Erotic Amusements

by Justine Elyot

  “So what’s your real name?” asked Rocky, keeping his eyes on a cargo freight vessel on the far horizon.

  “Flipp. That’s my name. That’s me. Aren’t I real enough for you?” She needed to deflect him from this course.

  He looked down, sniffing, seeming to register her helmet-flattened platinum spikes and her mutinously set jaw. “Oh, you’re real enough for me, all right,” he said, the words coming from a place low down in his chest. He moved his hand up from her shoulder to stroke gently at the shaved bit behind her ear. “Unless I’m dreaming you. I’m not, am I?”

  “So corny,” Flipp scoffed, but her breath caught at the expression of naked intent in his gaze. “You’ll be asking if heaven’s missing an angel next.”

  “The old lines are the best,” Rocky teased, tugging on a strand of ruthlessly lacquered hair. “How did you like your first ride?”

  “Yeah.” Flipp smiled, recalling the elemental joy that had coursed through her all the way along the ribbon of coast road. “Nice. I’d definitely do that again.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. These are pretty. Butterflies.” Rocky’s gloved fingers were fiddling with her earring, rubbing at the sensitive spot behind her earlobe in the process. She inhaled shudderingly at the sensation of leather in that special place, looking at his other arm, bare and strong until the flare of the gauntlet announced the beginnings of his wrist.

  “I like butterflies,” she managed to say. “I kind of feel them, you know. Their spirit.” She swallowed. Rocky’s thumb had reached slyly round to the hollow at the back of her neck and was pressing into it, unleashing spectacular sensation and a telling dampness at her crotch.

  “You’re a butterfly? Can’t choose which flower to settle on?”

  “In a way. I like to be free.”

  “You want to watch someone doesn’t come along with a bloody great net, then. I can imagine someone wanting to pin you down by the wings.”

  She dared to look up at his face. “Can you?”

  “Ohhh, yes,” he crooned, and then he was leaning down and into her, and the sharp tips of his stubble prickled her, and lips that were hard and soft at the same time made their demands known.

  Flipp had guessed he would kiss like this, imperiously and urgently, holding her fast with a hand at the back of her neck, but it still felt like a luscious revelation. The rush and clatter of shingle beneath the waves provided a fitting soundtrack to this unexpected passion strike, which was broken off only for him to urge her to discard the “stupid bloody jacket,” which she did eagerly, with jittery fingers, to press up all the closer. The layers of thin cotton did little to restrain their open-air ardour. Their arms and legs entwined, their tongues twirled together and still they were not close enough. Still they needed to close up every particle of space between them.

  Stretched up on tiptoes, Flipp hooked an elbow around Rocky’s neck, clinging for dear life while he ravaged her mouth. At the base of her stomach, she could feel a hard, leather-covered bulge. She wanted to climb up this solid wall of man and sit astride it, feeling it where it needed to be felt—between her legs. She could see why Rocky treasured his bike—they were of a kind: powerful, attractive, embodying freedom of spirit.

  As if he could read her mind or her smell or the frantic language of her hands, Rocky lifted Flipp off the shingle and perched her at waist level so that she could wrap her legs around his hips, kicking her heels joyously against his tight leather arse while their communion kiss grew still deeper and stronger. Surges of pleasure and need whizzed along Flipp’s neural pathways, all over her body until they gathered in her groin, building up and up into a ferment of wetness and wanting that had her bucking herself into Rocky’s pelvis. Her denim miniskirt was rucked around her thighs now and her knickers must have been transferring their soaked warmth to Rocky’s T-shirt, even through her leggings. He pulled down the spaghetti straps of her layered vest tops and grabbed a handful of breast before wrenching himself out of the kiss to snarl, “You need a good fuck.”

  Flipp could hardly disagree but managed to gasp, “What? Here?”

  “If you want.” His eyebrows expressed the query. Her playful nipping of the side of his neck answered it. Rocky began to march up the beach, into the sheltered backshore at the foot of the cliffs. Larger rocks were strewn amidst the fallen scree and Rocky chose one to lower her onto.

