1 comments/ 26824 views/ 0 favorites A Good Match By: bradley_stoke Wicked! That's what it was. Well wicked! Darren dabbed a trickle of blood off his lip. Nothing to worry about. Least it hadn't got onto his shirt. Fucking seventy quid he paid for that. And he didn't relish explaining to his mum how come he'd got some distinctly biological stains on it. Not like his Fred Perry that time. Fucking ninety quid it cost and it never looked so good again. But it was wicked. Brutal! He and his mates had shown those Man C cunts. If they'd not had the back-up that appeared from fucking nowhere, the cunts would be fucking dead now. And when he and his mates scarpered, he noticed one of the Man C cunts waving a fucking chain. Just like in A Clockwork Orange. And that was one fucking movie. Darren laughed to himself as he remembered the geezer he'd chinned and the plexus punch he'd administered to the fat bloke in the poncey Armani. When he fell to Darren's feet, perfectly placed for a few kicks in the groin, well, that was a fucking blast that was. He'd have fucking left him with busted goolies given the chance. He held the tissue up to his eyes. The blood stains were fainter now. Mother Nature could always be relied on to stop the flow, just as it was always there to start the taps running after a bit of radical administration. But where were his mates now? Fucking gone they were! Every last fucking cunt. It was just him in the North London streets, all on his lonesome, and not ready for another ruck with a bunch of poncey Mancies. He'd rather be lashing out the medicine than taking it. So, where to now? Certainly not back to the stadium. There was too much chance he would be picked up by some stragglers from the Man C crew. And although it had been a good match, a two-nil victory to the home side, there wasn't much to do at an empty football ground. Darren heard the heavy percussive beats from a bar across the road, accompanied by flashing lights, the excited chatter of the evening crowd and the clink of lager bottles. Yeah! That's what he could do with now. A Grolsch would set him up right. He checked that the blood on his chin was dry, sensibly choosing to leave the scab intact, and strode over the road. He admired his reflection on the plate glass door as he pushed it open. He looked like a million dollars. Or more precisely the 350 quid the suit cost him. He rudely pushed his way to the front of the bar, through the other people waiting rather more patiently than him for a drink. "Oi!" he shouted to the barmaid, whose back was turned to him. "Have a heart! I've been waiting bleeding ages! And I only want a Grolsch." She turned round. Pretty little bint she was. "Oh! I'm sorry. Do you want it cold?" Works every time, Darren snickered, accepting the ice-cold bottle of lager with the top levered off. "Keep the change!" he announced with a winning smile, handing her the exact money. And now what? Darren leaned his back against a mirrored pillar, not wishing to show himself up by sitting down although there were a couple of spare seats. He couldn't see the telly, not that he'd be able to hear anything over the booming garage, so Darren was forced to look ahead of him and think. Not something he liked to do very often. Only a week or so till his wedding to Trace. Darren wasn't sure he was looking forward to that so much as to the Stag Night on the Friday before. That'd be fucking brilliant. The lads and he would go off to some lap dancing joint and there'd be plenty of beer and curry. But if the cunts dared to do what they did to Kev on his stag night, trussed up like some fucking turkey with not even a pair of boxers to hide his shrivelled manhood, well, there'd be some dead bodies in the manor not long afterwards. Everyone said Trace and he were well suited. They'd been going out, off and on, for two years now, though Darren had only proposed marriage to her when he heard she'd also been going with Phil. And Phil was one of the few geezers on the manor you couldn't mess with. By staking a definite claim on Trace, flashing that diamond ring he'd got for 300 quid on the high street, Darren had shown he could swing with the big dicks. I mean, you mightn't be able to tackle Phil head on, but you could stake your territory. And if your one and only was pedigree tail in the district, then people just had to give due respect. Of course, his mum and dad were delighted too, although Darren couldn't help wondering that might be because he'd have to move out of the family home and his parents would only need to worry about his sister, Sue, and that black sprog of hers she'd earned after one night of stupidity with the yardie crew. Darren scanned the bar for tottie and smiled as he assessed the talent. One in particular took his fancy: a tidy little