Last night was amazing. It was as if I’d finally graduated from the school of love. Just the thought of it makes me gasp as I lie here in the bed among the stains, the ropes and the horny scents. My room’s never been such a clutter, letters spread all over the floor and my clothes crumpled into uneven piles, yet I’ve never felt so incredibly satisfied. It’s as if I’ve finally graduated from the school of love. God, if this were tennis, this morning is game set and match.
I remember the first games of love.
They were cute. Innocent. Fun. Running around the playground in our summer dresses being chased by boys, none of us more than 5 years old. I can’t remember the rules exactly. The boys would chase us and we’d try to get away. When they couldn’t catch us and started to give up, we’d run closer and taunt them. “Hah, you can’t catch me,” and they’d come after us with renewed energy.
When they did get us, they’d drag us to a place. Sometimes it was the picnic bench and others the wall. When we got there, they’d let go to chase someone else and we’d wait to be saved by other girls in the game.
We played that on every playtime for weeks in the summer term. They were such happy times.
By the next year, we’d moved on. Kiss chase was the new black. I can’t remember much about the rules of that either. Everything was the same as the game we played when we were 5, except now we were 6 the boys kissed us when they caught us or we kissed them when it was our turn on catch. Course, we all pretended to hate being kissed and doing the kissing, but that was just part of the game. If we’d pretended it was nice to be close to boys, I don’t suppose it would have been much fun for any of us.
When we were 7, I think we went our separate ways for a while. Instead of playing with the boys we’d tease them. Handstands against the wall and showing our knickers was about as far as we went and if any boy came near or said anything they’d be chased off by a pack of us who snarled and spat at them like vixens.
The next stage I missed out on. ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ went on in the darker corners of building and, when we were allowed to play on the grass, in the bushes at the end of the field. I never went near that one. I remember wanting to, especially when David Bath went into the bushes with Emily Steele, but I didn’t have the guts. Mum would have killed me for even thinking about going and she seemed to inhabit me even when we were apart, existing as my conscience for many years to come.
That conscience stayed with me through my teens. I would have led a sheltered life if it hadn’t been for alcohol. I found that a drink or two seemed to blind the angel on my shoulder and let me get away with one or two things. The best thing about the booze was that when we’d finished we could spin the bottle.
First time we ever did it, there were 4 boys and 4 girls. We sat in a circle and promised faithfully we’d kiss whoever the bottle pointed at.
David Bath was there. So was Emily Steele.
David took the first spin and it sped off like it might go into orbit. Then it slowed and bumped and I willed the bottle to point to me as hard as I could, until the pressure behind my eyes made my head hurt. The bottle didn’t pay me any attention and came to rest pointing at a girl called Gloria.
The two of them got close as the rest of them wolf-whistled and cheered. David and Gloria started nervously, but before long they had their tongues in each other’s mouths. They span their tongues way too fast, but we didn’t know any better. It seemed to go on for an age, but they finally stopped when they needed to get some air.
David winked at Gloria and Gloria blushed. After that the two of them became an item. I heard a lot later that David was killed in Afghan and Gloria runs a flower shop somewhere.
Whatever.
The bottle missed me every time and the only kiss I was going to get would come from my own spin of the bottle.
I closed my eyes before I did it and made a wish. Even if David had snogged the lips of Gloria, I reckoned that if I got the last laugh, it would also be the longest.
When I span, the bottle just bumbled and bobbled on the stones. It barely made 2 turns before stopping. And it pointed at Lynne Jones.
Lynne bloody Jones.
How unfair was that?
Six months earlier it might have been OK, but since her acne had taken over her face and her poor eyesight had been remedied by spectacles, she was the ugliest girl in our crowd.
I remember the way she took off her glasses and put them in her pocket before stepping over sheepishly.
We got close to each other and I tried to blot out the noise of the whistling chorus in the background.
I hadn’t thought about tactics, but a quick peck seemed like the best way to get it over with.
I leaned in with my chin pointing slightly upwards on account of her extra height, expecting it to be all over in a moment.