  “Is this, um, safe?” she asked, eyeing the sheer limestone and chalk that stretched up to the skyline.

  “What? Fucking me? Of course not,” said Rocky, tugging brutally at his belt. “Get your knickers down.”

  “No, I mean…the cliffs. Landslides,” she explained, nonetheless lying back to struggle out of her leggings and leopard-print knickers, careless of her braless breasts exposed by the wrenched-down vests. The cool air stiffened her nipples almost painfully, but she was far beyond caring now.

  “As long as we keep our distance,” Rocky said, pulling his belt taut with a crack before throwing it down on top of the jacket. “This isn’t the worst place for landslides by a long chalk—if you pardon the pun. The only earth moving around here is going to be underneath you, sweetheart.”

  He fell to his knees at the base of her rock and shoved her skirt up around her waist. Above her the cliffs looked as if they were falling, an illusion caused by white clouds travelling slowly behind them. Flipp imagined them collapsing on top of the pair, enveloping them in a cloud of chalk while she and Rocky continued to rut in the rubble, aware of nothing else but their animal need for each other. Her vision dissolved as his still-gloved hands roughly parted her thighs; she looked down at his face, handsomely savage, peering along the channel of her spread legs to salivate over their centre. Oh God, she thought suddenly, we’ve only just met and here we are, on a rock, with my muff staring him directly in the eye. Should I have waited? She looked again at his razor cheekbones and powerful shoulders and answered herself—no. Gift horses, mouths, all that. He was the sexiest man she had ever encountered. Letting him shrug and move on to the next willing partner was not an option.

  “Like what you see?” she asked, giving her hips a brazen little wiggle.

  “Oh yes,” he replied with relish, making to remove his gloves. Flipp meeped a little and tried to struggle up, shaking her head at him.

  “Keep them on?” she ventured.

  He laughed again, such richness and depth to his amusement. “Kinky girl, eh?” She blushed and shrugged as if to say she didn’t really care what he chose to do. “Good. That’s the way I like ’em. Okay, if it turns you on, sweetheart, I’ll keep the gloves.”

  He laid a leathery hand on each of her thighs, rubbing and massaging them, moving ever upwards until he arrived at the destination they both wanted. The leather was dry and smooth on her dewy fat lips; Flipp imagined it shining and sliding with her outpourings. His thumbs held the slit wide, ready for him to dip his head down and inhale the scent of her need for him. “Hmm, you don’t take long to heat up, do you, sweetheart?” Each word delivered a warm blast of breath over her clit. She moaned and squirmed, pleasurably ashamed, shamefully pleasured. One of his fingers, fat and thick in its hide coating, poked its way up inside her, digging and swivelling until it was clear there was room for one more. And then another. The three sleek black probes started out slowly but gained in pace, ramming back and forth while the thumb of his other hand attended to her clitoris. Pressure built up around his fingers until it was almost unbearable, and she knew she was going to explode messily all over his hands, too soon, much too soon. She needed to hang on…

  “You’re going to come, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he rasped, darting out his tongue to lap up the flowing juices, and hanging on flew out of the question just as Flipp’s orgasm flew out of her, drenching the leather and draining her body until she was twitching and spent on her rock. “Mmm, you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he murmured admiringly. “Can I take these off now?” He removed his gloves, trailing the flapping fingers of the one that
had finger-fucked her across Flipp’s cheeks and lips, right under her nose, treating her to her own strong scent, until a silvery web of her own essences crisscrossed her face.

  “I want to feel you,” he whispered, dropping the gloves and cupping her tits, with their swollen, sensitised nipples, in his large rough hands. His lips covered hers again, his tongue lunged, his hands squeezed and the lump in his crotch ground against her wet pussy. “I want to fuck you,” he clarified. “That’s what you want too, isn’t it?”

  “Mmm,” she agreed, her hands in his thick black hair, her mouth on his metallic-tasting skin.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  “How?”

  “Long and hard, really long, really hard.”

  “I can do that, sweetheart.” He prised himself off her and stood. “But you can’t lie on that rock—you’ll bruise your spine. Here.” He put out a hand to pull her up. Her legs were like water and she was dizzy. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers with thrilling deliberation, smirking and glinting at her under his black eyebrows.

