And you guys were great and pointed me in the right direction… well, in two, evenly split: The Wilding of the Shrew, my submissive!Kate take on Shakespeare’s raunchiest comedy, and Juliet Takes Charge, the next (and next-to-last) story in my Juliet Takes Flight series.
Every summer this happens. I think, Hey! It’s summer! I’ll get SO MUCH DONE…
In case you think teachers aren’t busy during the summer, think again. I’ve been drowning. Mostly good stuff, but yeah: drowning. And not anywhere nearly as much writing time as I’d have liked!
But I have been writing, and the Juliet story is close enough to being done (I’m hoping we can get you a the actual book in the next week) that my publisher and I though it would be okay for me to give you a forspeis — that’s Yiddish for “a test taste.” Which is something Yiddish speakers take very seriously.
The cover model, you will note, is once again my Stillpoint/Eros stable-mate and narrator Mary Cyn. Isn’t she pretty? Everyone wave!
(Stillpoint/Eros have just posted another extract from this story on their site: Happy Birthday, Allison. Go check it out!)
So here you go, for you, special, a forspeis:
Juliet Takes Charge
A Complicated Erotic Romance
Well, after our chat with Jordan the other day, I don’t think I can even pretend to be your teacher at this point. When the girl who could barely say the word fuck when I first made love to her is suddenly proposing a threeway, I think need to admit that you’ve learned what I have to teach. Congratulations. Pick up your diploma at the office.
Here’s where I admit my own weakness and admit I’m not ready to wave goodbye to you yet, however — and I hope that you aren’t ready to leave me in the dust quite yet either. Given what you’re asking, however, I feel as if I need to share my own experiences with attempting to expand beyond a couple, none of which ended quite the way any of us intended. I want to offer these, not as a teacher, as I said, but as your friend and your lover.
I’ve got three stories to share, aside from the one that we’re about to write. Two involve Cindy — they’re about the only sexual stories I can think of about my time with her that are worth sharing — and one is a story I’ve already mentioned involving Veronica and our friend Jenny.
I’m still looking forward to giving you your birthday gift. I just wanted you to understand why it scares me.
Cream, I decide. I’m the cream. I’m too pale to be the coffee.
Cream, I am. Poured around Ken, who is kneeling on the floor of the girls’ dressing room showers. With me, limp and liquid, flowing over him. “Hmm?”
“Oh. Good. Thought I’d lost you for good.”
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. Don’t want to miss anything.”
The spray from the shower gives Ken a kind of halo, though his expression is anything but angelic as he clenches the muscles of his thighs and ass pressing his cock up into my cunt and I feel liquid again — liquid fire now. “Love you,” I murmur — or at least I try, since, yes, my lips too are liquid.
Having said the words just a handful of times, I haven’t yet gotten used to the feel of them. They are still fresh and sharp and cut me as they leave my mouth.
“Love you,” he rumbles, lying back and lowering me onto his chest. His words too are fresh, and balm, and I slide atop him — steamed milk now? Something frothy and insubstantial.
But, oh, that cock still, still deep within me — it is very, very solid.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about this package of Ken’s stories. First of all, Cindy had become this bugbear, the way he didn’t talk about her. Reading about her struggles with her own bisexuality, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her. Though I didn’t blame Ken for being angry with her.
Also, I couldn’t help but think, But this time is different. This time it’s something we are all going into with our eyes open. This time it’s something we all want.
Well, I admitted to myself, I want it. I don’t know if they do, or if they’re just going along with me. But still…
Midterms kept me busy; sometimes, even an impending threesome has to take back seat to schoolwork.
As I was walking out of my last class — clothes already in my backpack, ready to catch the shuttle to the airport — my phone buzzed. It was Jonathon.
I wasn’t able to get away from my family to see Ken until the third day I was home — Monday — and by then I’d barely been able to keep my panties on.
I told my family that I was going out with some of my friends, and not to wait up.
It wasn’t even a lie: I shared a joint with Katie, parked in our old high school’s parking lot. After some typical giggling, girl-talk, and gossip — just like old times — I said I’d see her later, dropped her back at her house, and took the familiar drive across town to Ken’s.
And Ken was certainly a friend. A very, very close friend.
We didn’t even make it out of the front hall before he was planted deep inside of me, me up on the table just inside his door. Once he’d gotten me to scream once, he groaned that he really didn’t need his neighbors thinking he was a vivisectionist, and carried me — my cunt pulsing around his still-unspent cock — a bit further into the house. He sat in the big chair, the one where he usually sits when my friends and I invade his house to watch bad movies. My legs over the arms of the chair, I rode him until he sprayed up into me, sparking another flutter of an orgasm.
It made me feel a bit funny to admit that, yes: this was something that Jordan couldn’t do for me, her many splendors notwithstanding.
