Star Wars sex - May the Force Be In You!
I've dressed up so many times as Princess Leia Organa in that infamous scene from Return Of The Jedi that I'm surprised my hair hasn't permanently kinked from those giant 'Danish pastries' she has on either side of her head. I can't even look at a gold bikini in the shops without having to stop myself from shouting, "Save me Luke!" I sometimes think I've got a mild touch of Star Wars-induced tourettes because of that damn bikini...
When I started dating Jimi I felt such a huge sigh of relief to hear that he didn't rate Return Of The Jedi. He was, "more of a Empire Strikes Back, man." Jimi was a cocktail waiter I'd met on a night out in Leeds. I was with a group of bondage enthusiasts whom I'd contacted through a fetish community on the web. My plan was to go out with them and get naughtily drunk and flirty, hoping that toward the end of the night there would be some kind of kinky initiation ceremony where they would tie me down, then fuck me, lick me and spank me all night long.
No such luck with this group. They may have been into bondage and fetish wear, but that was as experimental as they got. They each had their own partners – "no touching of anyone else's bondage buddy!" – and had the most complicated rules about how their community works; way too complicated to understand after downing a slew of Martini's. In fact, the best I got from them was a few tasty handcuff tips and where to buy the best PVC Basques.
That's when Jimi came in to the picture. I have to admit, I've been known to take home some random guy and spend the night screwing him, but I'm no Samantha Jones. OK, that's a blatant lie: I'd take her on and then some! But my point is, when you've worked yourself up over the fantasy of an orgy only to be let down in reality, you need something to take the edge off.
So one minute I was staring into Jimi's chocolate brown eyes, giving him my most sultry, fuckable look while sliding a Pickled Ramp Martini off his silver serving tray, and the next I was straddling him in the back of a taxi, my tights ripped open from jumping on him so forcibly, and with my hand wriggling underneath his belt buckle and down to his tight, snug boxers. When I grabbed hold of his massive solid black cock, all thoughts of missing out on some delicious bondage action faded into oblivion. This was going to be one hell of a night!
With his fingers still wet from fingering me on the way back to his place, Jimi traced his secreted index finger and thumb over my lips and tongue while pulling me toward his front door. No sooner were we inside his dank little flat than I had pushed him to his knees with his back against the wall, and shoved my clit in his mouth, rubbing it all over his face.
After a very wet orgasm on my part, Jimi spread me face down on his rickety dinning table. Even though the table was covered in mugs that seemed to be growing some kind of super fungus, I was too horny to care and pushed my legs open that little bit further while tilting my ass toward the ceiling in anticipation of what was to come.
And that's when I heard it: the Star Wars theme tune. It was like someone had let the air out of my pumped-up tyres. Before I could get up off the table and run for the door, Jimi was on top of me and whispering in my ear, "I'm not into Leia, but Han Solo has got the best ass I've ever seen."
Exactly how I'd had managed to swap a group of people obsessed with leather and chains to a guy obsessed with Harrison Ford I'll never know, but with the faint promise of anal sex on the cards I tried to stay optimistic. Jimi's cock was harder than any I'd ever felt, and I began to wonder just how it was going to fit in my tiny ass.
But before I had a chance to ponder it any further, Jimi said, "Say hello to my Darth Invader!" I tried to stifle my laugh over his pet name for his massive cock, but when he started taking about entering the "Death Star" it all got too much. Jimi didn't seem to mind the laughing, and it certainly took my mind off his Darth Invader penetrating the defence shields of my Death Star.
One too many Star Wars references later, we both came to a shuddering orgasm and collapsed on the floor beside his table, which was now awash with mouldy tea. I dated Jimi for a few weeks after that, but when he started talking about how good it would be to dress up as Chewbacca in bed, I had to move my Death Star out of his orbit and into another galaxy far, far away...