.

with lost histories, Karen’s most pressing need was for a double dose of dick. She stumbled forward, half mad with hunger.

      “It’s my fault,” she said. “The colors. Sometimes I make things happen. Weird things. I can’t help it. It’s because…”

      She lunged for Sol’s crotch, fumbling for the bulk behind his flies.

      “Whoa!” he exclaimed, then it was all stations go. Sergeant Carter leapt to Sol’s defense, wrestling Karen to the cobbles with a deft tackle. He acted as if she’d assaulted a police officer, which upon reflection, she probably had, and he made no concessions for her being a member of the fairer sex. He was rough, fierce and surprisingly fast for one so burly. Within seconds, Karen was pinned to the ground, Sergeant Carter’s knee wedged between her shoulder blades, the stone cobbles cold on her cheek. Ignoring her cries, Carter twisted Karen’s arms to draw her wrists together and lock them in a pair of rigid cuffs.

      “Get up,” he huffed, yanking her into a kneeling position.

      Karen gasped for breath, her mussed-up hair strewn across her face. So much for good cop, bad cop, she thought. Outraged, she tossed her head and spat dryly, trying to blow strands of hair from her lips. “I only wanted some cock,” she snarled. “Jeez, talk about police brutality!” She glowered at the two men, her breath fast and shallow. “Well, don’t stop now, will you?”

      Sol unzipped with an angry tug. “Hold her,” he barked, shuffling closer.

      Carter swept Karen’s hair into a tail, twisting and gripping to make a handle for her head. “Now do as we say,” he warned, giving her head a little shake.

      Before her eyes, Sol’s big cock bounced, his swollen end a dark, furious flush. He butted at her lips, and Karen engulfed him in one greedy, sloppy take. Sol groaned, angling himself into her reach while Karen gobbled and slurped. She wanted to open up to him, to feel him driving into the depths of her throat. Again Sol groaned. In the dank basement, his noise, so rich with dirty pleasure, was music to Karen’s ears.

      Carter waggled her head then forced her against Sol’s body, her lips wrapped around his root. “Go on, take it,” he jeered.

      Karen couldn’t hold Sol for more than a few seconds. She sprang back, gasping for air. Her heart flared at the sight of two cocks in front of her, both eager for attention. Good cock, bad cock, she thought as she bobbed from Carter’s length to Sol’s then back again. But no, it was all bad—bad, nasty and rough—and it was all good, so wonderfully good.

      It got better and badder when Sol decided he needed to check if Karen’s cunt was as greedy as her mouth. Sergeant Carter hooked his hands under her armpits, maneuvering Karen so they were both seated on the ground, Carter behind Karen, Karen in the gap of his thighs. Karen kicked and squealed as Sol reached beneath her skirt for her knickers. She squirmed as he tugged them down her legs, all three participants getting off on the fight.

      “Tiger, ain’t she?” chuckled Carter. Behind her, Carter’s protective vest was as solid as a superhero’s chest, and his naked cock nosed insistently against her trapped hands. He tucked his ankles under her legs, and with a shift and a twist he spread her wide, her shins trapped under his big, shiny boots. Spots of halogen gleamed in the leather toes, each black boot holding a miniature moonlit night.

      Sol withdrew his baton from his holster. “Perfect, Sarge,” he said. His baton was long, black and menacing, a short handle jutted at a right angle to the shaft. Karen’s groin throbbed in anticipation, moisture sliding inside her. Sol crouched between her splayed legs, giving the snout of his baton a spit and cursory rub. He pressed the tip to her folds, wiggled the baton past her lips then slid its hard length inside her. He drove as deep as the handle would allow then left the shaft lodged high. Karen gibbered and wailed as he began levering the baton up and down, rocking it against her G-spot and ensuring her clit got a nice, regular bumping.

      “She like that?” asked Carter.

      “I’ll say,” said Sol.

      Karen was beyond words although she was far from silent. Sol kept pumping the baton, and in no time at all, she was coming in enormous, grateful waves. “More,” she cried. “More. I have a whole year to catch up on.”

      Sol and Carter rose to the occasion, and then some. They fucked her in turn before fucking her at either end, and Karen, still in restraints, could do nothing but take it, which was all she wanted anyway.

      They were interrupted when the copper copper, Bryn, burst into the room. “The color’s back,” he cried before pulling up short. He gawped at the three figures half-naked on the cobbles. His fluorescent-green jacket lit up the room, his reflector stripes gleaming like pearl.

      “Help yourself, there’s plenty,” said Sergeant Carter.

      Bryn removed his helmet. “I’m married, guv,” he said. “You mind if I just watch?”

      Nobody minded at all, and fifteen minutes later, when the four of them were finished, they dusted themselves down and exchanged thanks. Upstairs, the people from forensics were rustling softly, packing away their gear in bafflement. The gallery was ablaze with all the suns of the world. From picture frames poured the blues and gingers of Persia, Moroccan afternoons in hot pink and cinnamon, Mexican slums in terracotta and turquoise, the warm, earthy golds of African safaris, every fiery spice in every Asian market and every silk and sequin in every Indian sari. And in the darker corners, for those who cared to look, were tones of cobalt, violet, emerald green and crimson, because there’s color in the shadows, too.

      Karen went from room to room, swimming through rainbows, her cheeks flushed with the glorious pigments of sexual bliss.

      Come at Six

      By Portia Da Costa

      “I knew it’d be you,” he says, eyeing the evidence.

      That bloody magazine. I knew I shouldn’t have taken it when I snuck into his office to borrow his ruler. But I’d never seen one in anyone else’s possession before. I thought I was the only person I knew who got turned on by spanking magazines. But clearly my hot new boss, Nick, reads them, too.

      “Mine, I believe?” He slides the incriminating item from my partly open drawer.

      I hang my head, hiding my blushing face and my excitement.

      I’ve been at Bray Associates for a month. It’s just a basic office job, but I’m glad of it—and even more so when Nick, the owner’s handsome son, is around. I’m just another face in the admin department, but somehow, when he passes by, his wicked sexy smile seems just for me.

      Trembling, I watch him flip the pages, his fingers long and sensitive, his gray eyes twinkling in a narrow, unsettling way.

      “So, what’re we going to do about this?” His voice is arch and deliciously knowing. “We can’t have people stealing things, can we? That’ll never do.”

      “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. It looked, um, interesting.”

      “Interesting, eh?” He eyes me up, like a blond angel-devil, all challenging and provocative in his sober business suit. He was on his way out, but I sense that he wishes he weren’t. Checking his watch, he gnaws his plush lower lip,and then slides the magazine into his briefcase. Next he takes out a business card,and scribbles on the back of it.

      “This is my address, Emma.” He’s giving me his home address? “Come at six, tomorrow night. And we’ll discuss the repercussions of office theft.”

      As he walks away, I could swear that he’s whistling in happy anticipation.

      * * *

      At six the following evening I’m shaking in my stilettos outside Nick’s front door, more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life. His flat is in a large old house, and when I ring for entry, he buzzes me in. I’m almost dizzy by the time he opens his door.

      Oh hell, he looks…edible.

      Soft,