Instead, when she moved in, she caught me off guard. Her arms caught me around my back so that there was to be no getting away. All I could see were the scarlet tops of her spots and I dreaded catching them from her. And then her lips touched mine and started moving.
In spite of myself, my lips moved to her rhythm. Her mouth was warm and moist.
When her tongue moved delicately into my mouth, I met it with my own and let her tickle and tease. I don’t know exactly what happened, but he cheering seemed to disappear and all I could feel was the heat of her mouth, the silky velvet touch of her skin and the butterflies that were flapping their wings wildly in my stomach.
Our embrace finally came to an end and when I looked at Lynne she smiled sweetly at me and gave my hand a little squeeze.
That’s when I heard the jeering and the shouting again. The crowd were delighted.
“What a pair of lezzers,” David Bath shouted, pointing at me and everyone joined in with their teasing.
From that day, when people at school wanted to rile me they’d call me Lezzy. How imaginative! I was only Lesley when they wanted something or to my real friends. I shagged half of the boys in our class to try and shake the tag, but it didn’t work. Thing is I’ve grown to like my name. Everyone calls me Lez. It’s the way I introduce myself.
The incident with the bottle put me off the games thing for a while.
It wasn’t until my final year at university that I could be persuaded into playing again.
We were drunk when it happened. We were always drunk that year.
I was single for a while and working hard on getting a first class degree, or at least I was working hard in the day time.
By night, I was like a different person.
I collected boys like some collect stamps or antiques or coins.
The clubs were amazing. I’d pick up someone for a snog every time I went out. I even went so far as counting them as I added them to my book. One hundred and fifty three was the total in the final year for snogs. Twenty-five for blow jobs and a definite sixteen for sex. I say a definite sixteen – it might have been seventeen after my night with Lou Johnson from the History Department (we woke up naked together in his bed a couple of times, but I never could remember what had actually happened).
Anyway, this one night I was out with Cheryl. Cheryl was a wild chick with crazy black hair that pointed in all directions and a figure that was the envy of all the girls. She could eat whatever she liked – pies, pizzas, cakes – and never put on an ounce. Her waist was so thin that I could put my hand around it. I had no idea about her drug habit then and only found out at the graduation that she’d died of an overdose in Paris.
Cheryl and I were out dancing and two guys moved in on us. They were classy, fun-looking men, their hair slicked back underneath straw pork-pie hats and their Hawaiian shirts opened just enough to reveal a little hair on their chests. Their legs moved like rubber to the rhythm of the music and as their hips swayed I could see the shape of their cocks in their trousers every so often – very impressive. In their hands they held long glasses full of pink cocktails and they didn’t spill a drop as they swayed.
We fell for them straight away and danced closer and closer until there was nothing in between us other than our clothes. It was inevitable we’d be going back with them to their rooms, but it still wasn’t clear who would split with whom.
They took us to their house and we had a little party for four. They played some groovy tunes and we danced like crazy.
After a while, one of the men suggested a little game. Strip Poker. Just for the hell of it.
Cheryl was as up for it as I was and we agreed, even if neither of us had played poker before.
The guys explained the rules – I couldn’t tell you what they were now – and we kept on drinking.
It was decided that we’d play as pairs. We’d share one hand and so would they. On the losing team, both players were to remove something.
We sat with our cards and tried to fathom whether the two pairs I had beat the three of a kind in their hand.
It didn’t seem to matter what we thought was going on because we mostly lost.
The first rounds were easy. A shoe off here and there, a necklace and a bracelet.
It was only when we were down to bras and panties that it seemed serious.
I liked the way Cheryl looked. It was the first time I’d seen her without clothes. Her bra and pants were matching, pale blue lace that was practically transparent. I noticed that her pussy had been trimmed neatly so that there wasn’t a hair to be seen outside of the elastic. Her tits looked like they’d have held firm without the bra – her small, pink nipples pushed hard against the fabric as if they were longing to escape.
