Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail (5 page)

She reached inside his overalls and felt
his ripe boner – much bigger than she expected. And then, before she knew
it, she was on her back, on the blanket, her legs wrapped round him as he hammered
away with more authority and desperation than she had seen in a man for some
time. At first it was almost comical, but when she looked into his blue eyes
she saw only his lust for her, and soon she was springing back at him, grabbing
at his buttocks, quietly insisting that he fuck her harder. His urgency somehow
pushed her to orgasm first – she had to bite his forearm to block out her
screams. She rewarded him for the ride by allowing him to spurt his seed all
over her tits. She knew that was what he really wanted. Boys today!

She drove home with a big smile on her
face. The poor thing hadn’t been able to stop thanking her afterwards, his
ultra-cool, indie-kid façade lost and replaced by a grateful teenager.

Harry’s photo came through within about
ten minutes. He was definitely posh – tall with light brown wavy hair and
a large jaw; all the classic hallmarks. A bit foppish, a bit Hugh Grant. Nicole
had always liked Hugh Grant, at first on a purely aesthetic level, and then,
after that famous incident with Divine Brown, on a more primal level too. She
particularly liked good boys who knew how to be bad. Harry had taken the photo
while standing in front of a full-length mirror and he looked ever so slightly
uncomfortable, with a sort of half smile, as if he didn’t want to look too happy
or too serious. She could almost imagine him stammering in Hugh Grant’s famous
style. His email said:

“Hi, so here’s my photo, hope you like.
As for location, well, I like to play rugby. I’m pretty good, without blowing
my own trumpet (perhaps you can do that for me? God, sorry, awful joke), and
I’m captain of my team… which means I have the keys to our changing rooms. I’ve
always thought about taking a girl there when it’s empty… what do you think?”

The boys’ changing rooms? She liked that
idea. Even as a teenager at school she fantasised about boys peeking through
holes to watch her undress after P.E. There was something undeniably sexual
about changing rooms – all that sweat and nudity. Excellent. He looked
hot. She liked the location. It was on.

They arranged to meet the following
Sunday. Harry had a game in the afternoon and he suggested that they convene at
10pm, under cover of darkness, in the car park. Most of the team, Harry
explained, would still be drinking in the clubhouse.

Nicole pulled into the car park just
after ten. It was a fairly large complex, but it was 20 miles from her home and
right out in the country. There were a couple of tennis courts, a football
pitch, the rugby pitch and two buildings. One was the clubhouse, which she
assumed housed a bar and whatnot, while the other was a smaller, simple block
for the changing rooms.

She turned off her headlights and peered
outside her window. She was not totally comfortable. She was in a strange
place, it was dark, and she was not a fan of car parks in terms of personal
safety. Still, the thrill of what lay ahead helped to play down her fears. She
had been fantasising all the way over about what they’d get up to. She’d even
imagined one of his teammates discovering them and simply joining in, making
her pleasure both of them.

There was a sudden tap at the window and
she nearly shrieked in shock. It was Harry. “Christ, Harry!” she scolded, and
then smiled in relief. He opened the door of her sporty Mazda and helped her
out. “You frightened the life out of me!” She closed the door and then found
herself trapped, pressed against the car, his legs either side of hers. She
looked up at him. He was big, imposing, but his eyes were kind.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. He bent
down and they began kissing, full of desire, with no pretence at anything soft
or gentle. She felt his considerable weight on her and she immediately finagled
her hands under the back of his shirt and felt the smooth, strong mass of his
back. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. He seemed to glance at the
clubhouse, but within seconds they were round the side of the building, away
from any prying eyes. “Told them I was heading home. There’s only a few left
now.”

“What about your car?”

“I don’t think anyone will notice.”

“Which one is it?”

“The Range Rover – a couple of the
lads have got them. No one’ll twig anything.” He produced a set of keys from
his pocket and there was a brief jangling in the dark as he unlocked the door.
Inside, they turned immediately left and then took the second door on the
right. He flicked a switch and a strip light illuminated the room.

