Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail (9 page)

“Awesome! Sexlympics! Woohoo!” cheered
Olivia.

“Sexlympics Rules!” They high-fived
again.

“What else?”

“Naked wrestling.”

“Brilliant. Like the old Roman times. We
can have rules relating to getting points for forcing sex acts on each other.
Love it… Oh, what about handball?”

“How’s that going to work?”

“Well, it’d be a bit different to the
actual game, but… Right, bear with me. We’re naked in the room, right?”

“Right.”

“And we start at opposite ends. We make a
little goal each and we’ll buy a little rubber ball or something.”

“Oh, thank God for that. I thought this
was going to be a game involving you grabbing at my testicles. I mean, fine in
theory, but that could get dangerous and/or painful is all I’m saying.”

“I never thought of that. Keep it on the
back burner. No, we get a ball, right, and the object is that you get, say,
three steps and one throw to try and score. If you miss, it’s the other
person’s turn. If you score, you are allowed to demand any – and I mean
any
– sexual favour from the other person. Game ends when someone climaxes.”

“That is ace. Did you really just think
of that right now, off the top of your head?”

“I did,” she said proudly.

“Dirty bitch.”

“And proud of it. Okay, we’ve got:
Trampolining, naked wrestling, handball…”

“Marathon and… show-jumping.”

“Good, how many’s that?”

“Er, five.”

“Two more then.”

“I’ve got a brilliant one,” he said, a
grin on his face. “It’ll take a bit of planning, mind.”

“Oh no! We’ll never have time, what with
the kids and everything… but wait! THE KIDS AREN’T HERE! Sexlympics! Woohoo!”

“Sexlympics! Woooooo! Okay. This is
Brighton, right, so we should easily be able to find a little cheap plastic bow
and arrow, you know, the ones with the rubber sticky bits on the end, not
actual arrows. That would be mental.”

“Yeah, we’re not mentalists.”

“Exactly. So, we get the target, and for
each colour on the target we allocate a sex… thing.”

“A sex thing?” she asked.

“Yeah, a sex thing. You know. Oral sex,
or masturbation or a passionate kiss or whatever. And bullseye could be
rampant, hardcore doggy-style. And then we take turns shooting at it and doing
what the target tells us to do.”

“Sex things, I got it. Great. Love it.
That’s six. We need one more… Wait! Got it! Oh, why didn’t I think of this
before? Gymnastics! Freestyle! I was a great gymnast at school. I bet I can
still do the splits.”

“I haven’t seen you do the splits in
years.”

“Bet I can still do it. Close enough,
anyway.”

“That could be amazing actually. You are
pretty bendy, as it goes. I didn’t know you were a bit of a Beth Tweddle in
your youth.”

“Yeah, I was. Got my BAGA 2 badge and
everything. Good old Beth Tweddle: Olympic medallist and elastic sex machine.
It’s not like we’re not all thinking it.”

“But what are the rules of the
gym…sextics. Yeah, the gymsextics?”

“Easy. We just have to do as many
ludicrous, bendy, fantabulous positions as we can in, like, ten minutes.”

“Deal. This is going to be
awesome
.
The Sexlympics. We need to make this regular, like the real Olympics.”

“What, sex every four years?”

“Well, I was thinking once a year at least.
Plus tune-up events and all that.”

After an increasingly frustrating attempt
to actually find the hotel (they drove along the sea front three times) and
then a really annoying ten-minute search for a parking space, they finally strolled
excitedly into the cavernous reception area. Then Matt realised he’d left their
bags in the car, so while Olivia checked in, he raced outside to grab them. You
see, they weren’t used to this kind of thing. It should have been easier
without three kids, but somehow their giddy exhilaration at their freedom and
their outright eagerness to begin The Sexlympics was not doing them any
favours.

There was no sea view in the room, as
that cost about double, but they could at least see a garden from their window,
even if it was raining, and few places look bleaker than the seaside when it’s
raining. Still, they hadn’t got much intention to leave the hotel. If the food
was good, they might not even put their shoes on for 48 hours.

Overall, it was comfortable. Nothing
incredible, but clean, tasteful and there were no suspicious stains on the
carpets. They sat down on the end of the bed together. Olivia put her head on
Matt’s shoulder and he put his arm around her.

Silence. Almost total silence. There was
the occasional shriek of a seagull, the dull hum of some sort of air conditioning
and the distant muffled sound of a TV in a nearby room (they were probably
watching
Quincy
or
60 Minute Makeover
). But, mainly, it was
silent. Something they had rarely heard in the last few years – not
during the day, anyway. For five minutes, they simply enjoyed being together
and listening to nothing. Then Olivia lifted her head. “Right, that’s enough
cuddling. What shall we do first?”

“What do you fancy?”

She got up and strolled into the
bathroom, which was actually quite a nice size, with a surprisingly large, wide
bath. “Tell you what, before we go crazy, how about we start slowly. Open one
of our bottles of wine. Or the champagne! What about the champagne? And take a
nice, hot bath and decide which event to start with.”

“Deal. How about you start running the
bath, I’ll get the champagne, and I’ll also get all the events down on the
laptop so we can keep our results for next time.”

“Okay. Bit nerdy, but fine.”

Olivia disappeared into the bathroom and
turned on the tap. The water didn’t run very fast, but that was okay. They
weren’t in a rush. In the meantime, Matt nipped downstairs to see if the bar
would lend him a couple of champagne flutes, which they kindly did. They were
annoyingly reluctant at first, but then he lied and said they were on their
honeymoon, and they relented.

Back in the room, he whipped out his
laptop and wrote down the seven events, complete with rules and a totally
arbitrary points system for each sport. Olivia undressed and slipped into the
hot water. She had to call him three times before he finally entered the
bathroom, laptop balanced precariously in one hand, champagne bottle tucked
dangerously under an arm and holding the two glasses in his free hand. He wore
nothing.

