Chapter One

I wasn’t much of a drinker when we’d worked together. Being the crazy workaholic who lived for the job didn’t leave time for long hours at the pub chatting to mates, stolen moments in a beer garden after work.

Now though, I worked nine-to-five in an office role. The force had been kind to me, allowing me an opportunity to leave of my own accord, rather than firing me, which they had every right to do. I had given the force a lot, and they gave it back to me, even as I didn’t feel I deserved it.

This evening I was catching up for a drink with one of the guys’ who I often worked with. In Australia, police don’t have regular partners as they do on those US cop shows, we work with the same people on a regular basis, but don’t have just one partner as such. Although I can’t speak for the realities of being a cop in other countries I know that police here are like one big family, and you’re all looking out for one another.

Walking into the pub, I saw Jerome who had obviously just got there and was standing at the bar, pint in front of him, handing over a crisp orange twenty.

“Hey brother!” I approached, knocking his arm with my fist. Jerome turned towards me, his face cracking into a familiar smile. His face was one that knew smiles over the years, with strong smile lines and no frown lines. The salt of the earth, Jerome wrapped his arms around me in a giant bear hug and we were off, firing questions at one another about how we were, what we had been up to, everything.

It had only been just over a month since I resigned, and Jerome was talking to me like we hadn’t seen each other for six months. Time is a funny thing, it did feel like it had been a long time since we had seen each other in person.

We moved outside and kept talking. The conversation was electric, like it had always been. Jerome had been one of my best friends when I was on the force. Despite being so much older than me and being such different people, we got along so well. Like chalk and cheese.

Jerome had been married for 100 years, or at least it felt like it. He was painfully loyal to his wife, yet, was always giving us younger single members of the force a hard time about not going out and meeting people, about not drinking enough, about not going down to the pub to meet blokes, who I’d take home that night.

That wasn’t my style, pub guys. But as we sat there, chatting about old times, Jerome was in action. Telling me about some guys who had just come out to the beer garden and were looking at me.

“They’re checking you out!” He told me and I laughed.

Shaking my head I told him, “Some things never change!”

“What do you mean?” He asked, mock innocent grin across his face.

I tried to fix him with my eyes, but couldn’t. I was too busy smiling to pull that move off. “Just –“ I started before clearing my throat and going on, “It’s just, you always said this to the younger members, that we should go out, get drunk. Get fucked. Be young.”

“And you never listened.” Jerome observed, tutting.

“No, I never did.” I told him, smile across my face, “I can’t fuck like a man.”

Jerome chuckled. “Well, you should.” He said shortly, “You might like it.”

My eyes darted over to the guys standing in the beer garden then. They were wearing hi-vis gear, obviously tradesmen, or tradies as we call them in Australia. I always had a soft spot for tradies. Actually, for plenty of men who others would dismiss as ‘bogans’.

Bogan culture is something difficult to describe to people who aren’t from Australia, and I had grappled with the explanation when some friends from the UK had visited, I’d told them bogans are a cross between a ‘chav’ and a ‘lad’, sometimes they are like American red-necks, too. But they are something else. Often they have jobs (tradies, usually) and earn a fair bit of money in an economy that rewards those with hands-on skills, they drive cars they likely fantasised about as little boys playing with their trucks and their accents, their accents are awful. Their accents are what the world imagines Australian’s accents are like. Whereas my own is smooth enough to often be mistaken for a Brit, theirs are nasally, full of grit.

Now one of the guys was checking me out, and I was doing the same right back to him. He seemed confident and smooth, but, like there was a bit more going on with him. I could overhear their conversation, and the boys were not talking about silly bogan rubbish, but were talking about politics. This guy, when he contributed, actually had some interesting stuff to say.

My attention was divided between Jerome and the hot tradie, and Jerome could tell. Making a point to look at the guy, he picked up our empty glasses.

“Next rounds on me.” He told me before standing and leaning a little closer, “I have to make a phone call first though. You should.” His hand motioned towards the tradies and he gave me a little wink.

Almost as soon as he was gone, the tradie watched him go as his mates chatted around him. The tradie looked a bit restless for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should do this, before walking over to me and sitting down in front of me.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out…” He said, his voice smooth as velvet, this was a routine I was sure.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I said, quietly assessing him as I leaned back a bit and stretched my body to appear relaxed.

His smile, a big, shit-eating grin, lit up the room. Or at least it felt that way, “so is he your father?” He asked.

