This is a growing collection of my stories. I appear to favour writing about sex and death, not always together. I'm also writing two books. Some days it feels like most other people inhabit a world where you can aimlessly wander into vendor-created wonderlands and purchase things you never knew you needed - for entertainment. The mind boggles. I believe it's because I wasn't allowed to watch television as a child. I just don't get some things. I'm ok with that

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Amelia's Awakening

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 Bingo walks to see the woman he has been fantasizing about for months and the results are better than expected.


Bingo turned the end of the conversation with Fred over in his mind as he started his walk.

“It’s all about how you take the stage..”

“What?”

“I think I have to go. All this talk about you, and your dating profile, it’s compounding my own… stench of… of desperation. It might not work out but I have to get out there you know?”

“No.”

“Well I’m gone, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“You do that. Good chat. Thanks for dinner.”

Bingo made his way up Victoria Rd and turned right onto Nicholson. His feet ate up pavement, clomp, clomp, clomping into the night. Relieved to be finally on his way Bingo lengthened his stride. Accustomed to forgettable landscapes rushing past his tram windows, here there was space and effort, each morsel of the journey magnified by his tediously short footfalls; the old Moreton Bay’s in the park, the museum’s off-kilter monolithic slab of a roof and breaks in the heavy traffic made it a bearable hike.

2am by anyone standards isn’t necessarily kosher for a house call. Bingo began to forget about the fresh, cold air on his face and to obsess about his reception, this was the only thing to do, anything else and he’d always wonder at what had never taken place.

Bingo hadn’t been avoiding Amelia but he had certainly failed to let her know how much she might mean to him. A part of Bingo fretted, more anxious than he had ever been. Beers had helped. He blocked out his own disquiet with the slap of his beetle-crushers on the paving slabs, the sound of his own breath.

Passing a petrol station made him feel like a fish in an aquarium with fluro gravel. Out of whack with the serene quiet all around, neon's shone diligently for nobody. He dove gratefully back into the comparative darkness of night. On and on, clomp clomp-ing measuring one deliberate footfall after another.

Bingo paused on a bus bench, ran his hands over his face and felt the last of the warm alcohol buzz leave his body.

He was committed to his feat now, a punishment no less than what he deserved, weeks ago he should have explained to Amelia his social awkwardness, his propensity to procrastinate, his unshakable commitment to stupid mistakes that too often ended up as life choices because he allowed time frames to stretch and then found there was no room for recourse.

Bingo wasn’t wealthy enough to consider taking a cab so he plodded, meticulously using up all of his energy. He tried not to plan. He simply made his way to the door of her studio and when he arrived, he knocked. He sat down on the step and stretched his toes in damp socks, wondering about blisters. In those few moments he sought for poise and as though mocking him, it started to rain. The sensation of stopping sharpened as he cooled, almost paving the way for regret. Almost.

And then the door opened.

Bingo bounced to his burdened feet and turned, smiling willfully with the last of his reserve.

“Wow” Amelia spoke sleepily.

Her hair wild, a light blue snug singlet around her shapely breasts and faded cotton pyjama pants hanging low off her hips. In the evening air her nipples rose to attention.

“My eyes are up here”

When he met them, they were smiling. He cleared his throat.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you”

“Wait, wait. Before you turn this into something out of Love Actually just get inside.”

And just like that, Bingo followed mutely.

Pyjama-ed Amelia led him down narrow corridors, past a common room, he still didn’t say anything as she ushered him into her studio through to the rear of her cosy work filled space, into the small recessed bed chamber hidden by a false wall. There was no door. Even in the dim light it looked wonderfully comfortable. Amelia leant over to turn on a lamp. Bingo caught her arm.

“No it’s alright. You were sleeping, we can talk in this light, it’s early, or late. Or something.”

Amelia nodded, it was dark really, she said in a low voice “I’m nodding” and he laughed.

“Get into bed, take socks off, jeans too if you wish.” Her voice muffled as she tunnelled under a doona to resume her repose so recently abandoned it was still warm. Bingo sat with his back bowed, facing away from her, intent on removing his garments.

“I’m glad you fucking finally came” Amelia spoke to his grateful back. It straightened a little in response.