“For God’s sake, don’t drop anything,”
was Olivia’s first reaction. But then, as he turned to place the laptop next to
the sink, she grinned as she checked out his firm, brown buttocks. “Now
that
is what I’m talking about,” she laughed.

He turned around. “Were you checking out
my butt?”

“Indeed I was. Can’t wait to dig my nails
into that flesh,” she said.

“You just keep your eyes to yourself. I’m
not a sex object,” he said primly. She gave him a look. “All right, I
am
a sex object, fine.” He placed the glasses next to the laptop and unwrapped the
foil from the top of the champagne bottle. He twisted the wire top and Olivia
flinched, as she always did, in case the cork flew off and struck her in the
eye or something. She had once read that more than one in ten people had
suffered injuries from dive-bombing corks.

“Be careful where you’re pointing that
thing,” she giggled.

“Have you
ever
watched a champagne
bottle being opened
without
making some kind of crude double-entendre?”
he asked, feigning seriousness.

“Once or twice. Before I was, like, 12.”
Fortunately, Matt was a pro, and he gently twisted the cork until there was a
satisfying pop that echoed around the bathroom. “Make sure you don’t spurt that
everywhere,” she laughed again. Matt smiled and shook his head at her juvenile
gag. He poured the champagne, carried the glasses over to the bath, and stepped
in. It was perfectly clear and beautifully warm. They clinked glasses, sipped
their drinks, and relaxed, legs entwined.

For a while they were nearly silent, as
if they were soaking up the silence, just letting the novelty of it wash over
them. But soon, Matt began to look at Olivia with hungry eyes for the first
time in weeks. She looked as great now as when they first met. Not quite as
slim as she was then, but far from overweight. If anything, her body was even
more desirable now. Softer, warmer. Through the clear water he could see that
she was freshly shaved down below. Almost unconsciously, he licked his lips.

Olivia was looking at Matt, too. When she
first met him he was ripped, with a huge chest and a bulging six-pack. She used
to love kissing each member of the six-pack individually just before going down
on him. His regular visits to the gym had tailed off, though, partly because of
time but also because they couldn’t afford the gym membership, so his definition
was not quite so strong these days. He still went for runs and he still went
swimming, though, and as a result his body was still in beautiful condition.
His dark skin shone where it was wet and she found herself beginning to stare
down at his long cock.

“Looking at something?” he said, after
watching her gaze for a while.

“Ah,” she said, pretending to be
embarrassed. “I was, I was miles away there! You got me! Ha, ha!” He sat up and
took a gulp of his champagne. She sat up too. It had been so long since they
had sex, but they had been talking about it, building it up, for weeks, almost
like a ridiculously extended verbal foreplay. They’d occasionally text each
other messages about what they wanted to do to each other once they could get
away to Brighton. They murmured about it at night before they fell asleep. They
had been talking about it for the entire car journey. And now she just wanted
him to take her.

“Maybe you want a closer look?” he asked.
They kissed, almost chastely at first, as if they were out of practice, but
they soon remembered what to do and the kiss became steamier. He put his arms
around her and pulled her towards him. She slid along the bath, between his
legs, sloshing water out and on to the floor, and managed to lift both her legs
up and around his waist. They held each other and continued to kiss.

Olivia was first to make a move. She
could feel him growing under the water, could feel his hardness against her
stomach, so she reached down between them and wrapped her fingers round his
dick and slowly eased her hand up and down, rotating her wrist slightly as she
did so. He reached down, too, his fingers searching successfully for her
clitoris. It didn’t take long for them both to become very turned on. She broke
the kiss and leant back, inviting him to look at her body, at her beautiful
breasts, silently encouraging him to finger her a little harder. She arched her
back and stared at him, enjoying watching him watch her relish what he was
doing to her pussy. “Play with it,” she whispered, and she stared as he took
his erection in his hand and tugged at it while simultaneously sliding a finger
inside her. “Mmm… okay, okay, okay! What are we doing first, before we get too
carried away?”

“Gymnastics?”

“You mean the
Gymsextics
event?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Oh my God that’s good,” she blurted
suddenly as he drove two fingers deep inside her. She spoke the next words in
between breaths, trying to keep her composure, still not taking her eyes off
his penis. “So… what are… the rules?” He pushed his fingers inside one more
time, making her back arch even further, then withdrew them. He put them to his
own lips and licked them, tasting her. He kissed her then stepped out the bath.
He looked at the laptop.

“Okay, rules for the Gymsextics event.”
He cleared his throat and then spoke in a posh accent. “‘This event lasts for
ten minutes and will be timed by the stopwatch on an iPhone that belongs to one
of the participants. The object of the event is to make love in as many crazy,
ridiculous, impossible, uncomfortable, unbelievable positions as possible
within that time frame. Each position must contain the genital stimulation of
one or both participants, using whichever part of the anatomy desired. If
either participant reaches orgasm before the 10 minutes are up, that is the end
of the event. Current Sexlympics World Record: Six Positions.’”

“Excellent rules. The Sexlympic Committee
should be well proud of itself. It certainly
looks
proud,” she said. She
stepped out of the bath and took her iPhone. “Right, ten minutes on the clock,
starting… NOW!” He grabbed her quickly and they started kissing frantically,
almost comically. Her hands automatically went back to his cock and he again began
rubbing her clit, but she stopped him. “Time is ticking, Matt! There’s no time
for foreplay! What’s our first position? Quick! Think, man, think!”

Nine minutes 45 seconds: The Sinful Cross

“Er… okay! Put your hands on the sink and
bend over.” She did as she was told. “Oh my
God
I love your butt,” he
said.