I fought the urge to shake my head. This guy was smooth, while simultaneously not being smooth at all. He had moves, but they were not moves at the same time. That really endeared him to me. You don’t want someone who is too smooth, because they obviously do this all the time. But you don’t want someone who is too awkward to function, either.

Being that we were both, I’d say, in our late twenties (well, I knew I was, and assumed about him at the time), I guessed that he had to have had a few girlfriends at this stage in his life, but that he obviously wasn’t committed to the life of a bachelor enough to really know how to pick up women.

Our conversation was easy and light. His friends showed just enough attention to the conversation for me to realise that they were being good friends, curious as hell. But that they were also not used to seeing this, which gave me some solace.

Having a great conversation is one thing, but how someone interacts with your already existing friends is another completely. After we’d been chatting for a while, Jerome came back to sit with us and, catching my eye before the tradie could see him, shot me a big ‘go girl’ grin.

When Jerome put the pint down in front of me, tradie seemed to catch on all at once. He stood and offered his hand to Jerome.

“Hey mate,” He said, “I’m Jack.”

Jerome seemed pleased and shook his hand. “Jerome. We’re old colleagues.”

Jack nodded, his eyes a little wide. I wondered if he didn’t believe Jerome and I were old work colleagues.

Excusing himself to get back to his own friends, Jack walked over to them. I watched him move across the beer garden, wondering what he looked like outside of those clothes. I thought I might find out, after a few more pints.

Jerome resumed his seat and kept chatting to me. I kept looking over my shoulder at Jack. Occasionally we would catch each other’s eyes and smile.

For several hours, Jerome and I would go to the bar, taking it in turns to grab pints and come back to sit down with a pint for each of us. The sun was starting to go down when he told me he had best be home, his wife was cooking his favourite meal tonight, bangers and mash. The simple way of him, and how such little things could make him so happy, really pleased me about Jerome.

“I’ll just finish this, and-“ I went to tell him, thinking I would leave at the same time as him, but he cut me off.

“-There’s no rush.” He said, a smile appearing upon his face. “Besides, there’s someone else here you should be talking to.”

I had been drinking from my pint glass when I almost choked on my drink. “Jerome…” I said, warning him.

“Yes?” His question was innocent and he was standing, “just go for it, no-one has to know.”

Then, without a further word he was gone.

I looked over at the tradies, and saw Jack noticing that Jerome left, his eyes were on Jerome’s back as he walked away. Then our eyes met and he gave me a seductive smile. Normally I wouldn’t have, and there was still a small voice inside my head telling me not to, but I couldn’t help it. Jerome was right, it had been a long time since my last relationship, and besides, no-one had to know. I needed to be young some time.

As Jack watched, I raised my hand, palm up and motioned with my fingers for him to approach me. Jack looked around at his friends, who all seemed too engrossed to notice him. He slipped away and approached me.

“Yes, m’lady?” He asked, all charm and smiles now. He had his liquid courage on now I saw.

I downed the last of my drink, as if it would give me what I needed in that moment. Then I asked him, “I’m going home, you coming?”

Jack had been holding a half-full pint, which he looked at before looking back at me, then lifting the pint glass and downing it himself.

“Okay,” He said, “Let’s go.”

Without a backwards glance at his friends, Jack was behind me, being led out of the now half-full pub.

I led him to a taxi which took us home, his hand in mine the whole time.

I wondered if this was how it was, one night stands, for normal people. If they felt the nervous rush I was now feeling. If they felt that sense that they were doing something incredibly naughty, but did it anyway.

By the time we were out of the car, he had already taken charge, leading me towards the house. His hand was in mine, leading me towards my house when I decided he was more savvy than I gave him credit for with his awkward flirting. This guy knew what he was doing, and that was fine. One of us had to.

We entered the house and before I even had my shoes off, he was on me. His kisses were rushed, hard. Like he wanted me as he had never wanted any woman before.

His hands danced over my body as he stripped my clothes off. For someone who seemed a bit of a fish out of water, when he stripped me bare, it seemed like something he had been doing with me for years. His expert hands took off every garment confidently, there was no fumbling or muttered curses as he tried and failed to remove things, he just took everything off, one item at a time. At his own leisure.

I felt like I was moving on his time frame. Like he was the one in control. He was the one leading the dance, and I was following his well-heeled steps.

Our dance was a bit of a tango at the start, in that I didn’t know any of the moves and was following him as he improvised. The energy was electric, I was eating it up.