number with plenty of trim midriff on show and a pretty face. Her hair was just long enough to brush her shoulders. She had very nearly finished the small glass she held delicately in her hand at the end of a long and sensuous bare arm. Opposite her was her bloke, dressed in a nylon bomber with a black short-cropped barnet much like Darren's own. When she smiled her face was a startling and delicious array of white ivory. Her eyes sparkled under a high forehead. And then the bloke left her to make his way towards the loo, his neat black jeans and white trainers flashing with each stride. Now was the moment. Darren strolled over to the girl, a broad grin on his face. "You look like you need a refill. What you having, love?" She looked startled. Her smile vanished and her eyes narrowed. No longer sparkling. More anxious and clouded. "You what?" "You heard, love," Darren said, his grin, if anything, broader than before. "What's your poison?" The girl was flustered. "I don't know what you think you're about. I'm with Trev. We were just about to go on somewhere else." "Don't be soft. I'm only being friendly, love. What's your name anyway? I'm Darren." "Shell. Michelle, really. But don't think I'm gonna…" "I'm pleased to meet you, Shell," said Darren. "You know when you see a bird like you, well, you just can't not do nothing." "What do you mean?" wondered Shell, looking flustered and nervous. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you, but you're a girl in a million." "Really?" "Course you are. A red blooded geezer just can't stand over there when you're in the room and not want to pass a compliment." "What you on?" Shell giggled, softening to Darren's practised repartee. "What the fuck are you doing, mate?" asked the rather more aggressive voice of Trevor who'd returned from the loo. "You hitting on my bird?" Darren turned around, still smiling, and faced down his rival in love. "And if I am?" he asked quietly. Trevor looked as flustered as Shell. "You just fucking take your fucking hands off her." "I ain't touched her, mate." "Don't be fucking stupid. Just fucking move off. Fuck off!" "You threatening me?" Trevor looked Darren up and down. The two men were pretty equally matched. Neither of them especially big, but both fairly fit. "Just fuck off, cunt!" Trevor said, choosing to raise his voice to a level sufficiently loud for the rest of the bar to turn their heads around to see what was going on. "So, what you gonna do?" "I'll fucking kill you." "What did you say?" asked Darren quietly and apparently reasonable. "Just fuck off or I'll fucking kill you!" That was good enough for Darren, though less would have been sufficient really. He clipped his fist across Trevor's mouth, bursting the lip with the single punch. And then, as Trevor fell back from the blow and just about to launch out with a punch of his own, Darren followed through with a cuff to the ear and two or three upward thrusts with his fist into Trevor's chest. As his victim fell forward, Darren added a few more punches in the face to the punishment. When Trevor fell backwards into some people who'd foolishly not moved out of the way, Darren slid his leg under Trevor's legs to bring him heavily down onto the floor. "You cunt!" Trevor whimpered. "You bastard!" echoed one of the men whom Trevor had fallen onto. "What the fuck are you doing?" Shell gasped. "Come on, love!" replied Darren, who took advantage of the confusion to grab Shell by the arm and drag her out of the bar, while behind them the other customers were responding variously and with no coordination to the swift and conclusive outrage that most of them hadn't really seen. "It was him who fucking started it!" yelled Darren, as he slipped through the door, gripping Shell tightly by her arm. "You saw it. He was fucking mental, he was! He should be fucking certified, the cunt!" It wasn't until Darren had strode several yards down the street, dragging a bemused Shell with him, that his abductee began struggling to get loose. No doubt she was as confused as anyone by Darren's speedy attack to easily gather her wits. