Happy Ending Read online

  Happy ending

  Stella Rouge

  Copyright © Stella Rouge 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Happy ending

  Erica met Toby after a hard day of training. It had been ramping up recently—tryouts for the Olympic gymnastic team were next week, and her coach had been pushing her harder than usual, being more critical than ever, filming her routines on his phone and playing them back in slow motion, pointing out the smallest quivers in her muscles. By the time she limped out of the centre with burning quadriceps, she’d done at least fifty backflips, although she’d lost count somewhere around thirty-five.

  Her parents were throwing a barbecue, a send-off for her brother who was in the navy, two days away from being posted on a ship that would be trawling the northern coast of Australia. She arrived home to a reasonable turnout of people standing in the backyard, drinking and talking, the aroma of cooked sausage in the air. Most of them were either family or friends she’d met before, although there were a few unfamiliar faces. Still sore and not in the mood for answering the same repeated questions—How’s training going? Do you have a boyfriend? What are you studying at uni?—Erica stayed inside until the sausages were cooked, pilfering slices of apple from the half-made pie on the kitchen bench until her mother shooed her away.

  Toby peered over her shoulder while she loaded her plate with a precariously balanced mound of salad.

  ‘That can’t be all you’re eating!’

  Erica turned around. Toby was tall and broad-shouldered, with a haircut and physique that immediately told her he was in the navy with her brother.

  ‘I’ll get some chicken later.’ There were char-grilled strips of chicken breast on the barbecue especially for her, but her father was still poking them with the tongs. ‘It’s not done yet.’

  Toby shook his head, steering her towards the loaf of bread and pile of sausages. ‘You at least need a sausage sandwich. They’re compulsory at a barbecue.’

  Erica picked a baby spinach leaf from her plate and chewed it. Six months of a training diet had given her a new appreciation for vegetables—it was incredible how much richer their taste had become since she gave up processed foods.

  ‘I’m not allowed to eat white bread.’

  Toby looked her up and down, taking in her lean physique. ‘Don’t tell me you’re on a diet!’

  Erica shook her head. ‘It’s a training diet. I’m trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team next week.’

  Toby grinned, and it made his eyes glow. ‘Does that mean you’re, uh, flexible?’

  Erica bit her lip in a way that she hoped looked coy and mysterious. ‘It means I’m very flexible.’ She resisted the urge to laugh at Toby’s shock. ‘It looks like my chicken’s ready.’

  *

  Day slipped into night earlier than in January, but it still happened so gradually nobody noticed it was dark until their movements triggered the sensor light above the back door. Trestle tables were lined up, parallel, covered with leftover Christmas tablecloths, the red and gold candy canes adding to the festive vibe. Someone had strung multicoloured fairy lights overhead, and the stereo in the garage boomed music from the local radio station until someone—probably her mum—decided to play Prince’s greatest hits instead. Erica sat between one of her friends and a teacher she vaguely remembered from primary school, cutting the chicken into squares before she ate it. Toby had been swept away in a huddle of testosterone, and the navy boys were all together, competing to see who could eat the most sausages. Eventually, though, he made his way back to her, sitting in the seat the teacher vacated to get more food.

  ‘You know, I can do a backflip.’ He picked up a piece of celery and snapped the end off with his teeth. ‘Wanna see?’

  He’d been drinking, and he was still holding a can of whisky and cola. But he looked so excited that she shrugged and said, ‘Sure.’

  Toby grinned and passed her his can, which was still half-full, and Erica swallowed a mouthful, grimacing at how warm it already was after a few minutes out of the esky. Neither alcohol nor cola were in her training diet, but Toby’s spontaneous spirit was contagious, and she took another sip while he felt the grass with his bare feet, looking for a flat surface.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he called, and Erica laughed, the lights and heat and whisky all making this feel like a fun night in Europe. Toby squatted, his feet apart, swinging his arms back past his bum, lifting them up, doing a small jump, returning to his squat without flipping.