He told me to lead him to my bedroom and I did. He walked right in after me and didn’t bother to close the door. Although I lived alone, he didn’t know that. I was bought out of a moment of passion as I smiled to myself. He didn’t care who saw, he was going to take me, and that was hot!

I was completely naked by the time he lay me on the bed. I hadn’t managed to get any of his clothes off as I was so unsure of myself, and as he lay on top of me to kiss me, I slipped his hi-vis shirt off and threw it in one corner (knowing it would be easier for him if I put all of his clothes in one place). Running my hands over his chest, I was taken by the way it felt. His hard muscles under that tender skin.

Letting out a little moan of my own which was met by a growl from his own throat, I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t hold back. Part of me was still there, not wanting this. It was a smaller and smaller part of me the more he kissed my body, but it was there, then as he growled, that part inside me gave way.

It was like a dam wall breaking and the water gushing out into the river: I was pulling at his pants, trying to get them undone. I could have ripped them off, I needed what was inside of them so much. I managed to pull his cock out and felt it in my hands. It was huge, and I smiled to myself. I wanted this. I wanted this big cock in me, I wanted him!

I was stroking him as he kissed me when he leaned down and in my ear told me in husky tones, “Rougher! Grab my dick!” I followed his command immediately and grabbed at his hard cock roughly, “No, rougher! I want to really feel you!” I did what I was told and grabbed at him, roughly handling his cock, stroking it.

Until his hand was touching me, I hadn’t realised how wet I was. His hand was rough, in the best kind of way as he lazily circled my clit while I roughly pulled at his cock. Then his fingers were pushing inside me with the same roughness, the same ruggedness. He was rouged, setting off perfectly against my own femininity and softness. Being with him like this made me feel like a real woman, soft and sweet. I hadn’t felt this in too long and was savouring it when he asked, “can I taste you?”

His tones were quiet yet still guttural. That turned me on. I nodded slightly. I really wanted this, but was too shy to ask. I was happy I didn’t have to. A man who took charge and gave me what I needed, rather than what I said I wanted was perfect. Sometimes you don’t want to ask for what you need, you just want it given to you without having to ask. This guy was giving me everything I needed.

He kissed his way down my body and slowly found his way to my aching pussy. I needed him, I needed to feel his tongue. I needed to feel good, to feel oh yes. That was the spot. He knew. He knew exactly what I needed as he licked me.

I wanted to cry out, to tell him how perfect he was in that moment, but knew better than to express my euphoria in words. They would fall flat, they wouldn’t be right. This was just a one-night stand, it was just a fling. It wasn’t anything serious. But as he licked me and bought me so much bliss, I wanted this to never end. I wanted to play like this forever.

I’m sure he was only licking me for ten minutes, but it felt like he had been licking me for hours when my orgasm started to rear its head. At first it felt like an extension of the bliss. Like he was just pushing one more button on his arsenal, like he was just driving me closer in just this one more way. But then it felt like something more and something more until I was crying out, thrashing around on the bed, moaning. I could hardly get the words out. I wanted to tell him I was cumming, because men didn’t always know. But then as he appeared near my face, supported by his hands on either side of my body, I could see in his eye that he knew, and that he loved it.

As I came, he watched me, and touched my body. He ran a hand over my skin, leaving me feeling wonderful, as his touch burned where it had just been. Even as I was subsiding from this orgasm all I could think was how much I wanted to please him. I was overtaken with the desire.

As someone who never has one night stands, this was the oddest feeling that I wanted to please him so badly. That I had such a strong desire to please a man who I didn’t even know was insane, but still, I wanted it.

Letting my body collapse onto the mattress post orgasm, I felt myself as if I was drifting. Jack lay beside me and smiled up at the ceiling. I could just see his white teeth beside me.

“Was that good?” He asked, as if he didn’t know. Or at least, as if he didn’t want me to know he knew. Of course he knew it was good, he just wanted the ego stroking.

I didn’t answer him for a few moments while I caught my breath, “It was good.” I told him, letting the smile take over my face. What a smart arse!

We laughed and cuddled one another for a moment. I could smell the man on him and it was intoxicating, his scent drove me wild. I knew I couldn’t do much right now floating on my post-orgasmic haze as I was, but I couldn’t help it, I wanted to do things to him. I wanted to do naughty, naughty things to him. I wanted to make love to him, to suck him, like he’d just licked me.

Something about sucking a man off felt a little naughty, and I’d always liked that naughty feeling. It was like the most private, most sensitive, dirtiest part of a man’s body was being introduced to the most public, most acceptable part of yours. You kissed your grandmother hello with that mouth that you’d just been sucking your boyfriend off with.