He turned then, landing his determined lips on hers, leaning in. Kissing her warm face with his cold one, all strength and earnestness. It was everything and nothing all at once. He blocked out reason, made their slow-building kiss dreamlike and a clumsiness borne of their newness to each others bodies, forgivable.

Bingo moved into the bed, closer to her body, so much warmer than his. Her hair pillowed around her face. Her skin, like the darkness, was all around him. When she grinned she was eyes and teeth. Bingo caught his breath. He almost couldn’t look, had never seen anything so beautiful. He wiped a big hand over the side of her face, touching her velvet skin, feeling the bouncy flesh of her bottom lip under his caress and then his lips were on hers again.

“Special” he mouthed very softly into the air between their faces. “I waited, I wanted it to be magic.”

“You almost waited too long. You dick.” Her long fingers curled around the back of his big neck. “Stupid, hesitant, romantic fool.”

Not wanting words, just rough wood-and-salt of his almost-facial hair and rich aniseed-ness of his midnight tongue, Amelia resumed their kissing, touching their mouths together, learning his lips. Her hip came to rest against his, one un-shy brown shin carelessly raised, her heel grasped to his bottom, unaware of what small moves did to him.

There was no humour in their awkwardness, his avid silence exposed a fragility in the big man belied by the strength of his growing erection. She uncurled a hand from around his neck and wove it down so her fingers swept the space between them, searching.

Bingo’s heart raced, the bedcovers suddenly unbearably hot. Amelia didn’t want to move them, only kept her hand moving slowly, intimately pawing his hip while his tongue and hers wove caresses like promises.

Finally her palm settled onto the length of his straining cock. Bingo withdrew his tongue in a rush, sucked her top lip and stopped. First she ran her hand over his meat. In the dim light his eyes were hooded, heavy lids threatening to hide what it was she wanted to see, an admission, a surrender.

“You push and push” she said softly “..and it might seem like you’ll never get what you want” her hand stroked his penis, curling around material and flesh as one, striving to feel more,clasp more in her hand. “And then in a moment you think, what was I waiting for?” 

Amelia could sense her timing was unfathomably good but she wasn’t sure she was bold enough to proceed.

Bingo rolled them both so he was propped on his forearms with Amelia under him. He lowered his head and captured her lips once more in a delicate kiss that was like chilli dark chocolate; full, honest and terrible. Bingo inhaled mightily letting the rushing air bypass them both out through his mouth. 

Fighting, Amelia liked to think, for control.

And then she shucked his boxer shorts and thrust aside her knickers. To hell with the waiting and the anticipation, she wanted a frantic rush-to-the-finish-line; stars, chaos and more than anything she thrummed for the feeling of his flesh wrapped in hers. Amelia pushed at his shoulders, Bingo moved. His broad torso lifted an arms length above her, the head of his cock at her slippery entrance coating himself in her excitement. Biding his beautiful time.

And then he wasn’t anymore. He was thrusting inside, hot breath on her neck, hard cock breaking her open. The pressure of her knickers pulled to one side added to the impression of illicit fullness; caught together in a surprisingly tight space. He withdrew and pushed back in and all sensation flooded her once more, unbearably good.

 As they fucked he was unguarded, his sloppy lips on her delicate face, unthinkingly intense. It was all happening so fast, this possessing her, this driving inside of her. Amelia arched up to meet his meat, Bingo's unfamiliar body underneath her hands; the cords of his arm muscles, a downy chest.

Bingo continued grinding, watching in wonder as she thrashed beneath him with her eyes closed. She was so bound up in the moment, constricted, delicately held in place and effortlessly, hopelessly aroused. His cock ached every time he pulled away from her, building and building the sensations inside him. For Amelia it felt like a fabulous, shapeless, nameless, niggling space, growing and growing, making her groan and writhe until she reached her point-of-no-return.

She opened her eyes, he wanted to stop fucking and kiss her (Amelia’s lips were delightfully red and swollen) but he felt as though he was caught up, racing towards a finish line, taking her with him as best he could, she gasped and wriggled, eyes locked on his.

