Erotic Amusements

by Justine Elyot

  Her screams were drowned by the water swirling overhead. She thrashed and fought Rocky’s hold on her, but he was far too strong, and he held her under the surface for half a minute before seizing her around the waist and bringing her up, sealing her panting, gasping mouth with a hot, wet kiss.

  Their legs floated and rubbed against each other under the water until Rocky launched off, swimming to the other side of the pool with Flipp on his back as if she were riding a dolphin. At the end of the journey, Rocky flipped onto his back, floating with his passenger horizontal on top of him, a human air mattress.

  “You aren’t cold, are you?” He rippled the water with his hands so that the stars and moon made glints on the ripples of the pool around him.

  “A little bit,” Flipp confessed, shivering.

  “We can’t have that.” Rocky moved to a vertical position again and he held her up in his arms, close and warm, kissing her again until she forgot all about temperatures and chills and other sensible things.

  “Ever done it on a waterslide?” he muttered into her ear.

  “What? Are you mad? That’s not even possible.”

  “Oh, that’s the wrong thing to say to me.”

  Chuckling devilishly, Rocky lifted Flipp out of the water and carried her over to the steps of the waterslide.

  “Up you go,” he said, nudging her bare bottom.

  “This is insane,” she said, but she began to climb, scampering up quickly when she noticed Rocky chasing behind her.

  From the top of the slide, she could see the coloured neon lights of the entertainment complex, the dots of dark people milling about on the pathways, the quiet fields heading down to the sea.

  “People will be able to see me,” she fussed.

  “Not if you get down behind the screens.”

  The top of the waterslide had painted wooden boards at either side to prevent falls. Flipp ducked, hoping Rocky was right.

  He knelt behind her at the top of the ladder, edging her towards the blue plastic spiral that curled down to the pool.

  “This can’t work.” She was giggling nervously now, hoping that Rocky was joking after all. But Rocky never joked about sex. If he said he was going to do something, he did it.

  His arm clamped her about the waist, preventing untimely slippage, and he eased himself into a position in which she sat between his thighs, ready to slide. Instinctively, she leaned back, thinking that he was simply going to hurtle down to the water like that, the pair of them splashing mightily into the glassy calm. She felt his hard ridged cock prod the crease of her backside, but she presumed that would be dealt with later on in the tent.

  “Ohh no,” she whimpered, finding herself firmly rotated by the hips until she knelt between Rocky’s legs facing him, grabbing his shoulders in panic at the thought of falling backwards down the chute.

  He gave her a crooked grin and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Have a bit of faith in me, love,” he reproached. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You mean you’ve done this before?”

  “No. I just know what I’m doing. Come on, now. That’s it.”

  He held her by the cheeks of her arse, pulling her up and over his fat cock tip, letting her sink down until she was filled and impaled. She shifted her knees either side of his thighs, having only a little space for them between the powerful legs and the flat side boards. It wasn’t the most comfortable place she had ever shagged, and it was probably the most precarious, but that heady moment of being filled chased away her cautious reservations. She laid her head on Rocky’s shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of surrender, of absolution from responsibility he brought her. She was in his hands and she had nothing to think about but the satisfaction of their senses.

  His first slow movements inside her made her sigh with relief as well as arousal. His long fingers were splayed across her backside, holding her tight, keeping her close and captive, with nowhere to run from his demanding cock. She had to concentrate hard on maintaining her balance and keeping below the obscuring boards that surrounded the slide, but once she found her stride, she was able to melt into the primal contact, their wet bodies slapping against each other while Rocky searched for the perfect angle inside Flipp’s warm and willing cunt.

  “Anyone could be looking,” he growled into her ear. “Anyone could see your arse at the top of the slide and my cock pushing into you.”

  Actually, this was not strictly true. The slide was a tube. The only way a glimpse of the lovers could be caught would have been from its foot, and as the pool area was deserted, this was unlikely to happen. But the idea excited Flipp, as it always did, and she began to rock a little harder, jiggling and pushing down so that her knees stuck to the damp plastic and the slide began to wobble just a little.