  “You want me to lie on the beach?” she asked doubtfully. The shingle contained numerous sharp little pebbles and didn’t look especially comfortable.

  “No.” He began to unzip the fly of his leather trousers, then eased them down over his hips. His erection sprang out, unconfined by any underwear, looking hard and angry and more than ready to take out its rage on her. Leaving the trousers dropped to midthigh level, he sat his bare arse down on the rock and beckoned Flipp over. “Bring the gloves,” he suggested, bewilderingly.

  She handed them over and he placed each one at either side of him. “Padding,” he explained. “For your knees.” He reached inside his trouser pocket and brought out a rubber, skinning it on with practised speed. “Come on, then. I’ve taken you for a ride today. Now you can return the favour.” Brazenly he leaned back on his palms, letting his upright staff do the rest of the inviting.

  Well, it would be rude not to, wouldn’t it? Flipp planted her feet outside his legs and steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. Shuffling up the long line of his lower limbs, she was eventually able to establish herself on the rock, kneeling on the gloves. He grabbed her bottom and helped her to lower her body, down and down, until her sex hovered over his, ready for the plunge.

  She took it inside her slowly, savouring each inch of length and each fraction of stretching girth, looking him in the face with round, astonished eyes and mouth. Oh, it feels so good. Oh, it’s been so long. Oh, it is so long. And so thick. And so good. She yielded and flexed, admitting him all the way in until she sat fully astride the magnificent monster, impaled to the hilt. It felt so comfortable that, for a long time, they just sat there, connected at their roots and at their lips, kissing hungrily and feeling the evening breeze on their naked flesh, until Rocky grew impatient, slapped her bum hard and growled, “Come on, you’ve got work to do. Ride that cock horse hard.”

  Flipp gave him her all; every shred of strength and effort went into the endeavour of milking him dry. She circled, ground, clenched, sucked, bit, tongued, palmed, pinched, keeping that lovely long stick of rock well buried inside. She made him sigh, then pant, then moan, then clamp his mouth over her nipple and suck for all he was worth, his eyelashes fluttering against her breast. He gripped her bottom cheeks so hard she thought he would leave finger marks as he pushed her, forced her back down on his rod, reminding her that she was filled and that she was his.

  “That’s it, deeper, baby, harder, sweetheart,” he raved, releasing her nipple once he had sucked it almost purple. “Fucking ride it, ride it, take it, take it. Are you going to come? I want to make you come again.”

  This simple statement of intent always seemed to do the trick for Flipp. She slapped her hands down hard on his shoulders, squeezed her muscles tightly around his shaft and bore down, determined to drag the climax from inside him and bring it roaring into the open air. She began to gasp, short breaths, carrying the unmistakable whimper of orgasm, and then his voice was washing into the waves and gull cries and shifting shale, a different kind of force of nature, mixing perfectly.

  She slumped into the hollow of his shoulder, only now realising how much of a sweat she’d worked up, hoping he wouldn’t mind an extra patch on his T-shirt. He moved his arms upwards from her arse to wrap around her back, holding her fast to the wall of his chest. She could feel his cock begin to soften, and despite her exhaustion, she was almost disappointed. Already she was afraid that she might not feel it hard again.

  She looked up at him, his eyes half-closed, his lips lusciously bee-stung. He smiled absently at her. “Hmm? Good?”

  “God, yeah,” she assured him. “Really good.”

  “For me too. Probably for them as well.” He unwrapped one arm and pointed outwards to the bay, where suddenly a yacht had appeared, at anchor on the not too distant horizon.

  “Fuck.” she yelped, trying to hop off and retrieve her underwear, but Rocky was holding on tightly and trapped her protestations of panic with a silencing kiss.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured into her ear. “Unless they’re using binoculars, they won’t have seen much more than your arse.”

  “That’s okay, is it?” she exclaimed. “Right.”

  “Thought you were a kinky girl,” he teased. “Thought you might like the idea of flashing your bum at some rich yachtie business type. It turns me on.”

