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The Love Shack

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A wooden shack; nothing impressive about it. Paneled sides, a couple of glass windows and some old wardrobes used to store kitbags. There were a couple of false walls providing changing rooms, although this is too grand a title given the shower and toilet block were installed in a concrete block next door.

My old school cricket pavilion, my second home. I am 20 now; I left school two years ago. During that time I played three times a week, twice with school and once with my weekend club and both, by chance, played at the school ground. I guess I was lucky. Some guys can’t put one in front of the other between the ages of 13 and 16. I was always dexterous, good hand eye co-ordination, good fitness and a tall lean frame and cricket was my chosen game.

We rotated responsibility for cleaning and locking up the pavillion after games. This particular weekend was my rota slot. It had been a good game, we won, and I played well. I had been watched by a few friends and my relatively new girlfriend Karen. Karen and I had been dating nearly three months, she was a tennis player, older than me at 26, and sport for her was a way of life. She would be quite happy watching my games, a bottle of wine and book. I think secretly she enjoyed ogling at me and my team mates, well that was my excuse for enjoying tennis!

The only problem with being on the pavilion rota was that everyone else leaves early, usually to get to the pub. She waited for me while I swept through and put the various leftover items in a cupboard. I had just started to undress to get my shower, the final part of the process.

“You could do some serious damage with one of these couldn’t you?”

I turned and Karen was stood in front of me wielding my bat.

I thought she was referring to the game and responded “Yepo, did you see how far Jimmy hit that fella earlier, nearly cleared the fence.”

I caught the look in here eye, one that I had seen before, and was increasingly familiar to me as I learned about Karen.

“Oh no,” she said, “I meant much more personal damage.”

She walked across and tapped me on the bum playfully. I was keen to get finished and get out.

“Well it may be a bit heavy for that kind of thing.”

“Hmmm.” She was obviously reflecting. “And actually, its the top end that reminds me of something else”.

The glint in her eye had now become a full-blown eyebrow raise as she swung the bat around and held its handle. I noticed here long slender finger clenching its shaft, her middle finger and thumb not quite being able to meet in the middle.

I laughed. “Where have I seen that technique before?”

“But I have to say I don’t match it for length.”

“Oh I don’t know” she replied “It’s hardly a fair comparison at the moment.”

I was now naked, grabbing my towel for the shower, quite flaccid.

“We’ll just have to compare properly later!” She winked.

I went out of the changing room, across the creaky floorboards, and outside to the shower block. I reflected on Karen. She wasn’t classically beautiful, by her own admission she was no model. Not quite tall enough for “perfection” not quite high boned, or pale enough for that “chosen complexion”. illegal bahis But one of the things that attracted me to her was her individuality and sense of style. She dressed well, she had her hair cut into layers that suited her face, and wore obscure glasses that I am sure only she could have pulled off. She could be streetwise and savvy one minute, minxing with the girls, and subservient goody-two-shoes the next.

Our relationship has started slowly. A couple of dances in a club, a couple of meals out, some mutual friends parties. I guess we were mentally sparring, and she was working out with personality to show.

We were quite guarded sexually too at first, slowly moving to a position where we were comfortable with each other’s bodies, trying to understand what worked and what didn’t. I think I was seeing Karen as Karen thought a nice girlfriend would be. Being careful to please, but not quite herself. But that was slowly changing.

Last week, after a good night out in a sweaty club, we had vigorous sex, alone together in my flat. She was aggressive. Not overly so, but was more controlling that I have known before, and more vocal. Her first orgasm, induced by tongue had led to a shriek of delight. Her second was loud, repetitive panting followed by some post coital chat that was coarse, and revealed something more animalistic in her personality.

The following night she was wearing a string of cheap beads, which soon became coated in oil and used to massage me until I came. And then, without asking I reciprocated, inserting the beads into her and then slowly pulling then out upwards across her clitoris. The silent, slow nature of that act made it more erotic, and whilst there was none of the screaming of a night before, the blushed red face and chest told me that she was absolutely loving it.

I caught myself, in the shower, and told myself to behave. I was starting to harden, a combination of the soap, my relaxing muscles and the image of an aroused Karen all having an effect.

I emerged from the shower and took the few short paces back to the pavilion.

Strange, I thought. I was sure that the lights were on. The evening light was fading fast, but there was enough to see my way towards the changing rooms.

“Karen?” I enquired.

“In here,” came the reply.

I walked back across the creaking floorboards and into the room. What met me took my breath away. Karen had pulled the benches together at one end of the room. On them she had piled kit bags, with a space in the middle. What she had done, in effect, was build a throne.

But it wasn’t this that surprised me. She was naked, sat on one of the bags, with my bat resting on her knee. The fading evening light blurred her joints and creases, the shadows making the scene a black and white photo forever to be etched onto my brain.

“I am sorry,” she started, “But all that talk really triggered my imagination. I keep thinking about how good we have been recently, and how much more I want with you.”

Needless to say the erection that I had fought so hard to restrain was no longer under control. Its strength loosened my towel and I let it fall to the floor.

“You illegal bahis siteleri are a bad girl!”

I thought I knew where this was headed, and went for the obvious response. The glint in the eye was back; I think she was encouraged by my obvious enthusiasm.