Next to her, I looked like a second class citizen. My underwear didn’t match and there was a little wet patch in the front of my panties from where I must have got over-heated by the look of Cheryl’s cunt.
The boys were still in tee shirts and pants.
Their legs were muscled and covered in manly hair. Their shirts were vibrant and bright in the light of the candles. Their cocks strained against their pants and looked pretty ferocious from where I was sitting.
The next hand looked promising to me. A run of cards – Ace, 2, 3, 4, 5. A straight I think they’d told us.
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted a good hand or not. I was dying to see those broad chests on the other side exposed, but the thought of seeing Cheryl’s breasts had me getting hotter than a jalapeno.
We put the cards on the rug between us.
They showed a 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. Another straight. A better one, they said.
“Off with them,” I remember one of them saying.
I was too pissed to care about my own nakedness. My bra was off straight away, the straps dropping over my arms and to the floor in seconds. Without my bra I felt liberated and ready. My tits got a round of applause.
Cheryl, she was so much better at it than me. So seductive. She dropped one strap first and it rested in the crook of her elbow. She dropped the other and it did the same. Her arms reached behind her back and I watched her in motion as she released the catch.
She was a classy girl. When the catch was loose, her arms came forward to catch her cups and prevent them from falling. That delay, that moment of teasing made me breathe in sharply.
When she finally revealed her breasts, I stopped breathing altogether.
They were perfect. Firm and round with pert nipples and a curve underneath them that no architect could ever manage to recreate.
I couldn’t resist the urge.
The sight of the cocks of the men and of Cheryl naked had me going crazy.
My hand was stroking her breast before I could stop it. I traced around her areola feeling the hard bumps of her excitement.
Cheryl didn’t flinch.
I cupped a breast in my hand and squeezed gently. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. Firm, yes, but soft and giving like it was inviting me to play.
And then we were kissing.
Our tongues met and flicked at each other hungrily.
As we kissed, I felt a pair of strong arms on my legs. The fingers stroked my toes and moved up across my knees, up my thighs and then to the heat between my legs.
The fingers gripped at my pants and tugged them down, then returned to stroke my pubic hair and work their way in ever decreasing circles to my clit.
I kept my mind on Cheryl and her lovely tits while one of the men slipped his tongue into my pussy.
Cheryl and I broke away from each other for a moment and looked down.
Each of us had a fit male head bobbing up and down between our thighs. Cheryl gasped. So did I.
We looked at each other and smiled, then returned to our kissing and fondling.
She pinched my nipples just as my man took his tongue to my clit. The double attack was far too much for my defences. The orgasm I had was crazy, skipping around inside me so that I jolted as if I’d put my fingers into an electric socket.
Cheryl took my orgasm as a sign and thrashed around at the same time. Her joy burst into my mouth as she moaned into me. That just sent another tingle around me.
The boys pulled at us. Moved us apart. For a moment I was disappointed, but the truth is I needed some cock.
Mine came up and pushed my legs back with his shoulders until they were tilting over my head. His cock was inside me without hesitation and the angle he had me at meant he got in real deep. It was just what I needed.
His mouth covered mine. I tasted the vodka he’d been drinking and the musk from my own pussy. I wondered if that was the flavour of the nectar of the gods.
Best thing of all was he had the stamina of a soldier.
All the while as he pumped I watched Cheryl as her man had her legs open so that she was practically doing the splits. His buttocks were tight and lean and shone with a glaze of sweat as he pushed and pushed.
When she came I came and vice versa.
In the end, my man started to get over-heated.
“Come on you beautiful cunt,” he said over and over.
It seemed to bring him close, so I squeezed as tightly as I can, gripping his cock and feeling it tight until it eventually throbbed and filled me with his heat.
There haven’t been many orgasms like that one. Not until last night, that is. Even so, I’ll always treasure it and, even though I haven’t played poker since, I’d love to take a trip to Vegas and maybe try it all over again.
The morning after our poker they boys had gone.
I woke up under a blanket in the arms of Cheryl.
We cuddled for a while, but there was no sex and no talk about what we’d done.