“So, this is our changing room, nothing
special, but it does for us. Benches and a shower, you don’t need much more
than that, do you?” Nicole took a stroll around the room. Her heels echoed
harshly on the floor. It smelt of grass, of earth, of men. She experienced a
thrill at the scent, at the idea that this was a space where women would
usually be denied entrance. It was reasonably clean – blades of grass and
bits of dried mud scattered the floor, but it looked like someone had attempted
to sweep up. She ran a finger along a table in the middle of the room and then
found herself venturing into the communal shower area at the back, disappearing
briefly from Harry’s vision as she sauntered behind the wall that screened the
showers.

The fading scent of eight or nine
different male shampoos and shower gels enveloped her. She couldn’t help but
imagine walking into this area when it was full of men. Just sashaying in,
naked, watching all of them scrub their fit, hard bodies, their hair covered in
foam, their skin glinting, the sound of manly laughter and bad language, steam
everywhere. She thought about walking between them, reaching out, touching
them. She thought about the men circling her, a dozen hands all over her body,
grabbing at her, caressing her, fingering her. She imagined making her choice,
pointing at one huge hunk, and saying: “You first.” It was thrilling. Suddenly,
Harry spoke. He was right behind her.

“You okay in here?”

“Mmm. Just… thinking,” she replied,
unbuttoning her blouse. It was open by the time she reached him and she felt
his hands slip inside to feel her skin. She led him back into the changing
room. “What’s in the bag?” she said, referencing the large duffel bag he had
lugged in with him.

“Just my rugby stuff.”

“Really?” She looked inside and was hit
with a mix of masculine odours. “All your kit?”

“Yeah, needs a wash I’m afraid.”

“Put it on for me.”

“It’s dirty. It stinks!”

“I know. Put it on for me. I want to see
you in it.”

He smiled. She sat on a bench and watched
him as he silently removed his smart shirt, revealing his formidable upper
body. Very impressive. He took off his shoes and socks and then sat down to
slip out of his smart jeans. He had sexy thighs – firm, thick,
beautifully contoured. He looked much better in the flesh than in his photo. In
fact, she was starting to think he might be the best looking man she’d been
with since this little game of hers had started. He was just in his briefs now
and she noticed that he was already semi-aroused. He dug into his bag and
pulled out a pair of white shorts with grass stains on them. He stepped into
them and pulled them up. They were exceedingly tight. She grinned. Next he
reached in and found a white shirt with a black diagonal stripe across the
front. He began to put it on but she stopped him.

“No, we won’t be needing that.” He
dropped it to the floor and fished something else out.

“Shin pads?” he asked, doubtfully.

“Oh yes. Shin pads and socks and boots,
please.” He did as he was told. He stood and looked at her. She rose from the
bench and prowled towards him. The only sound was of her shoes striking the
floor. She looked him in the eyes and caressed his chest, which she was pretty
sure he had waxed on a regular basis.

She kissed his neck and he unclipped her
bra. She shrugged it off and he immediately stooped, grabbed her right breast
and took her nipple in his mouth. She leant her head back, inviting him to
enjoy her. He kissed up to her neck and she quickly unzipped her black skirt
and let it drop to the floor.

His breathing became heavier. She pushed
his head up and kissed his neck, and then his chest, allowing her lips to
explore the deep cleft between his well-defined pecs. She moved left and took
his nipple in her mouth. She bit it gently and she heard him murmur approval.
She bit him harder, tugging at it with her front teeth and when she snaked a
hand down to his shorts the bulge had grown bigger, stiffer.

She bent lower now and kissed his
stomach. It wasn’t a ripped six-pack; it was more like one whole, firm muscle.
She could feel him tensing it as her fingers peeped inside the waistband of his
dirty rugby shorts.

