Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail

by Foxwell, C. D.

  As they swanned through the special business class queues at LAX airport Helena felt fresh and ready for a wonderful holiday. They located the carousel for the flight’s luggage, although Adam had travelled only with his sleek executive carry-on case. She gave him a hug. “Well, thank you very much, Adam, I’ll be recommending you to all my friends,” she laughed, handing him a small white envelope. “When are you heading back?”

  “Quick stop over in a hotel tonight and then back tomorrow. It’s a hard life!”

  “It… certainly is. Another client?”

  “Now that would be telling.” He kissed her once, delicately, on the lips. “You have my number.”

  “I do. Thank you. Take care.”

  “Have a great holiday!”

  Adam strolled off, immaculately, like a young George Clooney. Helena wished she could keep him – at least for the flight back. A few minutes later, her friend Jill appeared through the crowds, finally emerging after the longer queues she had to endure with the all other economy passengers. “Where is he then? Did I miss him?” she demanded excitedly.

  “Yep, sorry, he’s disappeared. Wandered off into the sunset. Without me.”

  “Damn. What was it like, come on, tell me! Was it worth it?”

  Helena looked her right in the eye for a moment or two. “Yes. Oh fuck, yes. Every single fucking penny.” And they went to wait for their suitcases to arrive on the carousel.

  “I’m going to need full details of course,” giggled Jill.

  “Of course!”

  “And I have got business class on the way back, right?”

  “You have. It’s amazing, you’ll see.”

  Online Dating

  - This is how this is going to work.

  - OK

  - You look ok, you don’t seem stupid.

  - Thanx

  - Try to spell ‘thanks’ correctly, or this is over, right now.

  - OK. Thanks.

  - If you type LOL, or, worse, LOLZ or you spell, say, ‘right’ R-I-T-E, then this is also over.

  - Understood

  - I can just about accept ‘u’ for ‘you’

  - OK

  - So, I’m on this site for no strings sex, one time only. Nothing else.

  - Sounds good

  - But I have some rules. You need to be fit and I need to fancy you. So, I need you to email me a full-length photo of yourself in underwear. I don’t need a cock pic, so don’t send one.

  - Do I get a pic of you?

  - No.

  - Seems unfair

  - Let me ask you this: if I decide I want to fuck you, will you turn me down if I don’t send you a pic of myself in my undies?

  - No

  - Does my photo look good to you?

  - Yes. Very.

  - Exactly. So if you want this, then email me. I’ll give you the address in a second.

  - OK

  - Second thing. I like sex in unusual places. I need you to suggest somewhere we can do it. If I like the sound of it, and I like your pic, we do it. Tonight.

  - Fuck yes.

  - I’m telling you now - I don’t want drinks, I don’t want small talk, I don’t want flowers or chocolate. Just sex.

  Nicole gave Harry her email address and exited the chat window.

  Harry. She’d met one or two posh boys over the last few months and she guessed by his name that he might be another. She had expected the hook-up website to be full of desperate teenagers with constant erections and men in their late 40s who liked dogging, but in fact, the clientele was as varied as other, more, well, romantic dating sites. There was a mixture of everyday people who liked sex (like herself), some curious people who didn’t seem to be quite sure what they were doing there, and a small but significant percentage of genuine weirdoes. Fortunately, she had become pretty adept at weeding the strange ones out during online chat, although she found you could often deduce a fair amount simply from a person’s photo. For example, anyone who looked too morose or too happy was not worth bothering with. They always had issues, especially the happy ones.

  Most people on the site tended to use some kind of body shot rather than a facial image, likely out of fear of being recognised. Men often opted for a picture of a naked torso, or a pair of well-filled boxers or, quite simply, a close-up of an erection. The latter was rarely a sexy sight for Nicole. Far too… clinical. Women had a few more options: a close-up of their lipsticked lips, a shot of their boobs encased in a bra, a naked photo from behind or, in some cases, a photo that might best be described as ‘gynaecological’. Subtlety was regularly low on the agenda. Plus, a large number of the female accounts were almost definitely fake, placed there by the site management to boost the apparent number of willing nymphomaniacs in order to lure in monthly subscriptions from sex-starved males. It was a bit of a minefield, truth be told.

