Mind Games - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist

by Gabi Moore

  I turned to flash him a devilish grin.

  “Pipe down back there. You’d be flattered, anyway,” I said and picked up the pace. I could hear his low breath and chuckle as we ascended higher still.

  Then, the brush thinned a little and, just like I remembered, the trees seemed to stop all at once, in an almost perfect straight line, leaving us out in the middle of a beautiful, deserted clearing. Just a few yards off, again exactly as I remembered them, were four trees huddled together in a secretive clump, the shade between them looking dark and delightful. He shielded his eyes to look at where I was pointing, then looked at me, then dropped his weight and in an instant had sped off, sprinting as hard as he could to the trees, kicking his heels up high as he yelled behind him, “last one is a rotten egg!”

  I shrieked and took off after him, but couldn’t catch him. By the time I reached the cool shadows of the trees, he was waiting for me there with strong, open arms, and I ran straight into him, panting and laughing, him closing his arms around me and tumbling us both down to the floor, giggling like preschoolers the whole way down.

  It happened so quickly it was though we both had no control over it at all. Our bodies, close enough and already hot and slick with sweat, simply found their well-worn way to one another, already well-programmed on the old dance we had practiced so many times before. My mouth was on his in an instant. I found myself desperately grinding against his hip bone, frantically trying to relieve the tension put there from a whole day of frustrated glances and flirty smiles.

  Fuck, I wanted him.

  I wanted him so badly it nearly burnt.

  Gasping lips firmly on mine, his greedy hands clutched and grasped at me, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to grope first. It was hot, fervent fumbling of two horny teenagers, fucking outdoors in a stolen bit of time. He rose up to his haunches and towered over me, clumsily tearing at my sarong and unknotting it. My bikini flew off without any protest and the sarong was tossed aside without any ceremony either. My head flopped to the side to see them both hanging limp in the long grass all around us; grass long enough to bend under us and mold a little secret bed all around us, grass whispering almost as eagerly as we were.

  “Kat! What’s that?” He pulled back and looked at me, stunned.

  I flopped back down on the soft grass, threw my hands up over my hand and looked at him provocatively.

  “I got it a few days ago,” I said. “Do you like it?”

  His hands went down to touch the plump skin at the top of my thigh. A thick, black band of solid black circled me there, striking in the contrast.

  “You got a tattoo…” he said as he passed his tanned brown fingertips over the spot again and again.

  “Do you like it?” I asked and looked at him coyly.

  “I fucking love it,” he growled and leaned it to kiss me passionately again.

  Soon his clothing came off too, and the sudden heat of his hard body against my skin kindled the ache between my legs into a full-blown blaze. I squirmed hard against his hips, like every part of my body wanted to feast on every part of his. His fat cock bobbed hard and swollen against the now naked skin of my stomach.

  “Let’s do it now,” I breathed into his ear. It looked like it took the most monumental effort to tear himself away from me.

  “I’m ready,” he said, and gave me a look that was almost intoxicated.

  I reached over the wisps of grass and found the satchel. Inside was a little box. I took it in my hands and handed it to him. We sat opposite one another, completely naked in our temple of grass, his dick so hard it was straight up and nearly flat against his stomach.

  I opened the box and took out one of the rings. He had made them both from three bands of different colored hardwoods. I gave it to him, and he took one in his hands too.

  I had thought long and hard about the words for this moment. The gestures. But the more I did, the more I realized that that would only cheapen things.

  Eyes misty, I simply took his hand and slid the ring onto his finger. He did the same to me, hands trembling. The grass whispered around us, and the sky was clean and fresh and open all above us. We held hands for a moment, together, knees touching, stripped of everything and with no audience except four lonely, generous trees.

  He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my lips, and lingered there. Again our bodies folded into each other, easily.

