Criss Cross 1

When I first met Angelique, she was wearing a tight navy blue T-shirt which, over the contours of her firm, youthful breasts, carried the statement:

I love

snogging

snogging

snogging

And encouraged by her naughty smile, I asked her, "Doesn’t that get a bit monotonous?"

"Oh, this is my sister’s T-shirt," she replied, gazing deep into my eyes. "If it was mine it would say something a bit more exciting."

"Such as..?"

She looked me up and down and thought for a second. Then, gesturing with both hands to the slogan over her breasts she said, "How about this:

I love

snogging

fisting

ass fucking"

And half an hour later, we were.

This is the nicest bit of the story. She’s a beautiful little blonde girl, slim waisted with a very feminine figure, but not everything about her is beautiful. We both got our drinks from the bar in the Paris to London Eurostar train, and made our way towards where she was sitting. I admired the curves of her ass as she carefully walked ahead of me down the aisle, my groin tingling with anticipation.

We got deep into conversation very quickly. The formalities over (she a French student vet, on her way to a specialist lecture by a world famous vetinary surgeon in London, me an English sound technician who had been visiting an a friend in Paris) she told me, "I can tell you’ve been hurt, just like me."

She didn’t look like she’d been hurt. She looked like a girl who is used to getting just what she wants, and I said so.

"No, you’re wrong about me. My lover has left me. She’s the only person I’ve ever been in love with. She’s called Marcia. She said I’m too rough and demanding, like a man, and she hates men, she’s afraid of them." Seeing disappointment in my eyes, she reassured me. "It’s OK, I go both ways. And right now I could use a big, fat cock right up inside me. What about you?" she asked.

I was confused for a moment. Was she asking if my cock would be big enough for her? "No, don’t get impatient, not quite yet," she continued, misinterpreting my quizzical expression. "I mean who has hurt you?"

"My girlfriend. And a mate. No, an ex-mate, he’s a slimy bastard, I don’t know why I ever considered him a friend. She’s not even in love with him - she finds him exciting partly because he’s such a bastard, if you know what I mean. She moved out a month ago, but it’s not getting any better."

"It will." She leant over and kissed me on the mouth. "Come and let me snog you better."

"What about the rest?" I asked, indicating her T-shirt.

She gave me a big smile. "For the rest, we have to find somewhere more private." She stood up, and I followed her to the toilet cubicle.

"How big is his dick?" she panted. We were not in the easiest of positions for conversation. She was kneeling with one leg on the toilet lid; her other foot was flat on the floor. She supported herself with her left hand - her right hand was up to her wrist inside her own pussy. I was pumping my penis as deep into her rectum as it would go. I didn’t reply straight away.

"Is it much bigger than yours, baby?" she pressed. "Is that why she left you for him? Tell me."

"Yes," I admitted, still thrusting into her. "It’s fucking enormous. I’ve seen it in the shower at the gym. It looks about ten inches limp, and as thick as my forearm. And Mandy could never conceal that she felt mine was too small for her."

Angelique was breathing heavily, her shoulder hunched over as she pushed her hand and wrist deeper into her cunt. "Mark, I’m going to cut off his huge cock. Imagine me doing it, baby. I’m going to seduce him, give him a fuck for the last time in his life, then I’m going to slice off his enormous penis. I’m going to do it for you, but I’m going to enjoy it so much. I’ve always wanted to cut off a man’s dick, and look into his eyes while I’m slicing off what makes him a man. Go on, Mark, tell me to do it!"

"Yes," I gasped, my head swimming, "cut off his big cock." I visualised Anthony, first reaming my greedy ex-girlfriend Mandy with his giant, engorged phallus, and then in the aftermath of Angelique’s treacherous seduction, his fingers hopelessly tracing the scar above his scrotum - and for a moment I actually wanted her to do it, though I knew it was only fantasy.

"Shall I cut off his balls, too?"

"No, leave them," I groaned - "but slice off his whole dick, don’t even leave a stump for him to wank with." I thought with satisfaction that Mandy would at first be nearly as horrified and appalled as Anthony himself - though she would soon dump him.

The globes of Angelique’s ass were shaking violently, and she seemed close to coming, but she spoke again. "Mark, do something for me in return."

Kneading her firm, round breasts with my hands while I carried on pumping her with my slim penis, I grunted my assent.

"I want you to rape Marcia. Surprise her and rape her. She’s got the tightest little cunt you can imagine, you’ll really enjoy it. Go on, tie her up with her legs spread and shove the shaft of your hard cock up her little lesbian pussy, and then into her desperately tight ass. She’s going to try to scream, but you’ve gagged her." Angelique was spitting out the words, he whole body heaving now. "Imagine she’s rigid with fear and despair as she gets a proper fuck for the fist time in her life. Her boyish dyke’s body is going to betray her, her cunt is going to get wet and her nipples will get hard while you rape her. Say you’ll do it!"

And as I gasped out my agreement to rape Angelique’s prim lesbian ex-lover, the little blonde beauty stiffened and trembled, and moaned, again and again. I began to squirt gushes of come up her ass as her anus gripped me spasmodically.

She was dressed before me, and while I was buttoning up she cut two very thick lines of cocaine onto the top of the cistern. "You deserve one of these, Mark - that was amazing. You don’t really have to worry about the size of your dick, you’re an amazing fuck. Five inches is fine, if you know what to do with it!"

I had a pounding headache when I awoke the next day in my London flat. But as the memory returned, of the most incredibly sexy girl with the weirdest fantasies, sex in the Eurostar toilets, bottle after bottle of Stella, several lines of coke and a couple of joints, sex in the toilets again... the headache began feel like a price well worth paying. As I groped for the packet of aspirin, I started wondering whether I’d arranged to see her again. How long was she in London for? Only a day or two, I thought.

After going through my wallet and my pockets for the third time and finding no phone number or email address, I shrugged. One of those wonderful intense "ships in the night" experiences, I thought.

If only.

TO BE CONTINUED.