  Nicole’s photo was deliberately understated. It was from shoulders to waist, showing her long, dark hair cascading over a well-fitted suit jacket. The lapels joined in the middle of her chest and parted again at the abdomen. Most would assume that she was wearing nothing underneath it. She wasn’t. Nicole had chosen very carefully. What she wanted was something with sex appeal, yet still on the right side of slutty. Something that had a touch of class, but with a naughty edge. Her loose hair and the two revealing triangles of warm, bronzed skin achieved that effect nicely.

  Contrary to the aim when joining standard dating sites, she did not want to stand out from the crowd. She keenly wanted to avoid clumsy, desperate messages from boys typing with one hand. She wanted men to skip past her picture and email the woman with her legs splayed. She valued her unobtrusiveness. It left her relatively unbothered while she searched for the men she liked the look of.

  It allowed her to do the hunting.

  This was a process she had refined over about 18 months. Previously, she had been a member of several dating sites, but her experiences left her unfulfilled. Most of the men she met were quite nice and once or twice she engaged in a short-term romance, but she never became serious with anyone. She was too busy.

  Work, going out with friends, going to the gym, travel. These were the most important aspects of her life. Particularly the travel – and she preferred to travel alone. Quiet beach holidays with a partner were not her idea of fun. She liked to explore, to get lost, to fold herself into the fabric of a new country, a different city. This was best done without companions. She could be whomever she wanted, do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And it was a great way to meet some fabulous men, too. She still caught herself daydreaming about the wealthy gentleman she met in Rio: one chance Friday night drink somehow turned into a filthy, raucous, debauched party on a yacht that lasted over three days. Men and women – sore, sated, hungover – limped back through the harbour in sheer exhaustion late on the Monday night.

  Nicole knew that her lifestyle was not conducive to a long-term relationship. Perhaps she may want something more substantial in the future, but for now she had moulded a private life that suited her perfectly. She still occasionally used standard dating sites if she fancied a meal out or a few drinks with a handsome man. But if she needed something naughtier, which every now and again she did, then she ventured onto this particular hook-up site, which, in a pretty dodgy field, seemed a little more reliable than most of the others.

  It was a place where she could be at ease with her particular fetish, which was to have sex, with strangers, in unusual places. She particularly liked the thrill of fucking in public, but she was always open to other inventive suggestions.

  She had recorded some memorable experiences over the course of the last year and a half. There was Tom, a giant at six foot six inches, the tallest man she had ever been with. They did it in a disabled toilet at a shopping centre during their lunch break. Nicole always smiled at remembering this one because Tom was so tall that it was impossible for him to creep about under anyone’s radar – he had spent most of his life enduring people unapologetically pee
ring at him because of his height. Nicole had no doubt that several shoppers must have seen him follow her into the loo and guessed what was going to happen. That just made it even better. She got him down on the floor in seconds, whipped out his cock, and rode him until she juddered to a satisfying climax. They were in and out in five minutes. And it was incredible. Intense, quick, perfect.

  Then there was Jermaine, a taekwondo instructor, 15 stone of bulging muscle. He invited her to watch one of his training sessions. She kept her eyes on him at all times, willing him to get prematurely hard while she waited for the lesson to end. Once all his students had left, he roughly pounded her, right in the centre of the mat, her ankles by her ears, beads of sweat sparkling on his chest, his black belt tied around her naked waist.

  The most memorable one was on a rooftop in the centre of a town about 30 miles from where she lived. In that area, quite a few of the buildings had chairs and tables on their flat roofs so that in the summer months employees could enjoy lunch there or have a drink after work.