He exploded before she did, she felt the inevitable release on her insides, rushing out as he thrust deep inside her, his cock twitching and growing at the last second to add to the molten gold of her mounting orgasm. She knew the ending was close, and as she rode him, rocking her hips to take whatever he had left of the magic, it took several rough strokes before the darkness crashed and splintered around her, sending shock waves through her body.

And whilst something was most definitely ending, something was also determined to continue and so Amelia came and came and shook and clutched him and the rumble of pleased laughter caught and died in Bingo’s chest as her fingers really wrenched at his overly-sensitized skin.

Eventually she let go. Eventually they both stopped and moved a little bit apart.

“Next time” Bingo said softly, his voice low and chocolate-toned “Next time I’ll be more about the foreplay. I just wanted to be inside you. I wanted your honey on my cock”

If she wasn’t spent and happy with the small river between her thighs , she might have straddled him right then. Instead her breath came out in a rush.

“Too much” Amelia offered lightly when she could form words. “Stop being amazing” and she slapped his barrel belly.

It wasn’t long before his arm stretched around her, he was big, it was almost too much of an angle for her to rest her head on his arm, nuzzled against the warmth of his chest. She bore it for the sake of not ruining a sated, beautiful end to an otherwise overwrought day.

With her mind roving sleepily over the last half hour, Bingo’s hand reached up and caressed the effervescence of her hair, brushing against one delicate ear.

He wanted to repeat the gesture but found he couldn’t because he slept.




Tuesday, November 24, 2015

In 97 days...

 
Flaxen hair and her school-girl eyes, I close my own, forgetting the thought. It doesn’t suit her, or me. They aren’t, she isn’t, just blue, blue like summer, clear as January. A girl-woman searching for affection in the eyes of strangers. She makes me shake.

I was a stranger. 
 

Then I was ball’s deep in the alley behind a supermarket, sweaty and sweet.
 

I open my caravan door. Slender hands on narrow hips, pastel-pink terry-towelling short-shorts, white tee-shirt no bra, perky, imperfect breasts. She looks at me from the bottom step. It’s a long way up to my teeth in a broken smile.


“I’m at a loose end.” She says, slinking past me into the rattle of the air-conditioning and my dull brown room. In place of food, cigarette butts on a saucer and dried tomato sauce. She pats vinyl in the breakfast nook and I slide in to sit beside her. Full lips in a strawberry Lipsmacker smile and before long, my cock in her deft hands. 


Blow me.” I want. I want. I want to say the words. I can’t get them out and then there’s sticky cum on my belly hairs, small gobs between her fingers. She wipes her hand on my shirt.


She only drinks bourbon because she thinks the boys like it. We go out, to absent ourselves from the closeness of my rooms, from the smell of old cooking oil, too many butts. Out, there are greasy burgers and long, large milkshakes. Booths where the summer heat makes the fabric of the restaurant stick to her thighs. The un-sticking, sucking noise sears my soul. I want to fuck her in circles. 


Holding it in, buying her what I can.


Shouting at one another in another noisy pub, flinging words across Other People and the band. Full lips pursed around bourbon and coke in a glass with a straw. My Wild Turkey is straight up, no ice. Talking about fate, faith, what we’ll do if her Mum dies. 


She takes a drag on my cigarette and in one puff makes it look better than I ever will long fingers tap the ash, pass it back. It’s dark outside and blissfully noiseless. I lean my ringing head against bricks, plunge one hand into my coat pocket to toy with a lighter. 


“Where are you?” she asks. It’s because she doesn’t know.


Later. Later my tongue is rough with tobacco and thick with drink. She grinds her hips against mine. I see kitchen curtains as they catch on the rough chipboard counter-top after each breeze it’s the last thing before I close my eyes, blow my mind. Gasp, ejaculate in plastic inside her. 


Afterwards, her breasts and large nipples depress against my arm. 


“The boys I’ve loved… “ trails a finger down the hair on my belly “Are like five year-olds. Older men are better at hiding it…” Prove me wrong, say her eyes. She finds holes in her socks, mosquito bites on her skin, numerous faults in her reflection. Laughs. Drags on my cigarette. We should go out again. 


Leaving adds a pleasant sensation of direction. Heavy air between us, another bar, more pub food, curly fries, beers interspersed with shots. It’s high summer and the front bar is teaming. The sea beckons from beyond bay windows across four lanes of traffic. 