  ‘I can do it, I promise.’ He wiped his mouth with his arm and tried again, his gaze focused on the downpipe. By now, several other guests had noticed him and the ones closer to the house were standing to get a better view. If he noticed them, he didn’t show it. He swung his arms back, pushed up from his heels and tumbled backwards in a perfect flip—until he landed with too much momentum and sprawled backwards on the grass.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Erica ran across the grass and kneeled over him, the muscles in her thighs protesting against the movement, but he was still laughing and accepted his drink gratefully.

  ‘I hadn’t done that in years!’

  Now that she knew he wasn’t injured, it all seemed hilarious, and Erica laughed too. ‘I could tell!’

  He finished his drink and stumbled up, testing each ankle before he stepped on it to make sure he hadn’t twisted it. ‘Can you show me one of your moves?’

  Erica shook her head. ‘I would, normally, but I’m so sore. My coach pushed me so hard today.’ She rubbed her leg as though it somehow proved the pain was real. ‘I can barely walk.’

  Toby glanced down, watching her hand, suddenly quiet. ‘If you’d like,’ he said after a pause, ‘I can massage that out for you.’ Erica laughed, but he didn’t laugh with her. ‘I’m serious—I did a remedial massage course before I joined the navy. Do you have any massage oil?’

  She didn’t know if it was the whisky, the party atmosphere or the way Toby was watching her touch herself, but Erica felt the sudden urge to fuck him. ‘I’m sure I’ve got something you can use.’

  *

  The only oil they could find was a half-full bottle of olive oil in the kitchen, but Toby insisted it would work just as well. Erica draped six towels over her bed and paused before undressing, suddenly shy.

  ‘I promise I won’t look,’ Toby said, turning to the wall with the mirror on it. Erica laughed and shoved him, her fingers catching muscle through his shirt. She watched him watching her through the mirror as she pulled off her shirt and unclasped her bra. Her breasts were smaller than she’d like, a consequence of so many years of training, but they stubbornly defied gravity and, unlike other girls’ bigger heavier breasts, appeared to swell from her chest rather than hang out of it. Her lycra pants came off easily but she paused once they were on the floor.

  Toby turned around, an erection bulging through his pants, gazing at her lithe body. ‘Would you like to lie down?’

  Erica kneeled on the towels, spreading out their stiffness after being dried on the clothesline on a hot day. The sounds of the party wafted up to them, voices and music, and there was something comforting about being locked away from it all. She lay face down. Toby twisted the lid off the oil bottle and straddled her hips, sitting with his butt cheeks on hers.

  ‘Does that hurt?’ he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

  ‘No.’

  When she turned her head, Erica could see him in the mirror. He tilted the bottle against his hand and waited for enough oil to dribble out before he started to spread it over her back, initially with broad strokes but then with smaller movements, as he started to massage individual muscles. Her lower back first, relieving tension she didn’t realise she had, every rough landing from the vault disappearing into his fingers.

  He worked his fingers higher, massaging her trapezius, working over her shoulders. His erection pressed against her back as he leaned forward, reaching up to her neck, hot and stiff against her spine. Erica imagined it sliding inside her, and the thought made her part her legs a little. There was more tension in her neck than she realised, too, and Toby’s fingers danced over those muscles, releasing tiny fireworks of pain before she began to really relax against the towels.

  Now her legs. Toby started with her left ankle, circling his fingers around her shin bone. His fingers slowly worked up her leg, along a calf muscle that cried in pain each time she touched it, along the ticklish backs of her knee, then finally up her hamstring. He pressed his elbow into it, three times, and it was so tender that Erica had to bite her lip to avoid the urge to scream.

  ‘Is that too sore?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Erica focused on her breathing. She liked her massages hard and effective, no matter how much they hurt in the moment. No pain, no gain—isn’t that what the message always is for elite athletes?