Once we’d dressed and left the house it was as if nothing had happened.
I only saw the guys once more. It was at the same club. They were dancing in Hawaiian shirts and moving in on a couple of hot looking babes who looked like they might well be the gambling type. I hope, for their sakes, that they decided to take a chance.
When I met Ed, I thought I’d put all that behind me.
Ed was wonderful. Tall and handsome in all the right places if I’m honest. Especially the right places.
His dark hair was always neat and tidy and never over the collars of the shirts that he wore to his job in a successful solicitors’ office. The merest mention of his name in a letter often brought resolution to financial disputes and prevented many a businessman from having to appear in court.
We had it all, or at least I thought so. I could see marriage and kids, private schools and lazy lunches rolling ahead in my future.
Ed didn’t see it in quite the same way.
He loved me, or so he said. He liked me. He enjoyed my company and thought we might be soul mates. The only thing he wasn’t sure about was the sex.
2 years of being together brought familiarity, he said, and familiarity would lead only to contempt.
He had a remedy up his sleeve. Knew some guys in the office who played some fine games on the first Saturday of every month.
They hired a country house and took it over for the night.
When they had all arrived, they put their car keys into the middle and the women picked them out at random.
“Isn’t that swinging?” I remember asking.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said.
I looked him up and down to see if he was worth it. I checked the room and the fine paintings on the wall and the plush carpet we were sitting on to fathom whether they were worth it. I looked out into the long, tree-lined drive where 2 Mercedes cares gleamed in the sunlight and decided it was.
When we rolled up at the country house it was like the opening scenes of the Godfather, the one with the car park full of limousines, only this scene was from the Twenty-first Century.
When I stepped out into the autumn air and smelled the dampness of the leaves on the ground I could also smell the wealth of the people who were staying.
Ed took me into the house as casually as if we were turning up for a church picnic.
We were greeted by a man dressed in tie and tails who handed us each a flute of champagne and then we walked through a great hall into the biggest reception room I’ve ever been in.
There were old paintings and rugs on the walls, with animals’ heads mounted as trophies and candelabra’s in silver and gold.
The atmosphere was as bubbly as the wine.
While I took in the antique furniture, I noticed Ed was eying up the women in the room.
They were all beautiful, without exception. Pretty young things in tight, designer dresses with long tanned legs and pearl-white teeth. I was glad I’d worn my 1960s original, the floral print making me different to all the rest and glad I’d had my teeth polished the day before.
The taking of the keys was like some kind of ceremony.
A big man the size of a water buffalo held up the old punch bowl. The thing must have been hundreds of years old and I couldn’t believe anyone could be so crass. He spoke like he was the lord of the manor with pebbles in his mouth and a stick up his ass.
At the right time, the women stepped forward in turn, stepping over to the bowl as if they were walking down the cat-walk.
When they’d made their selections, the man who owned the key would call out and would take the woman by the hand, leading her out of the room and to the ornate banisters of the hallway. They’d giggle, each and every couple, all the way up the stairs to their rooms.
The woman who was taken up by Ed was a beauty. Sleek legs and long blond hair just the way I reckoned he liked them. The bastard. Now I knew what he meant by variety being the spice of life.
Well, I decided, I was going to show him. I’d fuck my man into oblivion and become a legend.
My only worry was that everyone had disappeared.
I went over and picked a key, then looked around in case I’d missed something.
“That,” said the water-buffalo, “is mine.”
I tried to smile, but I don’t think I managed to hide my disappointment.
“Worry not,” he told me. “Like many a beaten up old banger, what sits under the hood is a mighty engine and a chassis that many would die for.”
I thought about his chassis. Decided that anyone with a chassis like his was likely to die of a heart attack at any moment. It got my hopes up the he might collapse on me before the main event.
I took his hand. Felt the sweat on his chubby fingers. Let him lead me to ‘The Bombay Suite’ and followed him in to the room.
It was amazing. There were Indian hunting scenes on the walls and a four-poster bed in dark wood stood before us.