  “I suppose you knew it was there.”

  He chuckled. “My mind was on other things…but it might have flashed into my peripheral vision once or twice…”

  “You bastard.” But Flipp wasn’t really angry. She was just too besotted, already, to quibble. And besides, she did have a nice tight arse.

  “Sorry.” He kissed her once more, long and sloppily, smoothing her denim skirt back over her behind. “All better now?”

  She stepped off his softened prick, pretending to pout while she gathered up her knickers and leggings. “It’s a good thing I like you,” she told him. “Or you’d be on my blacklist.”

  “Oh yeah?” He grinned roguishly, tying a knot in the rubber and slipping it back into his trouser pocket. Yuck. Still, at least he was environmentally friendly. Not bad to the bone after all. “And what happens to the people who wind up on that?”

  She pulled up her knickers and grinned roguishly back. “Dark, secret things.”

  “Really?” The zip was back up, the beast contained. He picked up his belt, cracking it through the air before sliding it through its loops. “Sounds like I might want to be on your blacklist, then. I like dark, secret things. The darker and more secret, the better.”

  “You should have been one of those wreckers.” Leggings on. Vests pulled back up. Fiddling and twiddling with her hair disaster. “You sound like their spiritual heir.”

  “I think I might be their literal heir.” Crooked smile, buckling of belt.

  “You don’t talk like a biker.”

  “Oh, don’t I?” He laughed, a little defensively. “Aren’t bikers allowed to use long words, then, Flipp? Seeing as you’re the expert—never having met any.”

  “Okay, you don’t talk like bikers in films and on TV.”

  “You don’t talk like a girl on minimum wage in a penny arcade. Anything you’d like to share? Apart from bodily fluids?”

  She flicked the air beside his head. “No. And I want to get out of here before the police arrive and arrest us for indecent exposure. Just in case that yachtsman isn’t into live sex on the beach.”

  “You mean there are people who aren’t?” Rocky picked up his jacket and gloves and followed Flipp up the beach to where his bike was parked, turning to give a brief but enthusiastic wave in the yacht’s direction before saddling her up for the ride home.

  Except he didn’t take her home. He took her along the coast to a pub with a garden teetering on the cliff’s edge and bought her a lager top and a packet of salt and vinegar.

&nb
sp; “You’re an old-fashioned gent after all.” She grinned and necked down half of the pint in one thirsty gulp. He smiled back and cleaned the frothy moustache from her upper lip with one gentle fingertip.

  “You might not think so,” he muttered, looking away from her, out to sea. “If you get to know me better.”

  Flipp’s heart snagged, not sure whether to drum enthusiastically at the thought of getting to know him better or sag at the despondency of his tone.

  “Well,” she said, putting a hand on his, “I know you well enough to like you. That’s a start, isn’t it?”

  He picked up her hand, stroking the inside of her wrist. The simplicity and tenderness of it made her want to cry and kiss him and rip off his clothes and smooth his rumpled brow all at once.

  “I like you too, Flipp. I like you a lot. But I probably shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t like me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just…easier. Safer.”

  Yeah, yeah, classic bad boy. I should have known, really.

  “I get it. You’ve got a girlfriend? A wife?”

  “No.” His thumb pressed slightly painfully into the soft flesh. “Well. Not technically. That’s not what I mean. I mean, Cordwainer wouldn’t like it.”

  “Cordwainer? The boss? What’s it to him?”

  “Oh, you’ll find soon enough that everything that goes on in this town is something to him. Many fingers in many pies.”

  “And some of those pies are a bit rancid maybe?”

  Rocky made a grimace that might have been interpreted as a rueful grin.

  “You’re a sharp girl. All the same, best not to ask, Flipp. Best not to mix business and pleasure.”

  “So because I work for Cordwainer…I’m business?”

  “You’re the business, babe.” It was trite but sweet. Flipp glowed despite herself. “But yes. I’m not meant to fuck the workforce.”

  “So why did you take me out tonight?”

  “I wasn’t expecting…what happened to happen. I just wanted to let you in on a few things. A warning of sorts.”