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? That was my bloke you fucking chinned. Fucking let me go!" "Don't be fucking stupid! You don't want to get involved with plod. Anyway, I was just defending myself. The cunt said he was gonna kill me. It was either him or me!" "He wasn't gonna do nothing." "Don't talk wet. How was I gonna fucking know that? Look, love, I'm sorry for what I done to your bloke. What say we stop for a drink? You know, I don't want you to think I'm some sorta wide cunt, looking for a fight and all. There's a pub over there. We'll stop there. And don't get too pissed off. I'll buy you a drink and everything. It's the least I can do." Darren lessened his grip on Shell's arm, sensing she was relaxing after his apology. "Well, just one. If it was, like, a genuine mistake. Then I've gotta get back. Trev'll be wondering where I am." Perhaps, wondered Darren. But when the paramedics arrived, he'd have a lot of other things to worry about. Darren glanced at the trace of blood on his fist. Trevor probably wouldn't start worrying about where his bird was for quite a while yet. Darren guided Shell into a quiet little pub down a side street he knew of where most of the clientele were really too old to get involved in a ruck. He kept his grip on her arm while he ordered a Becks for himself (there was no Grolsch here) and an alcopops for Shell. Then they sat down in a corner where Shell couldn't easily scarper whilst keeping up a line of chat that was mostly just to keep her mind off other things. He told her he worked for a software house and how he was some kind of sales rep. He told her he'd just been to a football match and had had to run off when some hooligans picked on him and his mates. He told her that she was a tidy girl and that he'd not noticed her bloke, Trev. He told her he'd been done not too long ago when a friend of his had got into a fight and he'd been arrested as an accessory to the crime. He told her that he would rather risk anything than lose his job if got arrested again. "Some of my mates are a bit too ready with the old fists," Darren asserted. "But they're mates, you know. You've gotta stick by them." He gazed into Shell's eyes, clearly melting under Darren's patter, her wrist no longer needing to be held and her mouth puffing away at the ciggie she'd pulled out of her handbag. He wasn't exactly going to tell her that he'd actually stitched up his mates, seeing the fuzz arrive and shrinking into the background before they'd made their presence felt. "Yeah! You gotta stick by your mates, ain't you?" Shell agreed. "But what about you, love? Where d'you work?" Only when Shell was well into an account of her life in the office and her boring job on the reception desk did Darren judge it was safe enough to stand up and get some more drinks, making sure of tipping an extra measure of vodka into her glass. That little bit extra always helped. It wasn't until a lot later that Darren and Shell left the pub. He was still pretty much together, having held back his intake, while Shell was ever so tipsy and very easily persuaded to invite him back to the bedsit she rented. At this stage, Trevor was pretty much totally forgotten and Shell was quite happy to thread her arm into Darren's own. "We make a good couple, you'n'me," Shell remarked, unprompted, seeing their reflection in a shop window. "A good match." Darren looked at the same reflection and took the opportunity to slightly straighten his open-necked shirt. She still looked tidy, though the alcohol had made her chin a little slack and her eyes unfocused. "Yeah! Like we were meant for each other!" Darren echoed, using a line that had worked pretty well with Trace. "You think so?" "Course I do, love!" The way to Shell's flat was far enough to warrant a taxi which pleased Darren as he was worried whether some of the Man C crowd might still be around. And then along one of the anonymous roads between a run-down housing estate and a row of shops. They got out of the taxi just outside a tall Victorian block by whose door was arrayed about a dozen door-bells and associated intercoms. Two flights up and Darren was wondering whether he'd have to accept the offer for coffee he'd wheedled out of Shell or if they could just get straight down to business. His balls were aching and his trousers were too tight to disguise his desire from anyone who cared to check. Shell hesitated by the door to her flat, a key in one hand and a rather silly smile on her face. "Coffee, is it?" Darren saw his chance. Always act first and think later. He leaned forward, put a supporting arm around Shell's waist and his lips close to her face. "It's up to you." Shell giggled. She let Darren peck her face with kisses and opened her mouth wide enough for his tongue to enter. At last! Something liquid! The two mouths grappled together until Darren's jaw ached enough and Shell's hand had established the truth of his intentions. "Yeh! Later, maybe?" Shell agreed. The door opened into a room dominated by a TV and a bed. The walls were pasted with posters of film actors and empty mugs were scattered about on a table and cupboard. But Darren concentrated his attention on Shell's skirt, easing it down her slim legs while his other hand grappled with the clasp of her bra under her short knitted top. And all the while his tongue and lips monopolised her face as bit by bit he divested her of her clothes. And then he paused. He didn't want to crease his suit or tear