Darts Night Desire

Thursday night darts at the Rose and Crown—my weekly ritual. I was decent enough to win a few quid, not good enough to get barred.

Then she walked up to the oche.

Tiffany. Slim, fit, the kind of girl who did CrossFit and wanted you to know. Blonde ponytail, tight jeans, a crop top showing off abs you could grate cheese on.

"Fancy a game?" She picked up a set of house darts, testing the weight. "Twenty quid says I beat you."

"You're on."

She did beat me. Badly. Three-leg massacre, didn't even let me get to a double.

"Another twenty says I do it again?" She was grinning, all cocky confidence.

"What else you willing to bet?"

Her eyes narrowed, intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

"If I win, you come back to mine."

"And if I win again?"

"I'll still come back to yours."

She laughed—sharp, surprised. "Confident. Fine. But make it interesting. Strip darts. Every leg you lose, something comes off."

I lost the shirt after leg one. Shoes after leg two. By leg four, I was in just my boxers and she was still fully clothed, looking smug.

"Giving up?" she asked.

"Just getting started."

Something switched. I don't know if it was desperation or her watching my every throw, but I couldn't miss. Three legs straight, and suddenly she was down to her bra and knickers.

"Fuck," she breathed. "You hustled me."

"Maybe I just needed motivation."

She stepped closer, darts forgotten. "And now?"

"Now I collect my winnings."

The pub had a back room—storage, kegs, broken furniture. She pulled me in, locked the door.

"That was the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me," she said, pulling down her knickers. "I'm soaking."

I pushed her against a stack of beer boxes, dropped to my knees. She was right—dripping wet, and when I tasted her, she moaned loud enough that someone definitely heard.

"Oh fuck—right there—"

I ate her until she came, then again, her legs shaking, hands gripping my hair.

"Inside me—now—need it—"

I stood, found her ready. When I pushed in, she wrapped a leg around me, pulling me deeper.

"Yes—fuck—you earned this—"

We fucked against those boxes, her moans echoing off the kegs. She was tight, athletic, matching every thrust with a roll of her hips.

"Gonna cum again—shit—don't stop—"

She came with a shout, clenching hard. I followed, buried deep, feeling her pulse around me.

We stayed there, panting, half-dressed and satisfied.

"Rematch next week?" she asked.

"Same stakes?"

"Higher. Winner picks the position."

I walked back into the pub to finish my pint. The regulars pretended not to notice, but they definitely knew.

Best game of darts I ever played.