  “Fuck,” gasped Rocky. “I can’t hold on much…” He spread Flipp’s bum cheeks apart, digging urgent fingertips into the soft inner flesh of the cheeks, opening her wider and wider. “When we get back to the tent, I’m having your arse,” he promised in a menacing whisper. Flipp’s G-spot scored a direct hit, and she began to whimper out a helpless climax.

  “Hold tight, sweetheart.” Rocky’s heels gripped the plastic slope, yanking the pair of them forward. Flipp, connected at her most intimate spot to Rocky, found her orgasm take a startling turn as she was forced to crouch down on her lover’s supine form so as not to bang her head on the chute’s roof. Slowly at first, then with incremental whoosh, their bodies slid and rushed down into the blue dark while Flipp bit into Rocky’s shoulders to curb her screams, still experiencing the dying waves of her climax.

  They shot out into the water, which foamed and crashed about them, then there was desperate struggling and spluttering while Flipp and Rocky fell momentarily beneath the surface, linked in an embrace that seemed destined never to end.

  When they came up, Flipp and Rocky were disentangled at the crotch, though not at the chest or legs, coughing and laughing like lunatics, enraptured with each other all over again.

  “You fucking maniac.” Flipp cackled into Rocky’s hair. “I thought that might be the end then.”

  “O ye of little faith,” he reminded her. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ll be doing anything else in here. I’m starting to look like a prune. And it’s bloody freezing now. Must be nearly eleven. The show’ll be over soon in there. Better get out.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Rocky said, pulling her over to the edge. “But if you don’t want to have to run back to the tent in the nip, you’ll have to get to your clothes before I do.”

  Flipp stirred in the sleeping bag, craning her neck back to look at the sleeping Rocky. In the 2 a.m. darkness she could see little apart from his eyelashes, fluttering in a dream, and the tumble of black hair contrasting with his pale skin.

  She had retrieved her T-shirt dress and his jacket but had had to concede the knickers, running back to the tent in the soaked cotton, grateful for the cover of night that obscured the fairly obvious fact that her dress was clinging to bare wet buttocks.

  He had chased her giggling, fleet-footed figure all the way along the path, demanding his jacket back, vowing twenty kinds of revenge.

  She leaped back into the tent and pulled down the zip in the nick of time, hanging on to the tag for dear life while he yanked and flapped at the other side.

  “Open up,” he said in a low warning voice, not wanting to waken any of their canvas-bound neighbours.

  “Or what?”

  “You don’t want to know. But you’ll be sorry.”

  “Oooh, I’m so scared.”

  “You should be. Now open up and I might be persuaded to go easy on you.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to go easy on me.”

  “Oh really?” The tone of dark seduction changed abruptly to one of anxiety. “Fuck. Flipp. Open up. Quick.”

  Alarmed, Flipp unzipped the flysheet, peering out nervously to catch a glimpse of whatever
had alarmed Rocky. But he pushed her triumphantly backwards onto the pile of sleeping bags, zipping back up with a flourish and holding her down with one hand on her collarbone.

  “You’re easily fooled, aren’t you?” He grinned. “Which is just the way I like it.”

  “Oh, you bastard.” moaned Flipp, sprawling helplessly on the nylon covers, kicking her legs to no avail. Despite her protestations, she was already anticipating her second orgasm of the night, and she hoped that this one might be a little less hair-raising. Rocky loomed over her, grabbing his jacket and shaking it next to her face.

  “You never touch the threads,” he said solemnly. “Do you know what happens to girls who touch the threads?”

  “No,” breathed Flipp, very much wanting to find out.

  He threw the jacket aside, grasped Flipp by the shoulders and rolled her firmly onto her stomach.

  The soaked dress was still suctioned to her buttocks, but he managed to unpeel it from her skin and reveal her cold, wet bottom, which she tried to wriggle out of his reach, but to no avail. One hand squeezed the generous flesh of a cheek, kneading and warming it while the other held Flipp down by the small of her back, keeping her flat on the ground. She kicked her legs, more for effect than any serious protest, clenched her teeth and waited.