Ken and I stayed there, breathing heavily. Without moving, barely talking, Ken still inside of me, we began to kiss, we began to carress, we began to rock, and we settled in for our second round, which was developing very slowly, very nicely.
“So,” Ken murmured, his voice low and rumbling, “you still feel like this dirty old man has something to offer?”
“Not old,” I pouted as I always did, and then leaned down and sucked at his nipple, earning me a groan and a pulse of his hardening-once-more cock inside of me.
“Old enough,” he grunted, as he always did, and began rocking against me, so that I could feel him stiffening again.
I smiled and purred, knowing this was going to be a nice, long, slow ride.
Ken. My friend. My lover. My first lover. Whose hips I was astride, having just indulged in a frantic, apart-too-long, chair-top fuck.
I moved to the other nipple.
Ken groaned again and arched, that thick, thickening cock pushing back up into me, and now it was my turn to moan. Buried deep in me, he shuddered and then stilled my pelvis with his huge hands. “And you’re avoiding the question.”
“Question?” I sat up and peered down at him through my skewed glasses. I wasn’t being coy — in that moment I couldn’t have told you the day of the week or my name, let alone the answer to whatever question Ken had asked. All I could think about was that I’d just been fucked, and was about to get gloriously fucked again.
“Is this” — he kissed one of my nipples (left? right? no idea) — “still worth” — he licked the other one — “your time?”
“Oh. Uh. Shit, Ken!” I shivered with pleasure. How could his mouth on my tits make my pussy pulse and my toes curl? “Uh. Yeah. Uh. Wanted to talk to you… huh… about that.”
Suddenly his stillness was not tense, but guarded. He backed away from my breasts, leaving them buzzing.
“Sorry.” He put both hands over my breasts, warming them. Covering them away. “So. You wanted to talk to me?”
“Ken?” I was too distracted by the fact that his cock had stopped moving inside of me to focus on what he was saying.
“So.” He had his teacher face on, and while I find that incredibly sexy most of the time, right then I’d have rather be seeing his slack mid-fuck face, or his I’m-about-to-come-so-hard grimace. “Are you sure you want me there on Saturday?”
“Want —?” I whined.
“Yeah, you know.” He smirked, and his thumb grazed my clit. Evil, evil man! “Want.”
“Um, yeah, want, yeah.”
“Allison?” He clearly wanted me to pay attention, but he was going about it in the most perverse way possible. “Why do you want to do this, with Jordan and me?”
“Uh…” I was trying to rock against him, trying to get back that feeling he’d ignited with his thumb. “Uh…” I was also trying to think how to answer his question.
“I mean,” he said, having some pity and rocking minutely in the chair so that his pubic bone pressed against my clit, “I want to be there. I’m not completely stupid. But also—” He stopped rocking and press down on my pelvis, so that that feeling skittered just out of reach. “—I kind of need to know if this is something you’re doing because you can’t disappoint one of us. I mean, here I am, balls deep in your wonderful pussy, and I couldn’t be happier, but I do worry that you’re just doing it to avoid disappointing one of us.”
“Dissapoint… Worry?” I shook my head. How could anyone feel this good and worry? “Nuh-uh.”
“Good. So you —?”
At that I laughed, and started moving my pelvis in counterpoint to his. “Ken, trust me, I want you. And Jordan. And what you’re doing right now feels so fucking good, Ken, and I want to tell you all about why I want to make you and Jordan come at the same time, give you all of the juicy details, but right now?”
“Uh-huh?” His eyes were wolfen, hungry.
“Don’t want to think about anyone else, Ken.” I leaned forward and kissed him. “Just want you to fuck me. Talk about it after. Okay?”
He latched on to one of my nipples — left? right? no idea — and growled into my breast: “Okay!”
As we fucked there on Ken’s chair — as I began to feel the blood rushing to my pelvis more and more, and he thrust up into me — I couldn’t resist gasping into his ear, “Wanna hear…uh… ‘bout what… Jordan… tastes like?”
He didn’t answer me in words. Instead, as I’d kind of hoped, he began pounding harder, so that any thoughts of Jordan, or Saturday, or anything else, quite left both of our minds.
As my cunt pulses around Ken’s cock, as his cock sprays up into me, as each of us screams into the other’s mouth, I think NOW. Now is perfect.
Lying on top of Ken in the girls’ dressing-room showers.
Every time is different. Every time is…
Now. Now is perfect.
“C’mon,” pants Ken. “School is out. Let’s get home.”
By the time that Friday arrived and Jordan texted me that she was driving up I-5 at 90 miles per, Ken had more than managed to to satisfy me, but somehow knowing that she was speeding up the interstate (“with 2 fingers in my popo“) and that we would be alone together again that night left me just as fluttery.
