“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 he
r 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.
“Is this what you like, you bitch?”
“Oh fuck yes! Just like this!”
She drew the dirty odours of the room into her nostrils, the spray deodorants, the earth, the stink of sweaty mean changing together. She fantasised about being there with the whole team watching them. She heard the sound of his studs slipping and clacking against the tiled floor as he fought to maintain his balance, and she pushed her arse back at him, forcing him to probe ever deeper. As she did so, he slapped her bum, playfully.
“Oh God yes!” she yelled. And he did it again, with greater gusto, leaving a sharp red mark on the cheek. She groaned again, so he slapped harder, gaining confidence. He pulled her right up by her hair so she was nearly upright, and then held one arm round her waist while his other hand clutched at her tits, squishing them, pinching painfully at her nipples. She raised her hands right behind his head and held on for dear life as he powered into her. She felt the heat in her cunt bubbling over, radiating through her body. She stood on tiptoe, groaning with each vital stroke, ripping at the hair on the back of his head until she felt him pulsate to orgasm inside her, and she came, too, helplessly, exhaustingly.
Her muscles, as one, went loose and she flopped forward onto the table. He eased in and out of her a couple more times.
“Did you come?” he managed to utter.
“Yes. Yes.”
As per her usual rules, she exited quickly, giving him a swift kiss on his posh-boy cheek before she left. She was exhilarated. Just the feel of the changing room, the smell, the aura, had been enough to turn her on. And Harry had been good. Very, very good. Susceptible to her orders, yet manly and rough and strong when he needed to be. Her knees still quivered from her climax, and that night she couldn’t help but snake a hand down her body to bring herself to another orgasm while she recalled the evening’s events.
Nicole never met with the same man twice. Doing so could give the impression she wanted a relationship. Alternatively, she might develop feelings for someone herself, and that wasn’t the aim of these meetings. It was therefore essential to simply cut off all contact after a liaison.
And yet, when a couple of days later an email from Harry landed in her inbox, she couldn’t deny that she felt a frisson of excitement. She knew that she wanted a bit more. Maybe just one more meeting. It couldn’t hurt, surely? Indeed, his message was brief and to the point:
Nicole
That was amazing. Fucking amazing. Any chance of a repeat? I have a nice idea for a different venue.
Harry
Nicole refused to reply straight away or even for the rest of that day. She slept on it, reasoning that if she replied immediately she would say yes, and she wasn’t sure if this was a realm she wanted to enter into. The next day, though, all she could think about was getting him somewhere naughty one more time. She decided to hedge her bets.
Harry
It was pretty good, yes. Thank you. I don’t ever see anyone more than once I’m afraid.
But, and it’s a big but, if you come up with a location that intrigues me, I may make a single exception in this instance. Just to be clear, this is not the start of anything serious.
Nicole
Harry replied within 10 minutes.
Nicole
Totally understand. I knew the score. See what you think. I’ve got a mate who’s a teacher. Tomorrow night there’s an open evening at his secondary school, so all doors are open. I reckon we could turn up there pretending to be parents checking out the school and then find a quiet room somewhere, maybe a science lab, for a bit of fun. What do you think?
Harry
Another very good idea. As with many people, school had been a time for Nicole of barely concealed lust that she knew little what to do with. Most of it went unrequited. Plus, she had always had a crush on her science teacher, a dashing silver fox in his forties. If he ever demonstrated an experiment at his desk, Nicole or one or two of the other girls, whoever felt like being naughty, would stand uncomfortably close to him, perhaps pushing out their chests, until he began to stammer nervously. Such a cruel thing to do to an honest man just trying to make a living.
She also liked the idea of, however briefly, pretending to be normal parents. Made a change from the usual quick shag, however much she enjoyed that. So she wrote back, agreeing, and they arranged to meet outside a convenience store close to the school.
For this adventure, Nicole dressed sensibly. After all, she needed to look the part of a ruminating parent. She wore a royal blue dress, soft to the touch, which ran to her knees. It was sensible office wear, although she still looked fantastic in it because it hugged her curves quite perfectly and offered, perhaps, a little more cleavage than most mums would display at a school open evening.