his shirt. He stood back, letting Shell finish unclasping her bra and with practised ease pulled off all his clothes, not bothering to unlace his shoes. Then he stood in front of her, still wearing his socks, and his penis erect in front of him and pressing against her belly. "I dunno…" she hesitated, standing in only her frilly knickers. "Fuck it, love! You know you want to!" "Yeah. S'pose I do!" Finally, they were on the bed, both of them starkers, and Darren, ever the gentleman, knew that for it to be real good he had to get Shell a bit wetter and a bit freer between the legs than his probing fingers told him she was. He knew it was a bit soft, but it got the girls every time, as he eased her slowly onto her back and plied his tongue and teeth to her crotch. Tidy it was. Fucking tidy. Maybe she'd even trimmed it some time, you couldn't tell. The lips were thick, not at all ragged, and her clitoris was a tiny little thing that he had to really slobber around to loosen from its folds and allow his tongue a chance to find. And as he licked, he could hear Shell gasping with that urgency and passion he recognised from Trace and from all the other birds he'd shagged over the years. It wasn't long at all until it was Shell who was begging Darren to enter her, that twat of hers dripping with juice, a strong smell of earthy passion filling his nostrils, which he did with slow leisurely strokes that pushed her up and up, her head pressing against the headrest of the bed. Darren's eyes met with those of Mel Gibson who featured on a poster just behind her fanned-out hair. As always, when Darren was in the action, he liked to imagine other birds. Imagining the tits and arse he'd seen in all the pornos he'd rented, and then to compare them with the bird in his hand. He was fucking lucky. This bird was a fuck of a lot better than most of them, although her tits were smaller and she made small gasping noises rather than the full grunts and yells of the porn stars. Whatever his mates said, real birds were better than the porno talent. And this one had a real grip to her snatch, that squeezed his prick with each leisurely but progressively more urgent thrust. But he didn't want to come too soon. He could feel the urgency in his aching testicles transmitted to his prick, urging him to release its juice into this unprotected twat. But that wouldn't do. Slow down a bit. The sweat and passion and exertion were tiring him, but he wanted his spunk to leave a message in the best place. And a place he bet the ineffectual Trevor had never been. In the thrusts, and twisting, the entry and teasing withdrawal, Darren let his finger wander. And it slithered down the trail of fanny batter to the puckered little anus which he slowly penetrated with an exploratory circuit of his finger. She gasped appreciatively as she felt the extra incursion. She was right and ready, Darren thought, letting his penis slip out of her slippery twat, and then, with a quick plunge and no warning, straight into her arse. The next moment or so clearly confused Shell. Perhaps she wasn't too sure exactly what this new sensation was, especially as he kept a trio of fingers embedded to the knuckle in her front, while he thrust urgently and hard into the tighter and undoubtedly muckier hole. And then she gasped in apparent disbelief: "Are you fucking my arse, you bugger?" It was at this point Darren finally let nature take its course and release all that stored goodness his aching balls had struggled to confine. "What d'you think?" he remarked, his penis shrivelling but still erect enough to keep inside her. "Fuck off! I didn't give you no permission. Fucking get out of me!" "Gladly! Anyway, it's done its job!" Shell collapsed on the bed, her legs wide open and a splatter of semen on her thighs and dampening the sheets. Darren knelt above her, his penis still twitching while he wondered whether he had it in him to do a proper porn star money shot, perhaps over her tummy, or even (and this was something he'd only once persuaded a bird to let him do) right on her face and eyes. "You fucked me up the arse, didn't you?" Shell asked drunkenly, as much out of disbelief as from anything else. "Yeah! You like it?" "No one's done that before. Not Trevor. Not no one." "Good, weren't it?" "No. It fucking well wasn't!" Shell said more angrily, sitting up. "I didn't ask you to fucking do that! You fucking leave now! You just fucking go!" "You don't want more?" "No fucking way! You just fucking put your fucking clothes back on and fuck off! I don't want to fucking see you again!" There was a pause as Darren noticed tears welling up in Shell's eyes and a look of disgust on the rest of her face as her hand probed between her legs. At this point, Darren hesitated. He could, you know. It was well within