The Playing Fields

Chapter 39

"Oooouch! Damn." His hand flew up to the back of his head, rubbing furiously.

"Oh Nigel! Did you hurt yourself? Let me see."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine-"

"It might be bleeding, let me look." Standing on tiptoes, she sneaked her hands past his protective arm and pulled his head forward, his nose mere inches from her snug t-shirt.

"It's fine, Susan, really..." His hands felt for the wall behind him as she leaned forward putting him off balance, "it's just a small bump..." Strong fingers sorted through his hair, probing and moving in a systematic search.

"There it is!" She might have yelled 'Eureka!' as she tilted against him for a better look, trapping his nose between her pert breasts.

"Ssthusanm, I'm phine, pleasth..."

"Stop being heroic." She said, stepping down, still holding his head chest level, in her hands. "You need some ointment on that in case of infection."

"No I'm fine, really. Just let me-" He started to straighten up, dropping his hands defensively in front as she stepped closer, trapping his arms between her thighs and his groin. "Now wait a min-"

"Oh Nigel." She wriggled closer, tilting his head up and crushing her mouth against his.

Off balance, and his arms stuck tighter, he tried pulling one free, catching his watch on the hem of her skirt and pulling it up with the effort.

"Mmmmmmh!" The pressure of the kiss matched her groan of arousal, and Nigel's eyes flew wide with panic as he felt the slide of her extraordinarily long tongue probe the back of his throat.

He was trapped. The traitorous watch had looped a thread around the winder, refusing to let go, and each desperate tug lifted the skirt higher exposing his other hand to the warmth of her bare leg. Her kiss continued relentlessly, forcing him to snort for breath through his nose, like a hard ridden horse, afraid to swallow in case her industrious tongue went with it. Slowly, he slid down the wall mercifully freeing his trapped hand, the other hanging suspended from the hem of her skirt, as she bent double, lips still fastened to his with the determination of a leech.

"Pfffwaaah... Susan... Jesus!" He gasped, finally sliding down out of range and sitting flat on the floor, legs straight out between her feet.

"Oooh Nigel." She panted, standing over him, holding his hand while she fiddled with his watchstrap.

"Suggh." He coughed, swallowing at last, tasting the remnants of her mint-flavoured saliva. "Why- are- you- doing this?"

The watch slipped from his wrist, a condemned criminal, hanging from her skirt, and she dragged the freed hand to her panties, pressing his fingers firmly with her own. "Ooooh Ni-g-e-l..." Her head fell back, eyes closed, long tresses of black hair swinging luxuriously behind her shoulders.

"Susan, no... my head..." He gulped in a tiny whisper, feeling the uncontrollable tension building in his trousers, his head wagging a feeble protest as she moaned, lowering herself to his lap.

*****

Nigel sat far enough back from the stage to be out of any direct light. His fingers tested the throbbing lump on his head and he stared dolefully at the seat back in front of him. Susan has risen from their tryst on the dusty control room floor, brushed and arranged her clothes and smiled perkily when she strode out, reiterating her excitement over the sellout, as she tossed him a tiny wave and closed the door. He stared blankly after her, lying in spent disarray from what had been either, a rapturous encounter, or a terrifying ride into hell. Most of the dirt and dust had been brushed from his clothes and the telltale, fraudulently advertised, non-smear lipstick, was hidden safely beneath his shirt.