In front of the bed, a silver ice-bucket, a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“Help yourself,” he said, opening the door to the en-suite. “I’ll be back in a mo’.”
Jesus. It was really happening.
I poured out a glass of bubbly and necked it in one, then did it again and again. At least the booze might help me through it.
All I had to do was survive until breakfast time and all would be well.
Then, like I’d stepped out of reality for a moment, I saw the buffalo emerge.
How he’d managed to find a leather suit in his size I couldn’t imagine. Maybe he’d had it especially made, mask and all.
In his hand he swung a thin stick. It swished in the air making a whistle as it passed my ears.
Next I knew, the stick flew past my eyes in a blur and whacked me on the buttocks.
It bloody hurt, like the sting of a wasp without the after-shock.
“Tally-ho,” he said and lifted me from the ground.
He threw me onto the mattress so that I was face down.
I wasn’t used to that kind of foreplay. He had me scared.
I grabbed on to one of the wooden posts and tried to pull myself up, but he was too quick.
Another slap of the whip on my bottom and I could feel my dress being lifted.
After the next slap, I felt my panties being removed.
One more and he was rubbing something into my ass, something cold and oily.
I buried my head into the pillow. “Fucker,” I said into it.
I thought about bailing out. Telling the fat bastard just what I thought of him. I also thought about what it might mean to Ed and my life of luxury if I said no – the endless lunches and foreign travels seemed to disappear in a haze as I considered it.
Instead of bolting for the door, I lifted my hips from the bed and invited him in.
Luckily for me, he was small in the penis department.
His cock came at me quick and hard.
After a couple of minutes, I realised I was actually enjoying myself. The pain of his entry had vanished and had been replaced by a glow of warmth.
As soon as I started to really enjoy myself, I felt him buck. Just my luck. So much for his huge engine.
He did it more times than I could count. What he lacked in stamina, he made up for with enthusiasm. Didn’t touch my pussy once – I had to do that for myself to keep myself interested – and he didn’t even get to see my tits.
When I met Ed for breakfast, there were indents around his wrists.
I looked over for the woman whom he’d spent the night with and she was smiling right at him as she buttered a slice of toast.
She had her legs crossed and I could see the marks on her ankles. No doubt a little bondage had been their pleasures.
I wondered if Ed had noticed the whip-marks on the back of my calves, but doubted it. He seemed too busy with his grapefruit and his gaze fixed upon the model he’d been shagging.
As it turned out, the man I’d drawn didn’t even work for the firm.
One of the female employees had a partner who’d bottled out. The water-buffalo was just a keen golfer who had happened to be playing a round on the estate at the right time.
Of all the bloody luck.
Needless to say, Ed and I didn’t last for too much longer.
He’s the boss of the firm now and must be rolling in cash.
I used to wonder whether I’d made the right decision, dumping him like that.
After last night, I’m sure it was the right thing. Ed would never have been like that with me. Besides, he hated board games.
I was single for a long while once Ed had been chucked. Two years and a little bit.
In that time, I managed to get my life into a shape I liked.
Sure, it didn’t have all the trimmings, but I was happy.
My flat fitted me like a glove, which was a good job because it was almost as small. I’d surrounded myself with beautiful things – ugliness had to stay in the outside world.
No man had seen it, other than the bloke who reads the meters and a plumber who fixed a leaky radiator a while ago, until Roger.
I know, it’s a stupid name, but when I met him in my local we kind of clicked.
He came back to mine and we danced a little, then kissed a little, then shagged our asses off until dawn.
Best of all, he still looked hot in the morning.
His stubble was still sexy and his long, black hair with plenty of grey streaks made him look cool. His wiry frame stretched out under the covers and made him look nice enough to eat.
For the next couple of weeks we got to know each other really well. Mostly we played games or did the crosswords. His company was easy and we could sit for ages working out clues without getting bored in the slightest.
On Friday night I was giving him a good thrashing with my word selections.
The nail in his coffin came with my final offering. Manly. 3 points for M, 1 apiece for A, N and L with 4 and a double letter score for the Y to make 8. Throw in the double word score and I’d made 28 points without having to think too hard.