We aren’t touching this time. I can’t tell if it’s foreplay or the space between us. Her foundation is heavy, hours-old eyeliner slides ingloriously in the heat but I tell her she’s beautiful, kiss her neck. Her throaty giggle, a self-indulgent darkness behind her eyes, chip-fat on my lips.


At the caravan I lie under thin bedding. She showers. Naked in the bathroom, shower-fresh skin in yellow light glows preternaturally. She’s a silk scarf, a tapestry, an oil painting. She looks and looks, turning in the full-length mirror. Is she trying to see what I see? Eventually joins me, “… do you want me?” I don’t say anything. I’m rigid, ready. There’s no space beyond presumption into action. Light-headed, I can’t get enough of her skin. Afterwards she tells me I’m unreadable. 


My moods are molasses. 


“Hold me at arms length,” whilst running a lovers light fingers over my tingling lip. It takes all I have not to shove her, tell her to keep away. My dick responds, we hold it together, as though everything is perfect.


She is often arriving unannounced, keen to fuck. I learn to shower regularly, preparing for the unpredictable. On other days, nothing.


Weeks pass.


“You take the bait from my days…” she calls me. My cell phone rings rarely. I nearly didn’t answer. I thought it was work. I hear how much air there is between her voice and my face. I miss handling her body. 


I tell myself eventually she’ll move away, grow up and old but still yearn for contentment, trying to snatch at six-foot-six-and-bullet-proof like I see her reaching for with me. 


I might tell her she’s dangerous, in a ploy to make things last. I might find a way to enjoy her flat-footed, post-sex explorations of my possessions strewn through my ‘van, her sassiness. I focus unkindly on her acne scars, numerous small scabs on her legs (she picks at each until they bleed again), her fondness for foundation make-up two shades too dark and the frequency with which she applies it. 


Next time she materialises I let her in wordlessly, she plays with my five o’clock shadow. I feel distinguished, harmful and I kiss her lipless forehead deliberately. It feels like the last time. After sucking my cock, strands of her long, light hair cling to the sides of her open mouth.









Saturday, June 21, 2014

The road less travelled...





During her driving lesson, Delta makes an important decision that could change the outcome of her Summer.



‘I can’t seem to concentrate when you look at me like that’.

She ran her fingers over the soft skin of her neck unconsciously brushing the bottom of one delicate lobe. Under a normal set of circumstances the gesture might have served to calm Delta but having Logan watch made it erotic. She felt herself blushing, it wasn’t the heat in her cheeks that gave her away, more a sensation akin to discovering it was possible to pass through the eye of a needle. Elation zinged through her, up her toes and through her belly.

‘Like what?’

Delta stared stoically forward trying to keep focused on the road and her driving lesson.

You know…’, She stole a glance over at him; so laid back one might argue he was feigning it. Logan leant into the wind, one arm draped out the window, hanging down the door frame, light hair catching the breeze, his dark sleeves rolled up and flapping; a healthy, muscled forearm and part of a well-formed bicep exposed to the warm spring sun. Logan’s full lips held the possibility of a smile and green eyes returned her look, mirroring her raised eyebrows. She took a small breath, her chest contracting.

‘It’s your eyes.’ She waited, feeling the heat of them. ‘Your eyes are promising things’

He laughed then, a rich chocolate-butter sound and a newly arrived collection of faeries in her belly scattered, performing circus tricks. She shivered.

‘Does it rub you the wrong way?’

Delta was unable to answer.

The road they travelled had opened out into uninterupted countryside, either side of the vehicle lay fields of short grass. Beyond the curved lines of her father’s yellow-green Holden Special there was no other cars. She slowed the big old vehicle to a stop in the gravel, choosing to pull up gradually, avoiding the risk of stones on the windscreen. He didn’t ask why she was stopping and Delta thought carefully about what she might say. No excuse passed her lips. 

Shaking hands turned off the indicator and ignition, silence hung between them. He'd brought both arms inside the car, big hands splayed and rigid against the taut fabric of his jeans. Bemused emeralds in his tanned face looked back at her. She wasn’t to know Logan was forcing himself to be still. He waged a war on his instinctual reactions to her. Delta made him feel tight and restless. He was anxious, as though lit from within. Beside her, the big man flexed his fingers carefully, making barely perceptible movements to relieve the coiled spring in his gut, trying to find words.