his power. The bird wouldn't stand a chance. But Darren was too intelligent for that. It was a mug's game. The plod would get involved and it'd well and truly fuck things up. And with his wedding next week, well, it was the last thing he should do! Almost meekly, Darren collected his things and got dressed, while Shell rubbed her bruised and battered vagina and anus. "Sorry, love! Just got carried away, like!" "Just fuck off! Don't fucking say nothing!" A Good Match copyright 2009 by madengineer3 * Tom was facing a dilemma. He had been dating a woman for almost a year and seriously believed that she might be the one he wanted to marry. Tom had been raised believing that any real sex was to be saved for marriage. This, in itself, wasn't the problem. He had certain injuries, from his time in Iraq, that caused him to question his ability to keep his darling Mary happy. They had both enjoyed sexual activity just up to the point of light petting, but neither of them seemed to think it was quite right to go any further. Tom had been brought up to respect women and didn't want to do anything that would upset his one and only love. ***************** Mary, as it turned out, was also facing a large dilemma. She appreciated the fact that Tom had not pressured her to have sex with him. She also had things in her past that Tom knew nothing about. She was relatively sure that she would lose him if he discovered the truth. However, Mary was deeply in love with Tom. She really didn't know what to do to resolve this problem. ****************** Tom knew he had to do something to move this relationship further. He phoned Mary and asked her what she had scheduled for the weekend. Mary had nothing scheduled. Tom invited her over to his house for dinner on the Friday of that week. Mary agreed to come. The table was set with Tom's best silverware and plates. He had made potato salad, a Caesar salad, and was going to put the inch thick T-bone steaks on the grill when Mary got there. Tonight he was going to have to come clean about his past. He prayed that Mary would understand. When Mary saw the table and heard what the menu was she asked "What's the special occasion?" Tom had an answer, "I just wanted to show you how much I love you." Mary grinned and they sat down to eat the meal. The meal went off nicely. Then Tom and Mary went out onto the screened porch to sit in the "glider" as twilight approached. It was a wonderful warm night and the crickets were making their usual chirping music. Tom's house was in a very rural area. The nearest neighbors were over a mile away and his house was set back into a small woods. "Mary, I need to talk to you about some things that I'm nervous to bring up. I don't want to lose you, and I am afraid that when you hear what I'm going to say you will reject me. But, I can't live with this dreaded secret hanging over me any more. I need to come clean." Mary was all but terrified. Had Tom learned her secret? Was she going to lose this wonderful man? "O.K. Tom, I'm listening, but it would have to be earth shattering to make me give up on you. I love you. " "It's like this, Mary, my first wife left me when I came back from Iraq. She said that I wasn't the man that she had married anymore. She couldn't look at me when I was naked. She left me five years ago. Are you with me so far?" "Yes, darling; but what you have said wouldn't drive me away." "Well, I haven't hit the difficult stuff yet. If you don't reject me, I want to ask you to marry me. But I can't do that until I find out if you can live with my limitations. Before I go any further I need to know if marriage to me would be at all acceptable to you." "Oh, yes Tom. It would make me wonderfully happy, but I also have concerns you will reject me. Once you find out about my past." "O.K. Mary, with that said I need to have you see me without my clothes on. That won't shock you will it?" "No, Tom, I've seen naked men before." "Here goes, if what you see doesn't drive you away, I am yours!" Tom stood up kicked off his slippers, pulled off his shirt, and removed his pants. He then slowly turned around for Mary's examination. "Well, could you still marry me?" "Of course I could. I have some questions though. You have a lot of burn scars on your body and you appear to have a very small cock and balls. What happened? "Our platoon was hit by a very nasty IED. It was a metal penetrating round with white phosphorus. The burn scars are from the phosphorus, and the other scars are from shrapnel. Mary, I lost the last inch of my penis and both of my balls. I can't give you children. I can get an erection and can provide you with sexual satisfaction, but I've not yet figured out how reach orgasm. That's what I've been afraid to tell you. That is also why I haven't progressed sexually