  It had been hard, some of the lessons we’d endured, but we had learnt one another, slowly but surely He had studied all the little signs and signals fluttering on the surface of my body, and I had taken the long and punishing path of learning how to accommodate the total, punishing heft of his oversized cock, again and again and again, until I felt completely re-sized, molded and shaped for him and him alone.

  I could tell he was a little at a loss without any steel or leather to restrain me, but why bother? He had me so completely that he could pin me to the ground with just a look. I knew our original shared instruments had been cruder ones, made of bolts and ropes and buckles, but under these trees, in this wild air and sunshine, we were stripped of all our old props, of our clothing, of our pasts, of everything. It was just him, me, and the sordid things we were about to do to one another.

  I leaned forward to take him in my mouth, gliding a wet tongue round his ample head and quickly swallowing down as much as of that smooth, hard length that I could. At first I had struggled to get even half of him inside my throat. But the desire to please him – and several expert lessons later – he had trained me to open up fully to him. He groaned and whimpered, pressing up his strong hips to meet my mouth.

  I pounced on top of him and spread my legs wide, straddling over him.

  This was the right landscape for him. My gorgeous, shaggy, big-cocked beast of a man stared back up at me with clouds reflected in his eyes, and I stared down at him, pressing the grass flat so it lay round him in whorls.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you.”

  I lowered myself and popped the tip of his cock against my dripping wet body, stroking him up and down with my other hand.

  “Good. Then show me,” I said.

  Like a man possessed, he smirked and swore under his breath and in an instant gripped my thighs and thrust upwards into me, driving every inch of it inside and splitting me apart. I screamed in pleasure and dropped my shuddering weight even further onto him, my body hungry for all of him.

  Rolling my hips with his hands, he instantly found a quick, savage rhythm inside me, pounding hard and insistent into my grateful pussy, till I felt I could barely breathe. As though I was already out of my body, I heard myself moaning gutturally with each deep pump. My hair swished and whispered like the grass, and I quickly felt that blissful, syrupy swirl growing inside, right the tip of his cock touched the deepest parts of me, right where nobody had touched before.

  He was clenching and unclenching his jaw, eyes half closed as he focused intently on driving everything he had up into me. I loved the way his abs pulled and tightened with each stab, and how I could already spot the beginnings of an orgasm on his flushed face, on his quivering lower lip…

  “Harder,” I whispered darkly into his ear, then cried out as he instantly redoubled his efforts, sending almost painfully delicious ripples all through me, right up my spine, so even my fingertips felt turned on.

  There was nothing left of the old Kat anymore. Out here in the sun, my flesh was mortified. I was cleansed. Reborn. Impaled on his massive cock, I would have let go of every last shred of the woman I once was.

  “Oh god… “I moaned. “Even harder …fuck me … fuck me till there’s nothing left…”

  And he did.

  - THE END -

  All Or Nothing

  Blurb

  If you think you’ve heard this story before – you know, the one where the bored housewife messes around with the plumber or the repairman or the mechanic while her husband is at work – well, what can I say.

&
nbsp; Parts of my life certainly are predictable.

  My life, from some angles, looks a hell of a lot like a cheesy daytime soap.

  But that’s not all it is.

  You might not believe me yet, but this is a story about love.

  No, really. You’ll see…

  Chapter 1 - Natasha

  It was the first and probably the only pink and gold Birkin bag this young stud would ever see.

  Not that he could possibly understand just how much money he was actually looking at, but still. I knew. He wasn’t here to look at my shoe collection and I wasn’t here to hear about his sob story working at the pool boy factory or whatever.

  We were here to fuck.

  If you think you’ve heard this story before – you know, the one where the bored housewife messes around with the plumber or the repairman or the mechanic while her husband is at work – well, what can I say. Parts of my life certainly are predictable. My life, from some angles, looks a hell of a lot like a cheesy daytime soap. But that’s not all it is. You might not believe me yet, but this is a story about love.

  No, really. You’ll see.

  Anyway, the great thing about young bucks like this one is their truly invincible cocks. Pablo, bless his soul, was ready to go again, even though I had just ridden him for an hour and had scarcely caught my breath.

