Nothing.
No one is here, only shelves of flat packed wears. Not even an employee looking around pretending to be working. Slightly anticlimactic I think. Not that I was expecting a fan fare, but her here would have been nice.
Making sure this was not a wasted trip I go to find the chair, at least I can come out with what I needed. After staring at the same white boxes for what seemed an eternity I finally find it, at least I hope I did.
I select my box and slowing drag it out, that was, until I noticed someone on the other side. They were on the same rung, looking at the same stock. My gaze hits lower, seeing if I can get an indication of who this person is.
Flawless skin being supported by smooth brown boots.
I quickly look up and around the boxes, to catch her eyes, but she has already done this, locking attention.
'I was wondering how long it would take you'
Her smile lights up her face once more, intoxicating to my vision.
'Well you could have been more obvious with the note, rather than a sexy ninja'
'Where's the fun in that?'
I look around to see how she got there, it actually looks like she is in the back of the shelving. I look up to ask her but she has already sussed my question.
'Use the roller below'
Her foot taps the shelf itself, most of it on rollers to 'easily get the stock you need'
(says so on the sticker)
Looking around for staff I lower on the rollers and push myself towards the back, the individual spinners acting quite like a massage board. Reminder, get one of these for home.
The rollers reveal her to me slowly, like the unveiling of the latest must have gadget. Her hands are on her hips, the smile still stuck on. Every inch of her a goddess.
And she knows it.
Stopping from falling off the rollers I am face to face with her belt, it's gold effects glinting in the terribly thought out lighting.
'Well, while you're down there' she orders, or tries to at least.
I need no more invitation than that. Letting my hands slowly run up her legs I keep my eyes fixed to her skirt area, her skin warming to my touch. She holds on to the rails in front of her and looks forward, keeping watch as I explore. My hands keep running up her legs, slowly for now. Her legs just don't stop, I'll be out of reach before I get to her hips. She lets out a little purr as my hands finally find the edges of her panties, and her hips.
She drops one hand for me, and in one motion lifts her skirt for me, giving me access to the treasure underneath. Looking back there I'm given the good fortune of seeing a barely registering pair of panties, black, with a little picture of a lock on the front with the words:
'Key Me'
Don't mind if I do.
I peel down the panties in one fell swoop (disarming the lock in the process) and leave them down by her ankles. A little kick from her and they only appear on one ankle, allowing me to gently part her legs. Her landing strip is short, shaved smooth on the sides giving me permission to land. I can already smell her pussy even this early, every inch of her continues to intoxicate me.
My hands go behind her and grab hold of her peach of an ass as my head easily nestles in between her legs. Looking down at me she licks her lips, keeping the skirt high as I do the same motion, but allow my tongue to gently tease her pussy.
She's tight, a small pussy for me to play with but her body shudders with each lick. I press on, allowing my tongue to ease her open and be rewarded with her desire. I feel her ass clench as she pushes on to me, physically demanding my tongue in her. I oblige, taking my hands to part her lips as my tongue fully enters her.
Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Sunday, 12 June 2011
A long trip
I broke one of the chairs in my house.
Yes I know it's not the end of the world, what's just one chair you'd say?
It's not the breaking of the chair that is making me nervous and quake in my boots. No, it is the actual replacing of the chair that I fear most.
Because that means Ikea.
What is it about that place that inspires such hatred and panic in people?
Why is that place so damn boring?
It had even reached the point where whenever I see blue and yellow together I get a twitch in my eye.
I was determined this time to change the status quo though. No, not chance my opinion of the place, but get through it quicker.
Like pulling off a plaster.
Or shagging that girl you find at the end of the night because everyone else has gone home.
Even entering the main door feels like walking through the gates of hell, and no, I'm not being melodramatic.
Whilst rounding what seemed to be the thousandth corner I finally stumbled upon an area I will just refer to as the 'Chair Kingdom'.
Now I am not a perfectionist so the chair that closest resembles the broken one will do. None of the chairs match much anyway. Even so this could take a while.
The place is packed, as if everyone suddenly broke their chairs too in some defiant notion against formal dinner plans.
I tried to get in there quickly, find my chair and flee but I am stopped by an army of the confused. As I spied a chair close to my original a woman of alarming size sat upon it, her mass pointed away from myself. I'm pretty sure if you combined all of the women that I have sex with, the resulting mass would be close to this woman.
Now, I can't, or rather, won't care to describe how it looked when she sat down. All I will say is that if I bought that type of chair now and took it home...
All I'd see is her flowing over it for eternity.......
Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011
Read the rest of this story in:
'Sex Games' by Mouna Lott and T.H.Rusty
Out October 2011
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Sunday.
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.
What to do!
To many, it's a lazy day, a day to fulfil nothing and yet feel content. A meal is the height of planning, and often not you don't even cook it.
For me however a Sunday is a good day to enjoy a coffee, grab a seat and see what God (or Darwin) offers. You never know, something might just fall in to your lap.
Such is today, and such is the reason why I felt the need to share. What's life if you can not tell people about those highlights.
Sitting in one of my favourite haunts I sipped a good tasting, if lukewarm, coffee while a paper nestled under my elbows. The usual clients flit in and out of shop, this air of high energy clouding the fact no one had anywhere to go.
To my pleasant surprise I noticed this young little thing scurry in from outside, arms containing a library of books, no doubt a fresh student face in the area.
She perched herself a distance away, books strewn across the table. To me she didn't look like the type of person who would be seen with such a collection of literature. She seemed, to me anyway, to be more at home in front of a camera, or at least modelling some disaster of a students idea of fashion. But then again I have misread a persons character.