“How about we make tomorrow a little more interesting,” he suggested.
“More interesting that it is already?”
“By adding a little spice to the game.” And he went on to explain exactly what he meant.
We came up with the rules together.
For every word scoring more than 50 points, the scorer could ask the other person to do anything they wanted for 2 minutes.
They could do this for up to 3 occasions.
If the request was turned down, there had to be a forfeit.
Should the act become too uncomfortable, an emergency word would get them out of jail free. We chose ‘enough’ as the word – there didn’t seem any sense in making up something that didn’t mean what it said.
He went back to his flat after we’d decided how we were going to play and we had plenty of time to work out our fantasies.
I spent all my Thursday trying to work out what I could get him to do.
My number one fantasy was out of the question. That one involved us being kidnapped by hairy men who’d take us to a basement and tie us to chairs and force us to give them blow jobs. For some reason, the idea of Roger being helpless and having to suck cock really turned me on.
The next one was also impossible. That one involved getting Cheryl to rise from the grave and come and spend the night with us in a threesome. Just the idea of her nipples had me getting hot under the collar.
I thought about getting a substitute for Cheryl. Thing is I don’t know any lesbians and I have no hookers for friends and wouldn’t know how to get hold of one if I had the spare cash.
In the end, I couldn’t think of anything. I decided that it might be better to let him do all the high scoring and to improvise if I had to.
That takes us to Saturday night. Last night.
Roger arrive with a beaten up leather hold-all. He put it next to the bed and unzipped his jacket.
The smile on his face told me I was in for a treat and I was hoping. My only worry was that he hadn’t scored more than 20 points for one word since we’d met.
I put out the wine, set up the board on the bed and we both took out 7 letters.
It was all pretty quiet for a while. We were like sparring boxers or poetry-slammers feeling each other out.
I saw my chance when he left me an open j. ‘Enjoy’ was what I put down and left the triple word score wide open and with a ‘y’ to play with to boot.
His grin was huge.
The letters went down slowly and surely.
S, E, C, R, E, T and L. They fitted the Y perfectly.
“Secretly,” he told me. All 7 letters. A 50 point bonus.
Bless him. He thought he’d done it all by himself.
“I believe that you owe me 2 minutes,” he said. I perked up at the thought, wondering what kind of crazy things he might ask me to do.
He reached down, picked up his bag and rummaged around in there for a while.
I had a vision of the water-buffalo, of a whip and a mask and another week of pain when I went to the toilet. Things didn’t seem so fun all of a sudden and I felt a shudder pass from the bottom of my spine to the top.
When he brought out his hand, he must have seen the relief on my face because he bent over and stroked my cheek as if to reassure me.
In his hand was a bar of chocolate.
“For the next 2 minutes, I’d like you to put this inside and fuck yourself silly.”
“Sure.” I said it straight away as if the idea was something I’d had many times before.
I stood up and unzipped my jeans the wriggled out from them. I picked them up and folded them and put them over the bed frame for the morning.
Next, I lowered my panties. I did it slowly at first, made sure he could see that I’d trimmed myself for the occasion. When I got them to my knees, I whipped them off fast and lay back into the pillows.
Roger handed me the chocolate and I spread my legs.
I wasn’t sure how easy the bar would be to get in, so to be on the safe side, I started with my clit. Small, gentle circles to make sure I was plenty hot enough.
Roger’s face was pure concentration, his forehead furrowed and his eye-brows raised. “You know the clock doesn’t start until the chocolate’s inside, don’t you?”
I nodded. It was all I could manage – having him watch me play with my pussy was pretty horny and I was struggling to keep from climaxing straight away.
A little more circling and I put the chocolate in.
It wasn’t as warm as a cock or as smooth. In fact, the corners made things a little unpleasant for a moment. The beauty of me being so excited was that I was hot as hell down there. I could feel the edges melt as I pushed it in and drew it slowly out, the bar becoming smoother and more slippery with every thrust.