My mouth is tender, as is a man’s cock. And something about the act always seemed very intimate to me, even as it was often seen as ‘less than’ sex, to me, going down on a man was always far more intimate than having sex with one.

As I regained some of my composure, my mind went there. I thought of what it would be like to taste him. I had plenty that I wanted to say to him though, that I wanted him to tell me when he wanted to move on to sex, that I didn’t want him to cum in my mouth this time (even as I thought of how hot it would be if he did), that I didn’t want him to be soft with me, that I wanted him to take control, to fuck my mouth. I wanted to feel used, I wanted to feel naughty and dirty and to have this be an extension of the hot sex I knew we would have together.

But instead, I just smiled and managed to tell him I wanted to suck his cock. His returning smile was naughty and devious. He wanted that, too. Of course he did.

I was plenty more awkward than he had been as I kissed my way down his body, which made me giggle. That I could do this without looking anywhere near as good as he did when he did it was funny to me.

His body was hard under my kisses, his abs were distinct. How tradies had the time to hit up the gym when they had all that work to do confused me, but then, he was working hard physically at whatever he did at work anyway I guessed.

When I reached his stiff cock, I got a good look at it for the first time. It was hard as hell, but also bigger than what I was used to. Although I had always wanted to try a big guy (size queens must be getting excited about something) I wasn’t sure about this one. It had been a while for me since I had been with a man after all, let alone being with a man who I had just met.

I took his cock in my right hand and stood it up so I could lick the head. As my tongue landed there he gave out little moans which made me smile. I could please him too. Maybe not as well as he had pleased me, but I could still please him.

Licking his cock, I felt myself growing more excited. I was licking, he was moaning. Together we were both growing excited by all of this. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to do this, and how much I was enjoying it. The act to giving head was fun, but this, this was something else entirely. It was like I was drunk on him, drunk on the want to give him pleasure.

He moaned louder then asked, “Can I push your head?” With his hand on the back of my head.

I moved my mouth so he could push his cock into the back of my throat and nodded. This was exactly what I needed, but was too afraid to ask for. He thrust into my mouth and I moaned around his cock. I couldn’t get enough, trying to take more and more of his cock into my mouth with every downward thrust. When I would come up I would take a deep breath (or at much air as I could) then push myself back down, with ample help from him.

He loved being deep-throated, I could tell. But I knew I couldn’t quite do this as much as I would like to, or as hard as I would like to. I wanted to take his whole cock in my mouth, to please him more. Maybe to do that porn star move where I took his whole cock down my throat then stuck my tongue out and licked his balls. I’d love to be able to do that!

But for that, I would need a miracle. His cock was just too big for me.

Instead I took a breather and went back to licking the head, as I had been choking and gagging on his cock for long enough to feel as if I might lose consciousness.

Then he told me, “I want you to ride my cock.”

I looked up at him. Although the room was dark there was light streaming in through my open curtains. There was a street light positioned right outside my window that had always annoyed me yet now it helped me to see the outline of his naughty smile.

I was sure I could get used to that wicked smile.

He pulled me up towards him, and I didn’t struggle one bit. I wanted this as bad as he did, if not a little more.

As I lowered myself onto his stiff cock, I felt my insides stretch to accommodate him. His cock felt amazing as it filled me up, but I needed a moment to adjust.

I hadn’t had a lot of unprotected sex before, but this was a rush. To feel full of him, to feel every inch of him, to feel like I could be filled with this strangers cum at any moment was such a huge turn on. I wanted more, I wanted harder.

Riding him harder than I would have normally at this early stage in sex, I felt an orgasm building, but it was building in the same way that first orgasm had, where everything felt so amazing then all at once I would feel the orgasm burst forth.

His hands on my hips, I fucked him hard, all the while with him fucking me hard right back. I wanted to stop myself, to stop this feeling of immediacy, to stop this feeling of wanting to cum with him inside me. I wanted to stop myself, because I wanted to enjoy him for longer before it happened, but that urge was enough. That urge to fuck and be fucked by this man was immense, and I couldn’t slow down. I needed him. I needed this!

Before I knew it, I was cumming all over his hard cock. I could feel my pussy gushing over him, as his cock grew wetter from me all at once. It was like a reverse volcano as I moaned and squirmed on top of him. Then, realising I was mid orgasm he stopped moving and allowed me to take this moment, to enjoy this moment. Even as I knew he was enjoying it just as much as I was. Even as I knew he was laying there under me, enjoying every little thrust.