7.30pm. Harry was 15 minutes late. Nicole was not a fan of poor punctuality. She gave him five more minutes, but there was still no sign. She was about to stalk off back to her car when another vehicle pulled up and a man scrambled out. “Nicole?” he asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“Look, I’m, er…” he turned and beeped the locking system on his car – a rather sleek BMW. “I’m really sorry about this. It’s a bit awkward. I’m… well, my name’s Toby.” Just as with Harry, he was extremely well spoken. He stuck a hand out to be shaken, but she left it hanging. “I’m a good friend of Harry’s. Listen…” he scratched the back of his head. “Listen, I’m sorry about this, but Harry can’t make it. Something came up and, well, he can’t be here. He doesn’t have your number, does he? So he couldn’t call. He asked me to come out and let you know. I, er, I don’t live too far away.”
“I see.”
“So, I’m really sorry.” There was a pause. Nicole was annoyed. She had never been stood up like this before. Still, it wasn’t Toby’s fault.
“Okay, no harm done. Thanks for letting me know.” She turned again to walk to her car. She took a few steps and then:
“Nicole!” she turned around. He jogged up to her. “This is awkward, as I said. Umm… okay, I’ll just say it. Harry told me why he was meeting you here tonight. It’s my fault, I told him I wouldn’t come unless he gave me the gossip, I’m awful like that. I apologise. But, er, well, I was thinking… since you’re here… and I’m here… would you be interested in…?” he screwed his mouth up questioningly. She looked him up and down. He wasn’t very tall, shorter than her with her heels on. Quite stocky. But, she had to concede, he had a devilish look about him, the sort of rawness displayed by, say, Robert Downey Jr. Not quite as hot as him, but not a million miles away either.
“In what?”
Toby grinned and any pretence at bashfulness melted from his face. “A bit of fun in a science lab?”
She laughed at this, softening a little. It wasn’t exactly a textbook pick-up, but then her usual methods were not exactly usual either. And he was attractive. And it would mean not breaking her rule of sleeping with the same man twice. “How do you know Harry?”
“We play rugby together.”
“You look a little short for rugby, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Well, I’m the, er, the hooker.” Now it was
her turn to flash a naughty smile. “The hooker is the one in middle of the scrum who has to get the ball, he has to be…”
“Yes, it’s okay, I know that much.” There was another pause as she assessed him, her arms folded.
“Hey look, no worries. I’d love to take you in there, you’re even hotter than Hazza said, but I understand if…”
“Who are we?”
“What?”
“Mr and Mrs what?”
“What?”
“In there,” she flicked her head towards the school. “In case anyone asks.”
“Oh. Great! Well, Mr and Mrs Smith?”
“How original.”
“Easy to remember.”
“Fair enough.”
In the event, no one asked their names. They wandered around a few classrooms, asked one or two questions of the teachers and smiled benignly at the good students who had dutifully stayed behind after hours.
This was the first time Nicole had set foot in a school since she was 18 and the familiarity, even though it was a completely different school, was startling. It was the little things. The smell. The old plastic moulded chairs. The dress sense of the teachers, which still seemed to be marooned somewhere in the early 70s.
They didn’t waste too much time pretending to be married, though. Nicole was keen to find an empty room. Yet wherever they looked there seemed to be people milling about. She was about to suggest something radical, like finding the head teacher’s office, when they stumbled across the science labs. There were four of them down a long corridor, two on each side. With a quick check, it was clear that only the first one on the left was being used.
Going for the safe option, they tried to open the door to the second on the right, but it was locked, as was the one opposite. The first on the right was locked too, although it was probably too risky anyway. It appeared they had been foiled. Then Nicole had an idea. She took Toby into the lab that was open, where parents were taking turns asking questions of two science teachers dressed in stained white coats. Nicole remembered that at her school there was often a sort of buffer area between two labs where the teachers and the lab assistants would pretend to work when really they were probably smoking a ciggie or having a cup of tea. Or, in the case of Dr Langston, sneaking regular swigs of whisky. If the set up was the same here, they might just be able to nip through into the neighbouring lab.
Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail Page 4