“And you know what happens to bad girls?”

She turned around and bent over the bag. I couldn’t see her face, but the toned tops of her legs were stood apart slightly. I could see her hand had worked its way down her front and she was already touching herself.

“I think it is time to show me how good you are with that bat.” She half whispered, half begged.

I reached for the bat, its familiar girth and weight suddenly taking on new meaning. She had no way of knowing when the slap would come, and I paused to build the tension. In fact my first move was just to place the cold surface lightly on her cheeks, which caused her to tense slightly, before she relaxed back onto the bag. I withdrew the bat and waited.

I could tell the touching was having an effect and I wanted to watch. Her back was rising faster now and a slight sheen had appeared over her skin.

Slap!. The first blow.

Not hard, but enough to cause a small shriek from Karen.

Slap! This time the other cheek.

Slap! Harder this time, a dull smacking sound.

Slap! Harder again.

This time the gasp was one of pain, but I sensed pleasure too in the following groan. And as the slapping went on I could hear Karen biting her top lip, I could feel her closed eyes, and her concentration on the sense of pleasure that was overcoming her. Occasionally she shifted around the bag, its rough surface playing the part of fingernails and heightening pleasure in other parts of her body.

After ten, maybe a dozen slaps, each one progressively harder, she turned to face me, leaning on the bench. She wasn’t sitting, but the effect of the pile of the bags meant that a lot of her weight was transferred.

She looked at me. Directly, in the eye, challenging me in the silence.

I turned the bat upside down, grasping its base. I pushed the handle towards her knees and gently encouraged them outwards. She was half stood, half squat, legs apart, and her hands started to move again, over her breasts and down.

This time I could clearly see her teasing herself. I could have just watched such was the tension and eroticism of the moment.

Instead I went to my bag, and dug around my washbag for a packet of condoms. I slipped one out of the wrapper and positioned it at the top of the bat handle, rolling it downwards. I wasn’t sure how much she would take, but guessed some kind of protection would help. Silently I took the bat back to her. She grasped the condom head and placed it at her opening. She opened herself to me and I gently inserted the handle, pushing and turning, using her lubrication to ease its passage. I am not sure how much she took, but I guess 7 inches, until I felt uncomfortable pushing further.

Her look was one of concentration more than anything. I think she was widening herself, and trying to soak up the pleasure at once. The human body’s ability to adapt a situation is amazing, canlı bahis siteleri and Karen’s natural lubrication was enough to have free movement. I slowly twisted the bat in my hands, gently screwing Karen whilst she stared at her own opening; I am sure becoming more aroused watching herself.

I then started moving rhythmically in and out. Karen’s moaning also increased in volume and although she had stopped touching herself, she had rocked her head back and was clearly now in that state of abandonment that I had experienced a week ago after the club. I guessed this couldn’t last long, based on her arousal and the width and depth of her penetration. I moved closer to her, leaving the bat resting on the ground, but still well inside her.

I wanted to touch and feel this arousal, but I had another idea, one I hoped would surprise her. I grasped her wrists, forcing them above her head and, using the bag straps above her, fastened her hands in place.

Her body shivered progressively as I kissed her elbows, her neck, her collarbone and chest and then repeatedly circled her nipples, nibbling occasionally. My hands worked her torso, around her belly button and down to her hips.

I grasped her hips, causing the bat to shift slightly as my mouth worked through her public hair and onto her clitoris. My fingers lightly rested on her labia; I wanted to feel her squeeze the handle. I wasn’t disappointed as my tongue teasing caused her to regularly contract and squeeze. I had felt this squeezing myself, usually pushing me in and out, but the bat was not moving, and I imagined her whole vaginal wall trying to crush the rigid wooden intrusion.

The contractions were getting stronger, and her breathing faster, so I quickened my tongue, moving principally upwards repeatedly. Eventually it wasn’t just her vagina contracting, but her whole body moved together tensing in one final explosion, causing the bat to fall and withdraw suddenly, the crashing noise accompanied by an indescribable groan that signified a very intense orgasm.

I moved quickly to unfasten her hands, and as we held each other I remember distinctly the heat from her backside on my palms, and the moisture of the small of her back. Appropriate Words were difficult to come by; I think she settled for a satisfied “fuck”.

I told her that seeing, hearing and trying new things with her was starting to feel like the best sex of my life.

“I have an overactive sexual imagination,” she said, “But I have never felt that comfortable putting it into practice. I am starting to feel comfortable with you now. Do you mind?”

I laughed a little at that.

“Let’s explore more.” I said and we just rested like that for a while.

I wondered, as we tidied up, whether we could have been seen, if we had been missed yet, whether other people had ever tried love with a bat handle, or who else uses the pavilion. As we made our way back across the field and over the hill we passed a woman who I recognized as the girls’ gym teacher at school, holding hands with a bloke I didn’t recognize.

I knew the residential staff at the school had responsibility for checking facilities and said to Karen “She’ll be checking the pavilion was locked up properly. A few minutes earlier could have been funny!”

“Yeah right!” came her reply, but I sensed sarcasm.

“What do you mean yeah right?”

“Come on,” she said, “let’s follow and see what happens.”

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