Erotica (the collected works of Amelie)

by Amelie

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.