  On this occasion, David, a company director, led her to the roof of his firm’s building one warm evening. He offered her a drink, but Nicole refused. She always rigidly stuck to her rules – no small talk, no presents. Just sex. She had been tempted on that occasion though, because David looked particularly debonair in his fitted crimson shirt and loosened, thin black tie. He was a few years older than her, with his otherwise black hair turning a twinkling silver at the temples. At the top of the stairs he started kissing her and she pushed him out onto the terrace, tearing at his shirt buttons and encouraging his hands to whip under her own shirt to unclip her bra.

  He picked her up and placed her on a rocky plastic table and within seconds he had her knickers swinging from the end of one of her shoes. He devoured her slick pussy until her body began to shake, and then he took her right to the edge of the terrace. She placed her hands on the safety rail and he quickly entered her from behind, grunting as his pelvis slapped against her naked arse. She reached for his hand and held it against her breast, compelling him to massage it, to venomously tweak at her nipple.

  She looked out at the magical view across the town, at the snaking river, at the green countryside just beyond, at the slowly setting sun and felt her body thrill to his almost musical rhythm.

  And then she heard a noise. A laugh? She looked up and on another terrace to her right, a couple of storeys higher, a whole group of people, men and women, all holding bottles of beer, were staring, smiling, giggling. She didn’t tell David. She just sighed louder and stared right into the eyes of the very cute guy at the end of the row until she came, loudly, making sure her audience would be able to hear her. When she turned to kiss David and it was obvious the show was over, the crowd whooped and applauded. She waved to them, delighted. David, out of breath, in shock, could only do the same.

  On the other hand, she had turned down plenty of interesting offers for various reasons. There was Craig, who wanted to bang her on the ghost train at a funfair that was passing through town. She refused partly because of the possibility that kids might see them, but mostly because he had ignored her instruction not to send a picture of his genitalia. In fact, his full-length, full-nude photo included him giving the thumbs up sign. With both thumbs. Definite nutcase.

  She also resisted a tantalising suggestion from Chris, who wanted to do her on a pedalo on a lake in a large park just outside of town. Firstly, she was sure they would capsize and secondly, even she, with all her experience and creativity, couldn’t quite work out what position they could do on a small pedalo without one of them falling in.

  And she said no to Wayne, who insisted that it would be fun to hide in a nearby National Trust property until it closed for the evening before fucking in one of their impeccably kept rooms. Nicole was all for danger. She loved showing a bit of disrespect. But something about leaving sexual DNA on an immaculate, antique chaise longue just seemed a little, well, wrong.

  Occasionally, apparently unpromising encounters could spring a surprise. Her last liaison before Harry was booked, arranged and satisfactorily completed within just 90 minutes.

  Kieran was 19 years old and worked a night shift at his local Asda supermarket. He was surfing the hook-up site late one evening when he and Nicole, who was only idly browsing and had been about to go to bed, began messaging. Normally she wouldn’t have gone for someone as young as Kieran, but, unusually, he had placed a picture of his face on his profile. He was extraordinarily good-looking. With his unkempt, scruffy hair and stubble, he looked like a cute, grungy rock star, not a million miles from Kurt Cobain. When he sent a photo as requested, he suggested, very probably because he couldn’t think of anything else at the time, that she visit him at work in an hour. Suddenly feeling horny and adventurous, Nicole agreed.

  Around midnight, she was shiftily waiting in the shadows outside the back of Asda. A figure opened a small door and beckoned her in. Without saying a word, Kieran took her hand and stealthily led her to the back of the storeroom. His youth, and the way he kept a wary eye out for colleagues and bosses, had the intoxicating effect of making her feel like she was 16 and virginal all over again.

  They edged between two mammoth pallets of tinned goods until they were in a small, secluded space between the pallets and a wall. Sweetly, he had thought to lay a blanket on the dusty floor. Without ceremony, he was all over her, clearly enormously excited. Clumsily, he fumbled with the zipper on the back of her dress and then desperately pushed his hands down the front of it, eager to get at her tits. In the end, she had to slow him down and undress for him. He waited impatiently and then attacked her nipples like he was a starving man. She stroked his hair while he sucked and pulled at them with his teeth.

  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 cov
er 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?”