When her dusty Toyota pulled up to our curb and I ran out, it was just like a bazillion sleep-overs that we’d had over the years. There were three differences: I wasn’t bringing a sleeping bag, her nipples looked as if they were trying to push their way through her top, and as I slid into the passenger seat and went to hug her, Jordan pulled my hand up under her skirt and against her very naked, very slick popo. “Missed you,” she murmured with an evil sigh.
“Me too.” I was having to exercise what restraint I had left not to kiss the hell out of her.
“Think your folks would mind,” she said, rocking her pussy against my trembling hand, “if I jumped on your face right here?”
“Uh.” I gulped and gave her pussy lips a squeeze. “Yeah. I think that might kind of freak them out. I mean, not the girl-girl part, the steaming-up-the-windows-and-rocking-the-car part.”
She pouted. “Fuck. Want you so bad.”
“Soon.” I nodded, withdrawing my hand from her skirt.
“Yeah.” She shot me a grin, grabbing my hand and drawing my sticky fingers into her mouth, and then laughed when I turned crimson. “Soon.”
I love Jordan’s family. Really. I do. And I’ve been over to their place often enough for dinner that I had my own special spot at the table: across from Jordan and next to her younger brother Alex.
But that night, as I sat across from my girlfriend while her parents asked us both about how we were surviving, Robbie (the eldest) kept trying to swap war stories about late nights and early mornings (he was currently in his sixth year at a state school with a reputation as a party capitol), and Alex, who was finishing his junior year in high school (he was a student of Ken’s) kept asking me about whether I was dating anyone, I just kind of wanted dinner to be over and to drag Jordan back to her room where I could think about stripping her clothes off and painting her body with my tongue and not have to worry about whether those thoughts were visible on my face, or on other parts of me.
When Alex started up on my love life again over the blackberry crumble (a specialty of Jordan’s dad), Jordan came to my rescue. “She’s seeing someone, Poop.”
His face fell. “Oh. Someone from school?”
Careful not to look at Jordan, I said, “Yeah, Alex. From school.” I didn’t say from which school. And I very specifically didn’t say Two people, one of whom is sitting across the table from me and running her toe up the inside of my calf.
“Why is Alex so obsessed with who I’m seeing?” I grumbled after we’d excused ourselves from the table and were on our way to the upstairs bathroom, which Jordan had informed her brothers would be off-limits for the next hour or two, since we would be doing girl things.
Jordan shot me a quizzical look. “Really? Come on, Alli, don’t be stupid. He’s got a crush on you. Has forever.”
She pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “And I can’t blame the little shit. But he can’t have you.”
“Nope,” I giggled. “He can’t.” We closed the bathroom door and I finally, finally was able to pull her close and kiss her. “I’m all yours tonight.” When Jordan’s body tensed, I bit her ear, causing her to shiver, and whispered, “Tonight is tonight. Tomorrow is tomorrow. And I promise, I will make sure that you enjoy both, okay?”
“Okay,” she sighed, and proceeded to reintroduce her body to mine. Just a hello, not a full reintroduction, but a long, friendly, very welcome one.
When we paused, I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, with Jordan side-saddle on my lap. “One more more reason to thank J.K. Rowling,” I sighed.
“Huh?” Jordan’s eyes and mouth were wide, her gaze unfocussed.
“For introducing us to the word snog.”
“Oh.” By that point, Jordan’s grin was just as hungry, but not quite as manic. “Thank you, J.K.”
“Thank you, J.K.”
We kissed a bit more, each teasing the other’s breasts lightly through our tops.
“Hey, J?” I asked as she began to tug my t-shirt up out of my jeans, “how’re we going to, um… I mean…” Her fingers slid their way up my ribs and I swallowed a gasp. “Your… family?”
“You made me be quiet in your dorm.” With one hand she undid my bra. “Besides, Mom and Dad’ll be downstairs watching PBS news, Robbie’ll be off at the Aces —” A local dive bar. “— and Alex will probably be in his bedroom with a bottle of baby oil, a box of tissues and a picture of my girlfriend.” Her fingers found my nipples.
“Um. Okay.” And, trying hard not to think about it any more, I let me hand slid up the inside of her leg to her pussy, which was in full flower, and flowing.
She gasped. “Can’t… uh… complain. He’s got good taste. As long as he doesn’t try… huh… to touch you.”
“N-no,” I said into her lips, “just you.”
So? What do you think? Excited? Suggestions? Rather find out what happens to Kate and Petruchio? Let me know!
This is the sixth title in the Juliet Takes Flight series:
- Juliet Takes Stage
- Juliet Takes Off
- Juliet Takes Her Leave
- Juliet Takes a Chance
- Juliet Takes the Floor
- Juliet Takes Charge
- Juliet Takes Flight
ALSO: Milo Churchcutt, my other wonderful narrator, has just wrapped recording for The Visitor Arrives: Friendly MMF Ménage Tales That Have Boys Touching Each Other (and Also Their Girlfriend), my best-selling collection! Keep an eye out for an announcement of the audiobook release in the next week or so!