  “I want you to guess,” Rocky said, patting the slopes of her bum.

  “I’m guessing there’s a clue in what you’re doing right now.”

  “Well deduced, Sherlock. So…?”

  “Not too hard,” she pleaded.

  “Not too hard? What do you think I’m going to do?”

  Flipp giggled coyly, unwilling to say the word he wanted to hear. “That thing you did before…in my bedsit that time.”

  “That thing I did before in your bedsit? What, listen to music? Make a brew?”

  “No. Don’t be so…you know. That time. Over your knee on the bed.”

  “Ohhhh, that time.” The love pats began to increase in force and speed, the light slap-slap filling the tent. “That time you were a bad girl, you mean? Well, one of the times you were a bad girl,” he amended, landing a slap on the top of Flipp’s right thigh.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You still haven’t said what you mean, though, Flipp. I’m waiting. Tell me what’s going to happen to you, or there will be trouble.”

  “There’s trouble already,” Flipp pointed out.

  “Worse trouble,” growled Rocky, and the smacks were starting to sting now.

  Flipp squirmed on her stomach. Worse trouble didn’t bear thinking about. Her skin was beginning to heat up, pleasant prickles of sensation moving around her bottom and down to her crotch, reawakening the desire that had been assuaged on the waterslide.

  “What’s worse than getting spanked?” she squeaked, her fingers curling into claws around the soft fabric of the sleeping bag.

  “Aha. You said it. Now I can give you what you deserve, Miss.” He kept the pace slow, landing blows that were not too hard, but just hard enough to create slight discomfort. Flipp wondered how deep the shade of pink might be on the flesh jiggling under his hand.

  Flipp mewled and wriggled, but she had no earnest desire to remove herself from his range, enjoying the growing burn and the corresponding excitement in her pussy.

  “What’s worse than getting spanked?” Rocky mused on the question as his hand kept up its punishing rhythm. “Let me see. How about getting strapped?”

  Flipp’s kicking legs froze and her buttocks clenched.

  “What?”

  “With my belt,” Rocky clarified, reaching for the length of supple leather, releasing it from his trousers and doubling it into a loop.

  “Oh God, won’t that really hurt?”

  “You can find out. Would you like to?” He bent his lips to her ear. “Do you trust me?”

  Flipp swallowed. She rotated her hips, missing the percussive pressure of Rocky’s hand on her backside already. Did she trust him? Of course she did.

  “Yeah, I do,” she admitted in a whisper. “Go on, then. But will you stop if it gets too much?”

  “You know I will.”

  Kneeling by her side, Rocky let the cold, smooth leather drift over Flipp’s warm arse cheeks, making her sigh with pleasure at the contrast.

  “Oh, that feels nice,” she muffled into the sleeping bag, her arms relaxed in front of her, her legs now flat, sinking down.

  Rocky grabbed a pillow and placed it under her stomach, elevating her bottom nicely and separating her thighs just enough to grant him a peek between.

  “Nice, eh?” He let the leather dip between her parted legs and rubbed it up and down inside Flipp’s slick pussy lips. Feeling its surface and texture on her clit, Flipp began to breathe quickly, realising that it would take very little of this treatment to make her come again. But she knew that Rocky had other things on his mind. All the same, her disappointment was keen when he whipped the belt out from her thighs and then flicked it smartly over the centre of her bottom, the sting enhanced by her own wetness on the leather.

  “Oh.” Flipp’s cry of shock soon turned into a deep sigh. The sting was sharp, but it soon spread and glowed into the heat of pure desire. Does this make me a masochist? she asked herself, surprised by her capacity to endure and enjoy pain.

  Psychological ponderings were soon driven out of her head by the next stroke, fiery and sweet, lighting her up again. Rocky delivered twelve of these, varying the force and speed, making sure that Flipp never guessed where the next one would land, only finishing when her bottom was glowingly hot all the way down to her thighs.