As it got smaller, I pushed further until I thought I was in danger of losing the whole bar in there. That was when Roger put his mouth down and licked my fingers. He used his hand to take mine away and took a bite from the bar. That was it for me. I climaxed right then, letting my vagina spasm without any care for what would get left behind. It was such a sweet pleasure that it went on for ages.
By the time I came back round, there was Roger licking his lips, removing the chocolate from his bristles. What a turn on!
In all the excitement, I almost missed it. My next word. Medicates, joining the free M to the S from Secretly. All my letters in the 1 go, what were the chances of that?
He knew I’d broken the 50 points mark and I could tell he was excited.
Thing was, I hadn’t planned anything. Thankfully, he’d made things easy. The melted chocolate inside me wasn’t feeling too nice – it was like being coated in goose-fat or something. “That chocolate,” I said. “You’ve got 2 minutes to lick it out.”
He took his time getting there. First he kissed my toes, then he licked me all the way up the inside of my legs.
“Remember,” I told him, “the two minutes won’t start until you’re licking me clean.”
He didn’t take his tongue from the inside of my thigh, but I saw his nod anyway.
When he finally got there, it felt divine. He stroked my insides with his tongue, cleaning all the while, lapping up the chocolate. His throat made little moaning growls which made his lips vibrate around my cunt and setting my clit on fire. His nose slipped between my labia easily, the moisture like oil on my body.
I didn’t tell him when the 2 minutes were up, just let him carry on until he was done.
When he finally raised his head, he came up and kissed me full on the lips.
Yummy.
Thankfully we had a few low scoring rounds after that.
He hit another 50 pointer when he found quiver (with a little help from yours truly, obviously). A triple-letter-score for the Q and a double word as well and he was thrashing me.
This time all he wanted was for me to play with my tits for a while.
Now, playing with my tits is something I’m happy to do any day of the week. Somehow, I wanted to make it feel a bit special.
I worked slowly, circling my nipples and then pinching them hard. The pain of each nip made my stomach ripple with pleasure. I gritted my teeth and carried on until they couldn’t take it anymore.
Easing off for a while, I took the each breast in a hand and squeezed. It felt like I was kneading dough and if Roger hadn’t been there drooling, I wouldn’t have bothered.
The piece de la resistance was my tongue.
I stretched it as far out of my mouth as I could, but I was short by a couple of centimetres.
My hands pushed as hard as they could to force my tits up. Somehow I pulled it off. My nipple and tongue met for the first time and I couldn’t believe I’d never made that extra effort before. It was perfect, being able to send the silky smooth tongue into all the right places at the right times.
No doubt Roger forgot about his timing.
I didn’t care. For me, our timing was perfect.
As soon as I stopped, he fell on top of me and thrust his cock inside me.
He pushed hard but was gentle, reaching right in to me one minute, then hitting my G-spot the next.
We came together like singers in a choir, our harmonies making the perfect sound.
Somewhere in the middle of the action, the board was tossed onto the floor and all the letters were scattered around the carpet like casualties of a militant classroom.
It was game over, not that it really mattered. I was spent and so, by the feel of things, was he. We held each other tight until our panting became shallow breathing and until his breathing became wispy snores.
Before he left this morning he told me about his other idea. He even had a skipping rope in his bag to prove his line of thought. A little bondage and blindfolding would have come my way if he’d scored another 50.
Never mind, I told him as I kissed him sleepily to say goodbye. There’s always next weekend.
So I’m lying here, mindlessly playing with my clit and mulling over all these things and wondering why last night was so special.
There have been bigger men and harder fucks. I’ve had more danger and excitement in my life. I’ve been with guys for longer and I’ve let them do anything they fancied.
I guess the difference this time is the way my heart feels.
Maybe it’s the love thing, the first time I’ve actually made love rather than scratched my lusty itches.
Next time he comes over, I’m going to bake him a heart-shaped cake and get some massage oils in. If he throws in the ropes, who knows what will happen?
––––––––
the end
and the beginning ;)