  I lay like a starfish on my brushed cashmere and down-stuffed bed throw. There I lay in my glittering boudoir, with the tall bay windows and the custom made opal and platinum chandelier tinkling above me, and my pink and white Persian rug underfoot, and enough diamonds on my wrist to pay for five years of college for this young stud and as many baby mamas as he could possibly manage.

  But here’s the part in the story where I tell you I didn’t actually want any of that. Make no mistake, I look good rich. Really good. I’m a hot bitch and I know it. But I would have been a hot bitch without it.

  The boring truth is this: money isn’t that much fun, after a while at least. The first time I met Todd I made him fuck me on a pile of hundreds. I told him to keep his Cartier watch on when he fingered me. I pranced naked in heels by the pool and walked right up close to the edge and modelled for him, my fresh extensions brushing down my back, drunk and teasing him that I’d fall into the water any second. Not that it mattered, since the pool was perfectly heated all through the year anyway, and I’m sure even if I did drown Todd could just pay someone to scoop me out and make me alive again if he wanted.

  But you get the idea.

  I didn’t want any of that. The “trappings” of luxury. The so-called high life. The glitz and the jewels and the cars and the designer clothes …those things started to seem pretty lame after a year or two. Of course, a “girl like me” should never stop being grateful she snared such a prize of a man, and I am …but I’m also not an idiot, you know?

  I needed more.

  Anyway, one of the reasons I didn’t need any of that stuff was that I was naked most of the time these days anyway. When you spend as much money as I do on looking hot, you want to show it all off.

  So it goes like this: around $3000 a month on my hair, and that’s just the extensions. Keeping it full of beachy, loose Hollywood blonde waves costs me about that and then some. Another grand for my nails, and I like them long. My boob job had cost a lot, and I for sure paid too much for it, but whatever. I won’t tell you exactly how much that set me back, you’ll freak out. What else? I get about a grand’s worth of Botox and lip stuff done, every six months or so, just to top up. Facials another couple hundred. Spray tans add up, too.

  Anyway, I’m rambling. But I just wanted to describe everything to you clearly, so you can really see me there on the bed, “naked”. Partly because I didn’t need no expensive string bikini, and partly because I was a dirty little whore and I liked it that way.

  I split my legs and pulled them open into a mid-air splits. When you’re married to one of the country’s wealthiest men, all you do every single day is yoga. Just, like, so much yoga. It does pay off, though, and if you could see how long and lean those legs were, you’d understand.

  I giggled, giving him a full, glorious view of my naughty little cunt, the one that my shriveled bastard of a husband hadn’t touched in 8 months, 3 weeks and 5 days. But that was OK, because it turns out that when you’re married to one of the country’s wealthiest men, you get to have whatever you want. And what I wanted right at that moment was his fat, nasty cock in me. Again.

  Before I married Todd, I thought ‘pool boys’ were just some kind of TV thing. Like, they couldn’t possibly be real. But they are! And this one hadn’t actually cleaned the pool much since I discovered how good it felt to have him screw me like this in my bedroom, in broad daylight. It was always better when he brought a friend along, but today he was alone. I had let him ‘work’ a little before I called him over, just to make sure some of the sun got into his lovely brown skin, and that he broke a sweat, just a little.

  I liked it best when they left me feeling as dirty as possible afterwards. Sadly, chlorine is a pretty clean smell. Which is partly why I preferred the landscaper, who once dragged his hands, completely caked with mud, right down the front of my white silk Stella McCartney nightdress.

  I fucking loved it.

  The landscaper was older though, and got tired too quickly, which was a pity, since he was hung like a horse and clearly had …’issues’. I also like it when my little fuck toys have ‘issues’. Makes things more interesting, I find.

  He waltzed back into the room from the bathroom, great big purple cock already bouncing up and down, and looked at me and split legs, and laughed.