  “You haven’t begged me to stop yet,” he noted, putting the belt down. “Will you be disappointed if I do?”

  “Mmmm, not disappointed.” Flipp stretched her legs out and flexed her toes, dizzy with the radiant warmth that circulated around her body. “Depends what you’re gonna do next. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t fuck me senseless.”

  Rocky grinned and sat up on his heels. “I’ll definitely be doing that again, then,” he promised. “Get you good and wet, did it?” He reached down and fingered her clit for evidence. “Oh yes, I see it did. You kinky little minx. Well, I don’t want to disappoint you. Get up on your knees.”

  Flipp knelt up on all fours, thrusting her sore, hot bottom out in brazen invitation.

  Rocky, shuffling behind her, dipped as many fingers as he could cram into her slippery lips and cunt, getting them shiny-wet before using Flipp’s own juices to lubricate her arsehole. So copious were they that it was a matter of a few minutes before his fingers were gliding in with ease, spreading and stretching that private place, preparing it for its impending use.

  “Ready?” he whispered, shucking off his lower garments and lining the head of his cock up with Flipp’s slippery rear entrance.

  Flipp, jelly-legged and locked into a strange place of submission, could only whimper her assent. Her bottom cheeks felt tight and tender, and their heat throbbed through her, distracting her only slightly from the nudging cock tip between them.

  She winced and puffed through his slow push forward, grateful for the hands on her hips that prevented her from flopping or bucking away, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for that worst moment of splitting-in-twoness to be over.

  A cry, then a deep breath, and he was in all the way, ready to ride her, ready to thrust up against her strapped bottom, reawakening the soreness and heat and adding it to the sum of sensation. A heady stew, a bitch’s brew, swirling away with its epicentre at her cunt, simmering, simmering until the surface began to bubble and pop and then…

  Flipp came hard, so much harder than through regular penetration, trying not to wake the campsite but finding it impossible to mute her animal howl. Rocky poured in, hissing victoriously, then sinking his teeth into her shoulder, reminding her that she was owned, possessed, marked.

  That night the creaking guy ropes did not keep Flipp awake too long.

  She woke up, nestled in Rocky�
��s arms, her eyes sticky and body cold with last night’s sweat, to beaming sunshine bleaching the canvas above her.

  “Rocky. Wake up.” She elbowed him in the ribs and he was galvanised into action, sitting bolt upright, clutching at his head and staring wildly around him.

  “What? Fuck, Flipp, don’t do that. I thought you were Cordwainer. Was having a dream.”

  “Sorry.” Flipp bit her lip. “But you’d sleep all day if I let you. Can you get me the shampoo and shower gel from your backpack? Got to shower. Feel like I could win the Olympic gold medal for ickiness. Thanks. Oh yeah, toothbrush and toothpaste too, please.”

  Later, in the small on-site supermarket, Rocky was frowning at a shelf of mouthwash and disposable razors.

  “No lubricant,” he muttered. “Call this a holiday camp?”

  Flipp laughed gaily from the opposite shelves. “Will this do?” She held up a catering-sized bottle of cooking oil.

  “I don’t think so. Wasn’t planning to deep-fry you.”

  “There’s always butter. Ever seen Last Tango in Paris? You be Marlon, I’ll be Maria.”

  Rocky smirked over at her, his eyes transmitting waves of love and amusement. Flipp flushed and reached out for his fingers, curling her own around them.

  “We won’t be here long anyway, will we?” she whispered. “You’re going to see your mate about that boat today, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. Meant to be meeting him at the harbour at twelve-thirty.”

  They squeezed hands, leaving the mutual hope for their future unspoken, and walked together around to the next aisle.

  A woman was selecting cheeses and cold meats from the refrigerator, bending down to compare prices and ingredients. Flipp thought she looked a little bit familiar.

  Rocky’s fingers tensed around hers and he made to yank her back around the corner, but before they could disappear from the woman’s sight she had straightened up and looked directly at them.

  She half screamed and dropped her packages of cheese and bacon, making a dash for the exit.