‘Why’d we stop?’ He said, too casually. ‘Did you want me to drive?’

Delta sighed.

‘No, I think I’m getting better’ 

He smiled then, not quite looking at her, thick fingers feeling his chest pocket for a cigarette. Though he looked down, he could sense the warmth of her smile through his eyelashes, burning him.

‘Don’t you?’

‘Sure’

Now they were stopped there was nowhere else to look. She couldn't very well keep staring ahead. It bothered her that he made no move to ease any of the tension between them. If anything, his coolness was almost unbearable.

‘Are you like this with everyone?’

She looked up at the sound of the passenger door opening.

‘I’ll take this opportunity to smoke, if you don’t mind’

He slipped across the beige leather. The heavy metal door slammed. She watched his broad frame in the rear-view mirror as he leant on the boot, squaring his shoulders and cupping his hands to light a cigarette. She heard the catch of his lighter. He exhaled and a delicate plume of smoke rushed away into the wind. After that his shoulders dropped. She bit her lip, could think of nothing better to do than get out and go to him.

The pale gravel crunched underfoot as she followed the low fence line. Wooden posts, pleasantly weathered, held up strands of old wire and from them, weeds stretched out into gravel as though they too longed for the freedom of the road. An odour of acrid dust and sweet, new grass lifted off the land. For all his faux-nonchalance the power of his silence lent him the air of a caged man. He stared out at the landscape, seeing nothing. It made her wonder if he, like the weeds to the weeds, longed to be elsewhere.

‘It’s beautiful’ Logan’s Irish brogue broke into the silence, he turned as she approached.

‘...like you.’

And just like that, the bottom dropped out of Delta’s day. All her confused thoughts fled, replaced by excitement that dipped down to her toes and rushed back up through her belly. She, little Delta Hardcroft made a gorgeous, tree of a man nervous. She hadn’t been imagining the excitement coiling dangerously between them.

‘What do you want me to do, Lass?’ His voice quiet, his face inclined towards her.

‘What do you mean?’

He half-grinned, checking himself, swallowing his banter and flicking off the cigarette’s burning ember, its tiny scattering ash bounced past their feet. They both watched the little pin-wheel on the wind.

‘C’mon Delta’

Reluctantly he let go of his cigarette altogether, crushed it with his heavy shoe. A lock of hair swung down across his forehead, softening his features, preventing his eyes from scalding her.

‘I want you like air, Sweetheart.’ His arms made a magnanimous gesture of defeat, falling heavily to his sides. He didn’t smile, just went on looking at her. Delta held her breath. Tentatively she surged towards him until they were thigh to thigh.

She wasn’t a small woman and though he was tall, he didn’t have far to bend his head. Their lips met and she drew him to her, licking his bottom lip, raising her hands behind his ears. He tasted of pepper and spinach, the perfect accompaniment to a brisk spring day. Delta savoured the feel of his tongue searching her soft mouth. Brushing her cheek with his thumb he drew away leaking warm, rapid breath. He wanted her so much it stole all of the lightness from his face.

‘But I’ll be going soon. Leaving here. This – ‘ he gestured to the empty air between them ‘This can’t be what you want. We start this thing between us now, get something going and by and by, you’ll think me a cunt. I’ll leave. I don’t think I could bare that.’

‘How soon do you plan going?’

‘Two weeks, maybe t'ree? I have ideas… about what I want from my life, about where I want to be headed and I’ve really appreciated your Da taking me in but it’s nout but a short stint, e'rybody knows that.’

His hands itched for something to do. He wanted to smoke some more, stop the churning of his belly. He wanted to take her in his arms. Tell her it was all bullshit, words were just words. They didn’t change the way he ached for her, he wanted to go on kissing her, pull her slight hips against his and show her his heat.

Logan stood, letting all of it go unsaid. Stupid, eager hands plunged deep into jean pockets. Alone on a country road, the soft wind picked up her dark curls, bright pink spots danced on her flawless pale cheeks.

