Madame B: Seduction

I slept fitfully the next night, half waiting for the smell to wake me up. When it did, I was ready. This time I pulled off my negligee right away so that I could achieve maximum friction between my bare skin and the floor of my apartment. I lay down on the floor, my legs cold and bony on the waxed wooden surface, my top half teased and tickled by the old rug, an empty wine half-bottle to double up as a dildo clutched in my hand. I wanted to know how it felt to have something inside me while I played with my clit. Below me the lovers, unaware of my spying, lay on their sides, lips and legs locked together. When she parted her legs, I could see his dick sliding in and out of her dark little pussy. With my fingers inside me, I fucked the floor, pushing my hips down into my knuckles, using all my body weight to intensify the sensation. The quicker they fucked, the faster I rubbed my clitoris and, at the last minute, penetrated myself with the neck of the bottle, a cold, slippery rod that filled me up inside. Again, their own orgasms were so beautiful and powerful to watch that they triggered my own. My pussy gripped the cool solid glass of the bottle neck in sweet, painful spasms. Once I'd had my climax, I could experience the deep oblivious slumber that comes after the release of huge tension.

When I rose at noon I expected to see the lovers slumbering in each other's arms, but they weren't there. They never were. They seemed to inhabit an intense, passionate, private little world, existing for each other and only between the hours of midnight and five a.m. Who were they? What did they do with the rest of their lives when they weren't making love in this sleazy little room?

That day I wrote thousands of words. It was some of the best work I've ever produced. I'd been struggling with a couple of characters in my novel, but after last night's private floorshow and the long, satisfying sleep that followed, they came to life and the words flowed out. The story was becoming a little more highly sexed than my usual stuff, the result, no doubt of my being inspired by my midnight lovers. I pounded my laptop late into the night, leaving my studio only for steak and red wine at a little bistro around eleven p.m. When I crept back in, I saw that the light under their door was on.

By then just the smell of those cigarettes was enough to get me horny. At the first wisp of smoke, I was in my usual position. This time the couple lay on their backs with their hands between each other's legs. She had his dick in her fist and was jerking him off fast and furious while he stroked her clit and pussy slowly and tenderly. It was as if they were putting on a performance just for me, but how could they know that they had an audience? My pubic bone was still bruised from grinding against the floor the night before, so this time I put my pillow between my legs and rocked myself to a slow, tender orgasm. The irony was that these nighttime neighbors were providing me with orgasms that were far more intense and frequent than any of those my lovers or attentive ex-boyfriends ever had. I was having my best sexual relationship to date with a pair of perfect strangers who were unaware of the fact. It was working for me, at least.

The next evening, I didn't even bother going to bed but just waited up for them. I passed the time writing but barely concentrated on my novel as the whole time I listened in anticipation for the door below mine. Every few minutes I inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of that distinctive smoke, but all I could detect was my own tuberose perfume. I fell asleep at my desk and awoke at two a.m. to the sound of giggles and scuffles. It was then, only then, when the dry aroma of cigarettes began seeping through the crack in the floorboards, that I knew they had arrived.

I peeled back the rug, and the two of them were there. They disrobed slowly, revealing their toned, olive flesh inch by tantalizing inch. Up till now they'd always been naked when I spied on them, so I found this slow, deliberate unveiling of their bodies even more erotic than my first glimpse of their naked flesh. She wore elegant matching underwear beneath a scarlet shift dress. He was naked beneath his white shirt and black trousers. I figured that he was a waiter, but her clothes, other than a small gold band on her left hand, which she removed and placed on the bedside table, gave no clue to her identity. He wore no ring… Ah ha! These were illicit lovers who hired this room exclusively for their secret, dangerous liaisons.

This time they made love on the bed more tenderly and conservatively than before. He lay on top, kissing her tenderly, his tight, toned buttocks and the muscles of his back rippling as he propped himself up on his forearms. I saw the V-shaped muscle at the base of his spine contract with pleasure as he drove his dick inside her, while she pinned his calves with her sharp heels and dug her nails into his ass as she tried to take him in deeper and deeper. I was on all fours this time, my forefinger frantically pulling at my clitoris, my middle finger probing the entrance to my slit, drawing moisture from my pussy to lubricate the furious rubbing action. I knew their rhythms so well by now I could recognize the signs that she was about to come. When she did so it was with a ladylike sigh, but the deep glow on her face betrayed the real passion she felt. As he let out a deep masculine groan I took my clitoris between my thumb and forefinger and gave it a little twist to push myself over the edge into my climax. As I did so, the woman turned her beautiful face up toward mine and made direct eye contact. Unable to control my orgasm, I came so forcefully that my legs buckled beneath me and my upper body fell to the floor with a thud. At this point, the expression on her face changed to one of horror. I hadn't had any idea that she could see me through the crack in the floor, but she knew someone was watching her. She knew someone knew her secret. Hurriedly I replaced the carpet, crawled into bed, and hoped that she wouldn't knock on the door demanding to know why I had been spying on her.

I wasn't surprised when they never came back, and a couple of evenings later, I sealed the hole with newspaper. Within the week I found my own Parisian waiter, who was more than willing to make my ancient bed-springs creak for the remainder of my stay in France. But the memories of their bodies, the sight I'd seen, kept me in sexual fantasies for years, and I believe the erotic inspiration they gave my writing is the reason my last novel sold as well as it did. In fact, I dedicated my book to them, even though I didn't know their names.

What's better than having a gorgeous, charming man absolutely aching with desire for you? Having two guys aching for you, that's what. When her gay best friend Rick fell in love for the first time, Kyra worried that it would drive them apart. She didn't envisage that all three of them would end up closer than ever-as close as you can get, in fact. I love that feeling you have when you walk into a club or bar or even down the street with a gorgeous guy on your arm. The other girls are jealous and the other guys are intimidated. Whenever Rick and I hit the town together, we turn every head. We look like the perfect couple; I'm slim, blonde, and curvy, but he's dark and has that classic inverted-triangle build. With his tall, good looks and sharp, flamboyant style, together with my long blond hair and penchant for miniskirts, we attract a great many envious glances, and we both love it. Well, what's the point of a gay best friend if you can't enjoy a little attention when you go out together?

Rick and I have been friends since our first week of college four years ago. My immediate thought when I saw him dressed in a tight, sparkling white T-shirt and designer jeans that clung perfectly to his strong, sculpted thighs, was who is that gorgeous man and how do I make him mine? So I marched right over and started a conversation with him. Within five minutes it was clear that I wasn't going to be his type. The penny dropped when he asked me if I knew who the "cute" black guy on the other side of the room was and if he was single. But we had such an instant rapport that I knew we would always be best friends. We shared an apartment at the university, and while we both had various boyfriends through the years, we saved the real emotional bond for each other. The joke was that if neither of us met anyone by the time we were thirty-five, we'd have to get married.