I moaned, he moaned. He was loving every second. I was loving every second.

As I came, I wondered if a few of those little twitches under me were him as well, if his cock was pulsing with excitement, then, as I slowed down, I realised I was right. He was pulsing with excitement. He wanted me so badly in that moment, he needed me. But he didn’t want to take away from this orgasm. He didn’t want to take away from my pleasure, even for his own.

That was, until I had stopped cumming.

Then he was pulling me so I would be on my knees, head down, ass in the air. He moved me like this so he could fuck me from behind while standing next to the bed. He fucked me then, good and rough. Without saying a word, a finger wet with his saliva was touching my asshole. I was post-orgasmic already, and this feeling just made me want to have another orgasm.

He fucked me as he rubbed my ass with a hand, before asking, “Have you ever had your ass fucked?”

“Mmm… No.” I told him, “I don’t want to try tonight, either.”

“Okay.” He told me, “That’s fine. Is this okay though?”

I wanted to cry out with pleasure at his question, of course it was okay! It was all okay! He had already made me come twice, and this feeling was making me want to cum again, to cum all over his stiff cock for a second time. But I held back. I didn’t let myself cum. I couldn’t, not yet.

“Yes!” I moaned, all too readily. “Yes, please touch me…”

Part of the shame of having someone penetrate your ass was rising inside of me, which made this all the more taboo and hot. I couldn’t help it, I wanted this. I wanted every bit of it. It drove me harder, made me feel yet keener.

Even as this drove me closer and closer to my third orgasm this evening, I still felt like I was there, being used by him. Like he was taking me for his pleasure. Like he wanted me, needed me, like this was enough to drive him insane.

The thought of how into this he was, of how into me he was, drove me over the edge.

I was moaning, grinding up against him, trying to force him to stop, but he didn’t. He fucked me harder still, grunting all the while. He was close, I knew it. We were going to cum together.

Then, he pulled out of my pussy and ordered me onto my knees. I was still cumming, my pussy still grabbing at his cock even as it wasn’t there. He grabbed at my head and forced me to take the head of his cock in my mouth as he pumped the shaft with his fist.

I looked up at him as he used my mouth. This felt degrading, but in the hottest way. Then, he let out a groan as he shot the first rope of cum into my mouth. Then the second, and the third. He came hard each time, his cum spilling onto my tongue.

I drank his cum hungrily, loving every second of it. Loving the taste, the feel of him using me. The feel of being so used by this guy who I so adored. I wanted it, I wanted more.

But, despite giving me plenty of cum, he didn’t have much left for me by the end when my hunger for his cum was obviously insatiable. I was left sucking away at his cock, wanting more, cleaning his cum off the head of his cock with my tongue.

He took my mouth away and leaned down to pull me up to stand beside him before kissing me. His kisses were deep and passionate, and it felt like an extension of the blow job, like he was probing me with his tongue. Like my mouth was his to use in any way he saw fit.

At some point, my orgasm had subsided without my realising it (having been so focused on his orgasm). We kissed and I lay down on the bed, feeling thoroughly pleased with myself.

I wasn’t sure what happened now, but when he climbed into bed after me and put his arms around me in that expert way which boyfriends normally do, I didn’t complain.

That evening we talked softly, a tenderness growing between us. We would have sex a few more times, each time hotter than the last, and between each time we would intermittently nap.

Jack left the next day around four pm. I felt a little bad as I had nothing to feed him in my cupboards, but I didn’t worry too much. I knew he would be back, and I knew I needed this time to recuperate anyway.

Between the moment he walked in the door, and the moment he left, Jack had spent every moment with me aside from toilet breaks taken by either of us, and had fucked me or cuddled me the whole time. We had chatted about everything as well.

This felt great, having a man in my home. It felt so easy and so pleasurable, having him cuddle me like he did. I sighed as I reached for the phone and dialled my local pizza joint, ordering a pizza and thinking I should order two, just to be sure I had enough to eat after all that fucking. I had worked hard and was pretty hungry from all the sex we’d had.

Then, as I waited for the pizza to arrive, I looked at my phone and considered dialling Jerome to tell him what had happened. I laughed and decided against it. It was far better to let that be a mystery than to have my friend laugh and give me shit about my first one night stand.

I hope it wouldn’t be just a one night stand though, that sex we’d had was amazing, and we had such a great connection. I guessed I would know within a week or two if he was ever coming back.