Logan pushed his hair back off his forehead in a habitual gesture.

‘Fook.’

The younger woman almost laughed.

‘Logan, you’re troubled by a future that doesn’t exist.’

But she didn’t look at him, didn’t want to gaze into the depths of those pixie-green, honest eyes.

‘You tink…’ Delta began, impersonated his accent to mock him, trying to lighten the mood - leaving aside the fact that every time he twanged that broad, Irish brogue, a little piece of her heart broke off and melted - ‘..that we’re going to fall into bed together and I’m just going to sink into your arms and your life and cling to you like a crustacean. That just because you make love to me, I’d somehow force you stay with me and my Da, long after you want shot of it ?’

It sounded silly when she said it aloud, like he was irresistible, unforgettable and she would fall at his feet, devoting every breath to him. Inwardly Logan cringed.

‘That’s not what I know. It’s more about me and less about you. Fook.’ 

He swore again, stepped away from her, trying to find air, he got out a cigarette but didn’t light it, only played with the small stick between his fingers as he struggled to find words.

‘You’re too god-damned beautiful. I come to get good, honest work for a warm bed and a few bucks and I find you. Ok you live with your old man and he takes care of you but ostensibly you’re all by yourself. There aren’t other men aboot. What choice have you got? And so, you start makin’ come hither eyes at a man like me.’

Delta stiffened.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I tink you’re too good for this, it’s just you’ve got nothing better to do.’

She waited for him to continue, furious, flattered and once more confused.

‘Every time I make you laugh, light dances in your eyes. When you fook sometink oop and it makes you swear, I can see clear through to the fire in your belly. I want me some of that, and I know it’s wrong. I’d be takin’ advantage.’

Logan stepped back.

‘I’ve spent the last few weeks fightin’ not to touch yer. I thought I’d won out over meself and then we get out here…’

Delta watched him with her back against the trunk of the Holden. She held onto the bumper, taking in his words, cold steel under her hands working wonderfully to keep her grounded. It didn’t feel great that he was trying to get further and further away. She knew what she wanted, his lips on hers. How unlike a man to want to discuss things, before showing her his penis. Looking at a face she could easily love, besieged by shadows despite the afternoon sun and the clear blue sky, Delta could claim no relief from his unconventional approach.

‘Let’s get back on with this fookt driving lesson and make sure we hurry back to being around other people.’

‘Why? So we can go on like this? Is that what you really want?’

Logan wore confusion on his sun-browned features, looking every one of his 32 years. Light caught on stubble and glanced off his muscled arms. His body called to her. Itinerate worker or no, he was a damn sexy specimen of a man. By far the most handsome she had seen in all of her 23 years. That he didn’t know how attractive he was, astounded her.

Recalling how he came to the lunch table every day with freshly cleaned hands, the rest of him streaked in dirt or sweat and how she would spend a moment  imagining what he would feel like under his sweat-stained work clothes, vividly conjuring an image of his wide, hard chest. She had often watched him reach across the table for a side dish, displaying the sinew in his toned arms. Delta had seen how he looked at her then - too quickly, through his lashes, as though he didn’t want to burn her with the matching truth in his eyes.

It ached all over to live like that. She meant to have him without giving away the depth of her feelings. If the only way to lie with him was to have him believe he would go on meaning not-very-much - lest it damage his precious plans- then she was prepared to invent her hand.

‘What if we stayed out here just for a while?’ She spoke in a voice so soft he mightn’t have heard.

Delta turned her to face the field, drawing courage from it’s fresh scent.

‘You’ve stated very plainly you’ll be gone tomorrow. You’re hot, I want you to take me, what girl wouldn’t? I doubt I’ll make a mess of it. Why don’t you just see?’

He looked at her wistfully and she sought to contain her hammering heart. She concentrated on how handsomely he wore dishevelment. Delta pinned his hips to the car with her own and brushed slender fingers over his jaw, her body so close to his chest she felt, rather than heard him suck in breath.

Logan gently rubbed a calloused thumb over her tender, bottom lip. Green eyes crowded her world, irises almost obscured by darkness.

‘Go hifreann leat’ he muttered, finally allowing his lips to fall upon hers. 