with you. Can you live with me this way?" "Yes, Tom, but I am afraid that you won't be able to live with me when you hear my story." "Try me, Mary, I love you very much. There is almost nothing you could tell me that would drive me away." "O.K. Tom, but first, humor me by answering a couple of questions. I need to know how much you know about the problems facing transsexuals." "Well, as I understand there are a small number of people are born with the their physical sexual anatomy not matching who they are inside. Nobody is completely sure how it happens, but the transsexual lives in constant fear that someone will find out that they are different. That's about all I know." "Let me ask you another question. Do you think that a transsexual is a type of homosexual?" "No, from what I understand a transsexual doesn't want a relationship with a homosexual they want a perfectly straight person of the sex opposite to that of the inside emotional state that defines them. Is that about right?" "Yes, it is. Too few people know those last details. You are aware of the fact that sex reassignment surgery can fix the outward appearances of transsexuals, aren't you?" "Yes, I am. You may think I'm a pervert but I enjoy looking at post surgical transsexuals on the porn sites. Some of them are incredibly hot! Does that shock you?" "No. Let me strip off my clothes now." Mary stood, removed her shoes shorts and blouse. Her breasts were breathtaking even in her bra. She undid and removed her bra and finally her panties. She turned around so that Tom could look her over. When she was again facing him she noticed that he had an erection. "It looks like you like what you see, Tom. Am I right?" "Oh, Mary, your beauty takes my breath away. You are gorgeous! What is it that I am supposed to see. All I can see is the beautiful woman with whom I am deeply in love." "Tom, I am a post surgical transsexual. My birth certificate and other paperwork has been changed to show me as a woman, but I was born as a boy. Can you live with that?" "Of course I can live with that! I love you, as you. I am in love with the person, not just the body. I want you to be my wife. Will you consider it?" "I'll not only consider it, I will accept your offer. What say that we get to know each other a bit better. Let's go to your bedroom." We went into the bedroom, leaving our clothes on the back porch. I gently laid Mary down on my bed, which I had fortunately made earlier in the day. I immediately started to lick and suck Mary's beautiful breasts. Oh, what joy! I continued with her breasts for several minutes before moving down her body toward her pussy. When I got there I stated to lick her pussy lips and flick her clitoris with my tongue, occasionally sucking on it. Mary started moaning and making the same kind of sounds my first wife made before I went to Iraq. She told me to move so that she could reach my pubic area. It was only moments later that she started to lick and suck on my truncated penis. Her careful attention to the underside of my shaft and the empty scrotum was driving me out of my mind. Then it happened. she started to climax and at the same time I felt something that I hadn't felt in years. I had a climax! I didn't know that it was possible to reach these heights without the head end of the penis being present, but reach them I did. After we both came back down to normal heart and breathing rates I turned around and held Mary in my arms, kissed her fully on the mouth and hugged her in my arms. "Tom, you have no idea how happy you are making me! I have only dreamt that I would be in this situation. When can we get married?" "We can get the license on Monday and I'll see if our pastor will marry us in a small ceremony as soon as the license is official. How about that?" "That sounds wonderful, right now, why don't we go into the bathroom and enjoy a nice shared shower future husband of mine." "That sound wonderful future wife of mine! Why not stay the weekend so that we can enjoy each others company." Mary grinned and nodded yes! The honeymoon and life later on was wonderful, but that is part of another story. A Good Match Darren trotted down the stairs of the block of flats, easing the door behind him and plucking his mobile out of his pocket. He had kept the card the taxi-driver had given him so he knew how to catch a cab home. He punched in the number while striding along. That was a fucking blast! That Shell had been a fucking good screw. Darren thought about Trace, reminiscing on her rather more prominent bosom and her looser twat. He felt good. In only a week's time, there'd be another expression to describe what he'd just been doing. And it wasn't 'playing the field' or 'sowing the wild oats'. It would be 'adultery'. Darren smiled. He could hardly wait!