(Remind me to tell you all about my business lunch in Dubai some time)
I kept a cool eye on her, making it not too obvious I am not paying close attention to her legs. I didn't really read much of my paper to be fair, not that it was particularly interesting.
Her figure had my attention.
Slight, smooth, sultry, stunning. She was A+ if I was giving out grades.
While ordering my next latte I notice her gaze is locked to mine, then away before I can get a good look. The game is afoot I feel...
She then ups the game. Twisting her hips to the side as she straddles her seat, keeping her eyes firmly locked on her books, she motions her legs in my direction.
Parting them ever so slightly she teases me with something Sunday's are not renowned for. The faintest whisper of panties is thrust in my direction, startling white under her cream skirt.
I might be the only man in the world who prefers the cotton panties, lace just gives too much away. And she wasn't letting me see more, a teaser, a taste, a teetering tremble for my gaze.
Having a peek I get a slight lock of her eyes before her legs close and return to their original position, making me wonder what I did to deserve such a treat.
Time moves by and soon enough she is collecting her things to leave. Clutching them close to her chest (Ample if you much know) she rounds the corner of my table to leave.
Now, acting is essentially pretending what you are doing is 'real', so this would be classed as the worst acting I have ever seen.
She stumbles, tripping her own foot and falls directly on to my lap. Not a book is spilled but the result was perfect, my arms fly out to catch her and allow themselves a good feel as she is pulled in to me.
Getting right back up she throws me a stunning smirk before quickly adding,
'Oh I am sorry'.
The door is closed quickly behind her, a few murmured laughs from other patrons but it is soon forgotten.
In my hand however is a crumpled piece of paper, pushed in to my hand as she 'fell'.
In it is housed her number with the simple message,
'Later?'
Sometimes Sundays can surprise you.
- Always carry a pad.
What to do!
To many, it's a lazy day, a day to fulfil nothing and yet feel content. A meal is the height of planning, and often not you don't even cook it.
For me however a Sunday is a good day to enjoy a coffee, grab a seat and see what God (or Darwin) offers. You never know, something might just fall in to your lap.
Such is today, and such is the reason why I felt the need to share. What's life if you can not tell people about those highlights.
Sitting in one of my favourite haunts I sipped a good tasting, if lukewarm, coffee while a paper nestled under my elbows. The usual clients flit in and out of shop, this air of high energy clouding the fact no one had anywhere to go.
To my pleasant surprise I noticed this young little thing scurry in from outside, arms containing a library of books, no doubt a fresh student face in the area.
She perched herself a distance away, books strewn across the table. To me she didn't look like the type of person who would be seen with such a collection of literature. She seemed, to me anyway, to be more at home in front of a camera, or at least modelling some disaster of a students idea of fashion. But then again I have misread a persons character.
(Remind me to tell you all about my business lunch in Dubai some time)
I kept a cool eye on her, making it not too obvious I am not paying close attention to her legs. I didn't really read much of my paper to be fair, not that it was particularly interesting.
Her figure had my attention.
Slight, smooth, sultry, stunning. She was A+ if I was giving out grades.
While ordering my next latte I notice her gaze is locked to mine, then away before I can get a good look. The game is afoot I feel...
She then ups the game. Twisting her hips to the side as she straddles her seat, keeping her eyes firmly locked on her books, she motions her legs in my direction.
Parting them ever so slightly she teases me with something Sunday's are not renowned for. The faintest whisper of panties is thrust in my direction, startling white under her cream skirt.
I might be the only man in the world who prefers the cotton panties, lace just gives too much away. And she wasn't letting me see more, a teaser, a taste, a teetering tremble for my gaze.
Having a peek I get a slight lock of her eyes before her legs close and return to their original position, making me wonder what I did to deserve such a treat.
Time moves by and soon enough she is collecting her things to leave. Clutching them close to her chest (Ample if you much know) she rounds the corner of my table to leave.
Now, acting is essentially pretending what you are doing is 'real', so this would be classed as the worst acting I have ever seen.
She stumbles, tripping her own foot and falls directly on to my lap. Not a book is spilled but the result was perfect, my arms fly out to catch her and allow themselves a good feel as she is pulled in to me.
Getting right back up she throws me a stunning smirk before quickly adding,
'Oh I am sorry'.
The door is closed quickly behind her, a few murmured laughs from other patrons but it is soon forgotten.
In my hand however is a crumpled piece of paper, pushed in to my hand as she 'fell'.
In it is housed her number with the simple message,
'Later?'
Sometimes Sundays can surprise you.
- Always carry a pad.
Saturday, 4 June 2011
Beginnings
Hello, bonjour, tag, hej, shalom, konnichi wa, kia ora, ciao.
I'm T H Rusty, writer, daydreamer, erotica purveyor. I've started this blog with my co-writer Mouna Lott so we can allow readers a taste of what it is like in our world.
How we come up with our stories, where they come from, what it takes to do what we do.
I'm from Newcastle, not exactly a place renowned for it's erotica, so it gives me this goldmine of material.
Today's blog is a simple hello, a starting off point so to speak.
The tastier ones will come in time.
- Always carry a pad.
I'm T H Rusty, writer, daydreamer, erotica purveyor. I've started this blog with my co-writer Mouna Lott so we can allow readers a taste of what it is like in our world.
How we come up with our stories, where they come from, what it takes to do what we do.
I'm from Newcastle, not exactly a place renowned for it's erotica, so it gives me this goldmine of material.
Today's blog is a simple hello, a starting off point so to speak.
The tastier ones will come in time.
- Always carry a pad.
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