Delta tingled all over. Curling her left hand into the course hair at his nape, she urged him closer. Stretching on tiptoes, she opened her mouth to him, giving as much as she dared. The tip of her tongue tasted like butter and light. He was all about her whilst his thick, inquisitive tongue probed, tasting as though through a dream. Logan's wide, sensuous mouth offered a light touch before his emotions broke the dam that held his body in check, enveloping her in sensation and raw, manly scent he wore like some men wore cologne.

He was all muscle and noisy breath, massive and still so uncertain, combustible. Her glorious man tasted of darkness, tobacco and cloves. Logan’s calloused palms roved over her shoulders, travelled down the contours of her body, passing smoothly down her back, stopping to cup her bottom, drawing her across an erection straining the front of his grey jeans.

Delta pulled back from his kiss to lick his ear playfully and nibble his neck. She twisted the button on the front of his pants and loosened the zipper, brave now. He shivered in response and she thrust a cold, eager hand down the front of his trousers, pulling him free. She rubbed the head of his cock, pre-cum greasing the motion. Delta licked her thumb and slid it along the thick vein, from base to tip. Holding him in one hand, she looked up into his face and unbuttoned her own shirt, hoping he’d help her.

Logan took the material from her shoulders and drew it down. Beyond her shirt she wore only a singlet, no bra. He rucked it up, using the weight of his hands on her torso to gather the fabric, his palms seeking the velvet roundness of her full, pert breasts while he planted kisses on her collarbone, her neck; working his way along following her hair line, back to the waiting warmth of her lips.

‘What would you like?’

‘All of you’ she breathed.

Logan withdrew his hands to unbuckle her belt. She slid her jeans to the ground and shucked them along with her work boots. On the deserted road she wore only a singlet. Logan thought she couldn’t have looked more desirable.

The heat pooling in her belly drove her on. She went to work undoing his shirt until the worn fabric hung from his broad shoulders. Delta spread saliva onto her own hand with her tongue and stroked his appreciative penis, teasing him, enjoying how the lightest of touches sent him reeling and ever more rigid in her hand.

She braced her back to the rear of the Holden, guiding his not-insubstantial cock tip so he was poised at her labia. Delta wiggled her hips forward. Her slippery, soft folds closed around him; her body wedged between the rounded rear of the car boot and his cast-iron thighs. He didn’t enter her, she made sure of it, his cock merely slipped forward along the slick channel slowly rubbing deliciously against every inch of her slickness and finally against her clitoris. She tipped her hips and did it all again.

Logan squeezed her nipple in his fingers and so she sought the base of his cock, wanting to be sure he was ready for her, driving them both crazy in the process. Her breath heaved, she licked her lips. In one short gasp he was inside her, thickness and courage, encased by her heat.

Delta took the full length of him without allowing him to stroke. She thought she might go mad with him poised inside her, filling her but promising so much more. Eager, shaking fingers reached out to trace his chest hair. She leaned towards him, rocking them both, sending shockwaves through her body, eyes closed in delight.

She tipped back and lifted her knees, trusting that Logan would support her weight. He withdraw, he kissed her breast very quickly and thrust, feet planted firmly on the floor, aching cock searching for a rhythm that would suit them both. Delta’s answer was to adjust so her pretty legs spread wide like a flower, she looked down at the way the head of his cock was buried inside her and Logan kissed her forcefully. As he stroked this time it brought delicious pressure to the top and front of her pussy.

‘Ohhh’ she said quietly, a woman lost in time. She wasn’t bone anymore only nameless feeling.

‘Fuck me..’ She whispered onto the spring breeze. ‘That feels so…’ and there was no real need to finish her sentence. He kissed her lips, took her thighs in his hands and set a more frequent, ball-slapping pace. Her breasts bounced.

He felt too good inside her.

She bit her lip; moaned. For a second he closed his eyes but opened them again just as quickly, as though he couldn’t bare not to look at her.

‘OoOf’ he said, his tone airless. He kissed the sole of her foot, riding her harder.

Delta squealed but didn’t cum. Logan licked his thumb, every time their bodies stroked he ensured his playful thumb touched her clit. She wanted him to go faster now, her arms reaching for his chest, clutching for his arms as she ascended further into delirium. He leaned into her, covering her body with his own, the mischievous thumb busily pushing her closer and closer with each stroke.