  “You’re crazy,” he said in a thick accent.

  He fell to his knees on the bed in front of me and leaned down onto his hands and knees, crawling over to me like the baby he was.

  He was handsome. Young, dumb and full of …well, full of himself as it turns out. Like a regular old Narcissus, I’d often caught Pablo literally and actually admiring his own reflection in the pool. But whatever, he was an extremely pretty boy. Kind of swarthy dark hair, loosely curled, a strong jaw, broad shoulders and abs you could grate cheese on …the whole package. Oh, and his package: it was dark, like you’d expect, and thick. He took every last scrap of hair off down there, which is something I guess the younger kids are into, but there you go. I did tell you he was a bit of a narcissist.

  He put his lips all over my body and began to kiss and fondle me chaotically, all along down my sides, then my belly, then the tops of my legs.

  “Sweetheart, I already have a bunch of people to massage me… why don’t you just get to it?” I laughed and grabbed his strong thighs. He laughed too.

  When he pushed his dick inside, I was still slick from the last time he had me, although, being slightly tipsy, I wasn’t even sure when that was anymore. An hour ago? Three hours ago? It didn’t matter. Todd wouldn’t come home till well past midnight. If he came home at all.

  I tossed back my head and moaned, and pulled his hips deeper in. It stung a little. For a brief moment I thought that maybe I was actually having too much sex these days …but then I giggled and tightened around him. Nope, that was crazy talk. I was a dirty little whore and I never, never would get enough.

  He collapsed down onto me and started pumping, his strong, young hips bucking into mine like we had scarcely taken a break at all. I tossed my head back and groaned, feeling him reach all the way inside me. Head hanging upside down off the bed, I caught sight of the Birkin bag again. Was it actually just the tackiest bag ever? I decided then and there, with young Pablo balls deep and rutting away, that that bag had to go and I wanted one in a different color, immediately.

  “Yeah, fuck me,” I said, but my heart wasn’t quite in it.

  He pumped faster. I was bored.

  “Please hurry, Mr. Beckford is going to be home any moment now, and I don’t want him to catch us…” I said in a sweet voice.

  He froze.

  “Oh? Mr. B
eckford told me he wasn’t coming home till late tonight…?”

  I groaned. Even the mere mention of my goddam husband’s name was enough to kill the magic in any moment.

  “Obviously, yes, Pablo. I know that, just …will you…?” I stared up at his tousled curls, gestured for him to carry on, then watched as it dawned on him and he smiled and got back to work.

  “You’re a dirty little fucking slut, Mrs. Beckford…” he began, and I felt something delicious stirring inside me. Yes. Yes, I was a dirty little fucking slut. “And I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re going to do so much illegal adultery right now, without your husband to see you,” he said into my ear, accent thick and breath heavy.

  Oh my god. I mean, English wasn’t his first language, I guess.

  I pushed him off me.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs. Beckford?” his cock bobbed wet and heavy against his belly.

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “But I thought…?” he knelt forward and tried to touch me but I shrugged him off. He pulled back and frowned at me.

  I smelled good. A new scent I had bought yesterday. I looked down at the diamonds on my fingers, the glossy pale pink manicure that wouldn’t come off even with hard work. Which I never did, of course, but still.

  “Pablo, am I pretty?” I asked him.

  “Mrs. Beck. I mean Natasha, you’re the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen…” he started, eyes wide.

  “Yes ok, sure, but am I hot though?” I said. I had shut and crossed my legs and was looking at him, and we were suddenly two best friends in the world’s strangest sleepover.

  He whistled and clucked his tongue, eyeing me up and down. “Ma’am? You’re one mujer caliente, for real…”

  I smiled at him as he ogled my tits. His dick stood straight up in his lap. “Do you think I’m crazy though…?” I said, cocking my head to one side and cooing at him with my best little-girl-lost voice. I could tell he couldn’t tear his nasty little eyes away from my cunt. He shook his head and chuckled.