumpster, he shoved her inside and climbed in after. Marcia was so drunk she was like a wet noodle. A wet noodle with his glistening cock in her buttered-up hand. She settled right in among the cardboard and bags and recommenced stroking him, her eyes wide and unfocused, her other hand traveling up her skirt to start touching herself.