  Toby’s fingers moved up her inner thigh, sweeping over her buttock, gouging deep into her glutes. Was it her imagination or did his fingers keep brushing over her pussy? Whether it was intentional or not, it felt incredible. He leaned up, nuzzling his chin into her shoulder, his new stubble prickling her skin.
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  ‘Roll over,’ he instructed, and she did, stretching beneath him, her nipples reaching for the ceiling.

  He started with her ankles again, working his way up her leg while Erica blinked up at the faded old glow-in-the-dark stickers on her ceiling, following them with her eyes to distract her from the pain when Toby triggered the sore points in her legs. They hadn’t glowed for more than a decade. She’d tried to replicate real constellations when she’d put them up—Scorpio, her star sign, the Southern Cross—but the difficulties of reaching the ceiling from a chair next to her bed meant that the stars were arranged more randomly than she’d wanted. Erica tried to find Scorpio, but it was hidden in the smattering of stars above her.

  Toby worked through her adductor muscles, sweeping his huge hands from her knee up to the hem of her panties, his fingers performing magic. The pain was receding, and Erica was beginning to feel like she was about to float off the bed. Who knew it was even possible to feel this relaxed?

  His fingers swept up again, and this time they ran over her panties, touching her clit.

  ‘Oops,’ he said, without sounding sorry. His hands arched over her leg and pelvis a second time, brushing her clit again, diving between her legs, disappearing over her thighs. Erica smiled. ‘Do it again.’

  It was more purposeful this time—his hands swept up and he ran his index finger over her clit through the fabric, finally licking the tip, swirling it slowly under his tongue.

  Erica felt like she was freefalling, like she was in the descent of a skydive. Toby worked his fingers under the fabric, massaging the outer lips of her pussy, his touch slippery from her wetness. He pulled the waistband down and Erica lifted her hips, helping him pull them off, giving his mouth better access to everything that made her feel good.

  She tried to pull him up for a kiss but he firmly pressed her shoulders back on the bed.

  ‘The massage isn’t over,’ he said, while straddling her hips—he was naked from the waist down too, Erica realised with a jolt of excitement. ‘Lie back and close your eyes.’

  Erica did, and immediately became more aware of the texture of the towels beneath her back, music and voices wafting in from outside, the heat radiating from Toby’s hands.

  ‘How’s this?’ he asked, as he massaged her abdomen, stroking downwards, caressing her thighs.

  ‘Mmm,’ Erica murmured, giving herself over to the sensations. Toby’s weight shifted on her hips, and he balanced the tip of his penis against her opening—just resting there, teasing her with its smoothness. She wriggled, trying to manoeuvre it inside her, but Toby stopped her with strong hands, and a kiss on the collarbone.

  ‘Not yet.’

  His voice was smoother than honey and Erica obeyed, even though it felt like she was about to explode. Toby kept massaging her while his cock stayed there, tantalising her. His hands worked over her other leg, her ribs, her breasts, licking her nipples until they stood to attention. And then, again, caressing her clit, his dick stiff between her legs, until she moaned and bucked and couldn’t stand it anymore—she raised her spread her legs into the splits and he thrust into her, his cock filling her, his stomach rubbing her clit, one finger circling her asshole, the slightest pressure combining with his thrusting to make her feel weightless, like she’d levitated off the bed. And then it was like she was flying, soaring into her orgasm at full velocity.

  Toby shuddered as he came inside her, his hands strong around her thighs. For a moment, everything was silent—the CD was between songs, the conversation hit a lull, and in that moment Toby and Erica were the only people in the universe, until the next song started to play.

  About the author

  Stella Rouge writes in lingerie and her imagination is fuelled by wine and poetry. She lives in Australia, a country that has proudly earned a top 10 position in the 2017 Pornhub viewing stats, despite its relatively small population.

  Stella enjoys researching her stories as much as writing them, and when she’s not daydreaming about sex, she fantasises about making a living from writing.

  Follow her on Twitter at @RougeStella for previews of her upcoming books.

 

 

  Stella Rouge, Happy Ending

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