Now she dropped to her knees, relishing
the discomfort of the cold, stone tiles beneath her. She tugged at the shorts,
dug her nails and her fingers under them until she could feel his briefs too.
He was straining to be set free, his hands now at the back of her neck, running
his fingers through her dark hair. She slid down his shorts and underwear, past
his filthy socks, until they came to a rest, covering his boots. She stared at
her prize: a heavy, pink cock standing to attention, begging for attention.
Gently, she blew cold air onto the very tip and revelled in his exasperated
sigh.

She ran her hands up the sides of his
piston-like thighs, crudely grabbed his buttocks and then licked, just with the
very end of her tongue, from the base of his shaft to the tiny hole at the top.
He put his hands behind his own head now, as if proud of his masculine body.
Perhaps he had every right to be. Out of his sight she raised her right hand
and brought it down, smack, on his left buttock. He wobbled forward, laughed,
and asked why.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked, talking so
close to his dick that it was like she was treating it as a microphone.

“Yes.” She raised her left hand and
slapped his right buttock, harder this time, and dug her nails in to the thick
flesh for good measure. “Oh fuck.”

She pushed him down on the bench, parted
his knees and shuffled between his legs. Without using her hands, she circled
the peak of his penis with her tongue, not allowing her lips to touch him at
all. He sighed and leant back against the wall.

Nicole cupped his balls in her hand as
she traced her tongue up and down his length, once more refusing anything other
than the lightest of touches. He gripped a slat in the bench with both hands
and she smiled at the slow pleasure to which she was subjecting him. Finally,
she took the top of his cock between her lips and slowly washed the head with
her tongue, allowing her saliva to flood over it. Some escaped her lips and she
used it as a lubricant as she began stroking his shaft while still
concentrating her tongue on the head, gently flicking at the sensitive hinge of
skin until she could feel him almost shaking with desire.

She shifted her body up a bit now and let
her mouth drift further down his cock. He took a big breath at this and
transferred his hands to her head, forcing it down further. She bobbed up and
down, taking half of him in her mouth with each downward movement. He gripped
her hair harder. “Pull it,” she uttered. He didn’t need to be told twice. As
she went down he pushed her head, as she came up again he yanked at her hair.

She was taking him deeper now, moving
faster, her lips following her hand that stimulated him with each stroke. Her
other hand still cupped his balls, occasionally squeezing them, which elicited
a satisfied grunt from the hulking man each time. Still he pushed at her head,
urging her to swallow him whole. She relished the sensation of nearly gagging,
she loved his slipperiness as her spit mingled with his pre-come. The harder he
pushed her, the wetter she became.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She removed
her hand from his balls and glided under her knickers to feel the wetness. “I
want some,” he said, after a few moments of this, and she withdrew her hand and
held it up for him to taste. He took all four fingers in his mouth, desperate
to swallow her sweetness. He thrust up into her as he licked each finger and
she thought he might come, but suddenly his big hands were under her arms and
he hauled her to her feet. He twisted her around and marched her to the table.
With one swipe he sent a couple of stray water bottles clattering to the floor
where they rolled under the benches. He pushed the top of her back, compelling
her to bend over the edge of the table.

He ripped her tiny knickers down and
parted her thighs. He fell to one knee and briefly buried his face in her
pussy, slurping and moaning. Then he stood up and she could feel his throbbing
penis pressed between the cheeks of her buttocks. He pushed two fingers inside
her cunt, massaged her, and then withdrew them before sucking them clean. All
this happened in a matter of seconds. She could scarcely get used to one thing
before he was doing something else, and then suddenly he was gripping her hips
and fucking her. Nothing slow, nothing careful, he just fucked her, slapped
against her, the table almost buckling under the force. “My hair,” she
whispered, and again he grabbed it, right at the ends, and yanked her head up,
bending her body backwards. She gasped in excitement and his pace did not
relent. He surged into her time and time again, pulling her hair ever harder.