Game Face

In honour of today being derby day in Liverpool


I take it upon myself to be match day servant.
During the warm ups and pre-analysis I start lunch, and bring drinks. Sometimes I glance up at the screen.
“Are you winning?”
“No.” He frowns
At half time I rest my head in his lap and he absent mindedly strokes my hair but still distracted.
“I hope you win.” I say into his stomach
“Go and check on the pizza.” he replies, gently pushing me.

From the kitchen all I hear is the dull hum of the crowd, punctuated by his subdued yet anguished cries, and swearing.
When I come back in, all is quiet. My customary brief look at score gives an explanation;  2-0 down.

I look at him. He’s still frowning. He knows it’s only a game. Only it isn’t, it’s something binding him to his brothers, his father, no matter how far away they are from one another.
I look back at the screen, then back at my love, bereft.

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Birthday Call

It’s his brother’s birthday. No gifts to exchange, but a phone call. A ritual of fraternal love which must be obeyed.

The TV is on and I’m half watching it, half idling on my phone with one hand on his thigh, proprietary. He smiles at me, and I slide over, cuddling up, my face against his shoulder as he dials.

The call connects and without a single gesture to me, he begins to unbutton his flies, easing his cock out and stroking it almost without thought. I watch, mesmerised, and here is my hand on his thigh again, creeping closer to his shuttling fingers.

I reach out to touch him as his cock hardens but he pushes my fingers away, and as he commiserates on football woes, his hand is now on my shoulder, my cheek is soft against the rigidity of his thigh, his cock is in my mouth and he’s stroking my hair as the football chat drones on above my head.

He’s hard now, I’m using my hand to guide his erection further and further into my mouth, expanding in my throat and his hand is on the back of my head, holding me in place as I begin to gasp and struggle and he takes the phone away from his mouth just long enough to whisper “Shhhhhhhh. Don’t make a sound.”

I could be naughty and use my hand and my tongue and make him moan and what a happy birthday that would be. The sound of him exhaling slowly through his nose as he gently fucks my throat is tantalising; I wonder how it sounds to the caller.

“She’s fine. She’s just relaxing at the moment.”

I do feel oddly relaxed; he’s moved his hand a little so he can fuck me harder and I can breathe through my mouth if I want to. I reach over with my free hand and wave in the general direction of the handset.

“She says Hi.”

“Habby Buthhhhday!” I enunciate with difficulty and something in my tongue forming the ‘th’ makes his hips jerk violently. I take this as permission to use the free hand on his heavy, straining balls even though it probably isn’t and the only thing I hear is the phone dropping to the floor with a hurried “Bye” before both of his hands are gripping my face, he’s using me violently now and muttering how I’m naughty and filthy and couldn’t help myself and as he comes down my throat without warning I’m so contented it might as well be my birthday and I swallow my gift down gratefully.






I had a dream last night. This is a version of it.

I’m lying on my stomach in the shallow end of the pool. It’s barely a pool really, it’s a complex – a simulated beach with a funfair thrown on top, I am hidden far away but still the screams of children hurtling along the chutes and slides above my head filters through. It is hardly peaceful here.

Still, I am alone. I am serene. I half-know what is going to happen as I lie in the gentle waves, pert bum sticking out of the water, breasts thrusts out of my two piece swimming costume. As I am thinking about this, They arrive. Two men, the handsome, gregarious, laddy type. Thick around the neck and upper body, they approach me, talking amongst themselves but looking over again and again.

“Look at those tits.” one says, talking at me, not to me. He has dark hair. There are noises of agreement.

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Fuck You [Redacted]

That there are, at this very moment, molecules of me in your atmosphere, makes me laugh.

If you reach into your handbag, sitting innocently on the passenger seat, you are within millimetres of me, of my cunt. Of the time I sat, dripping wet and writhing with anxious arousal, with my bare backside nestled neatly next to him as he drove us home. This I know, but you do not.

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For Amy and Jadis


“Be mean to me.” She begged one evening, during a pillow fight. Ember was towering over her, the floral pillowcase above her head blocking out the big bedroom light. He already had her pinned down to the bed by her wrists so Ember could aim the downy marshmallow directly at her soft, downy stomach.

“We are being mean to you, silly.”

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