‘That’s good’ she said, eyes wide, watching strength and naked grace.

This time when his thumb touched the delicate nub he wiggled it a bit.

‘uUh…’ Delta was totally lost, falling. When she could speak again, 

‘Cum for me?’ - the light of hope in her eyes.

‘Not yet…’ 

Logan slowed, sliding his impressive cock out of her body, but not back in again this time. He kissed her soundly, wetting her lips with his eagerness, mirroring the play of their sexes just moments before. Delta’s knees almost gave way as he lowered her feet to the ground.

He turned her ripe arse over to face him and he tugged suggestively so she bent over, her body caressing the cold curve of the car. He sought for re- entry, hot lips on her neck and one pleasing hand in her pussy, playing lightly with the tiny delicate fruit that stole all of her silences. Logan’s breath was harsh and close to her ear, all eagerness and restraint.

‘It’s too much’ Delta panted, he eased back and she practically leapt away from him.

‘Catch me!’ she called, fleeing the road, vaulting the low fence, taking to the field in just her singlet, light-headed and wobbly, running badly. 

He followed at a pace, pinning her down easily where the ground undulated. It was a perfect compromise, their heads would be visible from the road, but not their naked pink bodies, the only true witnesses would be the fields and flowers.

In a tender gesture Logan slipped out of his shirtsleeves and laid the thin fabric out for her. He chucked his jeans and roll-bundled them behind her head for a pillow, then he kissed her, laying the weight of his body over her, nibbling Delta’s lip, lapping his tongue against the interior ridges of her mouth, coaxing her to forget everything except his hard body and restless, surging proof of his lust seeking entry to her sweetness.

Delta opened her legs and never breaking their kiss, Logan began working her peach with two broad fingers, specifically avoiding her clit. She opened her eyes at the motion, half in surprise. His clear, green gaze was inches from her own. Delta drew away, open-mouthed with desire, breathing hard and heavy, he stayed close, the heat of their breath mingling.

First he watched, then his cock replaced his fingers and he stroked, bringing her to him, joining their bodies, unable to take the tension of watching a moment longer. Delta arched beneath him, Logan clasped her ankles and sat up, finding a new rhythm.

She reveled in the joy of being ridden, totally taken, but she wasn’t oblivious to the restraint in his face, the sinew of his arms at her sides, his arse clenched as he held his own weight above her, striving to drive her orgasm ahead of his own. The plunging, surging length of him pushed her further into a pre-orgasmic wonderland amid the smell of the hillside, the sound of her own breath in her ears and the pleasing, wet noise of their fucking. He was sending her crazy. 

Logan quaked, barely holding it together, eyes fixed on the spectacle of her ripe breasts, nipples like fruit in trifle as they rocked. He squeezed and thumbed her chest and with the deep new position, drove himself close to the edge.

First he grew inside her for an instant and she watched his mouth slacken, forehead creasing with effort, his expression glassy-eyed and terrible. Then his hot seed flowered inside her, his cock shivering with release. Delta rode the after-shocks to her own orgasm, crying out, clutching his thighs and flying into shattering blackness.

Opening her eyes some minutes later, Logan was slumped over her. She watched his face through the curtain of her long, black lashes, then the moment was gone as he rolled away. They both lay still facing the afternoon sky.

Logan chuckled.

‘I didn’t have any idea it would be like that’

Delta shut her eyes to the beauty above them, she flung her arm across his chest, propping on one elbow.

‘What? Mindblowing?’ she teased.

They walked back to the car in easy silence, Logan carried his clothes, an acknowledgement that she was parading naked, save for her thin singlet. At the car she slapped his pleasing arse, found her jeans; pulled on her shoes and slid her slight arms into her shirt, thick fingers unable to re-button the front.

Delta went back to the drivers seat. His footsteps crunched on gravel and the door-hinge complained as he got in beside her. He buckled his seatbelt and Delta turned to look at him, arranging his clothes, chiseled jaw set, eyes down.

‘I guess we just go home?...’

They drove in silence. A time or two Delta could feel his eyes on her, she smiled but wasn’t sure what there was to say.