Here we go!~~~~~~>
Games of Summer
Ah, a British summer, spent sitting outside London pubs at pavement tables, with half a lager top and a packet of salt n vinegar. I've done this too often not to translate my experiences into erotica for one of my books – in this case, it's Game.
Lloyd knew when he and Sophie got together that her sexual tastes were on the wild side – it's what attracted him to her, after all. But Sophie is permissive with every part of her body except her heart. If Lloyd is to succeed in winning that, he will have to think creatively. A series of challenges takes Sophie deep into the core of her fantasies, not to mention her fears. She experiments with kink of all flavours, multiple partners, exhibitionism and more, in a bid to understand what she really wants. As the game intensifies, each new step into extravagant sinfulness reveals different options for her future. Will Lloyd feature in her final decision? Or will the ultimate risk he takes drive her away from him?
'Has he stood you up, love?'
He's Australian, big and beefy with a blond crop and a square chin.
'Looks like it. I guess I'll finish this and go home. Unless…'
Bingo! He pats the bench beside him.
'Sit yourself down. He's a loser anyway.'
I scurry over and plonk myself beside the large lager-drinker.
'Do you know him?'
He laughs. 'If he's stood you up, he's a loser. Trust me.'
This is going to be easy.
It takes the duration of one more pint.
There's five or ten minutes of general chat about London, then his hand lands on my thigh, heavy as a brick.
Then, another five minutes discussion about Australia with specific reference to his home town of Melbourne while his hand moves up and down and he shifts ever closer along the bench, his two friends looking on in amusement.
An intensely boring description of the rugby tour of Britain they are on provokes me to put my hand on his and move it to the hem of my skirt, encouraging his thick fingers to pull it slowly up to thigh level.
I don't know how many pints they've had, but I guess four or five, because inhibitions don't seem to be anywhere in evidence. Soon enough, he has managed to wedge my skirt almost to the top of my thighs.
Granted, they are under the table and nobody else outside the pub would be able to see – even the passers by wouldn't be looking so low. The Mayfair streets are not busy, the main traffic being taxis gliding past at a stately pace.
Their passengers will be the ones who might catch a glimpse and guess what's what. From their windows, they will be able to see my legs, sideways on, bare to the very top, with a large man's hand wedged between them.
They'll catch a flash of the image, but not for long enough to know that what they saw is what is actually happening.
They might look back, but by then the backs of the other drinkers and the table will obscure their view.
I think we can get away with this. But how the hell am I going to get a picture?
I widen my thighs just a fraction, enabling his big ham of a fist to make its way to the apex. Just as it does, I take my phone and snap a photograph.
I am examining the rather disappointing shot of some bunched fabric and a wrist, when Jayden's fingers whizz back down my thighs as if my pussy has actually burnt them.
'You…no panties!' he exclaims, loud enough for his fellows to hear and crease up with laughter. 'And what's with the photos?'
'Just a little hobby of mine,' I say, as matter-of-factly as I can muster. I need to keep him on task, get him hot and bothered so he'll carry on regardless of his pals.
'Yeah. I like to take photos of myself getting fingered. Does that seem weird to you?'
His eyes are so confused, bless him. He runs a hand over his buzz-cut hair and says.
'In a word, yeah.'
'I know I'm different,' I tell him, placing his hand back on my bare thigh. 'But I just love the feel of a strange man's fingers between my pussy lips. I just love the way they stroke and rub and make my clit want to burst with heat. When I look at the photos after it gets me so wet to see how I let a man get his hands right up there, pushing his fingers all the way up inside my cunt…'
I break off. All three of them are like waxwork figures captured in a state of hypnosis, leaning over their pint glasses.
'Is that so wrong?' I finish, pouting at Jayden.
'No,' he breathes, letting me push his hand down the slope, into the dark place in the gap of my legs. 'You're a special girl, Sophie.'
I smile at his friends, who lean further, trying to see over the ledge of the table. Jayden's fingers find my slit, confidently this time, fitting themselves between the lips with ease.
I hand my phone over to Sean, the lad on the left.
'Get under the table,' I suggest. 'And take a photo.'
Jayden's fingers push against my clit and my bottom squirms on the wooden bench.
'You might need to put the flash on though.'
Sean looks at his friend, looks at Jayden, looks at me, looks at the phone.
'Is this a set-up?' he asks uncertainly.
Jayden's fingers slip and slide. I lean over the table so as to make sure it's invisible to anyone standing behind us. He's getting close to my cunt, readying himself for the full impalement.
'I mean, like a porn version of Pranked. This isn't like that, is it?' He cranes his neck, looking for a non-existent camera crew.
'Trust me,' I say in a strange gaspy voice. Jayden has found a very good place to rest his weary fingers. 'It's just me…and my little foible…ohh.'
Those thick fingers feel so good, even if they blunder a little bit around the opening. What he lacks in technique, he adds in enthusiasm, though. He wiggles them around inside me while I sit on the bench like butter wouldn't melt. It would though. It would melt in the time it took to place it on my clit.
My thighs already feel as if butter is running down them, warm juices clinging to my skin. Luckily the cigarette smoke in the air neutralises any telltale odour.
Sean bobs down beneath the table. His friend makes to join him but Jayden holds up his free hand.
'Don't draw attention, mate,' he says. His voice is slow and syrupy, like somebody caught in a dream.
'Are you really doing it?' the friend contents himself with asking. 'Really getting your fingers in there?'
'I'll show you the picture,' says Sean from his low-down position. 'Hang on.'
I put my hands under the table and spread my pussy lips wide, hoping that they will show up in shot along with Jayden's knuckles and his big fat thumb on my big fat clit.
The flash of light is brief and a few heads turn towards us.
Nobody can see, I tell myself. Nobody. Except Sean, who has the ringside view.
'Fucking hell, you're really doing it. She's not wearing panties either.'
'Really?' The friend compromises, leaning to the side to get a swift peek under the table. 'Wow, she's dripping, man. That's one wet pussy.'
Jayden bends to speak in my ear.
'Do you want to come?'
I hold back from screaming Of course I do! Retrieving some braincells from somewhere, I consider the question.
Lloyd didn't say I had to come. In a sense, it might be easier if I don't. I'll be on edge and horny as hell for the next task, whatever it might be. Something tells me it won't be vanilla-sweet.
Author Bio: Justine Elyot has written extensively for publishers including Black Lace, Xcite Books, Carina Press, Mischief, Total E-Bound and more. When she isn't exercising her lurid imagination, she's imagining lurid exercises. She lives in the UK, by the sea.
And a summer memory? My first trip to London, on my seventh birthday, when the muggy city heat broke over our heads into an immense thunderstorm. Nothing beats looking up at Big Ben while rain pelts down and lightning flashes around the clock tower. Shivery in the best possible way.
Thanks, Sommer, for making summer real on a typically dripping June day in the UK! At least we have a little oasis of heat at your blog.